《Thomas the Brawler》 Prologue: Jane Smoke curled from a forgotten cigarette, half ash, sitting in an ashtray. Next to the ashtray sat a pile of crumpled papers, and next to these lay a single sheet, deeply creased with lines and curves ¨C a rescue from the pile. A woman sat in a chair in front of this paper, cross-legged on a battered wooden kitchen chair. Her hair was shoulder-length and black-going-gray, framing square black spectacles slightly askew on her face ¨C a face too youthful for the grays already winning the war for her head. She was occupied chewing on the metal band of the eraser of a pencil as she stared at the dense script filling the document before her. The pencil was lowered, and three quick marks made, striking out part of the text, before writing new text above it, in an even tinier script than that which doubled up on the college ruled paper. The cigarette burned, forgotten, as she retrieved a new cigarette from the pack in the front breast pocket of her shirt, a blue button-up that was several sizes too large for her slender frame, and wrinkled almost as badly as the paper before her. A lighter in turn was produced from the pocket of her slacks, similarly disheveled, and lit after several failures. She took a long drag from the cigarette, and set it next to its abandoned predecessor, then started writing again. The first cigarette had burned out, and the second nearly half so, before a man''s voice interrupted her work. ¡°Jane, have you had food?¡± ¡°I ate.¡± Her attention didn''t shift from the paper, to the man on the other side of the door. Her brother. He''d brought her food, didn''t he remember? ¡°You brought it to me, Bill.¡± ¡°That was yesterday, Jane. Get some food. Also, it''s William.¡± ¡°Yeah, alright, Bill.¡± She waited until she heard his footsteps receding down the hallway, and returned her attention to her paper, frowning. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. She tried to erase the section she''d crossed out, to write it again, but the eraser was soggy, and just smudged it. Jane frowned at the smudge, drew an arrow to the margin, and rewrote the crossed-out section. It was ¡­ odd. The proof felt odd. She''d written it a dozen times now, and each time it felt off. It was just this little section, but it felt like ¨C it felt like her assumptions listed above changed every time she looked at them. She had been working on this part for three days without sleep, and had gone through a month''s supply of her meds in that time. She considered, then pulled a fresh sheet of paper from her desk drawer, and tried isolating the troublesome logic. Six cigarettes, one of which she actually finished, and thirteen sheets of paper later, she stared at the tiny ¨C it was a proof in itself, really, but she struggled to quite understand what it was she was looking at. The physical paper seemed to be vibrating, very gently, and, isolated like this, trying to read it was making her feel a little nauseous. Well, a little bit more nauseous, the nicotine and stimulants really didn''t help. But she could almost swear that every time she moved her eye, the parts of the logic she wasn''t directly looking at were ¡­ changing. Jane smiled, just a bit, and rose from her chair to cross the pile of clean laundry ¨C the dirty laundry she kept by the door ¨C to get to her backpack. She was aware sleep deprivation was a thing, but this had been giving her trouble even before then, and now she had the problem isolated. As her laptop booted up, she debated where she would post it, and how. The word processor crashed halfway through writing it. The simplistic system editor got slightly further, but crashed the entire system when it did. She had to yank the battery out of the computer and put it back in before it came back up, and then tried a few websites. The first seven went down, and didn''t come back up immediately. Oddly, the meme generator finally worked, and she posted the tiny proof, under an absurdly stupid meme. Jane waited several minutes after posting it to one of the forums she frequented, but seeing no immediate response, headed to bed, the missing sleep coming upon her like a semitruck. She''d check the replies in the morning. Well, according to the clock, it was only slightly after noon now, so later tonight. She shoved the pile of folded clean laundry off her bed onto the clean pile to the side, where it belonged, and slid beneath the covers without bothering to undress. Ch 1. Avatar Creation Thomas sat upright, looking around with a jolt of panic, the light filtering in through his window far, far too bright. He was late, he had overslept! His eyes swung around to his alarm clock; a blank black screen greeted him. The covers on his twin bed were thrown aside, and he moved quickly to the closet in the corner of the room, nearly slipping on the dirty clothes discarded on the hardwood floor. The closet door opened, and he flicked the switch three times, on, off, and on again, before his sleep-addled mind caught up that the power was out. He dressed quickly, grabbing whatever of his nicer button-down shirts was closest on the rack, as well as a pair of slacks and a belt ¨C no clean underwear, no time. No socks, either, but he slipped on a pair of black socks from the floor, mismatched as finding a matching pair would take too long, and slipped on an already-tied pair of black wingtips that needed both cleaning and polishing, and he was out the door. The darkness outside the door didn''t fully register ¨C too dark, too complete, even without power - the sunlight from his window not filtering in at all ¨C until he had already stepped through, and the world lit up in blue.
Welcome.
Thomas stopped, staring at the all-encompassing blue. What? The message abruptly changed.
Do not be alarmed. You have been chosen.
What?
Please select an archetype. Please be aware this selection cannot be changed once made.
Warrior
Magus
Rogue
Other
Thomas stared, turning his head back and forth ¨C or trying to. He didn''t feel like his head was moving, but neither did he feel like his head was being constrained; the image didn''t change, and he felt no sense of motion. What? Archetype? A warrior would be something like Cona -
Warrior archetype chosen. Please select a class.
Warrior
Spellsword
Vanguard
Barbarian
Brawler
Phalanx
Accursed (Special)
Knight
Warden
Sergeant
Paladin
Mercenary
Noble
Warlord
Berserker
Monk (Special)
Thomas froze. Okay. He was a ¡­ no, don''t even think the word. Oh gods. Alright. He had no idea what was going on. He knew what some of those classes were, whatever they were classes for. Could he get more inform-
Warrior archetype chosen. Please select a class. Detail
Warrior The Warrior is the prototypical - well, Warrior. The Warrior specializes in dealing and absorbing damage, with a low critical hit chance but a high general hit chance. The Warrior typically chooses a single weapon and battle style to develop mastery in and of, and branches out into other fields of expertise only opportunistically. The Warrior gets a high number of Martial Distinctions, which permit either exceptional specialization into a particular form of combat, or broad mastery over a range of styles of combat. In battle, the Warrior is exceptionally good at dealing with Rogue and Rogue-like classes, soaking up their critical hits with a substantial Health pool and avoiding everything else, but may have more difficulty with Magic-wielding classes, whose less direct abilities can stymie attempted attacks and wear down the Warrior''s effectiveness over the course of a battle.
Spellsword The Spellsword is a Warrior-like anti-Magus, emphasizing magical resistance, with a lighter emphasis on melee combat. Not as good in direct melee combat as most other Warrior-like classes, the Spellsword instead relies on a pool of mana and a small set of spells, which permit the Spellsword to more readily adapt to circumstances. The Spellsword is strongest in group combat, at higher levels providing a passive shield against offensive spells directed at nearby party members, and is exceptionally good at fighting Magus and Magus-like classes. The Spellsword is somewhat more vulnerable to Rogue-like classes, however, and is particularly vulnerable to other Warrior-like classes.
Vanguard The Vanguard is a Warrior-like class with an emphasis on one-on-many combat, and the class is at its strongest in exactly this situation. The typical Vanguard wields a Halberd or Axe, wears Heavy Armor, and is the first into and out of every fight. The Vanguard relies heavily on the ability to get in and out of combat without impediment, and so may take Distinctions which improve Movement Speed. Each opponent beyond the first in melee attack range makes the Vanguard hit more often, and that much harder to hit, which results in a curious situation, whereby the Vanguard may be overwhelmed in a one-on-one fight, but completely in control when fighting three of the same enemy. The Vanguard is particularly vulnerable to Magus-like classes, who can hinder the Vanguard''s advance without entangling themselves in the fight, and particularly strong against other ranged combatants, whose movement speed can''t avail them much.
Barbarian The Barbarian is a damage-and-armor oriented Warrior-like class, for whom every weapon is ultimately disposable. The typical Barbarian is a master of every weapon, and destroys weapons on enemy''s heads with disturbing regularity, pausing only briefly in the massacre to acquire the next stick to break on the next skull. The Barbarian deals extremely high damage, and has the potential for considerable protection using Heavy Armor, but the low Health pool mean the Barbarian is a very challenging class to use effectively, being vulnerable both against Rogue-like classes and offensive Magus-like classes.
Brawler The Brawler is a Health and Damage Reduction oriented Warrior-like class, who excels at surviving pretty much anything. The typical Brawler is wielding bare fists and wears no armor, and is somewhere in the middle of the fighting, pounding on and getting pounded back for long, sustained bursts. The Brawler tends to be best against other Warrior-like classes, simply outliving them, and is weakest against Magus-like classes, who can gradually wear the Brawler down without ever getting directly involved, and Rogue-like classes, who the Brawler can never quite catch up to.
Phalanx The Phalanx is a Warrior-like class emphasizing prolonged defensive combat. The typical Phalanx is to be found dual-wielding spiked tower shields and covered in Heavy Armor from head to toe, side-by-side with two or three allies, in the middle of the densest knot of enemies. The Phalanx gets more powerful the more allies are nearby, and is a potent force multiplier with other group-oriented classes, pairing particularly well with Sages. The Phalanx in group combat is particularly vulnerable to Magus-like classes, and in solo combat is vulnerable to other Warrior-like classes, although high Stamina regeneration and Health mean the Phalanx can simply outlast opponents.
Accursed (Special) The Accursed, as a class, is all about randomization, and manipulating the results of randomization. A typical Accursed could be any class type whatsoever, but probably has a dense pool of Luck, used partially to help offset the otherwise completely random nature of leveling up, but also to offset situational disadvantages as they arise. An Accursed can be found in any role, in any position on the battlefield - and is, as a rule, doing very well, or doing very badly, with very little room in the middle.
Knight The Knight is a tanking Warrior with slow but deadly attacks. The Knight''s core powers use large amounts of Stamina to deal incredible damage, and recharge Stamina while turtling against attacks. Typically found in Heavy Armor in the midst of the most violent fighting, wielding Sword or Mace and a sturdy shield, the Knight is an asset to any fight.
Warden The Warden is a staff and crossbow wielding tanking Warrior who spins from opponent to opponent, keeping targets distracted and harried, disrupting their assault. Typically found in Medium Armor wielding a Staff against the opponent''s flanks, the Warden does best holding lines that would be abandoned by a lesser soldier.
Sergeant The Sergeant is a two-handed weapon wielding tanking Warrior who is equally at home at the front or the rear of the battlefield, throwing opponents into constant disarray with a dizzying range of strategies and tactics.
Paladin You have not been granted additional information about this class
Mercenary You have not been granted additional information about this class
Noble You have not been granted additional information about this class
Warlord You have not been granted additional information about this class
Berserker You have not been granted additional information about this class
Monk (Special) You have not been granted additional information about this class
Uh. Right. So none of the ¡­ classes that had locked information. What did that even mean? Was this a game? He had an interview to get to, damn it, and he was already going to be late. Hell, he was already late on rent, and ¡­ alright, get this over as quickly as possible. Thomas reviewed the ¡°classes¡± quickly, mostly skimming the descriptions; it was a tossup between brawler and -
Please select your class path. Additional information requested. Detail
Legend of Earth You understand the earth, and prospecter''s maps whisper to you of caverns and ore and gem deposits
Legend of Fire Yeah. You''re the guy. The guy who punches out dragons. People know your name, and come to you with their dragon-related woes.
Legend of Wind Sure, the other guy might beat you in a short race, but you have -staying power-, and people trust you to always get their deliveries out
Okay. Wind. Whatever.
Please select your Background Detail
Sharecropper You were raised among sharecroppers, poorest of the poor
Farmer You were raised among land-owning peasants
Country Craft You were raised among the children of, or apprenticed at a young age to, a local country craftsman; a wainwright, or perhaps a blacksmith
Caravan You were raised among a traveling caravan, perhaps the child of a merchant, or a traveling circus
Bandit Party You were raised in a traveling party of bandits
Army Follower You were raised among the army followers, mostly composed of prostitutes, craftsmen, and merchants
City Slum You were raised in the city slums
City Gang You were raised amidst a party of city thieves and rogues
City Merchant District You were raised among a city''s lower burghers
City Craft District Stolen novel; please report. You were raised, or apprenticed at a young age, to a city craftsman
City Court You spent most of your young life in the city courts, surrounded by low and country nobility
Country Nobility You were raised with the country nobility
County Courts You were raised in the county courts, seeing a mixture of low and high nobility passing through
City Nobility You were raised among the city nobility
Capital Slums You lived most of your young life in the slums of a capital city, scrounging for scraps in the wealthiest city for miles
Capital Merchant District You were raised among merchants in the wealthiest city for miles
Capital Craft District You were raised, or apprenticed at a young age, to crafters in the wealthiest city for miles
Capital Court You were raised in the capital courts, seeing mostly high nobility, and occasionally perhaps the ruling family
Capital Nobility You were raised among the capital nobility, perhaps a distant cousin to the ruling family, and know most of the high nobility with at least passing familiarity
Ruling Family You were raised in the ruling family itself, and have connections to the most powerful people in the land
Uh. Hm. Bandit party!
Please select the profession you worked in Detail Stat Bonus Starting Skill
Smith''s Assistant A simple smith''s assistant, hoping someday to own a forge of your own. +1 Strength, +1 Constitution, -1 Intelligence, -1 Perception Endurance
Blacksmith A blacksmith, strong and pure of body, from hours at intense labor over hellish heat. +2 Strength, +2 Constitution, -2 Intelligence, -2 Perception Endurance
Tanner''s Assistant A tanner''s assistant, aiming to someday be a master tanner yourself. +1 Constitution, +1 Perception, -1 Agility, -1 Wisdom Woodcraft
Tanner A tanner, skin thickened and hardened and stained from decades of chemical exposure. +2 Constitution, +2 Perception, -2 Agility, -2 Wisdom Woodcraft
Farmhand A farmhand, who helps keep the animals in line and performs basic maintenance. +1 Constitution, +1 Wisdom, -1 Perception, -1 Intelligence Discipline
Farmer A farmer, eyes squinted against years of glare, hands and mind strong and firm from years of use. +2 Constitution, +2 Wisdom, -2 Perception, -2 Intelligence Discipline
Carpenter A carpenter, strong of hand, keen of mind, well-versed at turning thoughts into action. +1 Strength, +1 Intelligence, -1 Wisdom, -1 Agility Concentration
Builder A builder, well-accustomed to taking diverse elements and making a complete whole of them. +2 Strength, +2 Intelligence, -2 Wisdom, -2 Agility Concentration
Dockhand A dockhand, accustomed to the sway of the boat as heavy loads are carried to and fro. +1 Strength, +1 Agility, -1 Wisdom, -1 Perception Grace
Sailor A sailor, agile and strong, as comfortable on a heaving ship as on dry land. +2 Strength, +2 Agility, -2 Wisdom, -2 Perception Grace
Pickpocket A pickpocket, quick of hands and sharp of eyes, only as rich as his pickings. +1 Agility, +1 Perception, -1 Strength, -1 Constitution Dexterity
Thief A thief, subtle of touch and careful of wit, best never known to his victims. +2 Agility, +2 Perception, -2 Strength, -2 Constitution Dexterity
Entertainer An entertainer, a jack of all trades, from juggling to simple instruments. +1 Agility, +1 Wisdom, -1 Intelligence, -1 Constitution Grace
Musician A musician, master of a single instrument, but skilled with all. +2 Agility, +2 Wisdom, -2 Intelligence, -2 Constitution Grace
Deliverer A deliveryperson - getting things from here to there, and surviving the trip besides. +1 Agility, +1 Constitution, -1 Intelligence, -1 Wisdom Alertness
Messenger Messengers live sometimes dangerous lives, on account of the dangerous messages they deliver to dangerous people. +2 Agility, +2 Constitution, -2 Intelligence, -2 Wisdom Alertness
Trapper A trapper, skilled at luring prey with bait and killing or catching it, without ever having to be there. +1 Perception, +1 Strength, -1 Intelligence, -1 Wisdom Stealth
Hunter A hunter, skilled at stalking and catching or killing prey, and skinning and dressing it. +2 Perception, +2 Strength, -2 Intelligence, -2 Wisdom Stealth
Detective A detective - a thief-taker in modern times, following evidence more subtle than a fleeing perpetrator. +1 Perception, +1 Intelligence, -1 Constitution, -1 Strength Spycraft
Spy A spy, slipping in plain sight amongst those who are seen but do not see. +2 Perception, +2 Intelligence, -2 Constitution, -2 Strength Spycraft
Research Assistant A research assistant - the hardest working and least credited in the scholarly staff. +1 Intelligence, +1 Wisdom, -1 Agility, -1 Strength Arcana
Scholar The scholar, who is most adept at making other people work very hard. +2 Intelligence, +2 Wisdom, -2 Agility, -2 Strength Arcana
Scribe Scribes are universally treasured, but rarely paid commensurate wages for their value. +1 Intelligence, +1 Strength, -1 Constitution, -1 Perception Recollection
Librarian Librarians work surprisingly hard, sorting and placing hundreds of pounds of tomes per day. +2 Intelligence, +2 Strength, -2 Constitution, -2 Perception Recollection
Healer A healer, skilled with poultice and bandage and simple curatives. +1 Wisdom, +1 Agility, -1 Strength, -1 Perception Medicine
Doctor A doctor, skilled with scalpel and needle and leech alike. +2 Wisdom, +2 Agility, -2 Strength, -2 Perception Medicine
Trader A simple trader, perhaps owner of a modest store, perhaps moving from village to village, small wagon in tow. +1 Wisdom, +1 Perception, -1 Agility, -1 Constitution Spycraft
Merchant A merchant, more possessed of the trappings of wealth than wealth itself. +2 Wisdom, +2 Perception, -2 Agility, -2 Constitution Spycraft
Chemist A chemist, face marked with the scars of years of experience and learning. +1 Intelligence, +1 Constitution, -1 Strength, -1 Agility Woodcraft
Alchemist An alchemist, discolored and scarred from experiments conducted over years. +2 Intelligence, +2 Constitution, -2 Strength, -2 Agility Woodcraft
Fucking hell. Musician. Whatever.
Please select your ancestry Detail
Farmer''s Line The lineage of a simple farmer from the days of Old Haven +1 Strength, +1 Constitution, +1 Wisdom, -1 Intelligence, -1 Agility, -1 Perception
Bluebrim''s Line The lineage of the Biomancer Ferran Bluebrim, who singlehandled fed the armies of Old Haven during the First Sundering +1 Strength, +2 Constitution, +3 Wisdom, -1 Intelligence, -2 Agility, -3 Perception
Scholar''s Line The lineage of a simple scholar from the days of Old Haven +1 Constitution, +1 Wisdom, +1 Intelligence, -1 Agility, -1 Perception, -1 Strength
Fiern''s Line The lineage of Seam Fiern, who is credited with identifying the source of The Sundering +1 Constitution, +2 Wisdom, +3 Intelligence, -1 Agility, -2 Perception, -3 Strength
Merchant''s Line The lineage of a simple merchant from the days of Old Haven +1 Wisdom, +1 Intelligence, +1 Agility, -1 Perception, -1 Strength, -1 Constitution
Tegrile''s Line The lineage of Leone Tegrile, who converted his mansion into a flying fortress - First Citadel, although it has crashed three times since and little resembles its original form - and his collection of rare artifacts into a magical arsenal. +1 Wisdom, +2 Intelligence, +3 Agility, -1 Perception, -2 Strength, -3 Constitution
Thieftaker''s Line The lineage of a simple thief-taker from the days of Old Haven +1 Intelligence, +1 Agility, +1 Perception, -1 Strength, -1 Constitution, -1 Wisdom
Heunchmenn''s Line The lineage of Lenne Heunchmenn, whose corps of thieftakers, remnants of six dozen different corps devastated by The Sundering, patrolled the streets even during the war, taking heavy casualties but keeping the city intact. +1 Intelligence, +2 Agility, +3 Perception, -1 Strength, -2 Constitution, -3 Wisdom
Mariner''s Line The lineage of a simple mariner from the days of Old Haven +1 Agility, +1 Perception, +1 Strength, -1 Constitution, -1 Wisdom, -1 Intelligence
Vexbeard''s Line The lineage of the captain Sern Vexbeard, whose ship, sole survivor of the raids on the ports during The Sundering, held off six dozen behemoth off-worlders for the six days it took for reinforcements to arrive +1 Agility, +2 Perception, +3 Strength, -1 Constitution, -2 Wisdom, -3 Intelligence
Smith''s Line The lineage of a simple smith from the days of Old Haven +1 Perception, +1 Strength, +1 Constitution, -1 Wisdom, -1 Intelligence, -1 Agility
Tongesh''s Line The lineage of the enchanter Irem Tongesh, who forged and enchanted the armaments of the First Company, who first turned back the invasion of The Breach +1 Perception, +2 Strength, +3 Constitution, -1 Wisdom, -2 Intelligence, -3 Agility
He had an interview to get to, what the hell was this shit? Bluebrim?
Please select your quest Detail
Destiny The world has a destiny in mind for you, and you must pursue any means to fulfill it.
Repayment of Debt You must repay a debt, whether to an individual, to society, or to the gods.
Hero Complex You must help others, and will seek to help anybody in need.
Guardian You must protect the innocent, defend the harmless, fight the power.
Find Purpose You are motivated primarily by a lack of motivation, and are seeking to find a purpose in life.
Greed You are motivated primarily by a desire to acquire more of something - money is the typical target.
Justice You have an overwhelming desire to visit Justice upon the wicked.
Power Your objective is to attain power - but even becoming emperor of all creation won''t satisfy this drive.
Chaos You seek to disrupt order and introduce a little bit of chaos into the world.
Overcoming Failure You are haunted by a great past failure, which you seek to overcome and/or rectify.
Honor You are defined by your sense of honor.
Spreading Joy You just want to make everybody happy.
Glory You are haunted by the desire to attain ever-greater glory - it isn''t enough to die in battle, unless you do so strangling a dragon to death a mile above the ground to plummet to a fiery - but glorious - death.
Collector You must complete a collection. Stamps, the heads of the enemies, kingdoms...
Entertainment You just have to entertain everybody, all of the time.
The Buddha You have no motivation, nor does you feel the need to acquire one.
Overcoming Weakness You must overcome a weakness of body or spirit.
Vengeance You need to visit vengeance upon an enemy, or perhaps a kingdom, or perhaps the world or the gods themselves.
Utopian You seek to make the world Perfect.
Return Home You just want to get Home.
Uh. What? This prompt threw Thomas for a loop for a second, existential confusion gripping him. He did owe his roommate rent, but that was more a requirement for not ending up on the streets than ¡­ no, no, get through this and get to the interview. Fine. I''ll be The Buddha. Whatever.
What is your greatest value? Detail
Money Whoever has the most money when they die, wins.
Honor Honor isn''t a way of living life, it is the way of living life.
Home Home is where the heart is, and also where you stash your loot. Treat it well.
Self Selfishness is only a fault when you do it wrong.
Mind You have one tool, one weapon, that is always at your disposal - hone it well.
Body You have but one canvas to paint with yourself, paint a masterpiece.
Soul You have but one soul, treat it well.
Victory The point of living is to win. Winning -is- living well.
Logic The only correct decision is the provably correct decision.
Loyalty Friends, family, and fine spirits, these are what make a life grand.
Friendship Live alone, die alone; live together, instead.
Love Whatever you achieve is meaningless if you can''t share that achievement with somebody.
Freedom Liberty -is- life, anything else is to be mere machinery.
Patriotism For one''s nation, for one''s people, for glory.
Knowledge Acquire all the knowledge, acquire all the power.
Order A well-ordered life, a well-ordered universe.
Inebriation Better living through chemistry.
Faith Be true to yourself, be true to what you know, that is the heart of faith.
Abstinence Restraint is what separates man from beast.
Excess What''s the point of life if you aren''t living it?
Well it sure as shit wasn''t Logic ¨C wait, no ¨C
Choose two characteristics Detail
Lust You can figure this one out yourself.
Pride A Prideful person is unlikely to engage in acts they consider beneath themselves; this can avert catostrophe in some situations, but in others may prevent that character from doing what is necessary.
Sloth A Slothful person will generally prefer to do nothing over doing something, or to do less rather than more.
Wrath A Wrathful person is prone to flashes of great rage, and may overreact to simple provocation - but may be the only person willing to rise to the occasion when the occasion merits it.
Gluttony A Gluttonous person is one prone to excess - not necessarily of food, but to any of the pleasures of life.
Loyal A Loyal person is unlikely to stray from their friends - whether or not their friends deserve to be strayed from or not.
Honorable An Honorable person sticks by their own brand of ethics, even - or perhaps particularly - when those ethics handicap them.
Ambition An Ambitious person is always seeking to improve their lot in life, sometimes to the detriment of others.
Perseverent A Perseverent person is less likely to give up, even when giving up is the right thing to do
Diligence A Diligent person dots every i and crosses every t - which can delay necessary action, or ensure that that action goes according to plan.
Honesty An Honest person is disinclined to be untruthful, even when the truth is harmful.
Passion A Passionate person is inclined to brash action and enthusiastic responses.
Mirth A Mirthful person is disinclined to take anything too seriously.
Valor A Valorous person is inclined to rush in, in spite of any danger a situation may pose, and whatever wisdom might say.
Stoicism A Stoic person doesn''t take anything too personally, or respond strongly to any particular situation; a Stoic tries to stay in control of him or herself at all times.
Devotion A Devoted person pursues their values to extremes.
Humility A Humble person doesn''t think too highly of themselves - and perhaps doesn''t think highly enough of themselves.
Resourceful A Resourceful person is always looking for the advantage in a situation.
Prudence A Prudent person is inclined to wait for more information before taking any action, perhaps delaying action until it is too late.
Peacefulness A Peaceful person is disinclined to engage in violence until it becomes absolutely necessary.
Thomas was again thrown for a loop, staring at the details. He had to pick two this time? Some of these were vices, and some were virtues, but the descriptions ¡­ he''d never really thought about vices and virtues in the light they were presented in here, and it caused him to stop for a second, feeling like he understood the world just a little bit better. Huh. The description for Lust ¨C wait, shit. It disappeared from his list of choices. Okay, that description had been a damned trap. Right. Uh. Stoicism seemed the least bad? At least it was better than Lust, which - what did that even mean? Lust and Stoicism seemed like an odd combination.
Avatar creation complete. Please stand by.
This last message appeared for only a second or two, and then, finally, blessedly, the fucking blue field disappeared. Thomas immediately tried to turn back to his room, and found that, again, although he didn''t feel constrained, he also didn''t feel like trying to move ¡­ did anything. He was just in an utterly black nothing. And then there was something. Ch 2. Prison The blue field appeared again as Thomas started to panic in the utter void; he felt ¡­ relief.
Thomas Bluebrim Brawler Legend of Wind
Level 1 0 Misfortunes / 0 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
70/70 Health 0/0 Mana -2/-2 Stamina
0 Distinctions Available 11 Skill Points Available 5 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution Intelligence
1 0 -3
1 Melee Damage Bonus 70 Maximum Health 6 Additional Skill Points
3 Maximum Worn Armor 0 Damage Reduction -2 Maximum Stamina Points
0 Deflection * 12 Base Armor 0 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
5 0 -3
5 Lores 0 Bonus Targeting -3 Reaction Time
5 Arcane Resistance 0 Evasion -1 Stamina Regeneration
0 Mana * 20 Movement * 0 Missile Range Bonus *
Uh. So apparently Thomas had negative stamina? The hell did that mean? And what were all the asterisks? After a moment, the blue field changed again.
