The Fundamentals of Catalysts and Magics | On Earth and Vigor
On Wind and Flow | On Water and Meditation | On Fire and Fury
Red tinged fur tickled at Presto’s back as he crossed the plateau overlooking Coral Cove.
Coral structures towered, twisted, twirled, and bloomed into his view, lightly pulsing as if alive — and the wind struck him as a bit colder than usual for the season. His neon green ears (which shivered a bit every time the wind gusted) and dark purple body were as mismatched as ever, but his royal red cape lined with rare Granzielle fur gave him a fraction more presence and command than he had been able to procure in the past.
Although, nobody was around to confirm his gut on that point.
Tucked under his stubby arm was a large roll of woven parchment. Having been profoundly embarrassed by the vagabonds who’d robbed him of his ability to meet Princess Amelie at the royal palace upon her awakening, he had set out to create a manifesto of sorts.
His disjointed ideas of Gooey etiquette had been largely ignored — as very few Gooeys had time for Presto and his unpleasant voice — but after Sage Oggin kindly directed him to the currently unattended Droplet Society archives, Presto had learned a number of fascinating things:
- There was a secret path across the ocean to the landmass beyond their shores — something about magics and rules. Yet, Presto had no time for such things
- The Droplet Society had secret chambers inside the Tower of Harpsilis in the Owlkin Massif — he’d tried to tell Mushroomhead, but whenever he approached the old Gooey, Sage and Basil would launch tiny whirlwinds at Presto which would send him sprawling and tumbling back down whatever direction he approached from
- A race of rideable, floating beasts — once friendly with Gooeys — lived deep in the Dreadful Copse; unfortunately, Serin the Beast Tamer always seemed to be hard of hearing when Presto was around
Nonetheless, the archives were rich with secret knowledge the rest of Gooeys society would greatly benefit from… Especially the information contained within the scroll Presto carried with him; the items he carried in his serpentskin satchel would also presumably be useful on his treasure hunt.
He knew that the Stickweave Gooeys would be resistant to his teachings. The Cultured Goo ideology was still unknown and needed to be perfected. Bringing a new era of culture and civility to his people would, almost certainly, require a new people to educate and integrate them with.
During his time in the dank, dusty, and awfully drab archival rooms — and after more than a few Arachnibits had nipped at the goo around his mask — Presto had discovered a false wall. In the small room were the scroll, a serpentskin satchel full of Dragilisk scales threaded with a strangely thin and flexible metal, and a map that lead straight to the spot that rose into view:
A long-forgotten cave full of the Lost Ones.
They were rarely talked about these days, but when Presto was young the stories told about them indicated they were a group of Gooeys proficient in Earth magics. They had all but disappeared seven decades ago, and with it the knowledge to employ their magical abilities.
If he could use these hidden tools to make them not lost, perhaps he would have willing ears for his Manifesto de la Slimé. And so he stood at the foot of the cave, curious to discover everything the Droplet Society hid within it.
The journey to the heart of the cave proved treacherous. Parts of its many caverns had caved in or flooded over the last few decades, and after slogging through the worst of it — a domed chamber infested with hungry-looking Scatterbats; leathery creatures that used their young as toothy projectiles — he arrived at a smooth wall painted with the image of a Dragilisk.
“Oookay. Pretty sure the scales are for this… puzzle?” Presto whispered to himself softly and scratched his left ear in thought.
He reached into his satchel and tugged out the cloth bag containing the Dragilisk scales. After closer inspection of the metal connecting them, he discovered a hilt — small enough for a Gooey to comfortably operate — with a small switch on it, dangling off the cluster of strung scales.
Clasping the cold hilt in his hands he pressed the switch — a low humming radiated from the handle and in a flash, the strung scales straightened into the form of a blade! The weapon groaned like a Dragilisk, but the noise was far less piercing than he’d been told.
Holding up the sword to the wall, the vibration seemed to carry into it; causing the image of the Dragilisk to move.
It danced along the wall, jumping and darting as if it were hunting an unseen animal. But then, it stopped; vicious claws forming a circular arc around a particular spot.
Presto took a deep breath and plunged the vibrating blade between the claws. It moved through the wall like it were slicing through water — there was little resistance until the tip of the blade seemed to slot into something. He tugged at the blade, but it was stuck tight.
Giving the handle a twist to the right, he could hear something locking into place within the wall. Suddenly, the sword hilt was ripped from his grip and swallowed into the wall.
A tiny bell chimed, and another section of the wall slid into the floor, revealing a dusty entrance.
