One Moo'r Plow

The day had finally come.

No longer was it feasible to simply leave the monster-plants where their seeds had been sown, instructions given to steer clear. A new enclosure had been prepared, one separated from the fields entirely. As the sun broke through heavy clouds above, I squinted into the glare, shivered a little in the morning’s cool air and prepared for a long, arduous day.

Ishila sulked despite my best efforts to cheer her spirit and keep things lively. This mood had clung to her since Le’rish’s departure, and I feared only one event would lift it.

I watched her now as she barked orders to the workers, irritable and on edge. Her eyes twitched and temper flared as someone turned from a conversation and asked for his orders to be repeated. Seconds away from a verbal thrashing, the lad was saved by his more attentive friend who assured the orc he had heard everything.

“Emotion, the great swayer of hearts.” I spoke to no one in particular.

“A little grandiose, but I agree.” Zheli spoke from behind me. Arms filled with cooking supplies and still enough energy for some snark. Twas good to have people like that around, to keep my own ego in check.

“Mmmm. She’ll survive.”

While it was not my intention to sound callous, I spoke the truth. Ishila and Le’rish would be reunited, and in the meantime, my workers would have to suffer her temper.

“You speak from experience?”

“Sadly, I do not.” the wistful sigh slipped from me before I could stop it. “I’ve not had the time or inclination for the affairs of the heart.”

“Shame. Perhaps you’ll find someone, one day.” Came the fading voice as the cook continued on. Far be it from em to hold her up and make small talk, laden as she was.

“Maybe. I echoed the sentiment. But that was enough pining for the day.

Moos sound from the pasture as once more, the taur-cows made Tash’s day miserable. Same as they had ever since the wall had been completed. It was a testament to the Beastmaster’s skill that they were contained at all. But that was not my problem today. Gold and other expandable resources ensured that any problems with the livestock were relegated to the satyr’s responsibilities. I paid him for a reason, after all.

Gol scratched at the gate, demanding to be let out. Orders had been given to let the big lug come and go as he pleased, and the guards that manned the walls needed something to do anyhow. Usually one to stay at my side, Gol had been prowling the forests instead these past few days.

Another reflection of the unease that had settled over my farm as everyone awaited the storm to come.

Only one thing could keep everyone’s minds off that, and it was good hard work, I had decided.

And now, we attended to that.

Thick, heavy clothes provided not only warmth from the sudden cold, but some protection against the smaller danger offered by the monster-plants. Masks clamped tightly over faces, I and several other approached the nests of biter-pods. Bags of spores were emptied with unequaled generosity, ample time given for them to lull the ravenous predator vines to sleep.

Willem was a fairly young, mostly inexperienced mage who had travelled here from Hullbretch just for this job. His scent betrayed the nervousness that the mask upon his face attempted to hide as we stepped back and gestured for him to begin.

The first and only person to answer my poster that requested help of the arcane variety. He was, quite bluntly, fresh and green behind the ears. Clothes too fine to be working in the dust and mud, not enough water or food packed along.

Yet I did not require him to be some experienced savant or rough and ready explorer of the wilds. I simply needed him to move some dirt.

Two large lads to either side of a large iron barrel indicated they were ready as he stepped forward. Slowly, excruciating, he set about to work his craft, Dirt and small bones rose from next to a single engorged biter-vine as the plant and the dirt that surrounded it was hauled from the dirt. Invisible force levitated it upward, loose dirt tumbling from the side.

Human on one side and beastkin on the other, the barrel was hauled forward, underneath the floating biter-vine and the dirt that encased its roots. I found myself unhappy with how quickly it was dropped, the impact shaking loose some spores.

“Slower.” I rumbled. “More carefully. I’m paying you well enough to keep my workers safe.”

The human muttered awkwardly, head nodding furiously. I was paying him very well, truth be told. Both for the work and his silence. The duo carrying the barrel dipped under its weight with every step as they hauled it across the farm and up the hill towards my lodge. The barrel barely contained the single biter-vine, most of its mass overflowing the top.

I followed, bag of spores in hand in case it so much as twitched. There were absolutely no chances being taken today.

Several bumps in the path prompted me to layer on more spores, and while tedious, progress was steady. Willem trailed behind me, somewhat awkward with the glacial pace. Up the hill we went, around the lodge to the fenced garden behind my home.

Several other workers worked here, holes being dug and dirt piled next to each one. Our little group reached the furthest section, and the second part began. Barrel carefully placed, the men stepped away and I gestured WIllem forward. More dirt crumbled as the mage strained, all his might focused on levitating the plant back out of the barrel. The bottom of its roots dragged over the barrel’s lid as it was whisked across the distance and deposited firmly into a hole dug for it.

Dirt dragged itself into place, firmly packing down the earth that set the biter-vine in place.

Stolen story; please report.

A single one had been transplanted. There was an entire patch of them to follow.

A slow, tedious task made somewhat bearable by the satisfaction that came with progress. One by one, the hungry vines were plucked from the ground, carried across the field and deposited into their new homes.

I soon found that the amount of spores needed to make this go smoothly had been vastly underestimated. They did not last overly long, and needed generous application given the plant’s sizes. That, and I suspected they had begun to develop a resistance to the spores. Simply another reason that this must be accomplished now.