Class Distinction: Hurl As a reaction to an attack by a creature no larger than one size category larger than you, you may throw your assailant up to 5ft, subject to a contest of Constitution; if your attacker hits another creature, both become Prone; if it doesn''t hit another creature, it still falls Prone
Class Distinction: Tough as Nails You have a natural armor (Maximum Worn Armor Limits still apply) equal to twice your Constitution
Distinction: Weapon Expertise: Unarmed Your base unarmed attack damage increases by one progression for each free hand, and your Melee Damage Bonus applies for each free hand
Thomas read through the descriptions, as there wasn''t much else to do at the moment. Alright. So ¡­ whatever was going on, he could hit things harder. He was still alarmed by the negative stamina. As he worked through his feelings of panic over the interview he had almost certainly already missed, and the rent he almost certainly wasn''t going to pay, the blue field, yet again, changed, with an immediate splitting headache, as it was too damned big for him to see all at once, and he saw it all at once anyways.
Please choose five lores. Lore Detail
Lore: Locks Your knowledge of the history and manufacture of locks, and how they have been bypassed in the past, as well as some particularly amusing stories involving broken locks on particularly inconvenient doors which would otherwise lead to particularly convenient rooms.
Lore: Traps Your knowledge of the history and manufacture of traps, and in particular their faults and flaws. Also the ways in which ambitious young souls have completely failed to exploit those faults and flaws.
Lore: Pickpocketing Your knowledge of the rich history of pickpocketing, famous pickpockets, and prominent failures, and the reasons for those failures - as well as the sentences resulting from those failures.
Lore: Throwing Your knowledge of the most prominent games of skill, and the theoretical concepts underpinning the basic physical act of throwing on object, as well as what happens to the knees of those who bet more on their skill than would strictly be wise.
Lore: Magic Theory Your knowledge of the nature and history of magic, its operations, and its most common uses, as well as its much more common misuses.
Lore: Magic Artifactuary Your knowledge of the nature and history of magical artifacts, the most common types, their intended use, and some anecdotes which are amusing to some people, at least, about artifacts misused by those who probably should have known better, and many more who shouldn''t.
Lore: Ritual Performance Your knowledge of famous rituals, and how they were performed, as well as the underpinning theory behind their execution - and what not to do if you don''t want to earn a particularly horrible death.
Lore: Ritual Disruption Your knowledge of famous failed rituals, and how they were disrupted, as well as the theories on how best to disrupt rituals once begun without invoking adverse blowback. That would, of course, be bad.
Lore: Climbing Your knowledge of the techniques involving in climbing, as well as the lore surrounding the act; sieges ended by intrepid souls, mountains peaked, ambushes averted - as well as its great failures, which tend to be more similar than its successes.
Lore: Leaping Your knowledge of the history of leaping, a great sport in some places, where legendary figures are said to have traversed canyons and rivers with singular and great Distinctions - Distinctions whose attempted replication has resulted in more than a few hard-to-reach corpses.
Lore: Breaking Your knowledge of the practical applications of reductionist theory, and the risks involved in the misapplication of reductionist dichotomies - that is to say, the art of hitting things, and breaking the thing you''re hitting instead of the thing you''re hitting them with.
Lore: Lifting Your knowledge of the mechanical principles underlying the act of elevating objects beyond their resting position using muscular torsion and skeletal leverage, and the limits implying catastrophic mechanical failures.
Lore: Swimming Your knowledge of fluid dynamics principles to the end of making yourself pointy and splashing more effectively. Fish will always be better than you. Eat a few of them. Remind them of the proper order of things.
Lore: Balancing Your knowledge of the mechanical principles underlying acts of leverage, rotation, and other simple dynamics, simplifying the act of walking from one location to another without abrupt and unexpected death, or at least unpleasantness, befalling you, or you befalling it. Animals make it look easy. Show them the error of their carefree ways by making abrupt and unexpected death and unpleasantness befall them.
Lore: Acrobatics Your knowledge of the mechanical principles underlying simple rotation, angular momentum, and similar mechanics, permitting you to perform seemingly miraculous Distinctions, such as controlling rotation speed by moving your hands closer and further from your center of mass, or getting six full rotations out of a single backflip, or breaking your neck by performing five and a half rotations in a single backflip. Some creatures are better at this than humans. They make for delightfully challenging archery targets.
Lore: Swinging Your knowledge of the mechanical principles of angular momentum, gravitational force, and periodic motion, granting considerable insight into something monkeys do better than you could ever hope to. If you feel slightly bitter about it, put a fruit in a box with a hole the fruit won''t fit back through, and laugh at the stupid little monkeys as they try to get it out without letting go. Then hit it on the head with a heavy stick.
Lore: First Aid Your knowledge of simple anatomy and basic emergency care, and how to correctly treat simple conditions, as well as to recognize the limits of your skill and knowledge, and what exactly might otherwise happen if you blundered on.
Lore: Surgery Your knowledge of anatomy and surgical techniques, and how to correctly treat internal injuries, as well as the ability to recognize when a patient is beyond your ability to help rather than harm.
Lore: Stabilization Your knowledge of emergency care, and how to stabilize a patient to prevent immediate death, so that more in-depth treatment can be undertaken under more favorable circumstances, such as when arrows aren''t still embedding themselves in said patient.
Lore: Symptoms Your knowledge of the various conditions that afflict the human body, and how to recognize the causal patterns connecting the visible symptoms, and the underlying reason for their presentation.
Lore: Disguises Your knowledge of the storied history of infiltration and deceit;secrets stolen, treasures taken, spies caught, tortured, and executed. Great rewards take a little risk.
Lore: Blend Your knowledge of one of the most flexible arts in the spy''s arsenal, ceasing to stand out from a crowd, and becoming one with its members, just another quickly-forgotten face. The danger, of course, is that you''re generally surrounded by exactly those you''d rather not find you.
Lore: Forgeries Your knowledge of the crisp, clean feel of good paper, the tactile sensation of the pen as it makes marks indistinguishable from the real thing, the pleasure in cashing a promissory note for somebody else''s money; less delightfully, you also know the penalties for failure, least among them the loss of a finger or five, and the quite unique experience of multiple fractures of things you''d rather keep intact.
Lore: Information Your knowledge of that most versatile skill, the ability to take rumors from one or multiple sources, and turn it into useful information. Information is dangerous, however. Be careful what questions you ask, or you''ll get some very pointed questions from people with very pointed instruments.
Lore: Animal Handling Your knowledge of the bond between man and beast, the simple language of controller and controlled, guide and guided, and occasionally, gored and gorer. Mind your fingers when giving your capricious fellow living beings treats as reward for good behavior, because punishing them immediately after for taking one off can send mixed signals.
Lore: Scavenging Your knowledge of the ways of nature - where to find berries, which berries are safe to eat, what to do when you eat the wrong variety of berries. More broadly useful, of course - knowing what foliage to look for can tell you a surprising-to-a-layman amount about what kind of minerals can be mined, and where shallow springs can be found.
Lore: Shelters Your knowledge of the intricate act of turning a few bug-ridden piles of brush into a single larger bug-ridden pile of brush that will keep the rain off your head and curious creatures from doing too much investigation. The wrong kind of shelter, of course, is just a meal wrapper for the right kind of fauna.
Lore: Scouting Your knowledge of the trails man and beast leave in their wake - camp garbage and footprints, broken twigs and torn scraps of fabric or thread, disturbed leaves and twigs, scent, blood - and how to use this information to seek or evade an impromptu meeting, and thus how to set the terms of what meetings must take place.
Lore: Hiding Places Your knowledge of the small places, the dark regions, the borders on the edge of notice that mankind, oft to its detriment, grows too complacent to monitor, for they are myriad and man''s time is short; mind that you hide well, lest your time be made shorter.
Lore: Sneaking Your knowledge of the darkness, the silence, the creeping moonlight that obscures rather than illuminates, and how to insert yourself without disruption or ripple, like a skull slipping into a pool of purified mana.
Lore: Losing Tails Your knowledge of the shadow, of the hunt, of that which pursues; you move as starlight, disappearing even as illuminated, and hardest to see when seen directly; the hare is quicker still, however, and but for a moment''s inattention is but an unwitting meal.
Lore: Concealment Your knowledge of the darkest colors, the bodings, the penumbra that hides all around the umbra; your knowledge, not just of disappearing, but leaving no hole where once a thing was to draw the eye, being careful not to disappear too thoroughly from this world.
Lore: Spotting Your knowledge of the subtle ways in which a thing may be made invisible without hiding at all; switches within pictures, eyes watching from between books in a library, a limping bird drawing notice away from its young; of course, such knowledge comes with the great mistakes, such as Hensil Mar, who walked off a cliff face while insisting the walkway was camoflaged to appear as the cliff wall behind.
Lore: Listening This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Your knowledge of the subtle ways in which noises may be concealed; the creak of a door concealing the snap of the line of the trap it is triggering, a squirrel throwing an object as it runs in another direction, steel oiled to sound like leather; you also know of some of the great misidentifications, such as Talime the Farsighted, who walked into a dragon''s cave thinking the breathing to be a snoring bear.
Lore: Hidden Things Your knowledge of the subtle ways in which a thing might be hidden entire; a loose floorboard, a carriage wheelbox, a false exterior; you also know how this knowledge can backfire on one who uses it not wisely but too well, such as Vade Scintille, who knocked a support wall out in search of a hidden room.
Lore: Following Your knowledge of the subtle ways in which even a watched person may disappear; slipping into a crowd, ducking into an alley, swapping hats in a moment''s distraction; you''re also aware of pursuits turned foul, like Riesh Nocherre, who tackled his king, who had taken to walking in plain clothes throughout his own city.
Lore: Myths Your knowledge of mythology - from Oakheart''s Ascension to the shadowy god-kings of the Otherworlders - and all its implications.
Lore: Common Knowledge Your knowledge of common things - from how shaving is properly done to the best spices to take the mana taste out of silvertusk flesh - and all its implications.
Lore: Iconography Your knowledge of iconography - from the symbol of the Door key to the ever-moving sigil of Thaumaturgy - and all its implications.
Lore: Languages Your knowledge of the nature of languages - from the common roots of Northking''s Tongue and Sibilese to the types of conjugation that exist in Perriul - and all its implications.
Lore: Working under Pressure Your knowledge of minds, and your own mind in particular; how to deal with time constraints and stress, and what happened to those who couldn''t think faster than the rocks coming at them.
Lore: Holding Rituals Your knowledge of the nature of ritual, and how best to preserve it against subtle mistakes and gentle interferences, and what happened to those who couldn''t maintain their calm under the baleful gaze of a barely-contained mad god.
Lore: Conducting Power Your knowledge of the nature of flesh, metal, and magic, and how they interact at the edges; you know exactly what happens when flesh keeps conducting and metal ceases, moreover.
Lore: Meditation Your knowledge of the nature of harmony, and how it is sustained - as well as how it is not, and the nightmares that tear free of the mind that lets itself wander unguided through the aethersphere.
Lore: Volcanoes Your knowledge of the desert, the magma, the lava, the world of the ever-burning embers, and the memories of dried-up husks of those who thought they, too, knew the land they traversed.
Lore: Glaciers Your knowledge of the ice, the glacier, the white-out blizzards, the world of the ever-blowing wind, and the memories of frozen screams of those who thought they, too, knew the land they traversed.
Lore: Hurricanes Your knowledge of the howling wind, the screaming tornados, the shuddering strokes of lightning, the world of the storm, and the memories of those who thought they, too, knew the land they traversed.
Lore: Survival Your knowledge of the placid pond, the babbling brook, the silent meadow, the world of the endless peace, and the memories of the gutted, half-eaten corpses of those who thought they, too, knew the land they traversed.
Lore: Biomancy Your knowledge of the nature of Biomancy, its origins, and some of its great feats; the Ascension of Oakheart, the purging of the poisoned river Eul, the restoration of the Desert of Souls.
Lore: Conjuration Your knowledge of the nature of Conjuration, its origins, and some of its great feats; the Summoning of Arathao, the closing of the Maw of Far Reaches, the defeat of the offworld demigod Seizrul.
Lore: Elemental Your knowledge of the nature of Elemental magic, its origins, and some of its great feats; the Eternal Pillars, the defense of Iasrune, the Great Bombardment.
Lore: Enchantment Your knowledge of the nature of Enchantment, its origins, and some of its great creations; the Blade of Ages, the Eternal Shield, the Utterly Ordinary Spear.
Lore: Focal Your knowledge of the nature of Focal magic, its origins, and some of its great feats; the Haunting of Sivil, the Purge of Names, the Heartarrow of Vin.
Lore: Illusion Your knowledge of the nature of Illusion magic, its origins, and some of its great feats; the Forgotten Mountain, the Fell Giant, the end of the Siege of Falice.
Lore: Necromancy Your knowledge of the nature of Necromancy, its origins, and some of its great feats; the Lord of the Undying Realm, the Fungal Bloom, the theft of Oakheart''s Soul
Lore: Planar Your knowledge of the nature of Planar magic, its origins, and some of its great feats; the Great Seal, the discovery of The Underplanes, the creation of the Door Key.
Lore: Thaumaturgy Your knowledge of the nature of Thaumaturgy, its origins, and some of its great feats; the Wall of Lights, the Terrible Undoing, and the Charm of Lakes.
Lore: Viviomancy Your knowledge of the nature of Viviomancy, its origins, and some of its great feats; the creation of the Fountain of Life, the resurrections of Vin, Crell''s Last Stand.
Lore: Creature Type: Ocean Your knowledge of the flora and fauna (mostly fauna) of the ocean; the majestic crab, the adorable mermouse, the malignant puddle...
Lore: Creature Type: Reptile Your knowledge of the reptile kingdom; from the Frost Drake to the common Alligator to the deadly Aether Dragon, you''re familiar with the anatomy and nature of them all
Lore: Creature Type: Beast Your knowledge of mundane and magical beasts; Brown Wolves surprise few, Rhinos surprise more, but you know all the legends even of the Ursanova.
Lore: Creature Type: Bug Your knowledge of the creepy and crawly things that go often unnoticed, as well as the larger specimens, far from civilization (or busy consuming it), whose nature and names are rarely encountered.
Lore: Creature Type: Offworlder Your knowledge of the beings from beyond, whose study has occupied many for many hundreds of years and resulted in no small number of deaths. Crevogs are a name familiar to you, as are the Esrule, and the Mantlesquid.
Lore: Creature Type: Bird Your knowledge of the bird kingdom, both big and small, from the elephant-devouring Roc to the rat-devouring Seerhawk.
Lore: Creature Type: Elemental Your knowledge of the elementals of the world, who hold sway and derive power from its primal naturalistic forces, from fire to fortune, from sea to storms.
Aw, hell no. He could barely read the damned list, and started selecting at random.
Lore: Enchantment Your knowledge of the nature of Enchantment, its origins, and some of its great creations; the Blade of Ages, the Eternal Shield, the Utterly Ordinary Spear. +1 to Arcane Resistance Thresholds of Enchantment spells you cast +1 to Arcane Resistance Bonus against Enchantment spells
Lore: Swimming Your knowledge of fluid dynamics principles to the end of making yourself pointy and splashing more effectively. Fish will always be better than you. Eat a few of them. Remind them of the proper order of things. +2 to Grace when swimming You know the difficulty involved to swim across a difficult area or at a given pace
Lore: Disguises Your knowledge of the storied history of infiltration and deceit;secrets stolen, treasures taken, spies caught, tortured, and executed. Great rewards take a little risk. +2 to Spycraft when preparing disguises You know the difficulty involved to pass basic scrutiny under disguise
Lore: Shelters Your knowledge of the intricate act of turning a few bug-ridden piles of brush into a single larger bug-ridden pile of brush that will keep the rain off your head and curious creatures from doing too much investigation. The wrong kind of shelter, of course, is just a meal wrapper for the right kind of fauna. +2 to Woodcraft when preparing shelter You know the difficulty involved to prepare functional shelter against the local elements
Lore: Volcanoes Your knowledge of the desert, the magma, the lava, the world of the ever-burning embers, and the memories of dried-up husks of those who thought they, too, knew the land they traversed. +2 to Endurance when navigating extremely hot environments You know the difficulty involved to go without injury in a given hot environment
Okay, mostly randomly. Volcanoes had caught his eye as he randomly focused on sections of the massive text field with a sense of intending to choose, which had worked. The smaller list that replaced it was more mentally manageable.
Inserting avatar. Please stand by.
Inserting what now? The blackness gave way to a bright white light, which gradually faded ¡­ back into black. Uh. Thomas tried looking around, and was startled and pleased that ¨C his head actually turned. Well, the blackness didn''t change, but the accustomed fielding of muscles moving, and tension in the tendons, asserted itself, and his sense of orientation with respect to the rest of his body shifted as well. And then the smell hit him, all at once. He had encountered that particular smell only once before, at a campsite restroom when he was a teenager, and his parents had driven them across the country; they had been too poor to afford hotels, and had camped out each night instead. It wasn''t the smell of sewage, exactly ¨C it was the smell of sewage that was left untreated in a container for weeks or months on end in hot conditions. And that smell at that campsite had been the little brother of the smell that assaulted him now; the same smell, but so intense he felt like he had been punched in the gut. Thomas found himself on his hands and knees on a cold, rough surface. Warmth splattered across his hands as he heaved the contents of his stomach out. The smell just kept ¡­ being there, getting stronger if anything, and his eyes watered, his nose ran. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, struggling not to throw up again, pulling his shirt up over his face to try to filter out some of that awful goddamned smell. It didn''t work. Thomas dropped the shirt as he started trying to vomit again, dry-heaving painfully into the air. His sides ached, his abs spasming uncontrollably. Slowly he fell to the side, his face landing in hot, wet liquid. The smell of the vomit was, if anything, a relief. He curled slowly into a ball, suddenly finding warmth running down his face, tears dripping into the puke. What the fuck was going on? Gradually, choking and hiccuping, his tears stopped flowing. He felt unaccountably exhausted, and let himself collapse into something that wasn''t quite sleep. Sleep was more restful than whatever this half-conscious, miserable haze was.
A grating noise drew his attention, and he sat up, looking around for his alarm clock in a sudden flickering yellow light. A narrow band of yellow, a few feet away. Something was shoved in, and he scrambled for the light, but with the same grating noise, something slid sideways across it, and the light was gone. Thomas felt around, finding an object, with a smoother texture than the floor, albeit still rough; his fingers, exploring, touched something else, cold and rough, sitting in a cold liquid. A bowl? He carefully picked it up, sniffing at it. All he could smell was the pervasive scent of sewage. He put the bowl back down, not feeling in the mood for food. His face was sticky. He didn''t really want to think about what it was sticky with. Where was he? What had happened to his room? This felt almost like ¡­ a vague sense of dread stole into him. That slat. The bowl of food shoved in. He had seen movies with prisons that looked like this, medieval prisons, only in the movies they were always well-lit. And the characters in those movies didn''t seem to be bothered by the smell. But then, movies never really focused on where people took a shit, and you had to have light to have a movie in the first place. Okay. So he was, what, in a prison. A medieval prison. Okay, so this was, what, a prank? No, this would take way too much effort for his roommate to pull, and he didn''t know anybody else well enough. This must be a TV show. Thomas looked around the darkness. Using, what, infra-red? Whatever. ¡°Hey! Fuckers! I don''t consent to whatever bullshit this is! Get me out of here, I want to see the ¡­ uh ¡­ the producer!¡± He shouted, and the noise echoed back at him. He waited for a moment, and then shouted again, ¡°I''m going to sue the shit out of you, get me the fuck out of here!¡± The echo in the apparently small room was his only reply. He curled up again, starting to shiver. What is going on? Fear stabbed at him, a sense of panic and anxiety. He needed to move, to run, but he couldn''t see. He started crawling around the ground, until his head collided painfully with a hard surface. He reached out and touched a wall, then stood slowly ¨C and hit his head on the ceiling, and ducked down again. He moved around the room. It was about five steps across in any direction, roughly square. Thomas guessed the walls, floor, and ceiling were stone; one wall had a door, a smoother rough surface that didn''t feel as cold to the touch. He found the hole ¨C for shitting and pissing, he guessed ¨C when a foot slipped into it, and he fell to a knee, hard, but in something he wasn''t sure he was pleased to find ¡­ squishy, and cold. The ceiling was an arch ¨C he could stand in the center of the room, barely, but it sloped down as it approached every wall but the one with the door. Thomas moved back to the door, and felt around it. There was no handle, no knob, nothing at all but a seam where it met the stone, and a rectangle running most of the length of the bottom of the door; the slat where what he guessed was food had come through; he had spilled the bowl exploring the room, stepping on it and cracking it apart; it felt like the same, probably-wooden material as the door. The door wasn''t set in a recess, sitting nearly flush with the rock. He couldn''t find hinges, so it, what, swung outward? Thomas sat back down near the door. Okay. He was kind of getting accustomed to the smell, somehow. So, what did he know? He was in some kind of shitty ¡­ no, this didn''t feel like a reality show. Had he been kidnapped and put in someone''s ¡­ what, sex dungeon? Was he some kind of sex slave? Or maybe ¡­ had a serial killer captured him and locked him in a basement? What had been up with that weird blue field with the text, then? Maybe he had been dosed with some kind of hallucinogenic drug.
Escape. He had poked around at the hole ¨C with the toe of his shoe ¨C but he wouldn''t fit through it even if he wanted to, which, given the smell, he really didn''t. The walls were rough stone, surprising well fitted ¨C he''d found slight seams in irregular shapes, examining them with his fingertips. The floor was either cut stone, or tiles, or concrete; there were larger seems, with a rough sandy material, maybe grout, connecting the stones. He tried using pieces of the probably-wooden bowl he''d stepped in to dig up some of the maybe-grout, but without light, he had trouble telling whether or not the work accomplished anything. After enough work to make his hand cramp up, he couldn''t identify a difference in depth; there was grit, but there was grit everywhere on the floor. He thought about it for a while, mind slowly returning to the blue fields; specifically, the one that had said something about being better at unarmed combat. Supposing, for a moment, that they weren''t a hallucination ¨C just supposing ¨C then he could do two additional ¡°progressions¡±, whatever that was supposed to mean, of damage. Alright. Don''t overthink it. Thomas moved carefully over to the door, moving in a crouch, one hand touching the floor in front of him while the other groped at the air, until he felt the smoother material beneath his fingers. Alright. It had something about hands; did he have to punch it for the effect to apply? No, try kicking, first. If he was losing his mind, at least his shoe would protect his foot somewhat. He positioned himself carefully, trying slow, fake kicks first, until his knee was mostly, but not completely, extended ¨C kick past the door, right? ¨C when the heel of his shoe connected. Alright, time to try this out. Taking a breath, Thomas kicked out at the door, as hard as he could, with a sharp crack. The floor hit his back a moment later, pain shooting through his shoulders. Fuck. Ouch. Ouch. He propped himself up on his elbows, moving his head around; his neck hurt a bit, strained from instinctively tucking his head forward as he fell backwards, but ¨C but he swore he had felt the door give a little bit under the blow. Alright, so ¨C kicking had worked, a little bit, but physics was a bitch. He got to his feet ¨C and one hand ¨C and felt his way back over to the door, feeling it. Yeah. The wood felt rougher, and there was a definite section that ¨C fucking hell, splinter. Thomas smiled, rising slowly. Time to try a punch or two. He went light on his first punch, and was immediately glad he did, as pain radiated across his knuckles. He tried again with his palm, the way he had seen martial artists do it in movies, and that felt much, much better, but still hurt. A few more experiments, and he settled on a strike that used the meat of his hand, instead of, basically, slapping it really hard. He leaned forward with the next palm strike, putting his shoulders into it, and drove hard, with a satisfying crunching sound. His feet slipped back a little bit, but his palm remained against the door, holding his balance. A stinging sensation, but it hadn''t hurt-hurt. He started alternating hands, striking as quickly as he could without falling over, which wasn''t too terribly fast. The door crunched, cracked, and creaked. And then, with a sharper crunch and splintering sounds, his palm went partially through the door. Partially, and then he was cursing aloud, pulling his hand back and yanking out the large chunks of wood stabbing into his hand from almost every angle. Hot blood poured down from the torn skin, and Thomas sat heavily down on the ground again, cradling his hand to his chest. Suddenly he was glad he had sat down, because he felt woozy, and probably would have thrown up again if his stomach weren''t so thoroughly emptied already. Shit shit shit. Was he bleeding out? After a few minutes, he determined that no, he wasn''t bleeding out. The flow slowed, then stopped. It wasn''t really all that much blood, once he calmed down a bit and thought it through; he''d hurt himself worse many times before, but not being able to see the wounds was making him come to the worst possible conclusions. He slowly got himself back under control, and stood shakily again, moving to the door, and tentatively exploring the hole he''d made. It was small ¨C maybe twice the diameter of a quarter. The door itself was, what, an inch or two thick? He tried ripping the wood apart with his hands, but it was surprisingly strong stuff, for a material he''d managed to, basically, punch a hole through. Alright, one piece of evidence that the blue fields hadn''t entirely been an unwilling drug trip. He started, carefully, striking the door again, this time spreading the blows out across the surface. The noise was loud, and he was giving himself a headache, but it wasn''t like anything else was going on at the moment, so this is what he was going to be doing. It took either half an hour or half a day ¨C his arms and shoulders burned, his palms felt numb ¨C but the door finally just ¡­ gave out, falling apart into multiple pieces. One struck his leg, and he had to yank out another chunk of wood. Okay. So it was dark on the other side too. That probably should have been obvious from the moment he''d knocked the first hole in the door, in retrospect, but it still came as a surprise to him. He moved carefully over the rubble of the door, tapping down with his foot multiple times, and, feeling his way, moved through the door, and started following the left wall. The ceiling was higher here, thankfully. He found an inside corner, and kept moving. The progress was slow, as, after thinking about the possibility of falling into another hole, he started tapping his foot against the ground as he moved, checking the floor for any sudden holes or gaps. He found another corner, this one outside ¨C no, convex. The inside corner was concave. Maybe. He wasn''t certain he remembered those words correctly. But as he started to follow it around, his foot kicked something hard. He felt around with his foot, and found that it was a step. He stepped up it. He found another immediately. Alright, stairs. They were shallow, and wide, but they were stairs. He ascended them, sticking hard to the left wall, his only guiding light ¨C ha ¨C in the darkness. Or it had been; he was gradually aware that he could, in fact, start to see; it was getting brighter, as he moved up. Light! He moved more quickly, and more quickly still, as he moved up the ¨C yes, cut stone stairs. The walls were indeed rough stone, fitted exceptionally well. The ceiling was more cut stone, however. He was vaguely aware of the air getting fresher. How far did this staircase even go? How deep down was he? The light just kept getting brighter. His eyes already felt like they had been given a thorough sanding, however, and his body ached from a dozen scrapes and cuts and bruises anyways, so it was just another discomfort on a pile that kept getting bigger. His headache, which had become an incessant pounding, started to ease, at least. Shit, what had he even been breathing down there? The place had probably been full of radio gas, or whatever it was called. Probably radio gas, he remembered hearing radioactive gas leaked from the ground in basements. Radio, radioactive, stood to reason. Hey, did his car stereo give him cancer? No, no, that wasn''t important. Later, when he got out of this serial killer''s ¡­ damn this basement was big. Where the fuck even was he? The source of the light became evident; a bright ball of light, a bare lightbulb, far too bright to look directly at, hung in a room at the top of the stairs. He slowed as he approached it, thinking quickly. Alright, there was a crazy serial killer somewhere up there, unless he had gone to the barber''s or grocery store or something. There might be a crazy serial killer up there. Thomas had a mean punch, now, but if he got stabbed or shot, that wouldn''t do him any good. He had to be ¡­ aw, shit. He''d made a lot of noise getting out. Alright, if the axe murderer or whatever hadn''t already come to see what was up, he probably wasn''t in the room, or at least hadn''t been when Thomas had been hammering his way through a door. Ok. Quietly. And as quietly as he could ¨C his teeth clenched against the scraping he absolutely couldn''t stop from doing as he placed one foot in front of the other, painfully slowly ¨C he climbed the last dozen steps up towards the room. And froze. Well, it wasn''t an axe murderer. At least, not exclusively.
