"Follow the flow motions, and you will see…" Chen explained in a very good Ursine as he guided my siblings, Softjaw, and a dozen others with even kobolds through the hypnotic dance-like motion of the third form of the 'Wise Serpent.'
I didn't ask the pandaren to teach them how to be monks, or as things were, only the very basics of it. It was an entire discipline that, like any others, required, on average, years to be good at.
It was his idea, or so I deduced—not as repayment, but merely to learn from each other.
Knowledge and wisdom weren't to be hoarded for him; I partly agreed. It was only partly because it was an extremely optimistic worldview.
Not everyone was good. And Chen wasn't naïve; he knew that, but his view stood unbroken.
Well, I guess I did tell him to make himself useful, but I didn't have him teaching in mind when I said that. Not that I complained.
Chi was a fascinating energy that could be summarized as Spirit.
It would be a rather crude simplification to call it that. But it wouldn't be false either.
It was closer to Life, yet not quite the one I used—it was intrinsically tied to the flow of the life force itself.
Because of that, it was less mana-demanding but far harder than Spirit to get a hold of and with distinct qualities.
I wasn't foreign to it.
Ursol certainly used it, but it was more a reflection of his unparalleled skill with Spirit than wielding Chi for it being Chi. Or at any length, he didn't call it that.
Again, the distinction was both blurry and not.
My specialty was in the physical, Nature, and Life, not the more 'ethereal' aspect of it, even if my teacher ensured I had a firm grasp of it.
Anyway…
Monks shared clear parallels to elemental shamanism. For that reason, both could wield the elements.
The scale and potency were vastly different, though. It was way weaker, but it wasn't weak per se. It was a tool supplementing monks' abilities and martial arts.
After that, it shifted to something far different.
Chi centered on localized temporary self-enhancement with speed, strength, and defense. The first was the focus, as Chen demonstrated when we met.
The other big part was illusions or something of that nature. As Grommash did, it even had a similar feel, as monks and blademasters were alike.
It could be used to heal, too, but it was more along the lines of speeding up and easing recovery. It wasn't bad for what it was, but it wasn't for mid-fighting.
At least, it was from what the panda man had shown and knew. It had other uses, but the main thing in battle was that.
'And I can't use it.' I thought with a huff, my feet pawing the ground mindlessly.
My problem in refining Spirit remained.
I got better, but it was useless in anything requiring less than long minutes to hours to work with, and the result wouldn't be exceptional.
It ultimately boiled down to mana control, but even then… I didn't have the emerald and ruby tints of my magical energies in two neat containers.
It wasn't oil and water either.
I could control how much of each was concentrated in my spells. But it remained a dilution; Life and Nature were fundamentally inseparable.
It was silly to try.
In fact, there weren't even two types of mana in me; it was just easier to conceptualize and see how some showed it.
It was akin to a body of water with varying temperatures and salinity.
Diluting it to the extreme for a 'pure' result was, by the ancestors, a fucking slog.
So, Chi, something arguably harder, requiring even more balance as it actively interacted with Life, was a clear-cut no. Counterintuitive as it may appear.
I didn't have the time for it anyway. And it wasn't just mana manipulation; the martial arts–body movements that shifted life force–played key roles in its flow.
Quite like any others, to be blunt, it wasn't even limited to martial arts. Life was ever-adapting, and it was an aspect of it.
But those pandaren ones were developed and refined with Chi to create more mystical results than the supernatural strength and endurance my old life would call.
They were interesting and worthy of looking deeper into, but they suffered the same price—time. And it wasn't for me to focus on them in particular.
My body's transformation would end with the majority utterly obsolete. I would lose permanent bipedality by the looks of things, and I didn't fight like a monk.
Be that as it may, this energy's interaction with the body was fascinating and gave valuable insights into self-enhancements and new points of view.
Melding with the ancestral spirits when in a pinch didn't result in me becoming physically faster and mightier. It was all part of the mind, giving the idea that it was.
Reducing fatigue–mental and physical, to a certain degree–was that, but I wanted something more. Hysterical strength, or at least a facsimile, was among them.
Overall, it wasn't to be ignored. But it was a subject upon a pile of many more, like Gorehowl's fragments, that only I could work on.
I could only focus on so much at once.
At least the artificial selection of plants and fungi outside of more in-depth modifications can be passed down. It only needed me to teach the do and don't and have written records.
Simple stuff requiring Life mana, such as sprouting treant saplings, can be done through golden acorns.
My ears suddenly swiveled as the lesson ended and the crowd dispersed. My little sister waved me goodbye as she strutted away with Karhu and Softjaw in tow.
The papyrus in my paws, detailing my latest minor improvements on the symbiosis of the floral womb constituents, fluttered in the cave wind as I lazily waved back.
Chen arrived shortly after the end and exchanged pointers.
