Cat Core 3, Chapter 14 +15.

Chapter 14 is another short one, so I'm including 15 with it today. 

Chapter 14.

With a jolt, the mage Falgorne appeared at his destination. His teleport had been difficult, as had most things since his injury. There would be repercussions back at the guild since this wasn’t his task, it was personal, and personal vendettas were forbidden as an adventurer’s guild enforcer. He was supposed to be an impartial and fair judge of a dungeon’s viability. They were important resources but were also extremely dangerous given their ability to summon various horrors and spew them forth upon the land.

He found himself in front of a simple hole in the ground, it no longer contained what he was looking for, but he could still feel traces of it, his target had been here, he was certain. Falgorne’s confidence wasn’t some intuition garnered over years of experience, the results of a tracking spell, or a vision from the divine powers that guided this world, instead, his confidence was placed in the very thing that was going to kill him. Falgorne didn’t want to die, and not in this manner, with a shard of a core embedded in his chest. That lich, and the thrice-cursed dungeon core that spawned it were at fault. At first, he hadn’t even known it was there, lurking near his heart and waiting to strike.

He had various small injuries from the fight with the rogue core and its lich, and a guild healer had taken care of them. Normally, a foreign object would be ejected from a wound when healing magic was applied, but somehow, this shard had resisted the spell, lying dormant and unnoticed until recently. When it activated, Falgorne felt more than the pain, he felt a pull. He could sense the core, and it was moving, something a core shouldn’t be able to do.

Initially, he approached one of the healers, asking for her help, but when he explained the situation, she felt the need to warn his superiors. They called him compromised and wanted to forcibly remove the shard. Compromised! He oversaw a guild kill team, one that had eliminated threats that would cause a normal man to quail in fear. The guild’s efforts were as useless as they were, every attempt to remove the shard, whether physical, arcane, or divine, failed, and it was deemed that further efforts would likely result in his death. Falgorne had other contacts, ones that dealt in darker powers and it was through one of them that he learned the truth. The core that had spawned the shard inside his chest lived again, and should he destroy it, Falgorne would not only be rid of the shard but would also siphon a portion of its power.

Waving away the idle thoughts, he proceeded into the cave. It wasn’t much of a cave, just a hole in the ground, but once he proceeded deeper, he found what he sought. There, inside the cavern were what looked like the remains of a home that one would normally expect to exist in a quaint village somewhere, not in a hole in the ground. The place was decaying at a rapid pace, the dungeon core had left, and without its power, the dungeon it created could not last long. It was the same place, that horrible mockery of a home that the core resided in, the monster that called herself Florence Valentine. She was close, he could sense her nearby, and it shouldn’t be too hard to catch up, after all, he had powerful magic at his beck and call. A flash of light interrupted Falgorne’s investigation, a teleportation spell completing. Standing there, on the dying grass of the dungeon lawn, was a team of five guild enforcers.

“Hold, Falgorne, the guild forbade you to take action until they could research whether that shard in your chest is a danger to others,” Manfred, the leader of the team said. Falgorne never liked the man, he was inflexible and unwilling to listen to his betters.

“I can deal with this core; its destruction will free me from my malady. Leave me to the task, Manfred, and I will be back shortly. The guild can fine or punish me however it wishes, but I cannot be stopped in this, my life is on the line,” Falgorne argued.

“We can help, the mages and healers will find a way, you’re not in your right mind and may be a danger to others and yourself,” Manfred said.

“How dare you! I am an honored member of the guild, one that has proven his worth time and again. There is no way I’ll allow you to cast aspersions as to my intent and my character, or to imply that this shard has somehow corrupted me,” Falgorne shouted, his mind becoming fuzzy as rage filled him. A voice in his head, once faint, but now demanding, ordered him to destroy those who stood in his way.

“I can detect it, he is being influenced by something, Falgorne is not in his right mind,” one of the guild enforcers said, Manfred couldn’t remember his name, but he was a divine caster, a healer of some sort.

“Very well, stop him, we’ll take him back to the guild and see what the leadership wants to do with him,” Manfred said, false concern plastered on his face. Falgorne would not be imprisoned by his inferiors, he would show this lot what true power looked like. Starting to cast a series of defensive spells, Falgorne was stopped as a sharp pain dug into his back. It wasn’t the pain of the shard, it was pain from a pair of blades digging into him, leeching a toxin into his unprepared body. Paralysis set in, locking up Falgorne’s muscles and causing him to collapse on the ground.