There was a battered wooden desk in the room, with an equally dinged-up chair sitting behind it. An odd book sat on the desk, as well as ¨C was that a fucking inkpot and quill? But that couldn''t hold his attention long, because his eyes were pulled towards the wall behind the desk, where a fucking arsenal of very battered, very used-looking medieval goddamned weaponry was hanging in neat rows from wooden ¡­ holding things. A dozen swords, one of which looked to have been snapped in half. Three of the spiked metal clubs ¨C maces? Or were they scourges, or flails? He wasn''t really sure what any of those words actually meant. But three of those, with some of the spikes broken, others bent. Two absolutely mammoth axes with chipped blades. Christ. This guy must''ve killed a hundred people, to do that kind of damage to the arsenal. Or he had used them to excavate his crazy sex-murder dungeon. Shit, maybe he was a cannibal? No, no. Thomas still had all of his bits, he''d already checked. Unless maybe he liked to make people watch him eat their bits, like that movie, or that other movie, or ¡­ Thomas swallowed. He forced his gaze away from the implements of murder, to the door on the far side of the room. He''d get the hell out of here, is what he''d do, and get the police, and they''d shoot this crazy fucker full of holes. Yeah. He took one step, and then froze again. There was a sound from the other side of the door. Voices, more than one. Images of a family of cannibals eating his leg while he was forced to watch flashed through his mind. And the door handle ¡­ turned. Ch 3. Escape Shit. The Manson family was coming in, and they were going to kill him with this crazy medieval shit, and then eat him. And the door opened, and it was indeed a group of ren faire freaks, all dressed in battered armor and leather stuff he didn''t recognize. Thomas needed the hell out of here; he ran at them, screaming and waving his arms, terror mingling with hope that the gesture would startle them into letting him pass. He nearly staggered in surprise when it worked, the five men, all somewhat shorter than him, stumbling backwards. One only stepped back once, and then reached for something at his belt ¨C Thomas punched out at his chest as he ran by screaming. Pain lanced through his hand as it struck the metal chest armor thing ¨C shit, he''d used his knuckles again ¨C but the metal clanged loudly and the man stumbled out of his way. Thomas continued screaming as he ran past the serial killer family, whose expressions went from just startled, to startled and disgusted, their hands moving up to their faces as they moved even further out of his way. And into the hallway ¨C no, some kind of ¡­ he had no idea what the thing was, it was an outdoor hallway between two buildings, all cut stone, with a wooden roof overhead. Fresh, clean air! He continued running towards the grass, and then he was clear of the buildings, and into what looked like a meadow. He didn''t slow, but started looking wildly around for a road and some cars, but found nothing; it was just grass and rolling hills in the three directions that weren''t back towards the serial killer mansion. Thomas kept running, moving faster than he thought he''d ever run before, adrenaline coursing through him. He was halfway up the third hill before the adrenaline-fueled rush came to a sudden halt, and he fell face-forward into the grass, stomach cramping with dry-heaves that didn''t go anywhere. The fuck had that bee-
Major objective complete: Escape prison. 5 characterization points awarded. You have reached class level 2.
The blue field both filled his vision, and didn''t ¨C he could see the blue field, and the sideways view of the hillside he had collapsed upon, at the same time. Another blue field appeared, and now he could see both.
Thomas Bluebrim Brawler Legend of Wind
Level 2 0 Misfortunes / 0 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
52/80 Health 0/0 Mana -1/-1 Stamina
0 Distinctions Available 15 Skill Points Available 10 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution**** Intelligence
1 0 -3
1 Melee Damage Bonus 80 Maximum Health 8 Additional Skill Points
3 Maximum Worn Armor 0 Damage Reduction -2 Maximum Stamina Points
0 Deflection * 12 Base Armor 0 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
5 0 -3
5 Lores 0 Bonus Targeting -3 Reaction Time
5 Arcane Resistance 0 Evasion -1 Stamina Regeneration
0 Mana * 20 Movement * 0 Missile Range Bonus *
He blinked at the view, even as another appeared, the first fading out of existence.
Class Distinction: Call Out You may Call Out an opponent; subject to a Discipline contest against your Endurance, they must move towards you and attack you whenever possible
Class Distinction: Shake Off You may expend Stamina to increase your Worn Armor by 4, knock back all adjacent opponents 5 feet, and, subject to an Endurance contest against your Endurance, knock all affected targets prone
This shit again. He looked back, panting; he couldn''t see anybody following yet, but Thomas pulled himself to his feet anyways, and started slowly walking further away from the serial killers, trying to ignore the blue fields that both filled his vision, and didn''t; they were distracting, but he kept his focus on the ground in front of him as he moved away. How much time had passed? Thomas wasn''t sure. The world looked ¡­ wrong. First, it was blurry; was that the -3 in perception? Second, the light was slightly too ¡­ blue. The blue fields themselves, still constantly and annoyingly visible, superimposed on the world and at the same time not, were perfectly clear, and he started reading them more carefully as he walked. Alright. He was level 2. Whatever that meant. His health was 52/80, which meant he had lost some health ¨C either to the radio and sewage gases, or the splinters and bleeding, or hitting that armor with his bare fist ¨C and ¡­ hey. Why was his intelligence -3? He wasn''t ¡­ he did feel a little ¡­ slow. Okay. That was terrifying. He read through the screen a few more times as he walked, trying to understand what the information meant. Why did intelligence determine stamina? Did it mean willpower? That was usually a wisdom thing though, right? That was a little weird. And why did intelligence say he had -2 stamina ¨C he still didn''t know what that actually meant, it hadn''t seemed to affect his ability to run any ¨C but his actual stamina, or what he thought was meant to be his actual stamina, was -1/-1? He thought it might have been -2/-2 before. Well, he''d leveled up. Maybe stamina went up with level? His maximum health, whatever health was supposed to be, had. Where were his stat points to allocate? He really didn''t want to be stupid. All he had were skill points and customization points. Okay, skill points were probably useful; he could ¡­ spend those somehow, and get good at something? Could he get better at punching things? But the thing that made him good at punching things he thought had been one of those distinction things, but only two were showing up now, and not the same ones. He had three before, right? Did he lose the ability to punch things when he leveled up? That would be stu ¨C oh hey, water. There was a stream running along the base of the hill he was descending now, and he moved towards it. His reflection, blurry like everything else, stared up at him as he looked down into the water, which was kind of a muddy brown color, the bottom not really visible. He looked like shit. His short-cropped brown hair was stuck to his head. His features, angular and thin, were marred by a dried smear of ¨C oh, he had vomit all over his face and in his hair. Thomas looked around. There wasn''t anybody around. Okay. He stripped out of his clothes ¨C oh god, his pants were covered in literal shit, that dark room had been absolutely vile. He could barely even smell it now, until he tried, and then he started to grasp why the serial killers hadn''t tried to grab him on his way past. He smelled absolutely disgusting. Thomas felt his cheeks warm, feeling ¡­ the wind felt ¡­ he blushed deeper. The wind was absolutely not caressing him. His face felt absolutely scorching hot, a throbbing sensation making it difficult to concentrate as he climbed down into the water, forcing himself to concentrate on washing himself off. Then his clothes; washing the sewage matter out of his pants at least killed the incredibly distracting erection, which tried to grab his attention with every heartbeat. God, he hadn''t felt that out of control of himself since he was a teenager. Thomas dressed again, clothes dripping wet but not wanting anyone to see him naked, and started following the stream downriver ¨C he didn''t recognize where he was at all, but he''d find a bridge or something he could follow to a city soon enough if he followed it, and find someone to call the police to go deal with the serial killer cult. He glanced back, remembering them, but nobody seemed to be following. Maybe he''d smelled too bad for them to want to. His attention returned to the annoying blue fields that perpetually filled, but did not fill, his vision. Was he losing his mind? Probably. But he couldn''t forget that he had punched his way through a door. Maybe he''d ¡­ no. What was even going on with all this? No, no, stop with the stupid questions. Wait, was the negative intelligence actually making him stupider? No, no. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Thomas stopped walking, considering. Assume I''m in a video game. Normally leveling up gives stat points, but all I got were skill points, and customization points, whatever those are. Uh. Skills?
Skill Name Current Rank Skill Point Cost Skill Detail
Armor Aptitude: Light Armor 0 1 Grants Aptitude with Light Armor
Armor Aptitude: Medium Armor 0 2 Grants Aptitude with Medium Armor
Armor Aptitude: Heavy Armor 0 3 Grants Aptitude with Heavy Armor
Armor Aptitude: Shield 0 1 Grants Aptitude with Shields
Weapon Aptitude: One-Handed Sword 0 1 Grants Aptitude with One-handed Swords
Weapon Aptitude: Knife 0 1 Grants Aptitude with Knives and Daggers
Weapon Aptitude: Spear 0 1 Grants Aptitude with Spears and other piercing polearms, and javelins and similar weapons when used in melee
Weapon Aptitude: Shortbow 0 2 Grants Aptitude with Shortbows
Weapon Aptitude: Longbow 0 3 Grants Aptitude with Longbows
Weapon Aptitude: Staff 0 1 Grants Aptitude with Staves
Weapon Aptitude: Crossbow 0 1 Grants Aptitude with Crossbows
Weapon Aptitude: Mace 0 1 Grants Aptitude with Maces and other bludgeoning weapons
Weapon Aptitude: Thrown 0 3 Grants Aptitude with Throwing Knives, Throwing Stars/Shurikens, Throwing Axes, Javelins, and similar thrown weapons
Weapon Aptitude: Greatsword 0 1 Grants Aptitude with Greatswords and other two-handed swords
Weapon Aptitude: Axe 0 1 Grants Aptitude with one and two handed axes
Weapon Aptitude: Halberd 0 1 Grants Aptitude with Halberds
Weapon Aptitude: Katana 0 2 Grants Aptitude with Katana and other Eastern weapons
Weapon Aptitude: Fencing 0 3 Grants Aptitude with fencing weapons, such as rapiers and epees
Stealth 0 2 Increases Progression of Stealth checks by 1
Discipline 0 2 Increases Progression of Discipline checks by 1
Grace 1 2 Increases Progression of Grace checks by 1
Arcana 0 2 Increases Progression of Arcana checks by 1
Medicine 0 2 Increases Progression of Medicine checks by 1
Spycraft 0 2 Increases Progression of Spycraft checks by 1
Woodcraft 0 2 Increases Progression of Woodcraft checks by 1
Dexterity 0 2 Increases Progression of Dexterity checks by 1
Recollection 0 2 Increases Progression of Recollection checks by 1
Alertness 0 2 Increases Progression of Alertness checks by 1
Concentration 0 2 Increases Progression of Concentration checks by 1
Endurance 0 2 Increases Progression of Endurance checks by 1
New Language 0 4 Grants the ability to speak a new language
Uh. Right. So ¡­ he had grace at rank 1. Which meant it had one progression, so Thomas was, what ¡­ more graceful? Or just got some kind of magical bonus when moving around? The only option that really caught his eye right then was the ¡°New Language¡±, but when he thought ¡°French¡± as hard as he could, nothing happened. Alright. But now he had yet another blue field occupying his attention. Close skills? It worked. The screen vanished. It took a few tries, but ¡°Close new distinctions¡± got rid of that blue field, and only the status window remained. Okay. Wait. If this was real ¡­ had those not been serial killers? If he was in a game, then the message saying he had escaped prison made sense. Those had been guards. But why hadn''t they pursued him? Did he smell that bad? Didn''t they have any sense of duty? Thomas thought through it for a moment, and decided that, if he was a guard, and duty said to catch someone covered in shit and puke which would require touching them, he''d personally report that he hadn''t seen anything at all. Alright. Problem solved. Until someone in charge showed up to notice he was missing, nobody would ¡­ Hang on, why the hell had he been in prison? He''d just fucking gotten here. Well, some games did start you off in prison. And usually guards in games wouldn''t pursue you very far before giving up. Alright. Exit game. He had an interview to get to. Nothing happened. He tried thinking a variety of commands for escape, even trying some keyboard shortcuts he vaguely remembered, but nothing worked. His stomach growled. Alright. Keep going down the stream, find food. This game felt way too fucking realistic. His roommate ¡­ the hell? What was his name? Bob? Brian? Benjamin? He couldn''t quite recall, although it felt like it was on the tip of his tongue, and he was pretty sure it started with a ''b''. Whatever. His roommate was going to kill him.
The air was cool, but not cold, thankfully, given the wet state of his clothing. It had started to chafe at his thighs, though, and he took to a kind of bow-legged walk to avoid making it any worse, which made him tire out faster. He had to take frequent breaks, laying in the grass near the stream spread-eagled, thinking dry thoughts. Well, mentally and sometimes verbally cursing at his wet clothing. He really should just ¡­ ah shit, just thinking about being naked made him feel ¡­ dammit that was distracting. Well. He climbed up the small hill and looked around ¨C there were hills covered in grass in every direction. Hopefully nobody was watching him play this game, although the thought, as he pulled his pants down to deal with the problem, was less embarrassing and more ¡­ well, arousing. It wasn''t terribly comfortable ¨C he was wet, but not in a good way, and couldn''t get anything like a good rhythm going. Thomas was still trying to deal with the problem when a polite cough from above and to the side made him freeze. ¡°Oh, no, don''t let me interrupt you.¡± A woman''s voice, sounding tired but amused, as he struggled to get his wet pants back up over himself. The zipper caught painfully ¨C dammit he wished he had grabbed underwear that morning, as the pain stabbed through him, ignoring the words and using one hand to shove himself to the side, flopping like a fish as he got the wet pants back on. And then, slowly, face on fire, Thomas rolled slowly to the side, to ¡­ to look in the direction the voice had come from. He didn''t want to, he wanted to drown himself in the stream. Three people stood on the top of the hill; two women, and one man, dressed in brown clothing. One of the women, and the man, were looking away, hands over their mouths, and their shoulders heaving. Laughing. At him. And one woman stood watching, lips quirked in a smile. She was older, gray in her hair ¨C she had to be his mom''s age! ¨C and carried what looked like a bow over one shoulder. They''re just NPCs. I''m in a game, and they''re just NPCs. The thought didn''t help much. The amusement looked way too real. ¡°Well, if you''re done, then.¡± The woman walked past him, then, staring straight into his face as she did; the other two turning at her voice and following, definitely not meeting Thomas'' eyes. They were still trying very hard not to laugh, as they made their way past him down to the stream, and knelt to start filling ¡­ canteens? The older woman who had spoke was dressed in boots, pants, and shirt, in various shades of brown. She also had a lopsided, floppy hat over her head, and her belt was heavy with bulging tan purses ¨C pouches? Bags? He didn''t know the term for them; they were lumpy bags with metal buckles. When she passed him, a long stick, and what had to be a quiver, were both tied across her back. The other woman was similarly attired, but instead of the quiver and stick, wore a sheathe on either side of her hips. He knew that word. A thing you put a sword in, that hung at your side. Or was it a scabbard? One of those words. The man had no weapons visible, but wore a broad brown cape. Thomas watched them as they knelt by the stream, struggling to contain the hideous embarrassment. He hadn''t been caught at that since he''d been a teenager. And the worst thing was that the arousal, which usually died quickly in embarrassment, seemed to be getting, if anything, worse. It took an active will to suppress the thoughts of continuing while the woman ¨C she was as old as his mother ¨C watched. At length, they turned back to him. And the older woman indeed made a show of observing his ¡­ problem, which only made things worse. ¡°Well met, traveler.¡± Her eyes sparkled with amusement at him. ¡°Pardon our intrusion into your, ahem, quiet repast, but we did need some water. I''m Anne, and my fine companions are Arias and Norris. You might be?¡± Thomas felt like hyperventilating, and instead settled on not breathing for a moment until the feeling passed. The three watched him expectantly ¨C alright, Anne watched him expectantly while the other two looked anywhere but at him, but they waited. At length, he managed not to squeak out too badly, ¡°Thomas. Uh. Finely met.¡± His face burned even hotter, which hadn''t seemed possible a moment ago. ¡°Alright then Thomas. Well, we''ll be on our way, then.¡± Thomas clambered to his feet, immediately regretting it when Anne stopped again, and gave him an unnecessarily long look up and down. She was leering at him on purpose! And it absolutely wasn''t fucking helping! He self-consciously looked down, and yep, he could see his heartbeat through his pants. He forced himself to continue anyways. ¡°Hang on, wait. Where''s the nearest town? There''s some ser-¡± and he stopped himself, because no, they probably hadn''t actually been serial killers. No need to mention his escape from prison. ¡°-er. Um. I''m lost.¡± The three stopped and turned, all three looking at him now. Anne''s face, he was slowly aware, wasn''t actually wrinkled, to match the gray of her hair; how old was she? She was a head shorter than he was, the shortest in the group; the next shortest was Norris, who was slightly taller than Thomas. Not that Thomas was that tall, at 5''9¡±. The man had a pinched face, and through his clothes, Thomas got the impression of a ¡­ short beanstalk; he had the thin, gangly look of some tall people Thomas had met, but without the height to match. Thomas couldn''t see his hair, the floppy hat hiding his head. Their third companion towered over the other two. She must''ve been 6''4¡±, at least. Well, maybe; that had just been the height that popped into Thomas'' head, a standard ''Tall person'' height in media. She had long ¨C LONG ¨C brown hair, almost the color of his clothes, that fell past her hips, loose and untied. He hadn''t noticed it when he''d first seen her, owing to the fact that it was almost exactly the same shade of light brown as her clothing. It was, again, Anne who spoke. Her voice, at least, sounded old ¨C or at least, had the kind of tired, I-lost-my-patience-years-ago sort of voice that Thomas associated with middle-aged women ¡°Follow the river downstream about, oh, three leagues, and you''ll get to Grimhaven. Follow it upstream about five, and you''ll get to Ironbarrow. I recommend Grimhaven, Ironbarrow has been having some bandit problems lately. We''re heading that way to solve them.¡± Oh. Oh shit. He''d chosen bandit something as his something, in his avatar creation. Was that why he started in prison? ¡°Right. Uh, thank you, Anne.¡± ¡°Oh no, thank you.¡± Anne replied, with a small bow, and another leering look, her tones rich with amusement. His problems, which had faded from awareness, immediately rose again, figuratively and literally. His cheeks aflame anew, he turned rapidly away from the trio and started walking resolutely downstream. Arias and Norris finally laughed out loud. Anne''s voice could be heard behind him. ¡°Bashful thing, for someone having a wank out in the open, isn''t he? He could have at least finished the show, it''s been a good forty years since I watched a man enjoy himself like that.¡± Forty ¨C Thomas stumbled, but kept walking. Right. As old as his mother. ¡°I could put on a show for you.¡± A man replied ¨C Norris ¨C in rich baritones. Thomas again stumbled. He wasn''t g- ¨C he wasn''t attracted to men, but he suddenly found himself trying to imagine it, even as he tried not to ¨C and he wanted to. ¡°Oh, no, Norris. It''s not the same when you put on a show. Then it''s about me. No, watching a man do something for his own...¡± The voices, thankfully, faded out of his perception, and faster than he would have expected. His attention shifted to the -3 in perception, and he was thankful for it. He desperately didn''t want to hear any more of that. Not least because the wet fabric of his pants was already painful. What. The. Hell. Ch 4. Healing Well, that had been ¡­ thoroughly humilitiating. Thomas considered dealing with the problem now that the three were gone, but it hadn''t been working very well before, and, apart from the fact that he was really in the mood, he really wasn''t in the mood now. He walked downstream, the pain of chafing growing slowly worse, with each step regretting his choice to go commando that morning just a little bit more. He couldn''t continue. He really, really couldn''t continue. Thomas sank to the ground, tears running down his face; the pain had just gotten worse ¡­ and worse. He slowly laid himself out, spread-eagled once again. He didn''t care anymore, and pulled off his shoes, and then his pants, setting them to the side, and then unbuttoned his shirt. He didn''t really care if anybody saw him at this point; he examined his thighs, and groaned at the blisters that had formed. Eyes watering, in a combination of physical pain and self-pity, he stared up at the sky overhead, trying to play through his day again. He had woken up, and gotten dressed. Mistake one, he should have grabbed some boxers. The chafing could have been avoided there. Mistake two, not noticing the weird darkness past his door, and leaving his room. He should have just ¡­ stayed put, or gone out the window. Something, anything. Everything else in the day followed from that. Mistakes three through thirty had been with the blue fields. He remembered ¡°picking¡± lust, as one of his vices. And the humiliation still stung; he felt like crying from that alone. Three strangers had walked up on him ¨C and why the hell had he decided to do that anyways? Well, he knew the answer to that question. He still felt like a teenager experiencing hormones for the first time. Worse than that, really, he''d never been so overcome as to ¨C oh wait. Okay, maybe he had, just the once, in a public restroom. And once outdoors when camping. His cheeks started burning again. No, no, stop that. Okay, three people had seen him, but he was an adult now. Adults sometimes ¡­ uh. Well, at least the woman had been a good sport about it. That ¡­ helped a little bit, actually. Even if it replaced embarrassment with a renewed cause for embarrassment. No, no, focus. Alright, he''d chosen lust. He''d also chosen stoicism. What had that done to him? He couldn''t tell any difference, there. Weren''t stoics supposed to ¡­ be able to resist pain, and that sort of shit? It didn''t seem to be doing anything for the ¡­ hang on. Thomas sat up again, looking at the blisters once more. Why in the hell had he kept walking until the chafing got this bad? Had stoicism ¡­ of course it had. All the vices and virtues had been both good and bad. So of course he''d just kept walking through the pain, until it got absolutely too bad to ignore. There was a moment of existential terror, but as he considered lust ¨C really, this hadn''t changed him any more than puberty had. Less, really, because this time, he already had an interest in sex. Okay, he hadn''t had an interest in men before. That bit was ¡­ weird. But he was a modern and sophisticated person, he could deal with being gay. Wait, no, he still liked women. Bi? Whatever. He wasn''t a homophobe. It was just ¡­ kind of uncomfortable. No, no. Focus. Okay. So lust? Had led to embarrassment. The kind of embarrassment where Thomas wanted to drown himself in a stream, but he was an adult, embarrassment was just part of being an adult, like when you got an erection when your doctor was checking you for lumps. What the hell, Thomas? This was way worse than being a teenager. This was like the caricature of being a teenager; he literally couldn''t go five seconds without a distracting sexual thought. Alright, what about his other choices? Shouldn''t being Buddha, or whatever that choice had been, mean he didn''t have sexual desires? He tried to remember the other choices in that list; one had been about, what, getting gold? And another about revenge, he could remember that one. Okay, that had really been more about goals, or maybe motivation. He''d chosen not to have any goals, not to be the actual Buddha. Hey, wasn''t that kind of racist? Or, uh, religion...ist? Or culturalist? Something. He needed food. And clean water. Those people had drunk from the stream, but he didn''t want intestinal parasites or whatever it was that always killed him in Oregon Trail. He also needed to not make the chafing any worse. Thomas took a quick inventory of his possessions; one pair of slacks, no longer completely soaked, but still moist. One button-down ¨C or was it button-up? ¨C shirt, also wet. A pair of socks. And a pair of wingtips that were probably going to be utterly ruined. Oh, and a belt. A short time later, Thomas continued walking, bow-legged, slowly, but walking. The slacks were slung over his shoulders, the button-down shirt tied about his waist, buttons to one side. The cool breeze felt good, and he was trying very hard not to notice how good it felt, without a lot of success. What other choices had he made? Brawler of Wind. It didn''t seem to be doing much for him. He could punch things, but right now, he wanted the wind part to make him move faster. If he had chosen magus, could he have cast actual magic? Like, real, actual magic? Being able to punch things kind of felt like a gip. Thomas was regretting all of his life choices as he moved, thinking through the things he could have done differently. He thought about pulling up the skill screen again, but wanted to get more information than he currently had. There was his 5 Wisdom speaking, finally. Why hadn''t it stopped him from randomly picking lores? Or ¡­ hrm. Had it? Lores.
