Jollyjupiter

Book 4, Chapter 54: The Tribes of Cascadia


“We’re gettin’ into Goooose territory.” Balin hissed as we made our way between the tall cedar trees.


“Shh! Quiet! We don’t want to attract any punkeys! The glassflies picked up on a troop due north.” Flowerpott hissed.


“Unless we want them to make fun of Balin’s beard again!” Raysdotter laughed quietly.


We were currently deep in the Redwood, far deeper than I’d ever gone before.


The scent in here was salty and woody, with that particular musk that only fresh cedar could provide.


Our journey had been uneventful thus far. With our glass eyes in the sky, we were able to handily avoid any large groups of monsters, and had only run into the occasional kegger and a single solitary Beer.


And the forest gnomes.


Aqua snickered as Aishablue strutted angrily ahead of us. We’d been ambushed by a pack of the tiny red-furred gnomish monstrosities a few minutes ago, and I’d been forced to fry them with a fireball. It… hadn’t been pretty watching them scream and run around, their tall pointed ear-hats trailing smoke and flames.


Thankfully, according to Val they weren’t sentient.


They certainly screamed like gnomes. Flowerpott and Aishablue had words for me when it was done.


“Aqua, are you sure you want to come with us?” I hissed.


“You need me to check if everyone’s telling the truth. So it’s me or nothing. And besides, we have the Hero of Golden Light with us, so what could go wrong?”


Three pairs of hands immediately clamped over her mouth, and the rest of team Brighstar took up ready positions, looking around.


“Idjit,” Balin growled. “Donnae test tha Gods.”


Aqua rolled her eyes and mumbled, “I’ve been spending too much time around Pete.”


“So… Kirk. Buddy, pal. What in tha Nether, man?” I elbowed the giant in his midsection. “How did you get mixed in all this?”


Kirk bit his lower lip in consideration, then blurted, “I’m sorry Boss. I wasn’t trying to hide anything on purpose, but I really couldn’t talk about it.”


“Can you talk about it now?”


He hesitated. “Uh… probably. It’s a long story, though.”


I waved at the seemingly endless forest.


“We have time. And I want ta know that you’ll have my back when we get there.”


Kirk looked down at me, then nodded. “Back in Kinshasa, I ran into some old friends. Nothing much, but it was enough for my old crew to find me and reach out.”


I frowned. “Old… crew.”


“Yeah. I was part of an exploration company out of the Free City of Adventurers, Grandia. We sailed the eastern coasts, looking for hidden dungeons, old ruins, and the like. No privateering or anything like that – “ He held up his hands as though to ward off comment, “But it could be rough work. Not everyone is happy with people sticking their noses into hidden places. We ran afoul of a rather major pirate fleet, and we split up to go into hiding. I figured Minnova would be far enough.”


I nodded. “It is pretty far from everything else, true.”


“In Kinshasa I was spending more and more time running in my old circles, and when we moved to Tree, I ran into my old boatswain. He said that the pirate company hunting us had been destroyed by trolls. That he was in the city with an adventurer who’d hired him as an escort to various dungeons around the world. He said that something big was happening.”


Kirk laughed. “I couldn’t imagine how big it was at the time. They hired me every so often to do porting around the city and into the dungeon. It was good pay, and exciting! That was how I met Val, and saw what he was doing with the Tender Sprites. He told me about the changes happening in the dungeons, and how he was from another world. I remembered what you’d said about the Chosen, and decided to stick by him. If he’d shown himself to be a danger to the Thirsty Goat at any point I would’ve dealt with him.”


I rubbed the back of my neck. “Why didn’t you just tell me? It could’ve been dangerous!”


Kirk chuckled. “I’m Kirk Manly, action adventurer! I was fine. And do you really think we weren’t getting checked with [Truespeech] constantly? We were right in the middle of the biggest conspiracy of this age! And it was amazing! I got to hold a kobold baby, and see the skydance of the Tender Sprites, and – ”


Val suddenly appeared at my elbow, and we all jumped.


“Don’t do that!” I hissed. “What’s the word?”


“I don’t see any damage to the village, and there are a few of the tribesfolk about, so they must be safe. Are you sure it’s okay?”