His smell, which I had grown quite familiar with–a pleasant mix of bamboo and alcohol–hit me as he climbed the root I relaxed on, sitting cross-legged and leaning forward.
Then he began studying my living papers, curious as he always was.
I let him do so. It would be hypocritical even if my work in my paws related to a delicate part of biomancy that many would profoundly hate.
And it was funny to see him try and fail to understand.
It didn't help that my writing was bits and pieces of various languages to be more efficient. And my sketches without context were no better than drawings.
I could see right through his facade of a 'wise monk of a faraway gargantuan turtle.' Well, he was that, but that was more of a character.
"One would hardly imagine you a great scholar, and yet… you are, indeed. You truly cannot tell the quality of a wine by color alone." Chen hummed, staring harder at my research as if it would enlighten him out of nowhere.
I chuckled and snarked back, "Say you."
"Aah, perhaps. Hm, may I dare ask a rather untactful question, my large friend?" I nodded at his prompting, "What are those about?"
"A method to ease Ursoc's return," I answered smoothly without further detail on anything else.
There was no need to. I trusted Chen–he made it hard not to–but cloning was better kept under solid wrap.
It wasn't only that either; cloning was the floral womb's purpose, but it wasn't the only ability. It was far from it.
When I got everything I wanted, the theory was that it should offer the most optimal environment to take my biomancy and all that comes with it to the next level.
But bringing back the Wild Gods, starting with the Bear of Might, was my priority, even if the rest would mostly follow with those advancements to get there.
"A noble and ambitious goal, to bring a demi-god from the claws of death," Chen said, massaging the pearl that held his goatee braid together.
"Please, not you." I groaned out without much heat.
It was virtually impossible to speak on equal terms with anyone. I didn't need more praise and adulation, really. Or the opposite equivalents, for that matter.
This had advantages; people obeyed, but I didn't want yes-men.
I wasn't perfect, and it was better to be caught than ignored because of me. It was just a lot.
And he chuckled at my words… my nose twitched, and my round ears flicked in irritation.
"I'm joking, Ohto. But there were no lies. You carry much on your shoulders, more than any should. I fear they will turn your fur grey before time, albeit worth fighting for they are." He said, and I couldn't refute most of it.
"I can fix the last part." I rumbled, and it was true, but I wasn't finished, "I'm jealous of how carefree you can be, Chen. In a good way. Little can be done; my people need me now more than ever, and the future promises no kindness to the complacents."
He didn't respond with words, instead standing up and slapping his belly, which was followed by a deep rumbling that was nearly too loud for his size.
"Now! My stomach demands good food and ale."
I agreed and followed suit as our conversations shifted from subject to subject; a lot of it was what Chen had learned and done in the past month.
A lot of it could be summed up to the similarities and differences between our people. And there was a substantial amount of both, making both more obvious yet not.
The largest distinction was civilization.
Something we furbolgs were changing. A uniquely tribal lifestyle, for all its good, would impair us in many ways if we were to be heard and respected.
What pandaren did for the past ten millennia was an excellent source of inspiration, be it Pandaria or the Wandering Island, in both positive and negative ways.
The finer details, such as education, topping it off.
What I had from my past life was for a modern time, and a lot of aspects couldn't be used without heavy adaptation, if usable at all. It also pointed out mistakes.
It was things that the Wise Bear, for all his wisdom and intelligence, couldn't effectively help. He had never experienced it or put much focus on it. He admitted as much to me.
Chen Stormstout was good at exchanging ideas and giving them. Ursol would like him, that was certain, but again, the pandaren was hard to hate.
I tried to avoid Fandral and his temperament. But aside from his pointless demands to see the World Tree Undrassil, he hadn't made any remotely aggressive moves.
Nothing bad happened, to be honest, either. I mean, the healing of Felwood slowed, but Malfurion was gone, and with him, a number of druids, dryads, and such.
It was confusing to have the epitome of kaldorei self-importance be so... tame and relatively cooperative. Well, for healing the wilds and cleansing am the demon and undead filth, but still.
But I wasn't blind and deaf and didn't need to be good at intrigue or complex manipulation to notice what was happening.
He was rallying like-minded night elves, and there was nothing I could do about it that he wouldn't find a way to exploit. What he was doing wasn't a crime.
But it would lead to one, that I was sure, what it would be… I was less so.
The same was regarding the how, where, and when—I had ideas since he wanted Undrassil and purging the Cenarion Circle of undesirables. But that was it; it could go hundreds of routes.
The lesser Archdruid wasn't stupid; he wanted me to make the first move. And he was good at encouraging it.
Only vigilance and convincing Malfurion of the danger would. And I fear words alone won't be enough.
By the Bear Lords, I hated that uncertainty, that void of not knowing what would happen beyond preparing and anticipating any eventualities.
I was effectively limited to a wait-and-see approach.