Lore: Enchantment Your knowledge of the nature of Enchantment, its origins, and some of its great creations; the Blade of Ages, the Eternal Shield, the Utterly Ordinary Spear. +1 to Arcane Resistance Thresholds of Enchantment spells you cast, +1 to Arcane Resistance Bonus against Enchantment spells
Lore: Swimming Your knowledge of fluid dynamics principles to the end of making yourself pointy and splashing more effectively. Fish will always be better than you. Eat a few of them. Remind them of the proper order of things. +2 to Grace when swimming, You know the difficulty involved to swim across a difficult area or at a given pace
Lore: Disguises Your knowledge of the storied history of infiltration and deceit;secrets stolen, treasures taken, spies caught, tortured, and executed. Great rewards take a little risk. +2 to Spycraft when preparing disguises, You know the difficulty involved to pass basic scrutiny under disguise
Lore: Shelters Your knowledge of the intricate act of turning a few bug-ridden piles of brush into a single larger bug-ridden pile of brush that will keep the rain off your head and curious creatures from doing too much investigation. The wrong kind of shelter, of course, is just a meal wrapper for the right kind of fauna. +2 to Woodcraft when preparing shelter, You know the difficulty involved to prepare functional shelter against the local elements
Lore: Volcanoes Your knowledge of the desert, the magma, the lava, the world of the ever-burning embers, and the memories of dried-up husks of those who thought they, too, knew the land they traversed. +2 to Endurance when navigating extremely hot environments, You know the difficulty involved to go without injury in a given hot environment
Thomas considered. Okay, Enchantment was dumb. And volcanoes was really dumb ¨C had he really picked something because it sounded cool? Yes, of course he had. But swimming might be useful, and if he didn''t find a place to stay, maybe shelters could help out as well. He''d been in prison, right? Disguises might be helpful if the guards he had escaped came looking for him. These choices weren''t entirely useless. Thomas looked at the stream, concentrating on identifying how hard it would be to swim across. Nothing happened, as far as he could tell; the water was knee-deep, swimming would basically be impossible in it. Maybe it didn''t count? Instead he looked around, trying to activate the shelter lore. Again, nothing happened. There wasn''t anything to build a shelter with, and what would he even be sheltering from? The weather was nice, there wasn''t a cloud in the sky. Maybe nothing ¡­ Thomas narrowed his eyes, focusing on the description again. It said that he would know the difficulty involved. And he had. So instinctively that it didn''t feel like anything at all. Well, that was creepy. But hey, puberty was worse. Maybe lust hadn''t been the worst choice for a vice. Or virtue; how could lust even be a virtue? Focus, right. Maybe it hadn''t been the worst choice; it had reminded him of just how invasive adolescence itself was, in a way he had forgotten in the years since. Otherwise he thought he might be a lump on the ground, quivering in an utter state of existential dread. Hrm. That had felt like a smart thought. What was the difference between intelligence and wisdom, anyways? Intelligence is, what, the ability to put two and two together and get four? And wisdom was knowing when to do it, or something like that? Was it wisdom, to appreciate that lust might have done him a favor? He had 5 in that, whatever exactly it did. And would it be intelligence to, what? Thomas tried to think of smart people he knew. There was the guy who built his own motorcycle. Uh. Dave? Donald? Dexter? No, not Dexter. Focus. So that guy had built his own motorcycle, and then damn near died because he didn''t wear a helmet; he''d been in the hospital for a month. That was intelligence without wisdom, right? It was smart to build a motorcycle. Motorcycles were so cool, he had been jealous. It was stupid not to wear a helmet. Okay, so he was stupid. But he wasn''t stupid. Even he knew to wear a damned helmet. Thomas drew up short, blinking, as he came around a bend in the stream, and he could see through the rise on either side. Huh. That was ¡­ a village. A medieval village. The roofs were made of hay? No, it was ¡­ dirt. Clay? With grass sticking out every which way? Alright. And the walls were mud. Clay. Adobo? Whatever. He started walking again, drawing closer. People moved around; a woman in a faded green dress, with a stained white apron, was directly ahead of him, stirring some kind of large metal tub with a long stick. He approached her. She didn''t look up until he was nearly upon her; middle-aged, gray not touching her hair, which was tied in a lopsided bun ¨C with a bonnet sitting atop the bun, rather than her head ¨C she was stirring a tub full of ¡­ water and fabric? With a thing that looked like a witch''s broom. When she did look up, she gave a startled sort of yelp, stepping back, and raising the broom between them for a moment before it lowered. Her surprised expression turned to suspicion, then, looking him over, concern. ¡°Oh dear. What happened to you? Where''s your caretaker, you poor thing?¡± Her voice sounded ¡­ foreign, the accent curious, like every word was its own question, somewhere between Swedish and Indian. He had never realized how similar those two accents could be until he found himself confused as to which one hers reminded him of. Thomas blinked slowly, and then looked down at himself. Oh. He was wearing his pants around his shoulders, and his shirt around his waist. Uh. Did they have ¡­ mentally challenged people here? This was an awkward first impression.
The woman, whose name was Anise, looked concerned when he explained his situation. ¡°Oh, oh you poor dear. Let''s bring you along to the healer, we wouldn''t want you to get an infection, now would we?¡± He followed her through the village, attracting odd looks. Most of the people here wore faded clothing, pants and shirts, not entirely unlike the ones that Thomas was wearing entirely wrong. A few women wore dresses, like Anise, but more wore pants, and they carried tools he vaguely recognized as farming implements. He had arrived with a large group of people, albeit from a different direction, and they were storing their tools and bags in a large shed as he passed it. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. The healer was in a building that looked like all the others ¨C a single floor, and as they stepped into the dark interior, it smelled musty. There was also a single large room ¨C no interior walls at all, instead areas were separated by large folding things, fabric stretched across a frame. He hadn''t seen much wood at all, here ¨C but then, he hadn''t seen many trees outside, either. Another woman was tending a man laying on what looked like a sleeping bag, a flat stretch of stuffed fabric on the dirt floor; he had a bloody cut across his thigh. Thomas averted his eyes as soon as his attention drifted from the wound; the man''s pants had been cut away, and he was ¡­ in full view. And hairy. Oh god. Not now. He concentrated on the grisly wound, which the woman was efficiently sewing closed, and that helped. Well, sort of. It helped with one problem, but he felt sick instead. The man trembled, and groaned, his hands white and shaking as he clasped them together. There was a lot less blood than Thomas would have thought; the cut was long, but shallow, and must not have hit anything vital. Anise moved over to help the healer, while Thomas stood and watched, feeling somewhat ¡­ useless. That guy was seriously hurt, and he was here with, what, some blisters? He felt kind of stupid. The healer spread a dark green, sticky-looking substance across the stitched wound with two fingers, out of a little clay pot. Then, Anise helping move the poor man''s leg, the two women began wrapping the wound in long strips of yellowed cloth, with patches of white and brown ¨C maybe it had all been white at one time, did they reuse bandages? That seemed ¡­ unhygienic. The cloth was tied up, and then the healer stood, putting her hands on her hips, and stretched over backwards slightly with a popping noise. Thomas found himself acutely aware of how the motion caused her chest to protrude. And then aware of the still-exposed man. Not this again. Especially given where the blisters were. The man was covered, and the healer turned to Anise, who began explaining, while Thomas tried to think unsexy thoughts, without much success. The healer nodded, and turned to Thomas. She was ¡­ oh gods, she was pretty, too. Brown eyes like chocolate, a pert little nose, and full lips, with an elaborate braid of dark blonde hair resting over her shoulder. At least she was dressed plainly, the same brown shirt and pants that most of the people here wore, spattered with blood on the sleeves. It helped, but not enough. ¡°Alright. I''m Leisa. Let''s see the issue.¡± Her voice was firm and businesslike; the accent was lilting and musical, like the older woman''s, but in her soft voice it sounded almost Irish. Thomas blushed furiously. ¡°Ah, right.¡± She shared an amused look with the older woman. ¡°Men and their modesty, aye, Anise?¡± ¡°Oh yes Leisa. Though I dare say the boy might do with some privacy from me, at least.¡± And Anise left him with the pretty young nurse. Healer. Oh gods. ¡°Right, right. Sit. Nothing I haven''t seen before, I assure you.¡± Thomas started to sit, but she waved at him, continuing, ¡°Nay, nay. On the cot, we don''t want dirt in the wound if we can help it.¡± Thomas looked to where she was pointing, and moved to sit on a cot near the man, who, he was grateful to see, seemed to have passed out at some point in the last few minutes. Leisa walked over and pushed his chest gently, onto his back. He closed his eyes tightly as he felt her moving the shirt. She did make a noise, then. ¡°Oh, pardon me. Something I haven''t seen, I guess. Who went and cut you like that ¨C oh, that doesn''t matter, let''s have a look at what''s the matter.¡± She made a clicking sound with her tongue. This was a nightmare. Surely. He''d wake up, and this would all be over. ¡°Oh, yes. That''s not as bad as it could be.¡± Something wet and sticky was spread over the chafing, which immediately started burning intensely; the feeling of her hands so close to him was far more distracting than the comparatively minor pain. Then something was wound around his leg, quickly and expertly, and then the other. More of the cloth, he guessed. Leisa straightened, frowning intently at him. Thomas immediately wanted to apologize for the ¨C well, the problem he''d been dealing with since that morning, but before he opened his mouth, she was speaking. ¡°What were you thinking, boy? A grown man should know better than to walk, what, six hours in wet pants? And this is water from the stream, as I know for a fact it hasn''t rained, on account of the farmers complaining about it all week. Are you trying to lose your legs? That''s a sure road to a nasty infection, and there''s aught I could do if it gets bad.¡± Thomas blinked at her, but she continued, accent getting slightly thicker, her own face reddening slightly, but, to judge by her expression, in anger rather than embarrassment. ¡°Go naked next time if you have to. Don''t blush at me, I see y''just fine, and there''s less to be shamefaced about in someone seein'' more''f you than you''d prefer than losing your legs.¡± Thomas just stared at her for a moment as she finished, glaring at him. Finally he found his voice. ¡°Uh. Sorry?¡± ¡°Damn right you''re sorry, and you''d be the more if you hadn''t come by.¡± She paused for a moment, then, and then reached out to pull his shirt down over him. ¡°Now, what''s your name? Usually it''s customary to trade names before I get that kind of eyeful.¡± ¡°Thomas.¡± He replied. The burning in his cheeks was quite familiar now. What the hell was with the women here? Then again, more women had seen him naked today than his entire adult life. ¡°Right, Thomas, it''s fine to meet ya. Now, if you don''t mind m''asking, who did cut you up that way, and why?" She gestured to his waist. "No need to answer if that''s too personal, it''s just, I''ve never seen the like.¡± Oh. Oh. She wasn''t asking about ¡­ of course she would be. And she''d never ¡­ Thomas let his head fall back against the cushion, staring at the straw-and-mud roof. So. He was in some kind of game, and a ¨C what, NPC? The people felt far too real for that ¨C was asking him about circumcision?
¡°Really? Why?¡± They were sitting outside now, in two chairs Thomas had barely noticed as he walked by. He was wearing a skirt ¨C a skirt! ¨C that Anise had come by with. It beat the shirt, admittedly. Apparently she had been doing laundry for her family when Thomas had interrupted her. ¡°Uh. Cultural reasons? And it can help prevent ¡­ uh. Certain kinds of infection?¡± Leisa paused for a second, pondering that. ¡°Ayyye. I''ve seen a few infants that have had that problem; a poultice and regular cleaning do just fine, though. I guess if it got particular bad. But cultural?¡± ¡°Yeah. It''s, uh, a religious thing.¡± Leisa frowned at that, giving Thomas a hard look. ¡°Which god?¡± ¡°Uh. The god? Not mine. I''m, uh, an atheist.¡± Another hard look. ¡°Atheist? Which god is that then?¡± ¡°It isn''t any god. I don''t believe in god. Or gods.¡± There was a prolonged silence, then Leisa shook her head, looking back to the village. The sun was setting, and most of the locals had gone indoors. Smoke curled up from a few chimneys ¨C well, they looked kind of like chimneys, if chimneys were made of half-melted wax; they didn''t seem to have bricks here ¨C and the smell of cooking food filled the air. Thomas was quite hungry, but didn''t want to ask for food, after taking the healer''s attention away from ¡­ whatever else she would be doing right now. She had checked on the man before they stepped outside, and declared him to be in a restful sleep, and not to be woken. ¡°Don''t believe in gods.¡± Leisa spoke, finally, and shook her head again. She said it like it was as stupid as denying belief in rain, as you stood in it. Then, more gently, ¡°Well, I don''t suppose I blame you, if your village belongs to a cult. Gods are real enough, spoken to one myself, a time ago. Why I''m a healer now.¡± Thomas let this pass; it wouldn''t do to offend somebody''s religion, even if she was just an NPC. The silence didn''t last long before she was talking again. ¡°So where you off to?¡± ¡°Don''t know. Woman, uh, an Anne? Met her upstream, she told me the town was here; I''m kind of lost.¡± Leisa nodded, slowly. ¡°Anne and her lot are decent enough. Took care of a gigapede nest for us, a few years back.¡± Giga...pede? Thomas blinked, trying to process that. Like ¡­ what, like centipedes, and millipedes? He decided not to ask. She studied his expression for a moment before once more filling the silence. ¡°Well, you''ll be a few days. You don''t want to spend too much time afoot right now, let those blisters heal first. If you had walked another hour, you''d have been bleeding.¡± Her tones become steely, and she fixed him with a firm gaze. Thomas averted his gaze. ¡°Uh. Well, I can ¡­¡± and he trailed off. What could he even do? He had zero marketable skills; he had been prepared to bullshit his way through the missed interview, for an office temp job he was underqualified for. He definitely couldn''t farm. Leisa patted him lightly on the shoulder. ¡°Just keep off your feet, we''ll see to what you can do to repay us when you''re able. Take your health seriously, the smallest cut can kill you, untreated.¡± That was ¡­ grim.
He slept on the cot in the healer''s building ¨C she left for her own house, apparently a separate building from where the sick and injured were housed. Thomas could hear the snoring of the injured man ¨C still thoroughly sleep ¨C but ¡­ it was still awkward with the man laying there. He slipped out into the darkness of night, somewhat surprised at how bright it was outside ¨C the moon wasn''t full, and the stars overhead were glorious ¨C he could see the milky ¡­ he wasn''t actually sure. He could see the galaxy spread out above him, beautiful. But he didn''t pause long to admire the sight, and located a shadowed alcove outside the shed. He finally dealt with the issue that had plagued him all day. It took some effort to remain quiet, as he discovered that lust did, in fact, have an upside. He hadn''t felt that good since ¡­ well, since the first time he''d done that, when he had lain perfectly still for minutes afterwards, terrified that he had screamed, and entirely unsure. Nobody came to check on him, so he was pretty sure, but not entirely, that he hadn''t. The sensation was intense, the pleasure the first time in years that the word ¡°orgasm¡± had really resonated with the way people talked about it. He slipped back into the healer''s building, and curled up for sleep, the relief heavy on his mind. He''d almost drifted to sleep, when he felt the prickle of lust begin to build again, waking his inattentive mind. No. No. Really? Really? It took a while to fall asleep.
Minor objectives complete: Find shelter, receive healing. You have earned 2 customization points!
God. Dammit.
Trait: Lust satisfied. You have earned 1 customization point!
The ¡­ the fuck? Had the ¡­ had he just ¡­ no. Just. No.
Thomas Bluebrim Brawler Legend of Wind
Level 2 0 Misfortunes / 0 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
71/80 Health 0/0 Mana -1/-1 Stamina
0 Distinctions Available 15 Skill Points Available 13 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution**** Intelligence
1 0 -3
1 Melee Damage Bonus 80 Maximum Health 8 Additional Skill Points
3 Maximum Worn Armor 0 Damage Reduction -2 Maximum Stamina Points
0 Deflection * 12 Base Armor 0 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
5 0 -3
5 Lores 0 Bonus Targeting -3 Reaction Time
5 Arcane Resistance 0 Evasion -1 Stamina Regeneration
0 Mana * 20 Movement * 0 Missile Range Bonus *
Thomas woke feeling ¡­ better. Not great, but better. His status greeted him; his health had gone up a little bit! He still wasn''t sure what the customization points were supposed to do, but he did resolve that, given that he had some skill points to use, he might be of more use to the village than he had thought yesterday. Just as soon as the healer said he could. He''d decided, on reflection, to take her orders seriously, nighttime strolls to deal with persistent personal problems aside. The man laying next to him was still asleep, so Thomas tried to be quiet as he got up and opened the door to leave the building. And immediately turned around and went back for the skirt and shirt. They''d been uncomfortable to sleep in. He dressed quickly ¨C and quietly ¨C and went back outside. People were bustling around, collecting tools from the shed he''d stepped out back of the night before, and heading out of the village, away from the stream. Hadn''t Leisa said the farmers had complained about the lack of rain? Why weren''t their fields closer to the stream? Although, as he looked at it, it wouldn''t do that much good. There just wasn''t much water there. How much field could you keep watered with ¡­ he had no idea how much water was actually flowing. It wasn''t moving too quickly, though, so not a whole lot. He relaxed in the chair, trying to simultaneously keep his bandaged thighs from touching, while not actually spreading his legs out to flash everybody who walked by. Stupid skirt. His pants had been hung up to dry ¨C Anise had fussed over the belt, which she declared to be one of the finest things she''d ever seen. She hadn''t seen much, it had been $5 at ¡­ why couldn''t he remember names? It was getting frustrating. The big store with all the trashy people. He saw Leisa once or twice, moving in the crowd; she appeared to be going into different people''s houses. Seeing to sick and injured people who were staying at home, maybe? She moved with purpose, rather than a leisurely stroll. Eventually Anise came by with a wooden bowl, which held a gloopy mess that looked like, as well as a wooden spoon. ¡°Good morning.¡± She looked up at the sky, and back to him. ¡°Well, barely. Stopped by earlier, we need to get you a blanket. Anyways, here''s breakfast for you.¡± "Thank you." He took it, trying not to think about the prior statement, and immediately started eating the ¡­ gloop. It tasted like plain oatmeal close enough, but he felt like he hadn''t eaten in a week, rather than just the day it had been. ¡°You''re welcome. I''m off to the chores, but I''ll stop by with some lunch and a chat. Stay off those legs now.¡± And she was off, heading towards a small building with ¡­ four chimneys? All smoking? The heck was that? Thomas found the bowl empty all too soon, and tried, and failed, not to scrape the last little bits with the spoon, before setting it on the ground next to the chair. He''d figure out what to do with the dishes later. Leisa waved as she passed in her rounds, and he waved back. Alright. He was ¡­ safe. And they had food here, if he could find some way to work for it; he doubted the hospitality would linger if he did nothing, he''d learned that well enough already, help only extended so far before you were expected to return the favor. He grimaced, thinking of the rent he owed to his roommate ¡­ whatever his name was. Now. Where was he? Was this a game? It didn''t feel like one, except real life didn''t have level-up and status screens. Games usually had to be modded to get the kind of experience he''d had, so far, although admittedly it hadn''t exactly been the kind of experience he''d have modded into a game. Just a series of humiliations piled atop one another. Kind of like being an adult in general. A truly adult game. He chuckled to himself, but it lacked humor. Ch 5. Grimhaven ¡°So, you''re a brawler of wind. With zero constitution.¡± Leisa was staring at Thomas intently. Her voice wasn''t music at all right now, it was flat and disbelieving. It had taken a while to explain exactly what he meant, but she had eventually caught on. The use of numbers in particular had apparently been novel to her, although the idea of six characteristics was not. ¡°Uh. Yeah.¡± ¡°And what made''ja think that was a good idea?¡± ¡°I ¡­¡± Thomas had no answer to that question. He hadn''t thought it was a good idea, he hadn''t thought about it at all. He''d just been rushing through the annoying screens as quickly as possible to try to make an interview on time, an interview in a life he was starting to doubt he''d actually lived. He couldn''t remember anyone''s names. He couldn''t remember what state he lived in ¨C he still remembered he was a US citizen, but couldn''t quite remember what the acronym ''US'' stood for. It was alarming, but he also couldn''t do anything about it right now. ¡°Nevermind that. Okay, one strength isn''t terrible. Zero constitution is, but we''ll get back to that. Negative three intelligence?¡± She peered intently at his face. ¡°Well, it explains ¡­ nevermind. Five wisdom, which is higher than mine, somehow, although how that could be given your choices ¡­ anyways. Zero agility, that''s another thing to work on, but much later. Negative three perception ¡­ you have no stamina at all, and no ability to recover it if you did.¡± Thomas could only nod miserably. She''d come back, and he''d asked her what customization points were, which had led to this ¡­ uncomfortable conversation. She sighed, after several seconds. ¡°Alright. I don''t know what your crazy cult taught you, but that''s not how we do things. This is ¡­ what ascension are you?¡± Thomas blinked. ¡°Ascension?¡± What? ¡°How many times have you ascended in your class?¡± She spoke slowly and clearly, like ¡­ he had negative three perception, and negative three intelligence to boot. He suppressed a sigh in favor a response. ¡°I don''t know what that ¨C I''m level two?¡± Leisa sat back, slowly exhaling as she stared. ¡°Two? You''ve ascended, what, once?¡± ¡°Yeah, I leveled up yesterday.¡± ¡°Y-yesterday!?¡± She didn''t get louder, but her pitch raised a bit to a near-shriek; Leisa then took a breath, closing her eyes, mouth moving slowly. Then she opened her eyes again, staring intently at him. ¡°You''re not having me on, are you? I''m going to be cross with you if you''re having me on.¡± ¡°I''m not ¡­ having you on. I didn''t even have a class until yesterday.¡± ¡°I ¡­ alright. Alright, let''s say I believe you. Okay. Now, your ¨C you called them customization points? I don''t know what those are. Damn cultists, teaching children ignorance nonsense and cutting up healthy ¡­ ahem. Alright, so. You said you got three last night? Usually, people are about ten years younger for this particular conversation, but ...¡± She stared into the village, which seemed desolate in the midday sunlight; the farmers were off doing ¡­ farm things, and the rest of the villagers were doing stuff indoors. There was a group barely visible in the distance who seemed to be slopping mud and grass together to make another of the primitive ¡­ houses, but he wasn''t entirely sure that''s what they were doing. ¡°As you accomplish things in your life, the things you have set out to do, you grow in potential. After ¨C the number varies a little bit, usually four to six ¨C some number of growths in potential, a person gets their class.¡± She gave him a sharp look. ¡°Usually this happens when somebody is a teenager, when they first start taking on responsibilities in their lives, and somebody is there to guide them.¡± Her gaze returned to the village after a moment, her expression unhappy. ¡°Cults. Different bloodlines bring different ¡­ statistics, although it''s somewhat random which bloodline somebody ends up with, from their parents. You''re Bluebrim, unless I miss my guess, which most farmers are. In a sense, Bluebrim started modern farming.¡± Thomas tried not to react to the statement given the ''modern'' farmers he had seen carrying hoes, shovels, and bags of seed over their shoulders. She continued without noticing, so he might have succeeded, ¡°So, the potential can be applied in a number of ways, but the most common, are to take additional dedications ¨C the blessings of the gods ¨C or to improve characteristics. ¡°Generally, a person improves the characteristics that help them with their class. Brawlers get the most out of each ... point in constitution, for reference.¡± He''d had to explain the word ''point'' to her, and she caught on readily enough to describing characteristics in terms of numbers. Her eyes returned to him over a frowning face. ¡°But they would also get the most penalty in a negative constitution. At least you didn''t take a class you had an excessive penalty in. Everything is important. If your wisdom weren''t so ¨C five wisdom ascensions, really? ¨C if your wisdom weren''t so high, I''d say your intelligence would be your biggest problem. But right now, your constitution is. ¡°A brawler chafing. Really! You should have been able to ignore that.¡± This wasn''t what he had come to get information about, and he tried to redirect the conversation to his question. ¡°Alright, but how do I apply the customiz- ¡­ how do I apply my potential to things?¡± ¡°Well, personally, I pray to the gods you don''t believe in, mister atheist.¡± Ah. Well. Hey, uh. Gods? Can you like ¡­ boost my constitution? Thomas waited, looking between Leisa and the sky. Leisa frown deepened. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°Uh. Praying?¡± The frown gave way to something almost expressionless. Leisa sighed and got up. ¡°I need something to drink. Water?¡± ¡°Yes please.¡±
¡°So, change of subject.¡± Leisa looked over at Thomas when he spoke, taking a long pull from a bottle; he was pretty sure she wasn''t drinking water, given that he had been handed a lopsided ¡­ leather ¡­ thing. She''d called it a bladder, and he really didn''t want to know whether or not that was what it was actually made out of. The suspicion was enough. ¡°Since you''re a healer and all.¡± ¡°Alright. Fair enough, I''ve not much interest in your ¡­ disbelief in gods, whatever that''s supposed to mean.¡± ¡°It means ¡­ no, change of subject. What''s ¡­ why ¡­¡± Aw hell. He hadn''t thought this through very well. ¡°Um. So, uh, where I''m from, women are ...¡± Shit. No way out but through. ¡°Well, women don''t talk about sex.¡± Leisa stared at him for a moment, and then at the bottle in her hand. She shook her head and took another swig. ¡°I mean, uh.¡± What the hell did he mean? Leisa finished the pull, and finally turned back to him. ¡°Now I know you''re having me on.¡± ¡°No, I mean ¡­ women ¡­ that woman on the road, uh, Anne, said she liked to watch men ¡­¡± He blushed furiously. She just laughed at him. ¡°Alright, and?¡± Thomas stared at his bladder ¨C no, his canteen ¨C and took a swig of the water. It was warm, but tasted surprisingly good; not like bottled water, where they added things to make it taste different, but like ¡­ well, like water looked like it would taste, as opposed to the nothing it actually tasted like. ¡°Well, uh.¡± He didn''t have anything. Her eyebrows drew down, her gaze shifting from him, to a kind of ambiguous upward. ¡°Look, sex is natural. Women like it. Men like it too. What kind of crap did your parents teach you?¡± ¡°Well ¡­ don''t men like sex ¡­ more? I always kind of ...¡± Thomas trailed off. ¡°Why, exactly, would men like sex more? That just seems like a recipe for misery.¡± Leisa frowned at the bottle, which was showing a notable reduction in volume, and raised it for a more measured sip. Thomas wasn''t sure what to say to that, and remained silent. ¡°There''s pregnancy, sure, and a woman would be wise not to get pregnant before she''s ready, but there are solutions for that.¡± "There are?" Thomas found himself surprised, then surprised about being surprised, thinking of the modern conveniences in that respect that wouldn''t be available here. Leisa slowly leaned forward, set the bottle on the ground, and put her hands to her forehead, resting her arms on her knees. Thomas waited, feeling embarrassed and awkward. She finally looked up again, and spoke slowly and deliberately again. ¡°Tie an end in boiled intestine, and slide that on.¡± ¡°Oh! A condom.¡± Leisa picked up the bottle and sat back again. ¡°So you were having me on.¡± ¡°No, I just didn''t know you ¡­ uh. Had condoms.¡± ¡°We''ve got animals with intestines, don''t we.¡± And she took a drink. Well. Fair point. ¡°Only trick is finding intestines of the right size.¡± ¡°Alright, but-¡± She interrupted him this time. ¡°Look, I''m a healer. I don''t know what you''re looking for here ¨C men like sex, women like sex, most people like sex. What''s with the obsession with sex?¡± ¡°I ¡­ uh. Do you choose ¡­ um. Vices? Or virtues?¡± Leisa just looked at him blankly. ¡°Uh. I ¡­ got lust. And, uh, stoicism.¡± He wasn''t going to admit that he had chosen lust, even if by accident. Leisa looked at him for a moment, then burst out into laughter. Thomas stared furiously at the ground as she got through a long round of belly laughs, trying to ignore the heat in his face. At length she got herself back under control, wiping an eye with a finger. ¡°Look, I don''t know anything about choosing, there, but I think I know what you''re referring to now. They go by a few names, although I haven''t heard them referred to as vices or virtues ¨C it''s all about moderation ¨C but yes. And you got lust, did you?¡± Her expression turned to one of pity. Amused pity. ¡°Not exactly common, but, well, that''s not the worst thing to end up with, all things considered.¡± She chuckled to herself, speaking more quietly, ¡°It does explain a bit.¡± They settled into silence; Thomas found it less awkward than trying to speak again, still feeling quite embarrassed, and let it rest. Leisa corked the bottle and set it behind her, against the wall, settling back in the chair to look up at the clouds. So the people here had different attitudes towards sex. Indeed, some of the comments suggested men might be more reticent about the subject that women, here. Granted, he didn''t have much experience with sex, or women. Well, really, any. But he had thought himself somewhat unusual in that regard, back home, and here it seemed more like he was ¡­ what was expected? ¡°So what did your cult teach you, anyways?¡± Leisa broke the silence. ¡°I ¡­ uh.¡± Did he explain about home? No. He was already on thin ice, as far as being taken seriously went. He tried to think of safe subjects. ¡°Uh. Math. Reading. Writing. Biology.¡± Leisa studied him. ¡°They taught you to read and write? Well, that''s not nothing, at least. Math? Mathematics? Explains your obsession with numbers. What do you mean, biology?¡± ¡°Well, like. The heart pumps blood. The liver ¡­ processes ¡­ alcohol.¡± Wait, what else did the liver do? He moved on quickly, but didn''t get very far. ¡°Cell structure and bacteria and stuff?¡± ¡°Bacteria?¡± ¡°Tiny little one-celled organisms? They cause infections.¡± This about exhausted his memories of bacteria. She considered for a moment, then nodded. Wait, did they know about bacteria here? He didn''t want to ask and look like an idiot again. ¡°I ¡­ alright. So you''re not entirely ignorant, at least.¡± Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. He tried not to react to that; it felt sort of fair, and sort of unfair, at the same time. She seemed to take his unresponsiveness as a cause for change in subject, her tone lightening. ¡°So why''d you leave?¡± ¡°I didn''t. I ¡­ uh, woke up here yesterday morning.¡± ¡°Here?¡± ¡°Well, a few miles up the stream.¡± ¡°Miles?¡± ¡°Uh. Leagues? How far is a league, anyways?¡± At the risk of sounding entirely ignorant again, granted. Leisa, however, paused for a second, considering the question. ¡°A league is about the distance a person will walk in an hour.¡± Another brief pause. ¡°I''ve heard that three leagues is about as far as a person can see on the ground. You can see further, higher up. See you can you see the tops of the mountains, but can''t see the lower half?¡± And she turned to gesture to one side; a building was in the way of what she was gesturing at. Her hand lowered. ¡°Oh, well. You get the idea, anyways.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± Leisa left a short time later to to make the rounds again; she was indeed tending to sick and injured villagers; she had helped the man in the building back to his house, where he would be cared for by his family. Thomas sat and watched the sun start its slow descent; farmers started returning from their work. A call was raised, and a woman covered in blood was brought to the healing house, half-carried by another woman. Leisa ran back to the building. ¡°Follow me. We''ll make you useful, I need someone to hold her down.¡± Her voice wasn''t musical at all.