“Don’t worry, Falgorne, the toxin is temporary, and we’ll heal the stab wounds once we’re back home. You’ll be taken care of and set to rights one more,” Manfred said, teleporting them all back to the guildhall. This would not stop him, Falgorne vowed, the delay would be temporary, and he’d be freed of this cursed shard. There were ways to get at this beast called Florence Valentine. There were ways that didn’t require his freedom to implement, and Manfred knew just the people to do what he needed.

Chapter 15.

“Florence, have you checked our progress after returning to hybrid form?” Doug asked as they marched along. She quickly checked, not wanting Doug to know it had slipped her mind. Well, it hadn’t slipped her mind, she just had other, more important things to worry about.

Florence Valentine, Hybrid Entity.

Core Gem/Catomancer (Domestic Housecat Subtype), Level 2. 2455/3000.

Health: 100%.

Mana: 200/200.

“Of course I checked, Doug, here, take a look,” Florence said, pushing the information over to her companion.

“Very good, it appears that the time spent as a core gave us a nice boost to experience. Sure, the wolf pack was a threat, but it wouldn’t have generated that much experience on its own, so we can postulate that the longer you spend as your home, the more experience you will gain,” Doug said.

“It’s good to make progress, but we can’t get trapped in our home for too long, the clock is ticking away,” Florence said.

“True, but at least the time you spend as a core will be more productive than we previously thought,” Doug said. He was right, it had brought them to within spitting distance of the next level.

“We should be getting close to the dungeon, I think I see signs of civilization ahead,” Fizz said. The gnome was right, they had been moving overland for the last day, taking rough trails to cut off some time on their journey. A road was easier to traverse, but when you didn’t get tuckered out as quickly as normal folks did, you could splurge on taking the direct path instead of some winding road.

“Yes, there’s the road ahead,” Doug said. Through the scrub and patches of icy snow that had gathered as they climbed higher, the outlines of a well-kept road were seen. The road led further up into the foothills and would eventually terminate at the base of the mountain where the dungeon they were looking for was located. An hour later they found themselves on the road, its path proving to be the most direct one now that they were near to their destination.

“Well, it’s not a gnomish enclave, but it’s fine as far as a human town goes,” Fizz said as they crested a small rise and got the first glimpse of the dungeon town that had grown up around this area. This wasn’t like the few shacks and a store that had been built outside her old home, this place was a bustling town, one that looked like it was doing just fine.

“Take it easy, we’ll find a place to rest and get the lay of the land. I don’t want to find out this place is run by another bunch of bloodthirsty hillbillies,” Florence said.

“I doubt we’ll have trouble here; this dungeon is more popular than the last, and the guild will have a stronger presence to keep things organized,” Doug said.

“That’s kind of what I’m scared of, we can’t exactly claim to be a regular adventuring party, and we’re not registered with the guild. What if they can somehow detect what I am?” Florence asked, her worry growing as she thought more about it.

“We can ask around, find out the word on the street, perhaps an inn somewhere that we can use for our home base,” George suggested. He was fitting right in, and the confusion over his new existence was starting to shake off, making Florence wonder who George had been before he had become a core.

“Very well, let’s find someplace clean that don’t have no bugs and stuff,” Florence said as they approached the town. She was glad her sniffer didn’t work like it had when she was a human, this town probably didn’t smell all that good, it’s not like they had modern conveniences like bathrooms with hot showers. Probably didn’t have deodorant or toothbrushes either, it was just plain gross.

“Halt, state your business,” A bored-looking guard called out as they drew close to the outlying buildings of the town. There were five of them, decked out in chainmail with spears and shields. A well-worn tabard with the town colors, a dark blue field with a snow-capped mountain, was thrown over their armor. The town didn’t have a wall, but the guards told Florence that they at least had some law and order around here, which should keep down the number of hooligans and ne’er-do-wells.

“We’re here for the dungeon, that’s our business young man,” Florence said.

“You opening a shop or something?” Another of the guards asked, scrutinizing their curious party a bit more closely than Florence didn’t care for.