"You're making that face again. Worries sour the little pleasure of life, valid they may be." Chen said, and I snorted with a fanged smile.
"I suppose that's true."
•••••
Five days later, in the bowels of Kezan.
Serne growled in displeasure as he put on the first layer of his heat-resistant suit. The white mesh of wool, plastic, and metal thread covered his blistered green skin.
And it was the least protective layer of four—a staggering amount of precautions for a goblin worker of Undermine.
But his job required this much if he wasn't to die cremating alive on his way down to the magma chamber.
It paid very well, suspiciously, but gold was gold, and he had two daughters at home. It wouldn't be his first go at that kind of dubious job.
It was above and beyond any, with no clear tie to any cartels or even the employer.
But he wasn't working that thankless job to run his mouth or ask questions and vanish from the annals of history.
And the contract was generous if he were to get injured or die. Serne couldn't have refused with such immense borderline mad benefits.
He wasn't alone.
"Hey, Serne! Have ya seen Normy?" A younger goblin called, and his eyes scanned Bihl, who immediately went to put on his suit.
"Nope." The middle-aged father popped the 'p,' "The lazy bitch probably drunk off her rocker or whoring with some dumb hobgob' and that means it be us two down that hell hole."
Bihl groaned loudly and clearly, and Serne shared the sentiment with his fellow maintenance crewmate.
They couldn't get another worker from the next shift, too, with how the logistics were. And they weren't working in teams of three to be pretty.
Training them cost a pretty penny and was lengthy. The same could be said for the equipment. Losing any of it would likely anger the one at the top, whoever it might be—a loss of profits was unacceptable.
And they weren't working on someone to hand to any idiot. It was the later most next-gen geothermal energy production connecting all Undermine and above.
The primary magmatic chamber of Mount Kajaro had potential, and leaving it alone was a waste. In addition, it increased the exploitable space as the lava and magma were redirected into it.
There were rumors of rare metals and precious gemstones with various gases and petroleum pockets.
The wilder ones proclaimed the sighting of kaja'mite dust, opening the way to the rediscovery of substantial veins of the legendary mineral with mythical intelligence-boosting effects.
It explained why not a single trade prince or princess raised a fuss about such a large-scale and disruptive project. Not that it made it any easier to warp one head around.
But what did Serne know? His job wasn't about any of that, and most of what he grasped was from word of mouth.
And so he finished putting on his equipment.
The rusting oxygen tank was placed last, with the diving helmet-like helmet sealing his everything from the coming heat, pressure, and unbreathable air down below.
Bihl followed soon after, and the duo walked to the elevator. The jazzy musical played as they went down for what felt like an eternity until a loud ding signaled their arrival.
The work that ensued was tedious in both duration and repetitiveness. Check for leakage here, tighten a valve there, and measure the coolant level of a magma pump.
All the while wishing to be anything but in that blistering hell hole that made the hottest day of Kajan, even under that protection, appear freezy.
It was a series of droll tasks under the dull green light of the large metallic room and its oppressive scalding air with specialized tools.
There was no change, nothing but mindless checkups following protocol to the letter.
It was almost enough to make Serne wish to break this monotony in any way possible. It was as shockingly dull as dangerous.
"Is that supposed to be that high?" The distorted voice of the younger goblin in his earpiece snapped him out of his trance-like state.
"Okay, le'me see…" Serne answered with an annoyed growl.
He shoved Bihl to the side as he studied the dozen gauges on the dark metal board bent oddly from the nearness to the magma chamber.
High temperature and the stone around constant movement result in this. But it worked fine, if a bit stubborn sometimes, and there was no need for anything else.
They weren't trained for that kind of complicated, crazy mumbo jumbo. Better leave it like this than suffer the consequences from the higher-ups. Or worse.
Still, they could follow several protocols, and Bihl didn't have the authority, so it fell onto Serne.
And behind his thick visor, his eyes shifted to each chaotically dancing arrow as they moved from left to right and vice versa at speed surpassing what the goblin eye could perceive.
Red lights were blaring above and under the erratics readings of the monitors as the light blue crystals grew brighter. The largest of them all slowly cracking.
Then, one of the pipes into their right busted open, and the walls, ground, and ceiling.
The most prominent gauge monitoring the pressure in the magmatic chamber veered as deep in the red as it possibly could.
The crystals exploded.
It was the signal for the subsequent blazing, spiraling chain reaction of unimaginable heat, melting rock, and freed pressure.
"SHI-" But Serne would never finish his sentence or start any other. His life ended in a flash, far faster than the time for pain to travel.
His colleague's fate was no different.
The ensuing cataclysmic explosion from the brimful and over-pressurized main magmatic chamber made the earth roar in agony. None would escape its elemental fiery wrath.
The death kernel was rung as Mount Kajaro's dormancy ended explosively.
*
Chapters in advance there: patreon.com/thebipboop2003