I rolled my eyes. “What, bringin’ a buncha monsters into my tavern? What do you think?? Of course it’s not okay!”


Val’s face fell. “But then, why – ?”


“They just need to get out of Goooose territory, right?” I interrupted. “They can stay in the Vineyard until we get a better idea of what they’re like.”


Val considered, then nodded. “Very well, that should suffice.”


“Damn right. They’d better be as good at hiding as you say.”


“They are. You never found them, after all!” Val giggled. “Though not as good as me!”


“You realize this is ridiculous, right? Expecting just you to try and somehow integrate all these new races into the world and not have it all go pear shaped?”


Val’s smile grew forced, and her eyes narrowed. “Trust me, I know. But It’s Yearn, after all. I’m not sure she’s even capable of seeing the big picture. I’m just doing what I can. It’s what I’ve always done.”


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As Val disappeared into the bushes again, I patted Kirk on the shoulder. “I’m glad you managed to get your old life back. But, I’ll need you to make a decision. Will you stay with them? Or with us? I can’t have your loyalties split.”


Kirk considered for a minute, then grinned and gave me a salute. “I’m on your boat now, Captain. I’ll let Val know that we’re splitting ways. Now that you’ve met there’s not really a reason for me to travel with them anyways.”


I gave a jaunty salute back. “Glad to have you back, sailor.”


We walked for a while longer until we heard the sound of a river. The team was on edge – the Goooose liked water – and we crept forward with extra care.


When we broke into the clearing we were treated to the view of a large flat embankment beside a roaring river, which coursed through enormous stones in choppy white rapids. It looked just like any other iceberg - dug riverbed.


With three small differences.


First, and most noticeable, was the enormous den built beside the river. At a glance, and from a distance, it looked like a pile of dead trees and leaves. It took me a moment to recognize what it was, since it wasn’t actually in the water, but once I knew what I was looking at it the parallels were obvious.


The second was all the syrup equipment attached to the maple trees at the edge of the glade.


And third were the dozens upon dozens of thigh-high beavers waddling about. They were each the same light tan colour of the beavers I knew from earth, with wide dark-brown tails and a mix of different hair styles on top of their heads. They scurried to and fro on their hind legs, packing up equipment and moving boxes around. I noticed a few smaller ones standing off to the side engaged in what looked like play – children?


And they were all wearing vests. Little green vests with embroidered patterns that somehow blended in with the surrounding forest.


My syrup equipment!” I shouted in indignation.


“What’s that?” Balin asked in surprise, pointing at the den.


“They’re so cute!!!” Aqua squealed.


“Allow me to introduce you – to the beaven.” Val proclaimed proudly, reappearing out of nowhere.


The beaven all jumped and spun to look at us, their beady black eyes sparkling. A few pulled wooden spears out of somewhere. One of the largest and burliest, who wore an eyepatch and was missing a few chunks of fur – which gave him a somewhat mangy look – waddled forward. The others shrank back, and a few beaven with flowers knotted into their hair rushed the children into the den.


The scarred beaven walked up to Val and gave a perfunctory bow. He turned to regard us with a baleful eye, and his gaze stopped on me. He was roughly the height of my chest up close, though his squat head made him look shorter.


He chittered, and like always, my Abilities translated his language into something understandable. In this case, he had exactly the accent of a rough and ready Qeubecois lumberjack, his r’s rolled and pronounced, and missing his h’s.


Because of course he did.


“Welcome to ourr den, tallfolk. I am Deathbring-arr, bring-arr of death. The one known as Val ‘ad told us of yourr com-ing. I welcome you to ent’ar ourr den that we may talk.”



We soon found ourselves in a small dank space within the massive wooden structure. My dwarven sensibilities were absolutely appalled by the choice of construction materials, which were primarily mud, leaves, and wood, while my inner craftsman applauded their fine workdwarfship. For literal mud slapped onto wood, the outside masqueraded as a refuse heap quite well, while the insides were seamless and smooth, looking almost like the inside of a cob house.