“We’re planning on adventuring. What, do you think because I’m elderly that I can’t do anything a younger person could do?” Florence asked, not happy at the annoying snort of disbelief the guard gave at her answer.

“Yeah, that seems likely, just log your visit, pay the gate tax and move along, a silver each, and another for your animal companion. I assume one of you is bonded to this animal, I’ll need to know who so we can note who’s responsible if it gets out of hand and tries to eat anyone,” one of the guards ordered, pulling out a ledger.

“Why would I be inclined to eat anyone?” Doug asked, incredulously.

“Keep that thing under control, or we will,” the guard said, dropping the ledger and grabbing his spear, the others following suit. It took Florence a moment to figure out what the fuss was all about, then she remembered that while she and the others in her party could hear Doug speak, other folks just heard a tiger growling.

“Oh, hold on, Doug is just saying hello, he’s my companion, and I’ll take responsibility for him,” Florence said, not wanting to draw any more attention to them than they already had. To his credit, Doug realized what he had done, and sat down nice and calm like, looking like a cute and cuddly kitty, not like a bloodthirsty tiger about to go on a murder spree.

“Hey, she’s probably a druid, they can still cast spells and summon beasts no matter their age. Ma’am, sign here and pay the tax,” one of the guards said, lowering his spear as Doug appeared docile once more. Thinking quickly, Florence used a new name, just in case, calling herself Ruthie Hamilton. She never did know anyone named that for real, which was all well and good, since it’s hard to use a name from someone you knew in real life. Every time you’d say it, you’d think about that person and everything they did that annoyed you.

Taking the cue from Florence, George wrote down George Hamilton, telling the guard he was her nephew. Doug didn’t sign, and they didn’t expect him to, but Fizz took great delight in signing his whole name, Fitzfizzle Zizzlefitz Jones, with a flourish and surprisingly good penmanship. It was fine, nobody knew who he was, so he didn’t need an alias.

With her purse now four silver lighter, Florence and the others entered the first actual town that she had visited in this world. She was surprised to find the place wasn’t all that bad, it seemed clean enough, though it did look like some of the structures were just a temporary and slapdash construction. The place was growing, due to it being a dungeon town, so the closer they got to the dungeon, the more well-built and permanent the buildings looked. Older, makeshift buildings must have been slowly replaced over time, and the ones closest to the dungeon were the oldest and therefore, more likely to become permanent structures.

The design of the buildings was nice as well, the style reminded her of something she would have seen on one of them programs showing the best places to visit in Europe, like the old parts of town that had some history to them. Florence didn’t care for them shows too much, but sometimes they were playing them before another show of hers was about to go on. They wandered a bit until George pointed out a likely-looking inn. The place was called the Thundering Ingot, and it had a sign showing a metal bar with lighting shooting out of it. Not the most imaginative name, but the place was decently sized and looked pretty clean.

“Welcome to the Ingot, woah, hold on there, we have a strict animal companion policy. The cat can stay in the stable,” A big chubby fellow behind the bar bellowed out.

“Hey, Doug won’t cause no problems, he’s housebroken too, so he won’t leave a mess or shred up your curtains and whatnot. How about I pay a, what do you call it? Oh yeah, a pet deposit. Doug stays with me and if he causes any trouble or makes a mess, you can take any damages out of the twenty gold I’m offering,” Florence argued.

“Haven’t thought of that before, a pet deposit sounds like it could work, but a big cat like that can do some damage, and if he injures a patron, I’d be out a lot more than twenty gold. I’ll let him stay with you for fifty, not a copper less, and you need to keep him on a short leash at all times,” the barman countered.

“We don’t even know how long we're staying, but I could do thirty, and you can take our room and board from the deposit while we’re here. Remember, I’m keeping track and I expect you to give back what we haven’t used. I won’t put up with no shenanigans, I tell you,” Florence said.

“I think we have a deal, you drive a hard bargain, miss…” the barman said, pausing for Florence to give her name. She almost slipped and gave the real one.

“I’m Beatrice Hamilton, and this here is my nephew, George, oh, and this is Fizz, another member of our party. You’ve already met Doug, and don’t worry, he’s a good boy, yes he is,” Florence said, giving Doug a good scratch behind the ear to keep him from mouthing off.

