Dungeon Life

Chapter Three-Hundred Sixteen

Parm

In the ratkin enclave, many of the displaced kobolds have come to settle. For some, it seemed the most quiet place to call home. Others thought it would be a good place to stay to try to be close to Aranya. To call her an inspiration would be an understatement, and though they’ve since learned she splits her time evenly among the enclaves, the initial assumption was that she would spend most of her time with the ratkin.

Parm considers himself mostly in the first group, hoping for some quiet peace to try to come to terms with everything. This morning, he lays in bed, still trying to do just that. It felt like one day, he was tending to a pale elf and dwarf after a training incident, and the next he was suddenly free. He still sometimes reaches for the ornamental bands and chains he no longer has, reaching for something to keep his hands busy as he thinks.

He hates that he misses them sometimes. Most kobolds who had the chains were true believers in the Maw, but Parm simply never saw the point in trying to resist. You do what you’re told the first time, or you do it the second time with a new bruise at best. Even his class was something he was told to take. He doesn’t know why he was told to be an Apothecary instead of a Healer or even Alchemist, he just knew asking was a good way to earn attention, and earning attention never goes well.

He doesn’t hate being an Apothecary, and he even understands the difference between his class and a lot of the other options. Healers are excellent for recovery in a battle, patching up wounds so the warriors can continue to fight. Alchemists serve a similar role, with the addition of buffing abilities. They need to plan ahead, but a proper plan and a few potions can turn the tide of a fight.

On the other hand, an Apothecary focuses on keeping the more ordinary people healthy, mixing salves and balms for more mundane aches and pains, and medicines for illnesses. Very few Healers can treat a disease, and though an Alchemist could probably brew a potion to do it, they tend to focus on much larger volume, enough that making a single potion simply isn’t worth their time.

When Thedeim’s forces attacked Silvervein, Parm didn’t know what to do. He was supposed to go to the medical ward, so he went, even as soldiers and clergy ran to their posts to try to stop the invaders. He tended his patients, and when the foreign soldiers entered, he thought he’d die. He thought his patients would die.

Instead, the elf with the gleaming shield on his back removed his chains. He must have had metal affinity, as he snapped the bands with a wave of his hand, gathered all the chains into a ball with a clenched fist, and let the scrap fall to the ground with a thud. Then he asked what Parm wanted to do.

“Do?” He still remembers the confusion he felt. He still feels it even today, whenever he needs to make a decision for all but the most basic things. The elf smiled at him and asked if he liked healing. Numbly, he had nodded, and the elf offered to take him to the field hospital where he could help.

When he saw the hospital, he thought he understood. A foreign dungeon was taking over, and he would be its thrall now instead. Following orders there felt natural, though not being berated for his pace seemed odd. Still, he wrapped wounds and produced painkillers as needed, trying not to think about the fates of the people being swarmed over with ants. Noticing things was also a good way to gain unwanted attention.

After it was all over, he patiently waited to be dismissed, or told where he could try to get some sleep. Instead, a ratkin noticed him and asked what he was doing.

“Waiting to be dismissed or told where to go,” he quietly answered, his gaze on the floor. A few seconds passed before the ratkin responded.

“How long have you been here?”

“Uh… all day?” he uncertainly answered. He really wasn’t sure how long it had been. He was hungry at that point, but he had long learned not to try to use that as an excuse. It would usually work well with members of the maw’s clergy, but most of the others would only begrudgingly let him eat, and then pile on as much work as possible to make up for lost time. It was easier to just sometimes go hungry.

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He had to suppress a flinch when the ratkin took his hand, but the voice only confused him more. No pity, nor malice… just maybe a bit of annoyance at someone else. “They didn’t make you take a break to eat something? Healers, I swear… well, let’s get you something to eat, then probably back home? I don’t know what all the kobolds are doing, but last I heard, they were grouping up at their enclave.”