Thomas held the woman down, as requested, with the help of the injured woman''s companion; she struggled and thrashed, moaning senselessly, as Leisa poured water over a nasty-looking gash across her forearm which spurted blood in her face even as she worked. Thomas saw bone and resolutely turned his attention away from the work, swallowing hard against the bile rising in his throat. It smelled intensely of blood, like Thomas himself had a nosebleed. There was a quiet splash every other second. Leisa muttered quietly about muscles and tendons, then drew in a sharp breath, even as the splashing stopped. ¡°Poison. What was it?¡± Leisa spoke quietly as she started digging through a bag. The woman who had helped the injured person in looked pale. ¡°Inferno spider. I think.¡± Thomas'' eyes jerked back to the wound. He started to gag, and forced himself to look away again. A spider did that? How? A vision of horror movie spiders crept into his mind. ¡°Did you get it?¡± Leisa''s voice had a forced calm. There was a liquid sound ¨C she was pouring something else ¨C and an unpleasant hissing sound. The woman''s thrashing redoubled, although her moaning was muffled by teeth suddenly clenched tight; Thomas struggled to hold her down; she was moving his entire body weight, and the other woman''s, like they weren''t even there. He was stunned by the strength; adrenaline? ¡°Barely. Burned the nest.¡± Leisa made a noise in her throat that might have been an affirmation, or might not. ¡°Alright, that should take care of the poison. I''m going to start stitching now, alright Emma? This is going to hurt, I need to stitch the muscles first.¡± Emma, as Thomas guessed the injured woman''s name was, just continued moaning. She didn''t seem ¡­ aware of what was going on. But Thomas did get thrown to the side a second later, rolling twice before managing to catch himself; somehow, Emma''s companion managed to stay there, although Emma immediately started hitting her with her now-free uninjured arm. The woman just took it. Thomas quickly moved back to help hold the woman down; Emma''s companion held her shoulder and arm perfectly still even with the thrashing, and Thomas saw Leina''s hands inside Emma''s arm, moving quickly as she put two bisected chunks of ¡­ of bloody meat back together. There was a glint of metal in the arm, where she had done something else to stop the spurting blood. Thomas looked away again, moving to Emma''s far side, pulling the uninjured arm back to the ground. The muscles flexed, and it took all his body weight to hold her in place. ¡°I''m going to start closing the wound now, okay Emma? You''re doing really well.¡± She was doing really well? She was trying to throw everyone across the room. There was a metallic noise, and then liquid sounds again. Thomas tried not to look, tried not to think, focusing his attention on not being thrown.
Emma slept, her companion ¨C whose name was Cenpre ¨C sitting next to her, stroking her hair. They were both young, maybe younger than Thomas, now that he could look at them; sisters, he thought, by the identical red hair. He was helping Leisa pour sawdust over the blood ¨C there was a lot of blood ¨C on the ground and sweep it up. He spoke quietly to her as they worked. ¡°She''s strong. Way stronger than me.¡± Leisa just snorted as she swept. ¡°Well, she''s a farmer. Most farmers have a basic warrior class; strength and endurance both help with the work.¡± Thomas thought about that for a moment. ¡°Why aren''t men doing the farming, then?¡± This got a quickly-muffled groan. ¡°What nonsense is this now? Why would men do the farming?¡± ¡°Aren''t men ¡­ stronger?¡± ¡°Why would they be?¡± Huh. He ¡­ wasn''t sure he could answer that. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden blue field.
Moderate objective complete: Assist with surgery. You have earned two customization points. You''ve reached class level 3! Free distinction gained.
Huh.
Class Distinction: Shrug Off Damage less than 4 is reduced to 0
Well ¡­ that was short. And ¡­ hey. That was nice, he thought.
Thomas Bluebrim Brawler Legend of Wind
Level 3 0 Misfortunes / 0 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
90/90 Health 0/0 Mana -1/-1 Stamina
1 Distinctions Available 17 Skill Points Available 15 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution**** Intelligence
1 Melee Damage Bonus 0 -3
3 Maximum Worn Armor 90 Maximum Health 10 Additional Skill Points
0 Deflection * 0 Damage Reduction -2 Maximum Stamina Points
1 Melee Damage Bonus 12 Base Armor 0 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
5 0 -3
5 Lores 0 Bonus Targeting -3 Reaction Time
5 Arcane Resistance 0 Evasion -1 Stamina Regeneration
0 Mana * 20 Movement * 0 Missile Range Bonus *
Hey. His stamina hadn''t increased this time. What gave? Maybe every other level? ¡°Hey, I leveled up again.¡± Thomas spoke quietly, so only the healer could hear him; Leisa glanced over at him as she swept the blood-laced sawdust out the door. ¡°Good for you?¡± ¡°I got a distinction that reduces damage below four, to zero. Leisa frowned at this information for a second, then nodded. ¡°I am not sure what you mean by damage less than four, but I think that may mean you might be able to walk. Your blisters shouldn''t get any worse. You should still increase your constitution; two ascensions, at least. Save the other three for intelligence.¡± If he knew how to do that, he would. He''d really like to have positive intelligence. ¡°I also have a free distinction? Do you know how I use that?¡± ¡°I don''t know what that is, Thomas.¡± ¡°Uh.¡± Thomas looked at the screens. ¡°The thing that reduces the damage I take is a distinction.¡± ¡°Ah, a blessing from the gods. You ¡­ can ask them for a specific kind of blessing.¡± Her voice turned doubtful at the end of that statement. Of course he could. Thomas hadn''t had much luck begging gods for assistance, and started trying to concentrate on potential keywords in case one of the blue screens showed up. Customization. Customization points. Custom options. Custom changes. Customization options. Distinctions. The last ¡­ worked, but his brain bent. The screen with the distinctions was even longer than the list of Lores, and it was an instant headache. Close distinctions! The enormous mobius strip of available ¡­ distinctions vanished. Okay, so that had worked. He needed to limit his options a little bit there. Alright. Constitution distinctions.
Distinction Name Effect
Endurance Training You get +1 Constitution at level 5, +2 Constitution at level 13, and +3 Constitution at level 20
Overbalance Whenever you hit an enemy no more than one size larger than you, you may expend one Stamina to knock them Prone, subject to a contest of their Grace against your Strength plus your Constitution. +2 to Maximum Stamina
Soul Replenishment If your maximum HP is less than your Constitution times your level, plus your level, increase your maximum HP by 1 per day
Unarmored Defense When wearing no armor and not using a Shield, you get Worn Armor equal to your Agility plus your Perception. +3 to Maximum Health
Shatter After successfully hitting an opponent with a physical attack dealing Blunt Damage, you may choose to attempt to destroy a piece of equipment they are using or wearing, subject to a contest of your Discipline against their Endurance. +1 to Maximum Stamina
Shieldwall When using a non-buckler shield, when an opponent moves into a Protected Space, you may expend one Stamina to immediately end that opponent''s turn subject to a contest of Endurance. +1 to Maximum Stamina
Feral Tenacity You may use your Constitution score in place of Strength for any Skill. +2 to Maximum Health
Okay. That had worked. The options ¡­ weren''t actually very helpful, however. Endurance Training wouldn''t do anything for him yet; Unarmored Defense, which he got excited by when he first saw it, was similarly useless for him; he''d have negative armor. Soul Replenishment was a little ¡­ odd. He closed the screen for now, and tried again. And again. The stats all had distinctions associated with them, none of them helpful right now. He started trying stranger keywords, and then stopped, staring at the distinction that showed up.
Distinction Name Prerequisites Effect
Fortune Master Cannot have taken Weapon Master, Cannot have taken Spell Master Doubled Epiphany Bonus. +1 to all Skill attempts for every ten unspent skill points
He spent a few seconds checking Weapon Master and Spell Master ¨C neither looked good for him ¨C and came back to this Fortune Master. Huh. It would do something for him. He wasn''t sure exactly what, but something. Thomas took it. Anise brought him and Leisa dinner ¨C a piece of hard, opened-topped bread he had trouble breaking with his hands, and some kind of vegetable stew which had a layer ¨C not a film, but a layer ¨C of oil floating in the top. No spoon, this time, and he followed Leisa''s example of using the bread as a kind of scoop. The hard and heavy bread didn''t soak terribly well, but it did a decent job of shoveling the bits of vegetable into his mouth. The stew was far saltier than he was accustomed to, but tasty all the same. The bread ended up being mostly edible at the end of the meal, but the crust didn''t so much as crunch as snap. Afterwards, Leisa had him carry her equipment as she made a final round of the sick and injured. Well, injured, at least, and there were quite a few, all damage to their extremities that looked like they had been swinging axes at each other for fun. Or maybe their farming tools. What exactly did farming entail, here? Leisa was cheerful, her voice sing-song again, as she chatted with the villagers about their trials and tribulations. Thomas was slightly taken aback when he realized, after they had left a pair of men, that they had referred to each other as husband; he had mostly been running on autopilot. Not that he had any problem with it, really, but ¡­ he hadn''t really expected that in the medieval setting. Leisa just seemed confused when he asked her about it, and then annoyed at his ¡°ignorant cult upbringing¡±. Right. He slept in the healing house again, this time alone; removing the bandages around his thighs, the blisters of the chafing had subsided, leaving only slightly patchy red skin. He didn''t get any notification about satisfying Lust. Leisa gestured to him as he finished eating breakfast. ¡°Head out with the farmers. You may know aught about the work, but you can help hit the beasties, and you may as well earn that breakfast.¡± It took him a moment to find the farmers she was referring to, falling in hesitantly, falling in line with Cenpre, who he at least recognized. She looked at him, red hair aflame in the morning sun, and continued without speaking. Right then. The farmers ¨C a hundred of them, maybe? ¨C wound their way between grassy hills on a well-worn sand walking path, and coming around a bend, a wall of plant met them, slightly taller than him. It had kind of the look of a corn field, but the thick bushes, heavy with some kind of gray lumpy ¨C fruit? ¨C was definitely not corn. Some of the farmers moved to the bushes, and started loading baskets from the bushes; Cenpre walked right through, and Thomas, after a moment of hesitation, followed behind. Branches and twigs scratched past his face, but he was satisfied to note that they didn''t actually scratch him. He was pretty sure they would have yesterday morning. There were lower-set plants past what he guessed were five rows of the bushes, vines crawling across the ground, with head-sized fruits that looked like melons growing from them. The melons were striped a pastel blue and yellow, not vibrant, but also not colors he was accustomed to seeing. The field was enclosed with another kind of tall plant on the far side, and then hills to the sides, and was about the size of a football field. It was also dotted with insects, and not the little bugs he was accustomed to, no. A centipede as tall as a dog was chasing a bright red beetle the size of a cat on the far side of the clearing; there were more of the red beetles, bright in the morning light, moving over the field. Cenpre unshouldered her hoe and immediately set off towards the nearest beetle, which was trying to eat one of the melons. Thomas followed reluctantly behind her. The beetles, apart from having bright red carapaces, also had odd protrusions upwards on their ¨C snouts? Like horns. Their fuzzy mandibles couldn''t quite wrap all the way around the melons, so the beetle they were approaching was instead doing a kind of sawing motion across it, the edges cutting into the thick rind of the melon, albeit slowly. It spun around when the blade of the Cenpre''s hoe hit its carapace with a cracking noise, wiggling back and forth towards her. Thomas stopped, trying to decide what to do. Well. He was supposed to hit it, right? It was too short for a punch. He tried a kick instead. The kick collided with the beetle''s mandible, rather than the face he was aiming for, with a small crack. Thomas hopped backwards on one foot, trying to regain his balance, when pain tore through his ankle. He fell over with a startled shriek. The beetle had bitten him! Duh it bit you, moron. Thomas scrabbled backwards away from the beetle, which had just started towards him when the hoe came down again, this time with an audible crunching sensation. Green goo flew into the air, and the beetle stopped chasing Thomas to just thrash about on the ground. He got to his feet unsteadily ¨C his ankle stung, but nothing seemed to be broken ¨C and he gave the beetle another kick in the face. ¡°Hold off, fool, it''s dead, it just doesn''t know it yet.¡± Thomas stepped back at Cenpre''s reprimand. She waited a moment, and then moved to the side of the beetle, with an expectant look towards Thomas as she crouched. He reluctantly followed suit, and they lifted the beetle, which was heavier than he expected, and carried it off to the side of the field. There was a pit somebody had dug there, which he hadn''t seen from his previous position, full of shattered carapace. ¡°On three.¡± They heaved the beetle down into the pit. The next beetle bit Thomas'' forearm when he tried a punch ¨C Cenpre just barked a laugh as he cradled his bleeding arm. ¡°It''ll stop bleeding on its own.¡± This, in response to his glance back the way they had come. After that, they settled into a routine; Thomas would kick the beetle and get its attention, and Cenpre would smash it while it was concentrating on him. They had a nice little pile of a good dozen beetles in the pit when he started, with a sense of fear, towards the centipede, which was busily devouring its second beetle. ¡°No, no.¡± Cenpre grabbed his arm, seeing where he was headed. ¡°It''s a predator, we want the millipedes.¡± Okay, millipede. Whatever. ¡°It''s why we have the pit; it attracts them. They''re nocturnal, and keep the other pests off our fields at night.¡± Thomas looked at the millipede. Maybe it did seem lethargic? How fast could that thing move if it wanted to? ¡°Also,¡± Cenpre added, ¡°you''d die. Their bites are venomous. Also their guts will burn your skin on contact.¡± Thomas reluctantly nodded. They moved on to the next field; more of the red beetles. Two more fields, and midday, and Thomas was completely exhausted. Cenpre seemed no worse for the effort, but seemed to notice him flagging. ¡°Head back. Just farming from here on out, and I don''t want you harming the plants.¡± Thomas headed back.
Moderate objective complete: Clear the fields. You have earned two customization points.
Ch 6. Avatar Customization Thomas had finally found it, sitting alone on his cot in the healing house, thinking through words, and trying combinations for what felt like hours. The key phrase, entirely unintuitively, had been ¡°Avatar customization¡±. He looked eagerly at his status, then his options.
Thomas Bluebrim Brawler Legend of Wind
Level 3 0 Misfortunes / 0 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
67/90 Health 0/0 Mana -1/-1 Stamina
1 Distinctions Available 17 Skill Points Available 17 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution**** Intelligence
1 Melee Damage Bonus 0 -3
3 Maximum Worn Armor 90 Maximum Health 10 Additional Skill Points
0 Deflection * 0 Damage Reduction -2 Maximum Stamina Points
1 Melee Damage Bonus 12 Base Armor 0 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
5 0 -3
5 Lores 0 Bonus Targeting -3 Reaction Time
5 Arcane Resistance 0 Evasion -1 Stamina Regeneration
0 Mana * 20 Movement * 0 Missile Range Bonus *
Name Point Cost Prerequisite Description
Bonus: Distinction 5 Take an additional Distinction
Bonus: Class Distinction 20 You may pick either improve a Class Distinction you already have if you meet the level prerequisites (Level 5 for Improved, Level 10 for Greatly Improved, Level 15 for Legendary), or pick a new improvable Class Distinction at its basic level
Emphasis: Aether 5 Have not already taken an Emphasis Increases damage done with Aether by 100%
Emphasis: Earth 5 Have not already taken an Emphasis Increases damage done with Earth by 100%
Emphasis: Fire 5 Have not already taken an Emphasis Increases damage done with Fire by 100%
Emphasis: Ice 5 Have not already taken an Emphasis Increases damage done with Ice by 100%
Emphasis: Lightning 5 Have not already taken an Emphasis Increases damage done with Lightning by 100%
Emphasis: Death Energy 5 Have not already taken an Emphasis Increases damage done with Death Energy by 100%
Emphasis: Life Energy 5 Have not already taken an Emphasis Increases damage done with Life Energy by 100%
Emphasis: Void 5 Have not already taken an Emphasis Increases damage done with Void by 100%
Fortune: Blessed 3 Grants 1 Blessing
Fortune: Cursed -3 Do not currently have a curse Gives the player 1 Curse
Fortune: Fortune 1 Grants One Fortune
Fortune: Misfortune -1 Do not currently have a Misfortune Gives the player one Misfortune
Improvement: Constitution 3 Has not already been taken 5 times Increases Constitution by 1 If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Improvement: Agility 3 Has not already been taken 5 times Increases Agility by 1
Improvement: Intelligence 3 Has not already been taken 5 times Increases Intelligence by 1
Improvement: Perception 3 Has not already been taken 5 times Increases Perception by 1
Improvement: Strength 3 Has not already been taken 5 times Increases Strength by 1
Improvement: Wisdom 3 Has not already been taken 5 times Increases Wisdom by 1
Martial School: Flowing River 10 Allows use of the Flowing River Martial School
Martial School: Ironwood 10 Allows use of the Ironwood Martial School
Martial School: Mighty Ox 10 Allows use of the Mighty Ox Martial School
Martial School: Mountain 10 Allows use of the Mountain Martial School
Martial School: Snake 10 Allows use of the Snake Martial School
Martial School: Tower 10 Allows use of the Tower Martial School
Resilience: Aether 5 Have not already taken a Resilience Increases Aether Resistance by 50%
Resilience: Earth 5 Have not already taken a Resilience Increases Earth Resistance by 50%
Resilience: Fire 5 Have not already taken a Resilience Increases Fire Resistance by 50%
Resilience: Ice 5 Have not already taken a Resilience Increases Ice Resistance by 50%
Resilience: Lightning 5 Have not already taken a Resilience Increases Lightning Resistance by 50%
Resilience: Death Energy 5 Have not already taken a Resilience Increases Death Energy Resistance by 50%
Resilience: Life Energy 5 Have not already taken a Resilience Increases Life Energy Resistance by 50%
Resilience: Void 5 Have not already taken a Resilience Increases Void Resistance by 50%
Vulnerability: Aether -3 Aether Resistance > -100% Decreases Aether Resistance by 50%
Vulnerability: Defense -3 Base AC > 5 Decreases Base AC by 1
Vulnerability: Earth -3 Earth Resistance > -100% Decreases Earth Resistance by 50%
Vulnerability: Fire -3 Fire Resistance > -100% Decreases Fire Resistance by 50%
Vulnerability: Ice -3 Ice Resistance > -100% Decreases Ice Resistance by 50%
Vulnerability: Lightning -3 Lightning Resistance > -100% Decreases Lightning Resistance by 50%
Vulnerability: Death Energy -3 Negative Energy Resistance > -100% Decreases Death Energy Resistance by 50%
Vulnerability: Life Energy -3 Positive Energy Resistance > -100% Decreases Life Energy Resistance by 50%
Vulnerability: Void -3 Void Resistance > -100% Decreases Void Resistance by 50%
There were some options, here. Thomas noted that he could get some additional points by making himself weak to certain things, and also for getting ¨C unlucky points and curses? He didn''t know what those were, and no thanks to any of that. At least for now. Right. He had the points to increase his statistics by five. Let''s see, what had Leisa recommended? His constitution was his biggest issue. He mentally focused on the section of the screen.
Thomas Bluebrim Brawler Legend of Wind
Level 3 0 Misfortunes / 0 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
67/110 Health 0/0 Mana -1/-1 Stamina
1 Distinctions Available 17 Skill Points Available 11 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution**** Intelligence
1 Melee Damage Bonus 2 -3
3 Maximum Worn Armor 110 Maximum Health 10 Additional Skill Points
0 Deflection * 4 Damage Reduction -2 Maximum Stamina Points
1 Melee Damage Bonus 12 Base Armor 0 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
5 0 -3
5 Lores 0 Bonus Targeting -3 Reaction Time
5 Arcane Resistance 0 Evasion -1 Stamina Regeneration
0 Mana * 20 Movement * 0 Missile Range Bonus *
So ¡­ with four damage reduction, and his distinction to ignore damage less than four, he ignored any damage less than, what, eight? Thomas paused, eyeing the two screens. He didn''t actually know what one damage corresponded to. He was currently missing twenty health, compared to his maximum, and he didn''t feel bad at all. That had actually been ¡­ kind of underwhelming. He''d expected his base armor to increase, at least, but it just sat the same. What did twelve base armor even mean? He tried increasing intelligence next, maybe it would help him figure it out. Leisa had indicated, that zero probably meant average. Fortune Master had just gotten a little bit better. And he had the potential for positive stamina now, even if his regeneration was negative. He still didn''t know what stamina was, either, except that he could apparently spend it to knock people back. Thomas examined himself and felt ¡­ well, he didn''t feel quite as mentally slow, but that might be his imagination. He mostly felt about the same. Disappointing; he definitely didn''t feel overwhelmed by the changes to himself, or the stat screen.
A wise decision. You''ve earned one wisdom!
Thomas blinked as a new screen appeared, then disappeared. Then another screen appeared, again. The Lore list. Thomas took a little bit more time going through it this time, made his selection, and closed it again. Finally, he looked at his statistic screen.
Thomas Bluebrim Brawler Legend of Wind
Level 3 0 Misfortunes / 0 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
67/110 Health 0/0 Mana 0/2 Stamina
0 Distinctions Available 23 Skill Points Available 2 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution**** Intelligence
1 Melee Damage Bonus 2 0
3 Maximum Worn Armor 110 Maximum Health 16 Additional Skill Points
0 Deflection * 4 Damage Reduction 1 Maximum Stamina Points
1 Melee Damage Bonus 12 Base Armor 0 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
6 0 -3
6 Lores 0 Bonus Targeting -3 Reaction Time
6 Arcane Resistance 0 Evasion -1 Stamina Regeneration
0 Mana * 20 Movement * 0 Missile Range Bonus *
His new Lore had been chosen since, if he was going to help out Leisa, he might as well be halfway decent at it. And it might also come in handy if he was going to be fighting.
Lore: First Aid Your knowledge of simple anatomy and basic emergency care, and how to correctly treat simple conditions, as well as to recognize the limits of your skill and knowledge, and what exactly might otherwise happen if you blundered on.
