The plan was made. Henry moved into position. Kegan, meanwhile, shrugged off the unnecessary weight — his travel pack and water skin landing with a thud. His armor clanked as he jogged forward, stomping hard to make the ground tremble as he ran towards them.
The bait was set.
Moments later, the earth shuddered violently. The ground split open with a wet, tearing sound as two enormous green worms burst from below, each the length of a warhorse.
Earthworms basically have no sight; they mainly rely on sensing ground vibrations to determine the enemy's location.
Their glistening bodies shimmered with acid, their mouths ringed with jagged, interlocking mandibles that snapped hungrily. The stench that followed was overwhelming — a mix of rot, slime, and burning metal.
"Henry! They're right behind me!" Kegan roared, his voice echoing like a drum through the area.
Henry's focus snapped into razor-sharp clarity. He raised a hand, shouting the arcane word — "Grease!" — and the spell flared to life.
The Grease spell, prepared long ago, was cast.
It accurately bypassed the Dwarf running ahead, A faint shimmer appeared on the dirt path, forming a glistening field of slick, oily layer.
The worms let out a gurgling screech as their massive bodies slid forward uncontrollably. Both crashed into the dirt, thrashing violently, their movements clumsy and wild.
Henry wasted no time. He hefted his short spear, exhaled, and hurled it with all his strength. The weapon flew straight and true, embedding itself deep into one worm's lower jaw. The creature screamed, a sickening noise like metal grinding against stone. Green acid sprayed across the ground, sizzling where it touched.
The hit worm screamed and began to struggle desperately. Seeing the target hit, he immediately began to concentrate on casting, completing it a few seconds later
"Entangle!" Henry's voice rang out again, and the earth itself seemed to answer. The grass and roots around the clearing writhed and twisted, transforming into serpentine vines that lashed around the worms' slick bodies. In moments, the two monsters were bound tight, as the vines pulled the two worms to the ground. In the process of struggling, The first one, still impaled, collided with the ground, and the short spear instantly pierced its brain, killing it.
The second worm screeched in fury.
Kegan, who was originally protecting Henry's casting, saw only one left, "Back to the dirt with ye!" Kegan roared. He swung his axe overhead and hurled it with all the strength in his stout frame. The blade spun through the air, cleaving into the worm's abdomen with a sickening crunch. A burst of green ichor exploded outward, splattering the stones with steaming acid.
The two quickly dodged far away.
When the thrashing stopped, silence fell.
The spell's effect soon disappeared, and the worm that had been disemboweled also met its end. Kegan, with his short legs, slowly approached the corpses, shield in hand. He poked the two worms with his shield, and finding no movement, he relaxed. He picked up his axe, vigorously shook off the disgusting green slime, Kegan's chest heaved as he steadied himself. "By the stones below, they're dead," he muttered, cautiously approaching. He jabbed one with the edge of his shield. No response. He exhaled in relief. "Aye. That's two less nightmares lurkin' under the ground."
Henry wiped his brow, his pulse still racing. Louise fluttered above them, her faint glow illuminating the corpses. "Disgusting creatures," she said with a scrunched nose. "Even the Feywild has nothing so repulsive."
"Ha! You'd be surprised," Kegan grinned. "Deep dwarves say the Underdark's full of worse. Once saw a worm big enough to swallow a cart whole. This? This is just the babies."
He began to observe the worms. The front of the huge head was the mouth, and the outer mouthparts were like pincers. The dense serrations would surely make you feel like death was a release if you were caught. Most of the abdomen had no hard carapace; the hardest parts of the body were the head and the few back plates near it.
Henry pulled his spear free, the sound wet and unpleasant. He cleaned the blood off on his boot before crouching beside the corpses. "We'll take what we can use," he said. "Their chitin might fetch a fair price from an alchemist or armorer. The head plates are the hardest parts — maybe enough to make an acid-resistant shield."
Kegan nodded approvingly. "Good lad. Always thinkin' ahead. Waste not, fight smart — that's what keeps a man breathin' out here."
After observing, Henry sheathed his dagger and crouched beside Kegan. Together, they began the unpleasant but necessary work of cleaning the corpses. The Dwarf hummed an old mining tune under his breath — something grim and rhythmic — while his blade scraped through the worm's thick hide. The stench of acid and blood hung heavy in the air.
Henry worked methodically, cutting open the belly and lower body first. Steam rose from the wounds as the heat of decay met the cool air. The thick inner membrane was slick and almost rubbery. With careful precision, he and Kegan dug out the organs and scraped away the soft belly skin until only the skull and the few hardest chitin plates along the back remained. These were the true prize — smooth as polished steel, yet light enough to carry without burden.
Once finished, Henry whispered a short incantation, summoning two shimmering gallons of water from thin air. The clean, cold liquid cascaded over the shells, washing away the clinging filth. He then used a strip of rope from his pack to tie them securely together.
The sunlight caught the washed shells, gleaming faintly with an iridescent hue. Their natural luster reminded Henry of enchanted mithral — a rare sight outside the forges of dwarven halls. The Pixie, Louise, perched on a nearby rock, wrinkled her nose. "They're pretty," she said, fluttering her wings, "but the smell is worse than a troll's armpit."