“I just might have a future in treasure hunting after all,” Presto chirped happily and clapped as he shuffled over to his discovery.
Carefully popping his ears and mask around the corner to check for traps, Presto gasped — the room was filled with Gooey statues. The walls were lined with dimly lit lamps, whose flames licked hungrily at the shadows. The dull groan of the Dragilisk blade filled the room, growing louder.
Along the ceiling were a series of metallic pipes and at the back of the room, Presto spotted the sword (now in an ornate scabbard) pressed against a lone pipe that split into two lines — ultimately connecting to those running across the ceiling.
As the tone deepened and resonated even more, the statues quivered.
Their brown and gray bodies flushed with colorful hues as the Lost Ones finally awoke from their slumber. Presto giggled madly as the first few Gooeys shook off the last of their rock forms and began to sing.
By nightfall, the Lost Ones had formed into small groups — roughly twenty in total, with four or five making up each group — all huddled around fires fueled by coral husks and driftwood from the coast line. When Presto first found them, their songs were joyous, but now they harmonized over a dirge; a tribute to the Fae.
Presto sat with the Lost One leader, Hegras, and his tumbled offspring Hegraph and Hegraw.
The Foxtail seemed to not fall too far from the bush with these three — each gruff, short-spoken, and cursed with heavy brows and inexpressive eyes; they were Earth magic Gooeys through and through.
The trio sat atop three meticulously detailed mounds of earth conjured with their magical powers. In fact Hegras seemed to never stand. His throne appeared to drift wherever he desired, the earth below him shifting and scuttling as if it were a living thing.
They simply stared at Presto as he caught them up on the seven decades of history they’d missed while they were dormant. And he wove a few advantageous half-truths into his retelling for good measure.
“As you can see Hegras, your old masters, The Droplet Society, are no more. I, however, offer you an olive branch of acceptance. I am the arbiter of a movement called the Cultured Goo,” Presto took a deep breath — he had them transfixed! “The Stickweave Gooeys reject the ways of culture. They’ve committed themselves to mud huts and wooden shacks. They spit on the beautiful architecture you cultivated in your time.”
Hegras’ heavy brow furrowed deeper than Presto thought possible. The old Gooey sighed.
“No love for architecture. Architecture is culture. It is art,” Hegras barked out.
“Elder Hegras. Consider this. Our sleep is long. This Gooey is not necessarily one to trust. He did have the Resounding Key,” Hegraph’s speech was laced with poison as he glared at Presto.
“Yes. Yes. This is true Elder. We are no friends to Droplet Society after what they did. Perhaps he is one of them with all his knowledge,” Hegraw’s mouth tugged into a bit of snarl as he regarded Presto.
“Master Architects, please listen to what I have to say,” Presto paused for dramatic effect. The three across from him frowned, finding no joy in his theatrics. “I shall speak plainly then…
“The logic you display is just that, logical. I respect your intuition, however I can promise you I discovered these Droplet Society secrets solely because the uncultured folk of Stickweave rejected me at every turn. I came to find you, and free you, for I believe in your power to shape history. To bring Gooeys into a new golden age!”
At this, the trio perked up. The fire they sat around appeared to be in cahoots with Presto as it crackled and popped along with his impassioned speech.
“What you built for the Fae is beyond beautiful. We could have that again. And the fact of the matter is, you need me to help you reintegrate. They may dislike me, but if I bring you to the Stickweave Gooeys, they will have no choice but to accept you, and accept what we bring to them in the form of Cultured Goo,” Presto relented and sat back on his rocky seat, panting.
Hegras tapped his chiseled mask, and puffed out his chest after a moment.
“Presto. We will call you friend. We will help you achieve your dream. Us Lost Ones are now found. We desire a purpose. Let us build a monument to the Fae, then rebuild Gooey society.”
For the first time, Hegras leapt off his throne and stood eye-to-eye with Presto. He reached for Presto’s mask with glowing fingers. After a brief moment of searing pain, Presto felt empowered.
“I have chiseled your mask. You are one of us.”
Presto felt the corners of his mask, its corners were perfectly squared off.
“My builders! Welcome Presto to our ranks,” the old Gooey shouted at the top of his lungs. The dirge being sung for the Fae immediately ceased, and the air filled with up-tempo chanting.
“You are blessed with Earth magics. It is no wonder you are misunderstood. We will begin your training in time. Son Presto go and be merry.”
Presto fell back onto the brine-tinged grass and smiled at the stars twinkling above him. Perhaps he could change this world for the better, after all.
If this is your first Gooeys lore chapter, be sure to go back and check out Book One: Beyond the Horizon!