He checked his scrapes and cuts from the fights with the beetles; as before with the lores, he didn''t feel like he knew any more, but he also didn''t feel completely ignorant, either. The wounds would, indeed, be fine on their own, although he''d want Leisa to apply poultice to avoid infection. He had the cut on his ankle, as well as the one on his arm; he also had three smaller wounds; a scrape on his knee, a cut on his elbow, and some bruising on his hands from trying to punch a beetle''s carapace. He couldn''t really tell whether or not he knew anything more about first aid, or not. Huh. But this did actually gave him something of a baseline; he had five injuries, and had taken ¡­ ninety less sixty seven ¡­ carry the three ¡­ twenty three damage. So three of the wounds had done five damage, and two had done four, right? Huh. So if he went into the exact same fight again right now, he wouldn''t take any damage. Or would it still hurt him, just not reduce his health? Thomas didn''t really want to test it out, but ¡­ well, he would be anyways. Leisa didn''t seem as excited as he was, about fixing his stats up, when he told her that evening over dinner. Anise had joined them, and Leisa was more engaged in a conversation with the matron about preparations for a harvest festival they''d be having in a few days. Thomas'' own excitement slipped a bit, having expected her to be happy for him, and he reluctantly digested the idea that he was more of an aggravating patient to her than anything else. He had started to develop a crush on the healer, and the realization made him glad he hadn''t let her know that; the humiliation would be unbearable. Thomas listened to the conversation, which seemed to revolve mostly around food and alcohol ¨C Anise had mentioned a pole once, but only by way of stating that it was already ready. He settled back, thoughts drifting to other topics. Cenpre looked at him, frowning, as her farming implement ended the beetle he''d been hammering ineffectually with his fists. ¡°You can take a blow, now, but if you can''t deal one, you''ll always need a babysitter out here in the fields. What''s your ascension?¡± Thomas hesitated before answering, remembering Leisa''s reaction. ¡°Three.¡± Cenpre was silent for a second, and then two. Then burst out into laughter. Thomas just looked at her, feeling rather numb to people''s reactions to his responses to these kinds of questions. ¡°No, really.¡± ¡°Really.¡± She started laughing harder. ¡°Thomas, you don''t look like you''re just growing in the rest of your hair.¡± It took a moment for him to process that, and he blushed, which made her laugh harder. She took a moment to bring the laughter under control. ¡°Alright, alright. I need to breathe, quit making me laugh.¡± As if he had been the one doing that. ¡°What are your traits?¡± Thomas remembered Leisa''s amused pity, and her ''That explains a bit'', or however she had phrased it. Leisa was nicer than Cenpre, and he really didn''t want to tell her. The silence was prolonged, Cenpre''s eyes progressively narrowing, until suddenly widening, her eyebrows shooting up, and her lips parting in a very wide grin. Aw, sheeyit. ¡°What, really?¡± ¡°I didn''t say anything!¡± ¡°You didn''t have to, your expression said it all. Hey, Orbel!¡± A man who was dragging a beetle carcass looked up. Thomas moved around the twitching beetle, but Cenpre handily fended him off. She gestured at Thomas. ¡°New kid has Lust.¡± Orbel looked back at them for a moment, gave a wry chuckle, and resumed pulling the beetle towards the pit. Thomas dropped his hands, defeated. ¡°Not like I wanted it.¡± ¡°Hey, everyone''s got their traits.¡± ¡°Oh, what are yours?¡± ¡°Wrath and prudence.¡± Thomas paused, considering those qualities together, forgetting his embarrassment for a moment. Then she spoke again, ¡°You must be a virgin, then.¡± Well, it had been nice for a moment. ¡°What? No I''m ¡­ wait, why do you say that?¡± He was trying very hard to control his reactions, lest they give him away entirely. Cenpre just eyed him. ¡°Because you''re only on your third ascension.¡± She didn''t say ''Duh'', if the word ¨C utterance? ¨C even existed here. She didn''t say it, but the tone of her voice conveyed the word entirely too well. Thomas considered the customization points he''d gotten for his activity behind the shed. Oh. Oh! Wait, seriously? How did he get anything out of stoicism, then? Cenpre''s next words interrupted that line of thinking; ¡°Your traits should get you to the fifth ascension, but not much further. Generally that''s when someone is considered to be an adult. So if you''re only on your third, you haven''t finished with your traits yet.¡± ¡°Oh. Well, alright then.¡± So, what? Did he have a some kind of quest to - ¡°We''ll have to deal with the whole virgin problem for you.¡± Right. Right. Of course. Because things weren''t already humilitating enough. Ch 7. Farming ¡°Wait, I''m not ...¡± Thomas trailed off, staring at Cenpre. She just looked at him, a hand moving to rest on her hip. ¡°But what if ...¡± She didn''t bat an eye. ¡°Look, I can''t just go, ''Hey, will you have sex with me'', and expect that to work out!¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Because that''s not how it works.¡± ¡°Sure it is.¡± Thomas stopped again at that response, considering. Okay. Given the attitudes the women he''d talked to had here, maybe it was. Wait, had he only spoken to women, this entire time here? There had been Anne, then Leisa, now Cenpre. Okay, that was a little bit weird, wasn''t it? ¡°Okay, but I don''t know anybody well enough to say that to them, even if it is.¡± That, at least, was true. Even if Thomas had a crush ¨C had a crush? ¨C on Leisa, the idea of saying that to her, even if he knew in advance she would agree, just felt ¡­ wrong. If she asked him? No, probably not even then. Weren''t medieval people supposed to be prudish? He was feeling like the prude, here. ¡°Sure you do. People have sex with people they''ve just met. Here, say it to me.¡± ¡°What? No!¡± He wasn''t sure if he had meant to say that out loud, it was a rather hurtful thing to say, but Cenpre just snorted at him, looking amused. ¡°What, am I not pretty enough?¡± She struck a pose which ¡­ might have been intended to be sexy. He was rather afraid of her hitting him no matter what he said, however, and thinking her in that way just wasn''t happening. ¡°It''s not about being pretty, it''s about my first time being more special than just laying with someone I just met!¡± It took Thomas a full three seconds of Cenpre just looking at him before realizing what he''d just said. As if waiting for his expression, she grinned. ¡°See, virgin. You''ll have to get over that attitude sooner or later. You have to master your traits to grow as a person; see, I had to learn how to be angry. Then I had to learn how not to be angry. You, you need to learn to accept your lust. Then you need to learn how to restrain it. You''re never going to grow as a person if you can''t accept your own nature.¡± Thomas had absolutely nothing to say to that; it sounded reasonable. But it was also entirely unreasonable; he wasn''t a person defined by their lust, he''d just been tricked by a description that made him question it. But saying that out loud wouldn''t help anything. He settled into a grump silence as Cenpre watched him. She eventually shrugged, apparently satisfied that she''d made her point, and bent over to lift the beetle they''d killed, with a pointed look at Thomas as she started hefting her end. He reluctantly stooped over to help. The beetle joined the others in the pit, and they moved to the next beetle. As Cenpre had said, Thomas could now, in fact, stand in front of the beetle, kicking and punching it as much as he wanted. They couldn''t hurt him; the sharp mandibles that had torn through his flesh yesterday, today skidded across his skin with a feeling like a fingernail sliding across him. It kind of tickled. But he couldn''t hurt the beetles, either; he could certainly get their attention, however. He tried the Hurl ability, in response to the next attack; thinking the word didn''t do anything. He continued experimenting, until, with an intent on throwing the creature as a reaction to its assault on his person, he found himself grabbing the shell, and falling backwards. The beetle lifted over him, and kept going as he released his hold, landing on its back behind him; Thomas continued rolling, tucking his head against his shoulder, and found himself oriented towards the beetle on his feet. It had felt like it had taken a couple of seconds to complete the motion, but he''d barely heard the crack of the beetle colliding with the ground ¨C and a melon, which exploded messily underneath it ¨C when he was on his feet again. ¡°Hey, that''s new.¡± Cenpre''s hoe smashed through the soft belly of the beetle, a splash of ichor hitting Thomas in the chest. He looked down at the warm mess, then at her. She just grinned, moving the farming implement to her side, and leaning on it. Was that ¡­ was that another pose? He felt increasingly uneasy and uncertain as they tossed the beetle and moved on to the next, and then the next. He was pretty sure she was flirting with him, and in view of their earlier conversation, he really didn''t know how to handle the situation. He couldn''t just say, ''Hey, thanks for the attempt, but I really seriously want my first time having sex to be personally meaningful''. The idea just felt rude. Plus she might hit him. She was kind of scary. Thomas stared at the glowing spider hiding in the bushes; Cenpre had sent him off, and he had come up short of pushing through the bushes when he noticed a faint light. It was ¡­ it was damned big, the size of a dog, and not the little yapping ones. And it was glowing. His gaze swept rapidly back towards the farmers, now collecting melons from the emptied fields, then to the spider again. Had it noticed him? It was hard to tell; he wasn''t even entirely certain it was a spider; spiders didn''t glow, did they? And it was too big. And ¡­ and yes, its many eyes seemed fixated on him. He took a slow step backwards. The spider moved slightly forward in the bushes. Ah. Yes. It was looking at him. He had no particular fear of spiders, with their fuzzy little bodies and legs; at least they weren''t house centipedes. He''d nearly shit himself in the shower one day when one had crawled out of the drain at him as soon as he had started the water; now those little fuckers could burn in a fire. Spiders kept other insects in check; they were friendly house buddies. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Except this one was wiggling slightly, and looking at him, and had moved forward when he had moved away. Thomas considered calling out, and decided that he''d probably shriek the words out, and somebody would come over and laugh at him. Cenpre had said the centipedes were good, right? And those things were way, way scarier than this spider. It was even kind of cute; a bioluminescent spider with blue-gray fuzz. Right. Cute. Thomas swallowed, and turned to shout. Better to be laughed at than ¨C movement! He squealed as he backed away, but its weight was already on his arm, and he flailed that around, stumbling over the furrows in the ground to fall on his ass. Shit shit shi ¨C it bit him! Well, it tried to bite him. Oh. Oh, hey. It couldn''t pierce his skin with its ¨C a hot pain spread through the arm, and he started flailing again, kicking at the earth underneath him in a mindless attempt to get away from the spider which was now crawling up his chest, finger-sized mandibles audibly clicking, drooling a glowing blue substance that sizzled on his shirt, and started burning. Thomas shouted wordlessly, and punched. A crack; the spider stumbled backwards, and he punched again, with the other arm. The spider fell off his chest and onto the ground, and he rolled over and brought his hand down. He instantly regretted it as the spider''s abdomen burst apart, and hot blue liquid sprayed across his chest and face. He moved a hand slowly, wiping it off his eyes, relief washing over him when realization dawned that the ichor was just hot with heat, rather than whatever it was ¨C venom? ¨C that still burned on his arm and chest. Two men stood over him, when he got his eyes clean enough to open again, wiping them with the back side of a sleeve. It was Orbel, and another farmer that Thomas didn''t recognize. They were peering over him intently, and it was Orbel who spoke, with a deeper version of Leisa''s musical accent. ¡°Didn''t bitcha, did it? I don''t see any blood. Shit, boy, what were you thinking, trying to punch an inferno spider to death like that?¡± Thomas looked back at the spider. That was an inferno spider? Why the ¡­ oh. The burning sensation, which was starting to fade from his skin. Heh. Like a fire ant, although at least those were red. He chuckled, then started laughing, although he really didn''t find any of it funny at all. He''d never quite grasped what it meant to laugh in relief until this moment, and it was, indeed, hard to stop laughing, laughing until tears rolled down his face, and he was curled in a ball on the ground.
Minor objective complete: Clear the fields. You have earned one customization point.
Minor? What had happened to moderate? ¡°So what''s your other trait, then?¡± Cenpre was eating dinner with him; he wasn''t sure where Leisa had gotten off to, but she''d disappeared shortly before Cenpre had showed up. It was more stew, and today it had something in it that reminded him of crab meat. ¡°Stoicism.¡± ¡°Ooh. Tough break.¡± She took a bite of her bread. ¡°Tough break? Why''s that? At least it''s not ...¡± Thomas struggled to think of something as bad as Lust, and came up short. ¡°Greed.¡± He felt rather lame about what he had come up with, and Cenpre just shook her head, running a hand through her hair. ¡°Greed''s easy, if you think about it. Stoicism, you have to control yourself when you really don''t want to, and let loose when you really want to just not do anything.¡± ¡°So I could just take off all my clothes and go dance naked in front of a bunch of people?¡± Cenpre smirked, sipping some of the broth from the bowl before responding. ¡°That''s lust talking. And no, it has to be natural. You can''t force it.¡± ¡°Like going out and having meaningless sex just to get better at fighting?¡± ¡°It''s different. One is accepting your nature; you can''t do it just to get better at fighting, you have to actually want it, and accept that you want it.¡± ¡°Well, I''ll have to want it, and accept that I want it. Otherwise I''m just doing it to get better at fighting.¡± Thomas was taken aback even as the words came out of his mouth. The hell? Had he just said that? Cenpre looked surprised, too, then gave him a smile that looked genuine, for a change. ¡°Exactly. So you work on accepting it, then go have sex you really want to have, so you can get better at fighting.¡± He gave serious consideration to hitting her on the shoulder, and decided against it. A win for wisdom. She''d thrash him. ¡°Joking aside, yes. I tried forcing it, on wrath. Everyone tries forcing it, sooner or later. Sometimes it works anyways; it did for me, but I didn''t realize why until later. Really, wrath was just an excuse for me to be angry.¡± Cenpre looked distant for a moment. ¡°It was harder to resist it, than it was to accept it.¡± Huh. She had suddenly turned into a person. How ¡­ odd. He tried to rally his thoughts. ¡°Well, I''m going to take it slowly.¡± She smirked, and the moment was over. Thomas changed the subject. ¡°So, that was an inferno spider? I had pictured something a little larger.¡± ¡°Oh, oh yeah.¡± Her expression darkened. ¡°There''s a bigger nest somewhere about. They get more dangerous as they get older, that was a juvenile.¡± He froze. ¡°But yeah, that''s about as big as they get.¡± He relaxed again. ¡°Is your sister alright?¡± Thomas prodded, and as hoped, her eyebrows lifted again from the glare, and Cenpre''s lips twitched out of the scowl that had started to form. ¡°Emma''s fine. She just needs another day or two of rest. Thanks for helping out with that, by the way.¡± ¡°I didn''t do much except fly across the room.¡± ¡°Ha! Well, thanks for flying across the room. Leisa needs the help. She didn''t even want to be a healer, you know? She just took the skills because her father broke his leg when they were out hunting, and she had a few dedications to spare. One thing led to another, and old Wenna passed, and we lost an archer and gained a healer. Leisa does her best, but it wasn''t the life she had planned for.¡± ¡°Everyone kind of ends up living a different life than they planned, though, don''t they?¡± Cenpre flexed an arm in response. The musculature was ¡­ impressive. She had been scary before, but that had been watching her ruthlessly smash enormous beetles apart with simple farming implements, as calmly as if she were, well, farming. He''d never really taken in that her stocky body was all muscle; she looked like she could benchpress two of him. Which Emma had demonstrated her own capacity for, he belatedly realized; that hadn''t been adrenaline, or not purely so. He''d been worried about her hitting him, but hadn''t quite grasped exactly what it would mean if she did. ¡°See this? This is what I planned to do. Be strong. My plan is working out juuuust fine for me.¡± Thomas couldn''t help but laugh at that, and she flashed a pleased little smile. Ch 8. Nightfall Thomas stared at the notifications, bright compared to the darkness he saw in his conventional sight.
Trait: Stoicism satisfied. You have accepted your nature as a stoic, and earned five customization points. You''ve reached class level 4!
Class Distinction: Improved Hurl Hurl has a range of 10ft, and the thrown creature deals its Total Armor in damage to any hit creatures
Class Distinction: Latent Power +1 Maximum Stamina
His lips pressed together tightly. The notifications were closed, and he rest his head back against the cot below him. He''d slept little, if at all; it was hard to tell. Cenpre snored lightly beside him, the outline barely visible in the dark building. He got up, moving quietly on bare feet past Cenpre''s sleeping form, out into the night air of Grimhaven. It was quiet outside, the village still sleeping, and dark, a half moon suspended overhead giving only scant light. Thomas looked up at the stars, a field of light filling the sky with a vibrancy he''d never seen before; he focused on improving his Perception twice, wanting to see them better, and the stars suddenly came into sharper focus. The breeze was cold on his bare skin, but he barely noticed it. Stoicism, not lust. He considered that for a moment, but it wasn''t really a mystery to him. He was still maintaining a tight grip on his state of mind even now ¨C it felt like if his control slipped he''d fall, and he wasn''t sure what he would fall into. Thomas took a steadying breath of the chill air, mind turning to reflect on a term he''d heard before, but never really understood: light pollution. The stars were gorgeous; instead of a handful of pinpricks of the brightest stars'' light, the entire sky was lit up with countless stars, and there was a hazy cloud of light he could recognize as the galaxy itself. A galaxy, maybe. Not the galaxy he couldn''t remember the name of. Thomas wondered if that should bother him. His life was slowly slipping away behind him, details fragmenting into smaller and smaller pieces; it already felt like a dream he had woken from one day. He could remember remembering that life, now, with more clarity than he remembered the life itself; if not for that clarity, or the absence of any other history he could call his own, he felt he''d be doubting that he''d ever lived another life at all. In a year, would he only have a year''s worth of memories? That was a somewhat jarring thought, uncomfortable. But it was a different kind of uncomfortable, and so he thought about it. Would he be reduced to something more like a one year old, or would he remain with the faculties of an adult? What made an adult an adult? Wasn''t a large part of it their memories, their long experience they could draw on, the mistakes already made? If he lost his memories entirely, if he lost his experience and his mistakes, could he reasonably be called an adult? Would he behave like one? Had he behaved like an adult? Could he even call himself one now? He''d ¡­ owed someone money, he''d been leaving the responsibilities necessary to his own survival entirely to someone else''s efforts while he had, what exactly? He couldn''t even remember. It wasn''t like he spent all his time playing games, or reading, or participating in ¡­ in ¡­ the thing with the computers and other people and arguing about pointless things. Hours had just kind of slipped by him in a daze, turning into days, which turned into weeks, and then months, and then years. Time had just slipped away from him, even as he spent most of his time restless and bored and unhappy. Whatever else this place was ¨C was it Earth? ¨C it was a new start. That wasn''t entirely satisfying ¨C it felt more like abandoning the problems he''d created for other people and left behind than actually solving them ¨C but it was true. And if he was going to have a new start, he needed to stop avoiding responsibilities, he needed to stop running from his problems, which only ever just dumped them in the lap of the next person in line. It wasn''t an entirely new train of thought for Thomas, however, and he reflected on that he''d promised himself to do better every time he''d fucked up, and then gone and fucked up again anyways. He''d missed the interview before this last fateful one, because a cousin had asked him to help move. He couldn''t remember much of the details, but he hadn''t even mentioned the interview, just agreed, thinking he''d figure out a way to do both, and failed entirely. The interview before that, he''d gone out drinking the night before, because somebody asked. He had grown up thinking that refusing a request was rude, but in a sense, he''d just been denying the responsibility to be rude, if indeed that could be called rude at all; to say ''No'', when refusing was the right thing to do, when refusing might hurt somebody''s feelings, and his roommate had paid both of their rent for months as a result. It was a lesson he''d missed, somewhere along the way in life. Thomas wanted to blame culture, to blame entertainment and media and a lot of other things he couldn''t remember right at that moment, but the fact of the matter was that other people who had grown up in the same society he had, had no problem doing exactly that. His roommate never had an issue saying no, or telling Thomas off for missing another interview. He was simply paralyzed at the thought of hurting someone else''s feelings to their face. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. He didn''t have many friends left ¨C not that he could count them, exactly ¨C when he''d arrived here. Because he hadn''t been able to say no to them, he''d resented their asking, instead; resented that they put him in a position where he had had to pick between the relationship he had with them, and the right thing to do. But that hadn''t been right, had it? Not the resentment, but the idea that saying ''no'' was damaging to his relationships; that saying that he was sorry, but he was busy, or that he had things to do in the morning, or even just that he wasn''t up for it, was in some fashion unacceptable in a friendship. And so all of his relationships had deteriorated, falling apart for neglect of boundaries. They''d fall apart because eventually, with no fence to separate himself from others, he''d simply ghosted them, unable to deal with it anymore. That hadn''t been right, either, but it was just another part of the pattern of his life, of refusing to take responsibility for anything that might hurt someone else''s feelings. Thomas looked down from the brilliant light overhead, raising a hand to wipe tears from his eyes. He''d made a royal mess of his first life, he couldn''t do the same thing again. He started walking around the village, aiming to make a slow circuit of the outskirts of the buildings, not feeling particularly concerned whether anybody saw him walking about naked. It didn''t seem particularly important right now. First, he had to get more comfortable with telling people no, with not going along with the wishes of whoever was immediately around him just because it felt wrong not to. He expected others to tell him ''no'', would have been horrified to discover other people acted the way he routinely did, that they didn''t want to do the things he suggested but simply made themselves miserable and went along with it to preserve his own, what, ego? It wasn''t fair of him to expect others to live up to this expectation while routinely violating it himself; he couldn''t pretend it was a favor to them, when he would have considered it a breach of trust were the situation reversed. It was odd, and refreshing, and new, to reflect that his problem, over the past few years, had fundamentally been a kind of selfishness. To avoid responsibility in the way he had was, basically, selfish. He didn''t want to be responsible for other people''s unhappiness, and yes, this was selfish. It was something he could do something about, something he could change in himself. How had things even gotten this way? Where had this attitude in himself come from? He considered culture, the dreamlike memories coming slowly ¨C not as an object of blame external to himself, but as something he participated in, and which was a part of himself. Yeah, that was part of it. It was considered taboo to say no, it was uncouth to put your own needs first; the fault in himself, of not taking responsibility, was mirrored in culture in a thousand small ways. It was a perversion of the idea of awkwardness itself, which seemed to be working its way towards becoming the central societal taboo. It wasn''t just other people''s feelings, then. He didn''t want to be in an awkward situation, didn''t want the silence that followed a ''No'', the intense awareness of another person struggling to normalize a situation. When had saying ''no'' become awkward? It had been before his time, perhaps. Thomas shook his head, attention turning back to the present, noticing that the sky was lightening. He had a situation now. It would be awkward, and uncomfortable. Also, he was starting to hear people, quiet conversations and rattling metal. He really needed to get back to the healing house, and get dressed before people got up. The thought wasn''t embarrassing, as he considered it ¨C in truth he felt like he had kind of burned out his sense of embarrassment now ¨C but it was ¡­ something. A kind of normality he didn''t want to impose upon. He quickened his pace ¨C he was on the far side of the village from the healing house, having gotten lost in his thoughts. And then started jogging. He got to the door, even as he heard other doors opening behind him, and slipped inside. Cenpre was sitting up, pulling a boot on over her pants, although her shirt was still unbuttoned and open. She looked up when he entered, and gave a small smirk at his state of undress. Thomas hesitated a moment, and then walked over to where she sat, picking up his own clothes, and starting to dress. This was the hard part. The part where he lived up to his decision, or else continued as he had. He hesitated, and then forced himself to start speaking, beginning without committing to anything, just starting. ¡°So. So. Uh. About last night.¡± Cenpre finished tying one shoe, and paused, moving her hands behind her back to stretch, a languid smile taking its time to form at him, as her chest protruded through her shirt. ¡°Ohh, yes.¡± ¡°We need to talk.¡± Apparently that translated; the stretch ended immediately and the smile vanished. She looked at him, and then leaned over to start tying her other shoe, attention firmly upon it. Her voice was harsh and bitter, when she finally responded. ¡°A mistake, yes? Won''t happen again?¡± Thomas only hesitated a moment before forcing himself onward. ¡°Yes, it was a mistake.¡± He was taken aback as she actually growled ¨C growled! ¨C and looked back up at him. He continued quickly. ¡°Not like that. I ...¡± he paused as he considered how to continue. His intent wasn''t to be hurt her feelings for the sake of hurting them. ¡°I didn''t want to.¡± Her hands froze, the snarl on her face twitching, and then melting, into an expression he couldn''t quite ¡­ oh. Oh! It wasn''t ¨C was it like that? He started talking again, quickly, the dawning agony on her face digging into him. ¡°Not ¡­ look. You didn''t ¡­¡± Would that help him, if the situation were reversed? Was it like ¡­ was it like that? He took too long trying to figure that out, and stared, feeling helpless and uncertain, and her knees drew up, her forehead pressing into them, and she just started ¡­ sobbing. Was it like that? What else could it be like? Thomas sat down, feeling lost.
Trait: Stoicism satisfied. You have accepted your nature as a stoic, and then moved beyond it. You have earned five customization points. You''ve reached class level 5! You''ve reached path level 2!
Class Distinction: Inhuman Size 1 You get 25 additional health. Additionally, you may Enlarge at will, becoming Large.
Path Distinction: Deft Nature You can''t be caught flat-footed, and can dodge as easily prone as standing
Thomas stared at the screens for a moment ¨C he hadn''t lost control, he thought dully ¨C and then closed them, attention shifting to Cenpre, whose shoulders were shaking. Was it ...? Had he been ¡­ no, that word didn''t fit. And yet, and yet. Ch 9. Responsibility (explicit) ¡°Come on, Cenpre. We have a job to do.¡± He''d given her time, feeling ¡­ not awkward, but also not a part of whatever it was she was going through. Remote, distant. But he could see people starting to move about carrying tools, now. Cenpre had stopped sobbing, and had just sat staring at the floor for the past few ¡­ minutes? She looked up at his words, however, and then averted her gaze from his face. She nodded, and stood. ¡°Uh. Button your ¡­¡± She stopped, fumbling at the buttons of her shirt. He walked with her to the tool shed, and she collected her ichor-stained hoe. He noticed, looking around, that there was a distinct lack of weapons in the shed; it was a little ¡­ odd, now that he thought about it, how the tools of farming were being applied as weapons. He''d ask later, maybe. The two walked in silence along the sandy path through the hills to the fields, past the bushes, which Thomas checked carefully for any more spiders as he pushed through them, and into the field. Spots of red greeted them, as they did every morning, and they fell into their routine. Cenpre didn''t speak, nor did she meet his gaze as they carried the bodies to the pit. Thomas observed as if from a distance. He wasn''t sure how he should feel about the previous night, and was starting to play through it again in his mind, trying to decide how he should feel about it. It had begun with more teasing, with Cenpre insisting that he needed to get comfortable with the idea of sex, that he needed to grow up, to accept that lust was part of who he was. She''d unbuttoned her shirt, and laughed at his blushes. He kicked a beetle. Then punched. Then just grabbed it by the mandibles and started hammering into it with a knee. A strike from Cenpre punctured its carapace, and the insect stopped trying to bite him, and started struggling to turn away. He held it, and another blow sprayed its pale yellow guts into the air. She''d grabbed his hand and pressed it to a breast, holding it there until he stopped trying to pull the hand back. Had he been afraid of her, or of telling her to stop, of making her feel bad? She felt worse now, if it had been the latter. But he wasn''t really sure now; he''d just felt paralyzed. The beetle fell into the pit; they started towards another. It was already messily devouring a melon, split slightly off-center, pale yellow goo spilling into the loose dirt and over the leaves around it. It looked kind of like a pumpkin, now that he was looking at it. Maybe it was more of a gourd? Thomas didn''t really know the difference. She''d started groping him, then. He didn''t resist, even when she pulled his pants partially down ¨C his belt had given her pause ¨C he had just kind of watched as she had knelt, making some kind of remark about his circumcision he hadn''t quite been able to understand, and then taken him into her mouth. He''d been soft, it hadn''t felt sexy, it had felt strange and foreign and slightly wrong. The stimulation, the warmth, the feeling of her tongue licking, and her teeth, and ¨C that had felt good. He had felt good, and then it had felt ¡­ not sexy, exactly, but his body responded, filling her mouth. Her eyes ¨C they were green, so very green ¨C had stared into his, red hair framing her face, framed his body, in a way he might have dreamed about, longed for, had the situation been different, had he felt differently in the moment. A dream, that had become something of a nightmare. The beetle''s mandible snapped under his fist, the blow driving into its ¡­ face, or what would be a face on something else. He was startled ¨C he hadn''t managed to actually hurt the things before ¨C and struck again, trying to replicate the feat, without success. A fluke. Cenpre struck from behind it, even as the beetle tried to back away from him. She''d undressed him, her hands unbuttoning his shirt as her head bobbed forward and back, licking as she moved; she couldn''t quite take him entirely into her mouth now, and started focusing on licking. He''d watched, in a state somewhere between pleasure and dread, letting her manipulate his arms to pull the shirt free, and toss it aside. Then she''d finished taking her own shirt off, and sat down to shimmy out of her pants, before her mouth returned to him, warmth embracing him, her hands finishing removing his pants. Thinking about it made him uncomfortable, and horny, and more uncomfortable still that remembering made him feel this way. On one level, he wanted her to climb on top of him again, hands clamping around his shoulders as her warmth ¡­ but on another level, the idea was repulsive. It felt complicated, and he''d avoided complicated things for his entire life. But Thomas wanted to understand how he felt. No, he didn''t want to understand, he wanted to never think about it again. He needed to understand, because he needed to be a better person. She hadn''t used a condom; he felt angry about that, but at least he hadn''t ¡­ finished within her, at least that way. She''d used her mouth again after she had orgasmed ¨C silent, but he had felt the tightening, and her hands had gripped his shoulders so tightly he thought he might have a bruise. He hadn''t checked this morning, and hadn''t had an opportunity afterwards. It had felt good. He needed to admit that to himself. He had, in the end, enjoyed the experience. He''d also been afraid; afraid of her hurting him, afraid of hurting her, afraid of continuing, and also afraid of stopping. He also needed to admit that; he hadn''t chosen that, he hadn''t wanted it. Thomas looked at Cenpre, at her misery. Did he owe her anything, now? No, wrong question. Did it matter whether or not he owed her anything? ¡°Are you okay?¡± The question felt strange, and also right. But also wrong; she clearly wasn''t okay. Cenpre started at his voice, green eyes meeting his momentarily before falling to the ground, past the dead insect between them. She hesitated only a second, and then shook her head, not speaking. What did he say? What should he say? He wanted to hug her. He wanted to never touch her again, never be touched by her again. He wanted her mouth on him again. He wanted never to see her again. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°It''ll be okay.¡± That got another start, and she stared at him. The hoe fell to the ground. ¡°How? Why?¡± ¡°Because ...¡± Thomas considered the question ¨C not the words, but the question. ¡°Because we''re people? We''re ¡­ adults. We talk through our problems. I said we needed to talk; we need to talk.¡± She laughed, then, somewhat maniacally, and leaned down to pick up her side of the beetle. Thomas remained standing, looking at her; she looked up, when he didn''t move, and slowly rose again. Her voice was quiet. ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°That ¡­ shouldn''t have happened. I said I wanted to take it slowly, and you didn''t listen.¡± Cenpre just nodded, gaze downcast. ¡°But maybe I could have been a little bit clearer, and told you to stop.¡± He paused, weighing his feelings. ¡°I wanted you to stop. But I also didn''t want you to stop.¡± She started to look up, and he quickly continued, ¡°But it still shouldn''t have happened. I didn''t want that, not that way, not then. I don''t know you. I wanted ¡­ I wanted the first time to mean something to me. Maybe I want every time to mean something to me, I don''t know. And now I think ¡­ I feel like the first time when it does mean something, won''t be the same.¡± Thomas paused, listening to his own words. He hadn''t consciously been aware of that, but he''d said it just the same, and it was true. How ¡­ odd. ¡°I''m sorry.¡± Her voice was quiet, bitter. Angry, but he was pretty sure not with him. ¡°I know. That''s why I kept talking.¡± That was true, too. ¡°Let''s finish up here.¡± He sat in the healing house, on a different cot. He didn''t want to sit on that one again. His attention turned to the status window, ignored throughout the day. His stamina regeneration was still negative; he put a point in Perception, and it rose. He was startled to known his Stamina immediately starting filling immediately; it took less than a minute. What was the time increment?