I was distracted as a tiny Moo-Deng-esque hippo ran under my chair to escape from some searching children. It yawned mightily, showing off its big teeth, and I gave its head a pat. Seriously, this place was like something straight out of a Cordell Barker film. House-hippos, and beaverfolk, and moose-geese, oh my!


A female beaven sitting next to me –


a beavess? ugh, no, I’d start calling the males buttheads – smiled broadly up at me with a pair of buck-teeth. Now that I was closer and interacting with them, I was slowly starting to spot all the small differences between the beaven and a regular beaver.


A regular beaver was quite low-slung and hunchbacked and walked on four feet. The beaven were still hunchbacked, but stood more upright, with a straight lower back and short wolf-like digitigrade legs.


Their tails were a little longer than a usual beaver’s, and nearly prehensile, allowing them to use it as a third hand, or to lift themselves up to reach tall places. As they walked in the woods, they dragged their tails behind them, wiping out their tracks. ‘Deathbringer’ had sculpted his tail into a chair and was sitting on it.


According to Aqua, who had recently gained some new Hypnotist related Abilities, they all had an intelligence of around 7. That wasn’t dumb by any means, putting the average beaven at about the intelligence of a middle-schooler. Some, like our host, were closer to the average un-Titled dwarven intelligence of 10-12.


And speaking of which, a few of the beaven were actually Titled. They had one [Alchemist], one [Knight], and one [Druid] in the tribe.


According to Deathbringer – the village [Knight] – there were a total of four tribes along the ‘Roilingcold river’, for a total of just over eight hundred known beaven in Cascadia.


And they were being wiped out by the Goooose, who had moved into their territory.


Deathbringer coughed, calling my attention back to him. “And you promise that you will allow us to stay safely within the Vineyarrd? Unmolested by the fearsome fighters that we sometimes see destroying the Falsepots and Whitepoofs?


It took me a second. “You mean keggers and timbits?” I asked. “I think, based on what I see, that it should be fine. Just… you have to promise not to steal any more of my equipment.”


Deathbringer had the good grace to look shamefaced. “That was the before. Before we knew what we were and what the world was. Your things, they looked so interesting, the shining of the metal, the curves, the crafbeavership!”


Deathbringer waved a paw, and a few beaven children entered the den. They were extra fluffy, and I had to resist petting them, restraining myself by patting the house hippo under my chair. It nibbled on my fingers.


The children presented each of us with bowls filled with a thick brown stew. The scent of fish and maple wafted from it, and we all took deep sniffs of appreciation.


“This is a food that my people made,” Deathbringer announced. “I ‘ope that you will eat it and think kindly on ourr request.”


Everyone’s eyes flicked to me, and my lips drew up in a quirk as I activated [Sense Poison]. I didn’t have [Check Quality], though my [Arcane Crafter’s Eyes] at least told me the food was well made.


*Bing!*


Ability Used: [Sense Poison]


Not Poisoned


I wordlessly ladled a spoonful of stew into my mouth, and everyone else did the same a moment later. My eyes widened with recognition, and I scarfed the rest down.


“It’s salmon!” I gasped. The stew was thick and salty, with an erdroot-like tuber to add to the body, and what looked like carrots. The meat was indeed salmon, just like I remembered it, sweet, flaky, and tender. It tasted like herbs going down, and a strong aftertaste of maple was left after I swallowed. It was sweet, tasty, and absolutely perfect. “It’s also delicious! Bran has to try this!”


Deathbringer nodded. “We used yourr techniques to make the treeblood into a sweet syrup, and it greatly improved the flavourr.”


He hesitated before adding, “and we will return what we have unfairly taken from you. I apologize for the past actions of our tribe.”


I considered his distraught eyes for a while, before saying, “I’ve already had the equipment replaced, so I don’t really need it. You can repay me with… salmon? Do you have more?”


He brightened up. “Yes. The redfish swim up the rriv’ar once a night, and we catch them for ourr food. You like them? So does the Great ‘ornbird. It’s one of the reasons that it is stalking our banks.”


Well, shit. I looked down at my bowl and back up at Deathbringer. Then over at Balin.


“Then maybe instead of just moving you into the Vineyards, we should do something about that?” I said, raising my eyebrows.


“Was that the royal We?” Flowerpott muttered sardonically.