Beyn wondered if the Great One had any idea how strange such an action was to the people here. To see a feared Dungeon monster in the flesh, so close. For it not to harm them, but to speak to them? Provide them with food? With wood?
Unheard of.
It was unprecedented, it was unnatural. To Beyn, it was a sign of the Divine.
“A miracle has occurred here!” he roared. “The Great One is a miracle sent to grant us succour in our time of most dire need! The monsters rise, friends! They rise but they shall be defeated! Our guardians shall overcome them. They shall roll back the tides of darkness that sweep over the lands and we shall be saved!”
People cheered at his words, raising their hands toward the ant hill and bowing as Beyn built to a thunderous crescendo.
“Be glad, friends! Make a nest of gratitude in your heart and let the workers of your soul build a tunnel to praise! The Great One has shown care for you. Do not allow despair to overwhelm you. Ensure the directions of our saviour are met. Be vigilant and educate any newcomers as to the ways of the colony. We must seek to emulate our saviours in our unity of purpose! Only then will we be worthy of the blessings rained upon us. That is our Path!”
The people cheered, clasped their hands and bowed toward Beyn and to the ant hill. Some were overcome with emotion, unsurprising considering what they’d been through, and fell to their knees.
Beyn ceased his preaching and began to move amongst the people as they turned and resumed their tasks.
“Do you really need to preach so often, Beyn?” a weary voice asked from behind him. Enid.
The priest faced the de facto leader of the community. The elder of the village was looking careworn, her expression tired. However, in her eyes a small light dimly burned.
She worked tirelessly for these people, caring for them, struggling to meet their material needs, even as Beyn worked to provide nourishment to their souls.
“I only seek to instil a spirit of gratitude and cooperation in the people, Enid. You know that.”
She sighed. “Yes, I know that. I just wish you didn’t block the traffic when you did it.”
Enid eyed him a little warily. “We’ve had some new arrivals today, Beyn. I was hoping you could talk to them about the rules here. Make sure they don’t cross any boundaries. This group seems a little… different.”
Beyn’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “I’d love to!”
“Don’t preach at them, Beyn. Just talk to them.”
“Aww…”
111. The Rebel Child
Beyn found the new arrivals huddled under a tree near the edge of the village. Refugees, fleeing the continuing destruction of the kingdom to the north, arrived nearly every day. Sometimes in small groups of three or four, other times a collection of families, farmers usually, fleeing their holdings. Twice they received a more significant number, over fifty in each, moving together for safety.
There were almost two thousand people here now. Enid was run off her feet trying to keep everyone housed, clothed and fed, but she did good work. Her high Level in the merchant class made it so organising provisions and acquiring goods happened as she breathed.
Beyn smiled thinking of it. It felt as if everyone was falling into place as they were needed, at just the time their absence was most felt. Builders and carpenters arrived two days ago and employed their skills and Levels in the construction of more permanent housing. When they ran out of materials, the very next day a blacksmith arrived, his equipment stacked on a cart pulled by an exhausted nag and watched by his young apprentice.
The priest had gathered the people and given praise for an hour, shouting and raising such a racket that the blacksmith might have turned his cart around and taken off if Enid hadn’t appeared and clapped a hand over Beyn’s mouth.
He shook his head at the memory as he approached the dusty group of travellers. He got carried away sometimes, he knew it. The passion, the faith that blazed inside of him was so powerful he struggled to contain it. The Great One, a divine miracle, had appeared to lead the people in their time of trial.
How was he supposed to NOT talk about it!
Even now, the blacksmith was running out of materials he could melt down and turn into nails. Many a wagon axle had been sacrificed to erect housing. No sooner did the need arrive than members of the community stepped forward and began prospecting in the nearby woods. Beyn had every faith they would find ore nearby. He felt it in his bones. Provision would come.
“Welcome, travellers, to our humble sanctuary,” he greeted them warmly. “Please be at ease, you are safe here and among friends.”
Before him sat five travel-worn individuals. Enid told him there was something odd about this group, and on first inspection, Beyn had to agree.
It wasn’t the way they half sat, half squatted in the shade of the tree, resting, yet alert. It also wasn’t that they wore leather armour and had blades on their hips. It was their eyes, hard, cold, and perhaps a little angry. They were mad about something.
Beyn wasn’t fazed though. It would take a lot more than a hard stare to wipe the calm smile off his face.
After a moment, four of the strangers turned to eye one of their number. The thickset woman nodded shortly and stood. Beyn turned his peaceful expression to this person, apparently the leader of this group, and took in her features.
She looked strong. Not only that, but powerful. Her shoulders were broad, her arms thick and her jaw could possibly cut bread. A strong, calloused hand rose and rested on the hilt of her blade as she extended the other toward the priest in greeting.
“I am Morrelia. My group has been fighting monsters in this area for several months. We saw smoke from a few kilometres west of here and came to investigate.” She gestured to the bustling people in the village with one hand. “I didn’t expect to see… this? What has happened to the north?”
The smile finally slipped a little on Beyn’s face. They hadn’t heard of the trouble, of the kingdom in ashes, trampled into the dirt under the feet of Dungeon monsters.
Taking a deep breath, he told them. Their faces went pale and their eyes wide with shock as he described to them the horror that had occurred.
“We are all refugees here, Ms Morrelia. I led the people of my village here and in the weeks that have followed more have arrived with the same tale. It is a difficult time.”
Morrelia scrubbed one hand across her forehead, still struggling to process his words.
“Monsters on the surface? Are they attacking out of the Dungeon? It makes no sense! My father… What of the Legion? They surely wouldn’t allow such a thing to take place! What has happened to them?”
Beyn could only shake his head. “I have no idea, Ms Morrelia. I am only a humble preacher who has followed in the steps of our saviours, led by the Great One. Here we have found a place of security, for the time being.”
Confused, the young lady—who Beyn had realised is quite young—turned back to her people and they shrugged.
“Saviour? Great One? Is there some leader here? A Lord or Lady with a strong class?” she asks, turning back to the priest.
His smile returned at full beam, blasting the guests directly in their eye-holes. There was nothing he would like to talk about more.
“Yes! The Great One and our saviours! From the Dungeon itself, they rose amongst us and did not do us harm! Instead, they protected us, saved the city of Liria before its subsequent fall and then led us here to safety. We would be dead without them, and so we give thanks!” he shouted fervently.