Kegan laughed heartily, his deep voice echoing through the valley. "Ha! That's coin ye smell, lass. A thousand gold worth, if I know my trade. These'll sell well in Baldur's Gate or Neverwinter, mark me words!" He hoisted the bundle of cleaned shells over his shoulder, a broad grin spreading across his soot-streaked face. "Moradin bless, that's fine work for a day's hunt! With this kind o' luck, lad, we'll hire ourselves a carriage for the trip home. Maybe even stop for ale that's not watered down for once!"
Henry chuckled, though his tone was mild. "You're getting ahead of yourself, Kegan. I don't think we can kill too many of these creatures. The villagers rely on the Earthworms to till the land naturally — it's what keeps the soil rich and harvests strong. If we start slaughtering them recklessly, we'll disrupt the balance of nature."
The Dwarf blinked, caught off guard, then groaned. "Ah, stones below, I clean forgot ye were one o' those 'children o' nature.'" He sighed, brushing green slime off his beard. "And here I was, dreamin' o' fat purses and fat bellies. Fine, fine. We'll do it your way, lad. We'll talk to the local Druid first — see how many o' the slimy bastards we're allowed to cull. No sense angerin' the gods o' the wilds, eh?"
Henry smiled faintly, relieved at Kegan's easy compromise. "Agreed. It's better that way. The spirits of the land are watching, even here."
"Spirits o' the land," Kegan muttered, shaking his head. "If they're watchin', I hope they're enjoyin' the show."
The two adventurers packed up their gear and began their trek toward the village. As they walked, the road changed subtly — the dirt was dark, fertile, and dotted with burrows. Even the air smelled of life and decay, a reminder that beneath their feet, the Earthworms endlessly tilled the soil. In the distance, a cluster of wooden homes came into view, surrounded by sprawling farmlands and gentle hills blanketed with barley and corn.
Children's laughter drifted faintly from afar, mingling with the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith's hammer. The sight was comforting after the chaos of battle.
"Seems peaceful enough," Kegan said, though his voice carried a hint of wariness. "But mark me, lad — small villages hide big troubles. I've seen goblin raids start over less."
Henry nodded quietly, his gaze sweeping the fields. "Nature's balance can turn quickly when disturbed. Let's hope this one still holds."
After asking for directions from a passing farmer, they arrived at a wide homestead marked by a wooden sign carved with the name Brown's Farm. Smoke rose gently from the chimney, carrying the warm scent of stew.
In the fields, a sturdy man in his fifties worked the soil with a wooden hoe. His hands were rough, his clothes simple, patched with care. Henry approached politely, offering a courteous bow — a habit from his human upbringing, though he spoke with the clarity of a trained adventurer.
"Good afternoon, sir. Are you Mr. Brown? We're travelers from the Friendly Arm Inn, hunting Earthworms on behalf of the guild. Would you have a room for two weary adventurers? We'll, of course, pay for board and supper."
The farmer straightened, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. His weathered face softened at the mention of payment. "Aye, that'd be me," he said, his accent thick with the northern common tongue. "You're welcome to stay. Big house, plenty o' room. It'll be one silver per head, food included. Can't promise the beds are soft, but the stew's hot."
"Deal," Kegan said before Henry could reply, tossing him two silvers. "And throw in a mug o' ale if ye have any. A Dwarf works better on a full belly and a good buzz."
The man chuckled. "You're in luck — I've got a cask from the last merchant caravan."
That night, they dined heartily on bread, mashed potatoes, and a pot of stewed chicken thick with herbs and carrots. The meal wasn't fancy, but to travelers who'd been eating dry rations and foraged mushrooms, it was a feast. Louise, too small to handle human food, perched on the mantelpiece sipping from a thimble of honeyed water, content to bask in the firelight.
After dinner, the three sat around the hearth. The flames danced, casting long shadows across the stone walls. The old farmer sighed deeply, his gaze distant. "Got a son about your age," he said. "Strong lad, bright too. He and his ma went to Baldur's Gate a week past to sell our crops. But I worry. Roads ain't safe anymore. More Earthworms every season, and bigger ones too."
Henry leaned forward. "Isn't there a Druid here who keeps their numbers in check?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Aye," Brown nodded. "There's one — goes by the name Jedi. Quiet woman, lives alone in the woods. Folk say she talks to beasts and trees alike. But one Druid can only do so much. Adventurers used to come help her now and then, but most who tried got themselves eaten. Not many brave enough to take the job anymore."
Kegan grunted. "Sounds like a lass who could use a proper axe at her side. Maybe we'll lend her one, eh lad?"
Henry smiled faintly. "We'll see. But I'd like to speak with her first — understand what's happening with the worms. If something's upsetting the natural order, we need to know."
Brown pointed toward the window, where moonlight spilled across the fields. "Her home's that way. Northwest o' here, just past the old oak grove. She built herself a treehouse there, like an elf from the old stories."
Henry followed the direction of his gesture, his expression thoughtful. "A Druid who lives in a treehouse… fitting. We'll visit her at first light."
Louise fluttered above the fire, her wings glowing faintly. "Then we'd best rest while we can," she said softly. "The wild has a way of waking early — and it seldom waits for mortals."
The fire crackled as they settled for the night, the warmth wrapping them like an old spell. Outside, the wind whispered through the fields — carrying, perhaps, the distant hum of something stirring beneath the soil once more.