“Welcome Beatrice, I’m Roger Zeke, the proprietor of this fine establishment. I can get you rooms for a fair rate, and there’s always something hot and hearty on the stove if you’re hungry,” Roger offered.

“Thank you, young man, we’ll take two rooms and while I think Fizz is a bit hungry and thirsty, George and I have already eaten,” Florence said, counting out the deposit and handing it over to Roger. It hurt to see that much coin leaving her purse, but she should be getting most of it back., at least she would if this innkeeper was as honest as she had pegged him to be. Of course, there was always the chance that they might be run out of town for no reason, forcing her to leave the deposit behind.

It was just past midday, so the tavern wasn’t packed like it probably was in the evenings. A few locals were drinking and talking, ignoring Florence’s group after the initial excitement of their entrance. Being a dungeon town, they were probably used to strange groups moving about.  The common room was large, with tables taking up most of the space, but there was also a small stage in the corner. A long, and well-stocked bar took up most of one wall, with a doorway leading to what Florence assumed was the kitchen behind it. Stairs led up to the guest rooms, and Roger dropped off the keys when he returned with Fizz’s meal.

“What is this vision of loveliness that stands before me?” Someone said, drawing Florence’s attention away from watching Fizz’s horrible table manners. For a guy that was dexterous enough to work on little gears and stuff with his inventions, he sure lost something when he traded in tools for a spoon. She was just glad she was sitting far enough away from Fizz, outside the splash zone of his bowl of stew. Doug wasn’t so lucky, and Florence could pick out several drops of the thick stew’s broth speckling Doug’s white fur.

“Huh?” Florence replied, looking up to see an older man in some kind of fancy pants outfit, giving a stage bow and doffing his oversized hat.

“Might I have your name, my dear?” The man asked.

“Why? Who are you, and what do you want?” Florence asked, wondering what this guy’s angle was.

“Perhaps you’ve heard of me, I am found on stage and street, offering entertainment to the masses whether it be in the form of a song, spoken verse, or dramatic reenactment, whichever the muse bestows upon me at the time. As for a name, I am Patricio Leon, at your service,” the man said. Florence wasn’t sure what to make of the man, or why he was bothering her.

“Nope, we’re new here so I haven’t heard of you. I’ll ask again, what do you want? Don’t give me no gobbledygook about singing and whatnot,” Florence said.

“What does any of us want, we want those perfect moments. We wish to capture the beauty of that moment and hold it dear in our memories forever. I merely wished to know your name, and should you wish me gone, I shall be, but at least allow me to part with a name to place next to your beauty,” Patricio said.

“You’re full of it, aren’t you? If it gets you to go away, I can tell you that my name is Beatrice Hamilton, and don’t think you’ll fool me none with that beauty nonsense. Go about your business and find some perfect moment somewhere else,” Florence replied.

“Your wish is my command, Beatrice; I shall hold your visage in my mind forevermore. Thank you for that, and should you ever require my assistance, Patricio Leon is eternally at your service,”

“Uh, Florence, does this mean that you have a boyfriend?” Doug said, trying to hold in a snicker. Tigers are big, cute kitties and all, but when they try to snicker, they look pretty dopey.

“Hush, it’s just some crazy guy that probably wanted us to give him money, look at him, he might be homeless,” Florence said. Patricio was walking over to talk to the innkeeper, glancing back at Florence and winking as he left. Some kind of wannabe ladies man as far as Florence was concerned, and she wasn’t falling for his schtick for one minute.

“He doesn’t look homeless, his clothes are nice enough and that mustache is impressive for a human,” Fizz said. This Patricio fella did have a quite elaborate mustache, one of them big ones with the ends all curled up and greased to a point, a handlebar they called them. Florence thought facial hair was the sign of a lazy person who wasn’t willing to take the time to shave each day, as everyone knows. The guy was older, with grey hair and a wrinkle or two, but not so ancient that he had any trouble moving around.

“Oh dear, is he about to perform?” Doug asked. It looked that way, the man had pulled one of them mandolin things from behind the bar and was tuning it as he walked to the stage.

“I think we might need to find a different inn to stay at,” Florence told the group as Patricio started his warmup vocals.