“If I’m supposed to go there, I’ll just go. You don’t need to concern yourself with me,” he tried, only to be waved off.

“I dunno about supposed to, but that’s what I hear most of you guys are doing after being freed. Some just bolted, I guess they saw a chance at freedom and took it, without thinking ahead for things like food and water and protection.”

Parm had nodded along, taking a few moments to process exactly what he was hearing. “...freed?”

The ratkin stopped and gave him a confused look. “Yeah. Didn’t anyone explain it to you?”

He subconsciously reached for his wrist chains to fiddle with, finding their absence oddly jarring as he slowly shook his head. “They… an elf removed my chains a-and asked what I wanted to do. I-I was working in the medical ward… he suggested I come here, so I let him bring me.”

The ratkin nodded at that. “Ah, yeah, a lot of the Shield guys were pretty busy, and we didn’t have the enclave secured for a while. The hospital was probably the safest place for you, and you probably saved more than one life while there, too. Uh… you ok?”

Parm definitely was not, and sometimes, he’s still not sure. The following hours passed in a daze, with only sparse details sticking in his mind. The rolled pancakes were a little overdone, and the tastes unfamiliar, if pleasant. The cool wall of the cave tunnel as he curled up against it, trying to process everything. Someone carrying him though a place of impossible geometry… then the familiar enclave, with signs of a fierce battle.

He wanted to help the injured, but was quietly reassured and told to relax. He couldn’t relax, but being told to helped relieve him of the burden of needing to panic. Then he was brought to see Aranya.

The red kobold looked stunning in her white robe, and looked dangerous with that strange sword at her hip, even with her trying to look comforting. Her orange pendant stood out as well, seeming to radiate a gentle warmth and soothing power.

“Are you alright?”

He wanted to say yes. All his life, the only acceptable answer to that question was yes. Sometimes he could sidestep it by pointing out an injury, but even then came the implied answer that he could still do whatever they wanted him to do. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak that lie again. He struggled, tried to force it, but he just couldn’t.

“...no…” he whispered, and soon felt arms around him. Not to harm him, but to support him. He couldn’t open his eyes as the tears flowed, not that he could have seen through them anyway. He still doesn’t know how long she held him like that, and from what he’s heard, he’s not the only one to break down and need her support that day.

Ever since, he’s been trying to cope with everything, and he’s not the only one. In a way, it’s a comfort to know he’s not the only one feeling lost, not the only one who sometimes locks up when asked what he wants for breakfast or other simple decisions. He’s getting better, as are a lot of others, but he still feels fragile at times.

Like right now. He lays in his cot, feeling a building pressure. Not to get out of it, no. He’ll get out eventually. That choice isn’t the one weighing on him right now. He can feel a big decision looming behind him, or perhaps before him. Whichever direction it is, he can’t ignore it much longer.

He needs to talk to one of the scions. At the time, he may have pretended not to notice what the ants were doing to people. There was a lot of blood, and so many ants… he was certain he didn’t want to know. But after talking with some of the people who were operated on, the truth became clear. Now he wishes he had paid more attention. Whatever they were doing… he wants to learn. Seeing how the people recovered, it reminded him a lot of how his patients would recover with the help of his balms and salves, a slower healing that’s no less appreciated than the quicker offered by Healers and others.

He wants to learn. He doesn’t know if he would have become an Apothecary if he had been given the choice… and now he has the choice to become something more. He’s no fighter, but he can still make a difference in people’s lives without lifting a weapon. There may be a little bloodshed involved still, but he can handle a bit of blood on his hands if it saves a patient.

His resolve shudders as he sits up, the fear of upsetting his delicate stability trying to remove what could upend everything once again, but he refuses to let it falter this time. He needs this, even if it terrifies him. He gets up and gets dressed, preferring a simple robe to the pants and shirts the ratkin are embracing, and heads for Larx’ residence.

He doesn’t know how to get in contact with Queen, but he bets the ratkin elder does.