Thomas Bluebrim Brawler Legend of Wind
Level 5 0 Misfortunes / 0 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
146/155 Health 0/0 Mana 3/3 Stamina
0 Distinctions Available 27 Skill Points Available 4 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution**** Intelligence
1 Melee Damage Bonus 2 0
3 Maximum Worn Armor 130 Maximum Health 20 Additional Skill Points
0 Deflection * 4 Damage Reduction 1 Maximum Stamina Points
1 Melee Damage Bonus 12 Base Armor 0 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
6 0 0
6 Lores 0 Bonus Targeting 0 Reaction Time
6 Arcane Resistance 0 Evasion 1 Stamina Regeneration
0 Mana * 20 Movement * 0 Missile Range Bonus *
He hadn''t used ¡°Enlarge¡±, whatever that really did. In a different mood, he would have laughed at the phrasing, but right now it just didn''t seem very funny. He hadn''t used any of the new distinctions, not around Cenpre. It had been what she had been hoping for, after all, but it had been his, not hers. Certainly not hers, after last night. He wasn''t really angry, exactly. More ¡­ tired. That had been the hardest conversation he''d ever had. He felt a measure of pride that he hadn''t run away from it; he wasn''t at all certain that had been the right way to handle it, but he also didn''t know how he could have handled it better. The situation had felt so much more complicated than what he thought he would have expected to feel, if someone had asked him; he would have said he would feel angry and violated, and the anger just wasn''t there. He did feel violated, but it wasn''t something Thomas could hold onto. Was that his upbringing, his culture? Rape ¡­ the word still didn''t feel right, it felt too strong. But it was the right word. Rape wasn''t something that he was supposed to have to worry about, right? He hadn''t been raised to think of sex that happened to him, it was something he could do to other people if he wasn''t very careful, and he was the one who was supposed to have to be careful to make sure it was something that was actually wanted. He had trouble thinking of it as something that had happened to him, as something that could happen to him, present evidence notwithstanding. He was still struggling to think of himself in terms of ¡­ in terms of ¡­ he didn''t have the words. He couldn''t think of himself as not a participant; if he had participated, if he had created the situation ¡­ even acknowledging that he hadn''t wanted it, Thomas had trouble conceptualizing the experience as something he hadn''t, in part, created. He knew the issue with that ¨C he knew what he''d say if a woman had described the feelings he was experiencing to him. But ''It''s not your fault'', from this side of an imagined conversation, just felt entirely wrong. It wasn''t really about fault, not really. He didn''t feel at fault. He didn''t really feel like Cenpre was at fault, either, exactly, or rather not at fault for what had happened. She hadn''t known. Maybe she should have known, but fault wasn''t the right way to think about that, either. Things were different here. Women weren''t any weaker than men; maybe social norms differed as a result. Maybe he was approaching social norms entirely incorrectly. But that was getting back to thinking of this as something he''d caused. Thomas sighed, laying back on the cot to stare at the roof overhead, the dirt and hay mixed together to form, what? Thatch? He''d always thought of thatch as some kind of elaborate weaving of grass to somehow keep rain off of things. Did thatch have mud in it? Or clay? Was that clay? He found himself listing off to sleep ¨C he''d gotten very little last night. Maybe none at all. Thomas let himself, thoughts drifting in slow circles. It wasn''t his fault, but ¡­ but he did have things he should do differently. He had room to grow as a person, and maybe growing would result in less harm overall. Maybe it was ¡­ were the people here even really human, or something else entirely? They looked human, acted human. If they were NPCs in some kind of game, it was really something. Maybe something awful. He dreamed of beetles with Cenpre''s face, as he and a beetle-faced biped broke it apart and tossed it in a pit filled with dead beetles, the faces of villagers frozen upon them. Ch 10. Sleeping Outdoors Enlarge ¡­ did what it said on the tin. He stared around the healing house, at the door he''d have to stoop to walk through. Thomas lifted a hands, looking at his fingers. They looked normal. Everything else just ¡­ looked smaller. He also looked down at his belt, which had split apart and fallen off. He''d thought ahead, and just put the belt on, rather than trying this out fully dressed; he was glad he did. It affected him; it did not, in fact, affect any of his clothing. Which would have been a serious problem for him if he''d tried this, as he had initially thought, out in the fields with the beetles. So, he could ¡­ uh. The green guy. He could do that. Only he proportions remained the same; he wasn''t suddenly bursting with muscles, he was just ¡­ bigger. Thomas walked to the door, trying to remember how tall it had been compared to him before, to get an estimate for his height now. He was ¡­ what, eight or nine feet tall? So something like, what, a fifty percent increase in his overall mass? The title of the distinction, Inhuman Size 1, implied he might get another version later. Maybe more than one additional version. Could he eventually punch out the ¡­ uh. The big ape? Shaking his head, Thomas focused on the ability again. At will, indeed; the world grew larger around him, the door stretching out from underneath his chin to over his head. That was a thoroughly odd sensation. He moved back to his pile of clothing, which was starting to smell, and, wrinkling his nose, dressed quickly. He didn''t go with Cenpre, this morning. He didn''t particularly want to see her right now, and he had to remind himself mentally that he didn''t have to justify that to himself. He was allowed to not want to see her, to not want to work with her. He went alone, instead, attracting some looks. They could look. He had some ¡­ experiments to perform. The red-haired woman went with another pair of farmers, instead, and he moved to a part of the fields far removed from them. Cenpre, for her part, did her own work keeping her own little group away from him. He corralled a couple of beetles near each other, kicking and punching until they chased him, and leading them towards a spot that had already been harvested of melons; he didn''t want to damage the landscape too much. Then he let one attack him, and, grasping it by its horn and carapace, threw it at the other. They couldn''t really be knocked ''prone,'' but as he repeated the throw, they did seem to show a distinct tendency to land on their backs when either thrown or struck; much more than simple chance, or even a reasonable facsimile of physics, should have resulted in. A couple of farmers had stopped their own work to watch his antics, as he repeatedly tossed the beetles about, clacking into each other noisily. Whatever their armor was, it didn''t seem enough to punch through their damage resistance. The beetles were tough. He did have some luck, however, as he experimented stomping, kicking, and punching their underbellies when they were flipped over; they''d use their horns to shove themselves back onto their feet if he left them for too long, so he had to move quickly, but each blow did seem to stun them, and ichor started dripping from the pulverized tissue. The sensation of his bare knuckles impacting their ¨C was it chitin? ¨C their underbellies was kind of disturbing, but he was able to hurt them, and he soon was dragging a beetle towards the pit, the other already leaking green goo out of countless bursts in the innards, motionless. Another trip to drag the second, and he moved on. He couldn''t kill them very quickly, but the toss-and-pummel approach worked pretty well, and soon the farmers were starting the rest of their work. Thomas surveyed the bushes, looking for spiders, or anything else to fight. It had been ¡­ what ¡­ three days now since clearing the fields had given him anything? He wanted something more tangible and useful. He glanced in the direction that Anise and her small group were now harvesting. And remote. He considered for a moment, and headed back to the village, in search of Anise. She was talking with three familiar-looking people in brown traveling clothes; a tall woman with hip-length brown hair, a short woman with gray hair, and a thin man with ¨C oh! It was Anne''s group. He slowed; their backs were to him, and he tried to move closer to overhear what they were saying without attracting Anise''s attention. Norris was speaking, his baritone bringing out a bit of envy in Thomas; he had always thought his voice to be kind of nasally sounding. ¡°...well enough, but there wasn''t much for us to do when we got there; they''d already been wiped out a fortnight ago.¡± Anise nodded, looking pleased, her voice positively lilting into song as she replied. ¡°A pity for you, I agree, but I think we''ll sleep easier nonetheless. Haven''t been able to get new tools in a year now. The merchants will venture the trip soon enough, or not soon enough, we''ve been putting off the harvest. Everyone will be glad to know they can finally stop trying to keep those accursed scarabs in check.¡± Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°Well, we''re going to head down to Piketown and see if they have any work for us, and then maybe continue further south.¡± Anne''s voice, sounding more tired than Thomas remembered. ¡°Begging your pardon, mayor, but there''s not going to be much of anything to do until the spring migrations.¡± ¡°No, no, I understand. Wouldn''t want Arias in the fields anyways, we don''t have the melons for it.¡± Okay, they were melons. This got a laugh from everyone except Arias herself, who crossed her arms, looking away. In Thomas'' direction, as it transpired, and she straightened. Well, they didn''t seem to be talking about his prison break, so he strode forward; Arias, for her part, tapped Anne''s shoulder, and pointed his way once she''d gotten the woman''s attention. Anne turned, and her exhaustion lightened for a second into a smile. ¡°Hey, you made it.¡± She hesitated for a second, and Thomas bowed his head, interjecting. ¡°Good to see you Anne. Arias, Norris.¡± He hesitated himself; he had intended to help her remember his name, but suddenly found he couldn''t find a graceful way to do so, so he continued in a different thread. ¡°Thanks for sending me here.¡± A moment of inspiration. ¡°And good evening, Anise.¡± ¡°Good evening, Thomas.¡± There it was. Anne looked relieved, so Thomas continued. ¡°Actually, I''m thinking of heading out myself. I''m not sure I''ve been too kind on the melons myself.¡± He''d crushed three throwing the beetles about. Scarabs? ¡°I''d rather repay the kindness shown to me with coin. Do they have paying work in, uh, Piketown was it?¡± Mostly he just wanted to get away for a time. Anne took this in, and then shared a glance at Norris, who just shrugged. Her attention returned to Thomas. ¡°That would be alright with us, I think. Thomas. And there''s some work, if you don''t mind fishing.¡± Well. At least the name wasn''t a reference to the medieval weapon. Some kind of spear, wasn''t it? Anise was looking at Thomas with a curious expression. She might have seen that he hadn''t gone with Cenpre that morning, but either way, he figured she''d arrive at entirely the wrong conclusion about what had happened. The idea of anyone else knowing made him ¡­ uncomfortable, and ashamed, and ashamed to be ashamed about it. But she didn''t say anything, and Thomas nodded. ¡°Alright. Anise, I''ll send something back.¡± Thomas ducked his head towards her, and the ¨C mayor, apparently ¨C nodded to him. ¡°It''s always appreciated. But in the morning. No objections, Anne, I doubt you''ve eaten a properly cooked meal since you left.¡± Anne did, indeed, look ready to object. The trio was already gathered together when Thomas walked to Anise''s house, and after a brief farewell to the mayor of Grimhaven, they were on their way, walking downstream. Norris, to Thomas'' surprise, fell in beside him as they walked; Anne led their little expedition, and Arias was walking some distance aways, her eyes sweeping the landscape as they moved. ¡°So, what happened?¡± That enviable voice. Thomas glanced at Norris, and then looked at the ground, considering a response. What could he say? The silence must have gone on long enough to tip Norris off, because the thin man patted him on the shoulder. ¡°It''s alright. Sometimes things just don''t work out, particularly in the smaller settlements; everyone already knows everyone else, it can be hard to find a place for yourself.¡± ¡°That''s ¡­ well.¡± It sort of fit; the town was just too small to avoid Cenpre entirely. ¡°Close enough.¡± They fell into a companionable sort of silence; Arias moved surprisingly quickly, crossing their paths from one side to the other, making her way up to the top of hills. Watching for creatures, or people, or both? Anne, for her part, seemed content to just walk. He was relieved she hadn''t started talking about their first meeting, and now for reasons other than embarrassment. They halted around midday, and ate some oddly flavorless bread that Norris handed each of them. It had the consistency of old oatmeal, and tasted like somebody had condensed the essence of blandness into tangible form. Kind of like tofu, really. They drank from the stream, which somehow had a more interesting taste than the bread, and the refilled the water bladders. Thomas still didn''t know, and didn''t want to know, whether they were made from real animal bladders. And they were off again, Arias once again making her slow circuit back and forth across the path the rest followed. Thomas found his legs aching by the time the sun had begun to set, and Anne called a halt. ¡°We''ll rest here, this spot should be safe.¡± Thomas looked around; he was grateful to halt the endless trek, but ¡­ this spot looked pretty much exactly the same. Grassy hills cut through by the stream. If they hadn''t been following the slowly winding water, he''d have thought that they had been going in circles. They didn''t set up a camp; Arias moved to the top of the nearest hill and sat down. Thomas watched her go, Norris moving to stand beside him, speaking quietly. ¡°She''ll take first watch. If she whistles, we need to be up and ready to fight. I''ll take second watch, Anne third.¡± The man smiled, handing him another lump of bread. ¡°You get some sleep. We''ve stuck to this routine for years.¡± ¡°I ¡­ alright, thank you.¡± Thomas sat down, realizing, as he watched Anne settle into the grass, that they were indeed just going to sleep on the ground. What did they do when it rained? He considered their clothing, and their hats; maybe they just put the hats over their heads and ¡­ got rained on. Thomas rubbed at his aching calves as he started stretching out. There hadn''t been much conversation, all the day. He wondered if it was because of his presence, or whether they just didn''t talk that much. Had they been talking when they''d discovered him? He had been ¡­ distracted by circumstance, and wasn''t certain now. Thomas slowly lay back in the grass, which tickled at his neck and cheek, looking up at the stars overhead. They were simply gorgeous. This view, every night? Maybe he''d done himself a disservice sleeping indoors. Ch 11. A Herd of Silver Fawn Morning came without incident. He woke to a prod in his side; Anne was studying his face as her boot poked him. ¡°We''re on our way again.¡± He sat up, looking around in a panic that he had slept in ¨C but no, Norris was also still sitting down, rubbing his eyes in a gesture that conveyed that he, too, had just woken. It took a moment of looking to find Arias, at the top of the hill she had ¨C apparently ¨C slept on. She was ¡­ stretching, her absurdly long hair falling this way and that with the motions. Thomas clambered to his feet, and was surprised that Anne was still standing there ¡­ looking at him, studying his face. ¡°What happened, anyways?¡± Thomas remembered the same conversation with Norris, the day before, and struggled to formulate his thoughts again. It came slightly easier, using the man''s offhand comments as supplementary material for his excuse. ¡°Didn''t quite fit in, everyone there already had a place.¡± Anne didn''t stop studying him, but she did eventually nod, and turn away. Breakfast, taken on the road, or river as it were ¨C three meals with this group, something familiar ¨C was more of the bread. Where did Norris keep the stuff? Anne was the one with all the bags at her waist, the other two didn''t seem to be carrying much of anything. Norris didn''t even have a weapon. Their walk was interrupted by a sharp whistle from the side; Arias waved, when the three walking along the riverbed turned, pointing behind them, in the opposite direction from her. Anne cursed before Thomas had even finished turning back around to face the other way, grabbing the long staff from her back, and in a single continuous motion, her hand moving from tip to tip, the staff was pulled into a curve. A bow, strung just like that. Thomas stared at the animals that were descending the far hill. The shit? That was a herd of deer. Small deer, at that. They looked like baby dear. Their fur was a bright gray that glinted in the sunlight, rather than the brown he was accustomed to, but they were just deer. He frowned, looking at Anne, who hadn''t looked away from the herd. Then he turned to Norris, expecting laughter. Norris, however, looked ¡­ grim. Thomas slowly turned back to the herd, even as Arias pulled up alongside them. Norris muttered quietly as she arrived. ¡°Fight or run, Anne?¡± ¡°Fight. They must have our scent, they''ve formed a pack.¡± She responded, equally quietly. Thomas, for his part, was looking between the gray-haired woman, and the ¡­ huh. They had tusks. No, not tusks, fangs. They were like ¡­ sabretoothed ¡­ deer? And Anne had said pack, not herd. His confusion was giving way to alarm, seeing the reaction of the three to a threat he would have completely ignored. ¡°Thomas, should have asked earlier. Class?¡± This was Anne; Arias had moved forward to stand between the deer and the rest of the group. ¡°Brawler.¡± ¡°Alright. You''re in front. Arias, move back and take the flanks, keep them from encircling us. Norris, I think we need Caress.¡± The way she said it made the word sound ¡­ almost cool. Except for the word itself. Thomas hesitantly stepped forward to stand where Arias had been, looking at the approaching ¨C pack, of sabretoothed deer. They didn''t move right; deer shouldn''t walk like that, like they were stalking something. It was eerie, and put him on edge. And one second they were descending the hill, and the next, a kick was flying at Thomas'' face, one of the deer having gotten there, and spun around to kick with its hind legs, in less time than it took him to realize he needed to get ready. Thomas jerked back from the kick, narrowly avoiding a cloven hoof that flashed by, and the deer was just -gone-, a good dozen paces away, an arrow sticking out of the ground where it had just been standing. He''d barely processed that when another kick missed him ¨C he''d stumbled back again when he realized how close he first had come to hitting. He was only aware that another had missed him, and was starting to feel like this was manageable, when pain exploded across his chest with a cracking sensation, and blood sprayed from his mouth in a cough he hadn''t prepared for. Thomas tried not to vomit, struggling to stand upright; he couldn''t even keep track of what was going on, but he saw an arrow take the next deer that had angled for him in the eye. There was something insane going on a few yards away from him, which he didn''t have the attention to spare for; he was only vaguely aware that a large number of the deer were occupied with something like a ghost squid, tentacles grabbing and squeezing them. Arias darted in and out of his peripheral vision, and every time she moved, there was a spray of blood. Thomas, for his part, swung at a deer, missed, and was rewarded with another shot of pain from his left hip, and then from his right knee; he staggered. He hadn''t even seen which had struck him. His chest was hot and wet, and he suspected he was now bleeding from three wounds, but the possibility of a fourth and fifth kept his attention away from them. ¡°Thomas, Call Out, now!¡± It took him a moment to remember ¨C he could pull aggro? He really didn''t need any more, but he turned, and focused. Norris was surrounded by three of the deer, with Arias trying to distract them from the thin man, who for his part had just thrown a ¨C bottle? ¨C at one of the deer. Thomas chose one quickly, and shouted at it. It wasn''t a normal shout. He felt something pulse inside him, and what came out of his mouth was something more like a roar; his already overtaxed bladder gave out a little bit in shock. The deer, or whatever these things were, spun, and ran at him; Thomas was vaguely aware of an arrow hitting one of the others, and then the new opponent was upon him. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. He punched as it ran ¨C and for a change, his fist connected, with a horrifying crunching noise. The deer had run straight into the fist, and he had the impression of the animal flipping over him and crashing behind ¨C but another blow caught him in the small of the back, his attention diverted from the horde he had been watching. His knee gave out, and he fell forward with a groan, catching himself on his hands. Three more strikes hit him as he lay there, falling upon his arms, legs, and face ¨C and they glanced off his skin, not even scratching him. He pissed himself a little bit more even so; the one that had bounced off his cheek had looked like it would hit him square in the eye. The fourth, however, did catch him, like a hammer to the jaw, and he felt bone crunch, and suddenly his mouth was full of blood. Arias flashed by, and blood splattered. He heard the whistle of arrows, but he felt thoroughly done, and spat. A glob of blood and ¡­ and his teeth. He could see three ¡­ no, five teeth. He couldn''t feel his tongue, his mouth was just a ball of pain and misery. Thomas collapsed onto his side, then. His field of vision was filled with dead deer, their silver pelts red. One was a few feet away, and above him, from his sideways perspective; its guts were laid open, and he stared blankly at the loops of intestines that had spilled out; one of the loops was was severed, and oozing; he became aware of the scent of shit mixed with the scent of blood. Thomas closed his eyes. The arrows had stopped, and someone was speaking, standing over him, but he felt thoroughly, thoroughly done. That had been his fucking teeth on the ground, and he was just done. He''d die, and this nightmare could be over.
Great objective complete: Survived a small herd of level 12 Silver Fawn as part of a party. You''ve earned six customization points. You''ve reached class level 6! Free distinction earned!
Oh. He''d survived. Great.
Class Distinction: Thick Skull You are immune to non-lethal damage
Class Distinction: Latent Power +1 Maximum Stamina
He desperately wanted to pass out, but just ¡­ couldn''t. Everything hurt. He turned his attention to his statistic screen.
Thomas Bluebrim Brawler Legend of Wind
Level 6 0 Misfortunes / 0 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
27/165 Health 0/0 Mana 2/4 Stamina
1 Distinctions Available 29 Skill Points Available 10 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution**** Intelligence
1 Melee Damage Bonus 2 0
3 Maximum Worn Armor 140 Maximum Health 22 Additional Skill Points
0 Deflection * 4 Damage Reduction 1 Maximum Stamina Points
1 Melee Damage Bonus 12 Base Armor 0 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
6 0 0
6 Lores 0 Bonus Targeting 0 Reaction Time
6 Arcane Resistance 0 Evasion 1 Stamina Regeneration
0 Mana * 20 Movement * 0 Missile Range Bonus *
Okay. So this was what ¡­ no, he''d just leveled up, so he''d taken a hundred damage. This is what a hundred damage felt like. How many blows had he taken? Six? Seven? He''d lost count. Oh. He just lost another health. Bleeding, right. Thomas was aware of somebody above him. More pain, but there was plenty of that to go around. Oh, his shirt had been cut away. Pressure, pain. There was lots of that. His pants were next; he wasn''t so much aware of the pants being cut, as the feeling of air on some of the few places that weren''t already in pain. ¡°Pressure, here, Arias. Norris, I''ll need you to conjure more bandages. You with us again, Thomas?¡± He groaned in response. He didn''t want to be. ¡°Alright, good. Stay with me. Norris, alcohol. Thomas, this part will hurt.¡± It did, but compared to everything else, it was more just a change in the flavor of the pain for a moment. Oh god his mouth. His teeth. ¡°Here and here, Arias. Wrap this.¡± Well. He didn''t get to die. He was watching his health, and it had stopped dropping, stabilizing at twenty four. No, twenty three. He felt more pressure; someone was moving his leg around, wrapping something around his hip and thigh; Arias. Should he feel embarrassed or something? Nah. Hurt too much. Anne continued talking, but he stared at his status screen, not listening, trying desperately not to be aware of the real world. Just the comfort of the blue, and the distant, uncaring numbers. Twenty two. A countdown it was. In his remote awareness, he found he could think clearly, and logically, after a sense. So, those deer had been level twelve, had they? And the rest of his group must have been higher leveled, or at least comparably leveled. Anne probably hadn''t expected him to be level five; everyone reacted like that was the beginning of adulthood, which he''d just barely reached. He had an advantage with constitution, right? That''s what he''d gathered. He got more out of it; a lot more, if he gathered correctly. Damage reduction of four. Assuming he''d taken, what, six blows? That meant, if he understood correctly, he''d avoided twenty four damage entirely. That was more health than he had left. And he probably got more health than a normal person. His class had saved him twice over. No, he had another twenty five health from the Inhuman Size. Three times over. A voice cut through, into his awareness. ¡°Stay with me, Thomas. You''re going to make it, just stay with me.¡± He shifted his attention back to his statistic screen. So he''d survived only because of his constitution focus. Alright. And as he got more levels, he could take even more punishment. A pain lanced through his knee that brought him back to awareness of the real world. ¡°Okay, that should do for that.¡± Anne was holding an empty vial over his leg. Hey, health potions existed; his number was rising again. The world wasn''t total shit after all. His choices, were, though, because his terrible choices had yet another terrible outcome. What he was really good at, was, apparently, surviving, and even staying conscious, when he absolutely should have just gotten some nice peaceful death in. Ch 12. Indignities Thomas lived in a world of pain, misery, and indignities. He limped along with the three adventurers, his hip aching with every step; he''d cracked the bone. The injury was enough to stab at him every time he moved, but not enough to actually stop him from walking. He lived in fear and anticipation that his hip would break further; fear, that he''d be left here, and anticipation, that at least then he could just lay down and not have to walk anymore. Breathing hurt; he had multiple broken ribs, and every inhalation felt like somebody had kicked a knife deeper into his chest. His lower back hurt; he couldn''t see the damage there, didn''t even remember being struck, and given that he was pretty sure he''d seen one of his own ribs when his chest bandage had been changed, he didn''t want to. His jaw was the worst; he couldn''t really open or close his mouth, it was swollen nearly shut. Anne chewed his food for him, which he probably would have rated the worst part of the experience if he hadn''t been living it; the pain of actually getting the bread into his mouth, and using his tongue to try to swallow it, was far worse. He found himself weeping every meal. His bandages were changed out every few hours; Norris seemed to have a limitless supply of clean white cloth. He had no dignity there, either; the wound on his hip permitted no dignity, and wrapping the bandages required Arias to move his junk out of her way. The young woman didn''t say anything, didn''t react to the duty at all, even when he himself ¡­ reacted, to the sensation of her touch on him, for which he was grateful. He couldn''t even shit without help ¨C he couldn''t squat, and Norris was the one who helped steady him for that ¡­ experience. At least he could clean up after himself, small mercies. His clothes had been turned into a kind of skirt; they were otherwise a total loss, someone had cut them apart to check on his wounds. So at least he wasn''t walking around entirely exposed, which seemed like the way his life had been going. They walked, slower than before. They gave him encouraging words, but he could only nod or grunt in response, words beyond his mauled mouth''s abilities. ¡°So lower than the tenth ascension?¡± He nodded to Anne, she walked beside him. She breathed out. She had waited a couple of days, before starting the interrogation into his abilities. ¡°Lower than the eighth?¡± Another nod. ¡°Sixth?¡± Thomas hesitated; he''d been at the fifth ascension when they''d gone into the fight. At length, figuring that was what she really wanted to know, he nodded, then waggled a hand. She shared a look with Norris; Arias was off doing her thing, running from hilltop to hilltop. The hills were shorter here, and there were even occasional trees scattered around. Norris spoke. ¡°Was at the fifth, gained the sixth?¡± Thomas nodded. Anne and Norris shared a look; something between guilt and exasperation. ¡°And you just walked out in front to fight a pack of silver fawn? Just ¡­ tried to punch them out?¡± Thomas could just nod. Anne sighed, voice lowering slightly, both in volume and tone. ¡°Fuck. No, I told you to take the front. Really should have asked before.¡± She fixed her gaze on him. ¡°You''re lucky to be alive, you know.¡± Thomas nodded. ¡°We''re all lucky to be alive. Thomas saved my life back there.¡± Norris'' voice was solemn. Thomas remembered ¨C he''d used an ability to pull one of the fawn that had been attacking the man to himself. Anne sighed, again, and nodded. ¡°We''ll be in Piketown the d- ¡­ in a few more days.¡± They were traveling slowly on his account; he couldn''t walk very fast at all. ¡°We''ll stick around until you''re back on your feet. Do you have an armor dedications? Or unarmored? Most brawlers go unarmored.¡± He considered his jaw, his missing teeth. Fuck that. He wanted a helmet. A thick helmet. He shook his head, at length. ¡°Don''t make any choice with your sixth ascension yet, we need to talk.¡± Her guilty expression intensified. ¡°When you can talk. Another couple of days passed, and the swelling had come down enough for him to talk. It felt like talking with a mouth full of mush, and it hurt, but he could talk. ¡°Can I ¡­ change my bandages?¡± His words were as mushy as his mouth felt. One less humiliation to face each day. He hadn''t felt like masturbating since ¡­ well. And Arias hadn''t ¨C he was taken aback by Anne''s stark reply. ¡°No.¡± He blinked, trying to marshal an argument, but Anne kept going after a second, her voice softening. ¡°Arias has skills in treating wounds, and will know before you do if things start getting worse. I realize you''re probably feeling the lack of privacy, but you simply cannot afford an infection.¡± ¡°I ¡­ alright.¡± The word came out more as ¡°awree¡±, as his lips didn''t want to move right, and his tongue was still a little swollen. A few more days of that humiliation, then. ¡°Glad to hear you talking again. Do you think you can chew food now? I can''t imagine that is pleasant, either.¡± ¡°... yeah.¡± No, he probably couldn''t. His tongue moved to the row of missing molars. But the bread didn''t really need that much chewing, and the feeling of pre-chewed food was incredibly unpleasant. A small victory. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. It was an unpleasant victory, as it transpired. He had to suck on the bread until it got soft, and still had to chew a little bit to get the crust to the point where he could swallow it. He chewed carefully, using only one side of his mouth. It hurt, particularly when a piece of the crust stabbed into his gums, which made everything taste like blood. He''d looked at the heavy armor distinction, after a few tries.