Perhaps it would have been faster to set up multiple carriers, but I put safety over speed. I needed Willem for both ends of the task. Try as I might, I could not come up with a safe solution to transplant them from the barrels into the earth by hand. It was simply too risky to handle the carnivorous vines by hand.

A fear that was validated as one of the barrel-carrier’s tripped forward and spilled his load’s contents across the hillside. Polled shaken loose and shocked awake by the impact, the plant snapped its pods at the man as he scrambled away. It caught something and drew blood before I could react.

The entire bag of pollen being thrown onto the feasting vines saved the man’s leg as he hollered in pain. I seized the pod latched onto his leg and crushed its back, forcing the mouth open to detach its hold.

His beastkin friend dragged the human away as I bellowed for healing milk and anothe rbag of spores, then grabbed the barrel myself.

“Come.” I growled at Willem. The human shuffled forward from where he had backed away, heavily smelling of fear and sweat. I didn’t blame him. With much larger, quicker strides, I carried the barrel myself. Speed I needed before the plant shook off the spores once more.

It too was transplanted, and the task continued.

Andel, the injured human, I told to sit and rest for the day. Even with the healing milk’s rapid effect, being wounded like that could and would unnerve a man, make him more prone to mistakes. I had others to fill his spot.

We had not even finished the biter-vines by the time lunch was called. I found myself without hunger, and motioned the others to go eat and rest for a while. Instead, I turned to other plants. The acid-pitchers looked to be particularly vexing the transport. At least until their fluid was drained entirely and the plant itself scooped up in a hurry.

Still, this was far from simple. I discovered this halfway across the field as the plant began to wither in front of me.

Pace picked up to a near run, I made it up the hill, slid the pitcher into its hole and stared in concern as it grew pale. Only once I had run back down the hill, grabbed the pail full of acid-fluid, and poured it back into the plant did color return.

I had not known that in all the time we had harvested from it.

Was the syrup its actual life-blood?

I was not the only one who had forgone a meal, I found once I returned back to the fields.

Tash lounged around the cow pens, obviously happier to have the animals as company, rather than other people. I found myself staring across the distance at him, my brows furrowed. Something bothered me, yet I could not place my proverbial finger upon the problem.

The satyr sat up from the pile of hay he lounged in and caught me staring. Yet instead of feeling guilty about it, my brows only tightened further.

I was right at the edge of discovery when I felt a tap on my arm. I blinked and the thought was gone, replaced by the round, nervous face of Willem.

“While I don’t rightly mind making coin on free time, you are paying me to do something, and I’d quite like to have it done so I can start the journey home at a reasonable hour.”

This made me nod in agreement, whatever had just bothered me wholly gone from my mind. Nothing like the promise of progress to alleviate a man’s worries.

The biter-vines proved to be the bulk of the work, other plants coming in smaller, far more reasonable packages.

More men were required to carry the acid pitchers, but without the risk of losing limbs, I could afford more crews to carry them at once. They too were soon uprooted and placed into their new homes. The mimicfruit I personally carried over and tucked into the corner of the private garden next to my house. Here, only the cleric-shine plants grew, heavily warded to keep out anyone but myself.

It was almost in spite of my best efforts that more accidents seemed to occur.

Both men who carried the wither-tree grew pallid and sick shortly after moving it over, collapsing on their way back down the hill. No wounds were visible, but the remained with a feeble temperament even after treatment via healing milk.

This only reinforced my conviction that the transplanting needed to be finished today.

Finally, only one was left.

“This here is a large reason of why I hired you.” I spoke and indicated a large, fenced off area to Willem. Posts were driven through the ground, methodically spaced and the gaps filled with rock. A wooden cage with seemingly nothing in it.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Yet. I need you to lift this entire section of ground. Can you do it?”

I looked him dead in the eyes and continued.

“Do not assure me that you can if you lack the power for it. I need to be sure.”

The mage swallowed hard and shook his head.

“Not all of it. Pieces, maybe.”

Good enough.

“Then we shall start with that. I need you to remove this entire patch, piece by piece until we find what I seek.”

Somewhere under all that dirt, caged in by itself, lurked the Roaming Maw. It sat just under the surface, only coming up to snap prey and drag under whatever stepped into its territory.

Men with heavy protection and bags of spores stood around the caged area, bags of spores in hand. Ready to throw at any sight of the giant maw.

“No need to be gentle here. Take out half a barrel at a time and move it elsewhere. Start with the edges.”

And this he did. Dirt was all but hurled skyward as the mage scooped it free, burrowing for any sign of the Maw. We found teeth first as they writhed and withdrew, long green fangs that grew from the plant itself. Instead of seizing the dirt around the plant, I ordered him to excavate it entirely, leaving nothing but the monstrous mass in the pit once it was finished.

Heavy doses of spores covered the maw, and it too fell still.

I stood next to the pit, curious. This was one I had never properly seen, given how it lived below-ground and only emerged to feed. It was easily the largest of all my plants, very well fed and unharvested. A single giant mouth that seemed surprisingly fluid, able to emerge from the dirt and snap upwards to engulf it’s meal.

The bottom half was a singular gigantic bulb with roots snaking it from every available surface. Long, thin tendrils that extended into the dirt crated around it now that dirt no longer covered it.

Moving this thing would be a colossal task in it’s own right.

Which was why I had hired someone to do it for me. With that, I turned to Willem, smile on my face.

“Well, there’s only a single one left and then you may begin your journey home. Ready?”

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