Armor Expertise: Heavy When wearing Heavy Armor, you may spend 1 Stamina to apply your full Deflection Bonus to your Worn Armor until the beginning of your next turn, +1 Strength
His Deflection Bonus, whatever that was, was 0. The strength bonus seemed nice, but he''d then looked at Unarmored.
Unarmored Defense When wearing no armor and not using a shield, you get Worn Armor equal to your Agility plus your Perception; +3 to Maximum HP
Which also wasn''t very helpful, given that his agility, plus his perception, added up to another 0. ¡°Anne, which armor distinction ¡­ er, dedication should I take?¡± Anne, for her part, had him repeat himself twice before she understood his question. She looked at him. ¡°Most brawlers go unarmored. How strong are you?¡± ¡°My strength is one, constitution is two, intelligence is zero, wisdom is six, agility is zero, perception is zero.¡± Anne stared at him for a moment, then blinked. ¡°Huh. I like the numbers. What is a zero?¡± He was pretty sure she wasn''t asking what a zero literally was, but a frame of reference, so he answered that instead. ¡°Average, I think. Negative numbers for below average.¡± ¡°You think? Okay.¡± She looked to Norris, who belatedly noticed her glance, and returned it, nodding slowly. ¡°Thomas won''t have much use for any of the basic dedications. He could take a strength dedication, and over time he could grow into heavy armor? But he''d get results sooner if he took the first dedication for unarmored, and got the second at the ninth ascension. Of course, he could use his potential in another ascension or two to get it sooner.¡± ¡°Second dedication?¡± Thomas had, he checked, ten customization points. He had forgotten he could do things with the points other than increase his stats. Norris and Anne both turned to him; Norris spoke, slowly. ¡°You can improve your dedications. Some of them. Most that can be improved can be improved three times; one improvement at the fifth ascension, a second improvement at the tenth, and a third improvement at the fifteenth ascension.¡± Thomas blinked. ¡°What about Fortune Master?¡± Norris scowled; Anne barked out a laugh, then, looking at him, stopped. ¡°What, really?¡± Anne''s amusement shifted to concern. ¡°That''s ¡­ not the best choice for you.¡± Norris, however, was looking contemplative, scowl fading slightly. ¡°Not now. I took it myself; the third improvement isn''t anything to laugh at.¡± Anne considered that, then frowned. ¡°Alright, but it doesn''t help him now. Thomas, with your wisdom, you should take the second unarmored dedication. It''ll help.¡± Thomas considered, tongue exploring the painful gaps where his right molars had once been. He wanted a helmet, is what he wanted, but the unarmored distinction basically told him that he wouldn''t be able to, if he pursued this path. He sighed, then, relenting; he would take their advice. His own choices hadn''t worked out for him very well. He took it, before he could think about it for too much longer. Then he pulled up avatar customization, and spent five points on a free distinction. Then focused on the unarmored distinction again.
Improved Unarmored Defense When wearing no armor and not using a shield, you get Damage Reduction equal to your Intelligence plus your Wisdom
He looked at the effects, then at his statistics screen.
Thomas Bluebrim Brawler Legend of Wind
Level 6 0 Misfortunes / 0 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
121/165 Health 0/0 Mana 2/4 Stamina
0 Distinctions Available 29 Skill Points Available 5 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution**** Intelligence
1 Melee Damage Bonus 2 0
3 Maximum Worn Armor 140 Maximum Health 22 Additional Skill Points
0 Deflection * 4 Damage Reduction 1 Maximum Stamina Points
1 Melee Damage Bonus 12 Base Armor 0 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
6 0 0
6 Lores 0 Bonus Targeting 0 Reaction Time
6 Arcane Resistance 0 Evasion 1 Stamina Regeneration
0 Mana * 20 Movement * 0 Missile Range Bonus *
The damage reduction didn''t show up, which he kind of expected, given what his health looked like. For some reason only some things showed up in the screen. But he had ten damage reduction now, which, given what six blows had done to him, wasn''t a huge number, if he got into that fight again. But it was a lot bigger than what he had before. ¡°Took the second.¡± Anne blinked, then started. ¡°Oh! Yes. You''d have some potential left from the fight. I had forgotten about that.¡± Norris nodded. ¡°Why''d you take brawler, kid? With wisdom like that, you''d have made an excellent sage.¡± He was kid, now? Fair enough, he supposed, given the last few days. It was just one more indignity, in a list that kept growing. Thomas grimaced, both at the answer, and thinking that there would still be another day or two of having his bandages changed. Did Arias ever talk, or did she just not talk to him? ¡°It sounded good at the time.¡± He wondered how things would have gone if he''d taken spellsword, which had been the option he''d been considering when a stray thought had taken the choice out of his hands. Ch 13. Piketown Thomas studied his reflection. His bare chest had a pair of ugly, star-shaped scabs where the hooves had impacted him, on either side of his sternum. He thought those would scar. His hip had divot in it, a depression of heavy scar tissue, right below his pelvis on the left side; he couldn''t turn to look at it, it made his ribs ache fiercely, but the reflection helped. He was somewhat taken aback at how clearly he could see his pelvis; he had lost weight. His ribs, too, were visible, and his stomach actually had visible muscles. His face, however ¡­ his face was a mess. Well, the right side of his face was a mess. The cheek had torn, and he suddenly realized that it had to have been stitched back together when he had been out of it; his memories of the minutes after the battle with the deer were a hazy blur. He was glad he had been out of it for that part; his tongue found the other side of the ragged scar, and ¡­ the thought of a hole in his face was sickening. The swelling made it hard to tell, but he thought that side of his face would have a ¡­ gaunt look, now. ¡°Hurry it up, Thomas.¡± Anne''s voice. He leaned over, dipping the rag in the water, and rising, started scrubbing at his face, his armpits, his groin. They could see him, standing naked over the stream, and he no longer cared. He''d found worse things than that, and was now somewhat ¡­ amused, at how he had behaved before, amused at the embarrassment that had colored his experiences since he''d come here. He dipped the rag again, gentle scrubbing the wound in his hip, so as not to rip open the scabs. He''d been okayed to start tending his own wounds, as long as he was careful. Another dip in the stream, and he cleaned his chest. The cheek, he dabbed more than scrubbed; it hurt to touch, his jaw and gums aching at even the slight pressure. Thomas wrapped his odd kilt around himself, and buckling it; Norris had sewn the torn clothes together, the fragment of the yellow button-down dress shirt alternating with stripes of the black pants, sewing it directly to his belt. He looked like a mad bee, he thought, smiling to himself. He joined Anne again, feeling more presentable, and a little more human. They''d reach Piketown today ¨C it was, according to Anne, visible from the hills, but he didn''t much feel like the painful ascent ¨C and descent ¨C to see for himself. They''d stopped to clean up, moving slightly upstream each time. Thomas has turned away while Anne and then Arias cleaned, but had noticed that Norris had not. The thin man hadn''t stared, but he also made no effort not to look as they stripped, cleaned, and dressed again, which Thomas would have objected to, except the man had washed first, and the two women seemed to have the same attitude. Thomas had been last, and was somewhat surprised by the absence of comment from Anne, but he supposed she could have seen as much as she wanted, over the last few days. They hadn''t made an effort not to look at him, either. He supposed he was somewhat of a prude by the local standards; he was slowly starting to realize that people just didn''t care that much. Another difference in social attitudes that would take some getting used to. They continued walking once he got his very battered, very smelly wing-tips back on. His socks were long since disintegrated, and the leather, rubbing on his bare feet, felt like it should be leaving a dozen blisters, but they''d yet to appear. Damage resistance, he supposed, was pretty useful for mundane issues like that. As Piketown came into view, Thomas thought for a moment they had been going in the wrong direction; the houses were the same kind of muddy brown, with bits of straw sticking out. The difference became apparent, however, as they moved past a final hill, and the river that the stream ran into came into view; it was enormous, the sort of thing he had only ever seen in magazines and on the internet, and he doubted he could swim across; it was easily the length of a football field across, and he saw the first wooden construction, a thin latticework of piers stretching out into the water, with a couple of ¨C canoes? ¨C tied in place. No, canoes didn''t have tiny little sails. Dinghies? He only knew the word from an old raunchy song he''d heard as a teenager, though, from which all he''d gathered was that a dinghy was a small boat, so he wasn''t sure that was right, either. The people here were dressed more like his three traveling companions, in brown shirts and pants, with floppy hats. The fabric, he''d learned when Norris had paused to re-apply his bandages one evening and Thomas had asked him about it, was coated in a seed oil which made it water-resistant. Not that it had rained yet, or even looked like rain might be a possibility. Arias rejoined them when they approached the town, silent as ever, and gave Anne a quick nod, which was returned. Anne led them towards a building on the river side of the town, giving Thomas a good view of the villagers fishing; there wasn''t a fishing rod to be seen, instead they using odd little circular nets, which were tossed and pulled in rapid succession. The fish were retrieved and tossed into little mesh bags without much ceremony; the bags he could see were full of fish, in various states of thrashing death. He felt vaguely uncomfortable about the way they were just left to ¨C drown? Die in the air. But he followed Anne without comment. The building they moved towards was a long, T-shaped affair, with very thin windows that drew up into points; a square window with a flat top would probably require some kind of wooden beam, and trees appeared to be in short supply. Also, he didn''t think he had actually seen any glass. A fabric screen served as a door, and he paused to wonder at the wooden doors that had been in Grimhaven. Maybe the piers and boats took all the wood that they could collect here? Then again, he hadn''t actually paid much attention to the doors in Grimhaven, and now that he thought about it, they had seemed oddly light for wood. And then Thomas mentally slapped himself for wondering about doors, of all things, and moved in, as the three adventurers had already made their way inside. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, a conversation had already having begun. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°Oh, hello, Balier. I was expecting mayor Cavroc to be in.¡± A man''s voice responded, and Thomas nearly jumped back out of the building at the deep, growling tones of it, practically a growl. ¡°Anne, Norris, Arias. And a newcomer.¡± It took Thomas a moment to get past the growl, which made him think of death metal vocals, to notice the clipped words, like ¡­ it sounded like a metal vocalist doing an English accent, almost; the refined one that everybody thought of as ¡­ the name failed him, but he could remember England, for some reason. An English accent. Received pronunciation, he thought the term was? ¡°The mayor is indisposed for the time being.¡± A pause ¨C Thomas was startled by the reflection of light in yellow eyes, as his own slowly adjusted. The man was enormously tall, two or three heads taller than Thomas himself, and was wearing heavy furs. Then the man continued, tone slipping slightly into something a little more conversational. ¡°Some lout tossed him a river scorpion, thinking it was a lobster, and he caught it by the wrong end.¡± ¡°Oof.¡± Anne''s voice, and Norris'' sharp intake of breath, suggested this was a bad thing. Thomas had no point of reference for that statement, except that a scorpion had a stinger. ¡°I assume Shal has it well in hand?¡± ¡°Well enough. What brings you three down our way? Another missing farmer''s daughter?¡± The eyes flashed again as the man''s head turned ¨C Thomas got the impression of long hair bouncing slightly. ¡°A missing wife? Who might you be, friend?¡± ¡°This is Thomas.¡± Anne replied when Thomas didn''t immediately respond, caught up in trying not to formulate a response that wasn''t ''She''s not my wife''. ¡°He''s a ...¡± She glanced his way, then back. ¡°Lost traveler, looking for work. Owes the mayor of Grimhaven, and would prefer to pay his debts back in coin.¡± Balier sniffed, a deep sound, like a dog whuffling. As Thomas'' eyes adjusted, he was starting to struggle to get his impressions of the massive man under check. Those were definitely furs the man was wearing. He had not seen an enormous cat''s smile. This was not a lion person, and he definitely did have a sudden and pressing need to piss himself. ¡°Well met, Thomas. We can find something, I''m sure. And your business, Anne?¡± Aw shit. Was he talking to a lion person with a posh English accent? ¡°About the same, maybe more dangerous work if you''ve got it. Nothing up country at the moment.¡± ¡°Bandits taken care of, then?¡± ¡°Not us, but yes. They were all dead when we got there. Only news of note was that somebody broke into the prison after the bandits were executed.¡± Thomas started. Had that been him? ¡°They manage any mischief?¡± ¡°Just scaring the hell out of the guards. Probably a late rescue attempt. It was just one man.¡± ¡°Any descriptions? We can keep an eye out.¡± ¡°They didn''t get a good look, apparently he has smeared mud and shit all over his face.¡± Oh. Yep. That had been him. Well, at least he hadn''t made much an impression. And he hadn''t been mistaken for an escaped prisoner; that was good, right? ¡°Well, I may have work for you, at any rate. There may be a strix nest somewhere about. Three disappearances from the outlying farms in the past six months, and since people started keeping an eye on their children, some farm animals have started vanishing.¡± That got a long pause, and Norris started quietly cursing. Anne took a long time responding, and sounded more tired and resigned than anything else. ¡°We''ll take care of it.¡± The three left to talk to talk to some of the villagers, leaving Thomas alone with what he was increasingly certain was some kind of lion-person. Balier sniffed again, looking Thomas up and down. ¡°You smell afraid.¡± ¡°A-apologies. I don''t mean to offend.¡± ¡°I think I''ll consider it a compliment, all things considered.¡± The voice was satisfied. Thomas'' brain was going all on its own, now. Wow, but he''d have a great career back home. A metal vocalist who could do intonation? ¡°So what were you doing in the prison?¡± ¡°I ¨C what?¡± That caught Thomas entirely off guard. How did this Balier know? As if hearing the thought, a massive hand lifted, tapping the side of the ¡­ man''s face. Nose? ¡°I have a nose. You got nervous when the subject came up, and relieved when Anne said the man''s face hadn''t been seen. So, what were you doing in the prison?¡± ¡°I ...¡± Thomas froze. What could he even say? ¡°I don''t know?¡± Okay, probably not that helpful. He kept talking, hoping to find his way out of whatever this mess was going to turn into, ¡°I didn''t break in, I woke up there. I didn''t even know it was a prison, I thought I had gotten drunk and woken up in some crazy murder cult''s dungeon.¡± There was a lengthy pause. ¡°Murder cult''s dungeon?¡± ¡°Yeah, like the ¡­ like the family of murderers, I thought I was going to be cut up and eaten or something. I woke up in the dark, and there was a hole full of shit which my foot slipped into, and I got shit all over me, and then managed to break down the door and run for it. I didn''t even realize it was a prison until I had gotten out and cleaned myself up.¡± Another pause. And then a horrible huffing growling noise. Thomas took a step back, ready to run, when he slowly realized the lion-person was laughing. He slowly, slowly relaxed. Okay. Laughing was good, right? He thought, in the dim light, that Balier could fit Thomas'' entire head in his mouth if he wanted to. Laughing beat that. ¡°Alright. If that''s a lie, it''s one I''m inclined to accept. Now. You smell like blood and injuries and weakness.¡± The tone suddenly shifted, and Thomas was considering running again. Balier sniffed, and made a whuffing noise. ¡°Now that I might take offense at.¡± Thomas tried to calm himself down. ¡°If I was going to eat you, it''d be after a bath. You also stink of sweat. So what was it?¡± ¡°Herd of silver fawn? Little deer things with great big teeth, like a sabretooth tiger.¡± ¡°A sabretooth tiger? Haven''t encountered anything by that name. But you survived, I gather from your presence. And it''s a pack, not a herd. They''re carnivores,¡± and Balier waited a beat, ¡°like me.¡± Now the man had to be doing that on purpose. He waited a moment longer, then made an amused noise, like a train had just heard a joke about a tractor. ¡°Ah, you learn. Well, you survived, which isn''t nothing. Are you a fighter like that lot, or are you looking for something safer?¡± ¡°I ...¡± Thomas stopped to consider that. ¡°Both? I''m level six. Er, on my sixth ascension?¡± Another whuffing noise. ¡°Now I''m more impressed that you survived. Warrior?¡± ¡°Brawler.¡± ¡°Somewhat less impressive, but even so. Well, let me see if I have any ¡­ safer work for you. It won''t pay much, and it''ll probably be dirty, messy work.¡± That figured, Thomas supposed. People didn''t pay money for things they didn''t mind doing themselves. He wondered what shit job he''d end up with. Ch 14. Paying Work Dirty, messy work, indeed. Thomas threw the contents of his shovel over his shoulder. For the first hour, he''d maneuvered the shovel and carefully tilted it to dump it; he''d long gotten over his initial squeamishness, however, and just started tossing it. A ¡­ clump landed on his shoulder, and rolled off the oiled cloth mantle of his coat. Anne had gotten him some of the local clothing before they had departed to speak to the victims'' families, which is the only reason he was even doing the work; otherwise he''d be too worried about infecting his wounds. He was constantly aware of the hat sitting on his head, and it had taken its share of the clumps of ''nightsoil'', as the clumps of congealed dirt, shit, and piss had been euphemistically referred to. He was waist-deep in a latrine pit, digging it back out. The stench was more chemical than he would have expected, burning at his nose and eyes. It didn''t smell anything like what he would have expected it to, and instead smelled more like what he would imagine acid would smell like. Well, the pit did. There was the scent of fresh shit coming from the pit next to him that he had just cleared out; somebody had come by and used it right after he had finished. He wasn''t sure whether he should feel annoyed or not about that, but there wasn''t much he could do about it either way; he hadn''t even seen who it was. This was his third, and final, pit to dig out, and he moved the shovel mechanically, clearing the contents of the pit out onto a tarp, of sorts, made of the same oiled cloth. When he was done, he grabbed the little ladder from the side and climbed up, pulling the ladder out of the pit behind him, and moved to the cart sitting next to the pit, beginning to toss piles of a mixture of sand and gravel back into the pit. Then, cart empty, he trucked it around to where the tarp was, and started refilling the cart from the tarp, careful with the shovel. The process was complete when he set one end of the tarp into the cart, and pulled it up, to dump the final few pounds into it. An older man, named Endre, nodded to him, walking around to help Thomas lug the little lacquered wooden bench back over the edge of the pit. It had a hole cut out of it, and a small rail that would help keep people from tipping over backwards into the pit. It wouldn''t prevent it entirely, and Thomas suspected that more than one drunk had fallen in, but it would help. Endre dropped three metal coins in his hand, and Thomas headed to the river to clean. Downriver, there was an area for bathing and laundry, and people were already there when he arrived; he stripped, tossing the brown oilcloth on the sandy beach of the river, and stepped into it. The cold water was quite encouraging of a quick rinse, but he forced himself to duck his head under, sending an oddly hot pain across his scalp, and scrubbed at his face and hair with handfuls of sand as best he could. Next, he grabbed the oilcloth, moving the copper coins he''d been given into the sand, and just kind of ¡­ waved the cloth around in the water. He didn''t want to scrub it, as the oil would come off with any kind of effort. He moved out of the river, dressing as he went, and scooped the coins back up and into a pocket. He wasn''t certain how much the copper was worth ¨C he was vaguely aware copper was not actually cheap, people stole copper pipes back home, but he had no gauge for value here. So his next task was to try to get a sense of what things were worth; he headed back to the small shop, a building that looked like any other, without even signage, where Anne had gotten him his clothing, as he hadn''t actually been paying attention at the time. A brief conversation with the shopkeeper later, and Thomas left. A shirt cost around fifteen of these little coins, depending on size and quality, and more if they were fitted ¨C his clothes were not. Pants, twelve. The shop didn''t sell shoes, but he moved out of the way of people going this way and that, trying to remember prices back home. His shirt had cost, what, thirty dollars? A basic minimum wage job paid about seven dollars an hour. So a little less than half a day''s work for a nice shirt. He considered the day spent shoveling dirt and shit and piss, for which he''d gotten, assuming the value of a shirt held constant, six dollars. So less than a dollar an hour. Then again, the value of a shirt probably didn''t hold constant. He didn''t know how shirts were made, but he doubted it was the hand crafting that almost certainly went into it here. Thomas was vaguely aware that historically, clothing had been very expensive. So maybe his wages weren''t quite so bad? He couldn''t tell which buildings were stores versus houses ¨C they all looked alike to him. He needed more information. Stolen novel; please report. He accosted a few passersby until he had a few more points of data. They had no idea how much a loaf of bread cost, and seemed startled by the idea that anybody would buy one. Their primary trade good here was oil, both from fish, and from an inedible berry that the outlying farms produced; a cask of fish oil sold for four silver coins, which ended up being about four hundred and eighty copper coins, and a cask of the berry oil ¨C which he''d learned was what coated his clothing ¨C for one silver coin, so one hundred and twenty copper. His next questions had been to identify the size of a cask, and it was larger than he expected; about knee-high, and nearly as wide. He didn''t feel like doing the math for that, and moved on to ask about food, trying a different tact. A copper coin could buy a bag of wheat the size of his chest, or a bag of flour the size of both of his fists together. The two people he accosted to ask about the price of wood laughed in his face; he did get the answer out of the second, and when he tried to explain a 2x4x8, he''d been shocked by the two silver coins cited as the likely price. Then again, wood seemed scarce, here. Thomas gave up, then. He had enough money to get by, and to save some up. Whatever he saved up after a month would have to do; he didn''t know how much Leisa''s work and supplies had been worth, but a month of his time seemed more than generous. Even if it would amount to a handful of what he had trouble not thinking of as pennies. Why could he remember the name of a penny, but not who was on it, or the country that had issued it? Thomas headed to the ''inn'' that Balier had referred him to, or rather, the house that somebody was renting out a room of. He was clean, or at least smelled like river instead of a latrine pit, and he was inclined to sleep early and see what work was available in the morning. The owner of the house, a widower inclined to talking, greeted him as he headed in, and Thomas handed him one of the coins. Corugard, the widower in question ¨C he''d heard all about the man''s dead wife that morning, when he''d asked about the rooms ¨C greeted him cheerfully, wispy gray hair sticking out of his hat in every direction. ¡°Hello Thomas. Get done with your work for the day?¡± The coin disappeared into a pouch; Thomas would need to get one of those, the one pocket in the shirt wasn''t a very secure location to keep things. If he leaned over the coins would dump out. Thomas nodded in response to Corugard, who continued without waiting for another response, ¡°Dinner will be another hour, but there''s manna in the cupboard if you''re inclined to an early rest. Hilde¡± his dead wife ¡°always liked to sleep early, said the morning was the best part of the day. Never much agreed, but I do miss waking up with her anyways. Say, do you ...¡± Thomas didn''t really respond ¨C he''d learned that morning Corugard didn''t care much for what other people had to say, being far more interested in what he himself had to say ¨C beyond nodding, shrugging, and making vague affirmative noises at appropriate intervals. At length the man wound down and returned to his work, which appeared to be rope-making, alternating between pouring some kind of thick sap, or maybe just glue, over long lengths of some kind of plant fiber, which were twisted using a clay dowel. He''d then run his fingers along the twisted fibers, to pull the excess sap off, and rub it into the next section. The ''manna'', as it was called, was the flavorless bread that Norris had had an endless supply of. It was, apparently, perfectly nutritious, and universally reviled, which Thomas didn''t really understand. He also wasn''t certain where it came from. He ate mechanically, and retired to his pallet on the floor, basically a large flat basket to his eye. The next day found him helping a farmer plow a field ¨C which mean he dragged the heavy wood and iron contraption around until he felt like his arms and legs would fall off; he quietly blessed his damage reduction, as he''d certainly have had blisters on his hands, wrists, and shoulders from the straps and handles. The plow had to be expensive, but he supposed the oil paid for it. The day after that, he ''mucked out'' a pen full of tusked green pigs while the rancher kept them from mauling him, mostly successfully ¨C the one escaped pig did try to strike him with a tusk, but the point slid across his skin like it was blunted, much to the rancher''s surprise. He got four coins for the work of both days, and some gentle praise. The next day was a two-coin job, joining a small crew of locals in cleaning out a dry ditch, which had become overgrown, and the day after that there wasn''t anything to do at all, so he spent it watching the fishermen. Here he learned, as he watched an old man standing on a pier using a two-pronged spear while angrily telling off some nearby fishermen using the circular throwing nets for abandoning traditions in favor of convenience, that the town was indeed named after the weapon, and not the fish. They didn''t have any fish called pike, here; he walked off mid-tirade to ask someone, to their confusion. Apparently, talking to a couple of other people, the man wasn''t well-liked, in part because he was seen as a hypocrite; the piers were new, and they were the reason he had the convenience of a bident ¨C apparently a two-pronged spear was a bident - instead of the long fishing spears for which the town had actually been named. Thomas had no particular interest in the traditions of the town, or in the squabbles, so he moved on. He started to watch people swim, but started feeling awkward about it when he realized he might be perceived as having a more prurient interest in the activities, given the general lack of bathing suits in existence here, so instead just started walking around the town, watching people engage in other activities. Ch 15. A Better Paying Job ¡°They''re not people.¡± ¡°They look like people, right? They talk, they wear clothes, they eat food, th-¡± ¡°They don''t eat food.¡± Thomas stopped, taken aback. Balier just looked at him, with a frustrated expression on his face. The big man was not, as Thomas had initially taken him, a lion-person. Balier grinned, showing far too many, far too sharp teeth, the light illuminating orange and black in the long hair cascading down his scalp. No, Balier was a tiger-person, and he was far alarming to be in the same room as, particularly when he was insisting that ¡°They don''t eat food because bandits aren''t people.¡± ¡°That doesn''t even make sense. If I went out with a sword and started robbing people, would I cease to need to eat?¡± Thomas wasn''t entirely certain why he was arguing this; it struck him as an incredibly stupid argument. And curiously, Balier also seemed to regard it as a stupid argument, looking increasingly frustrated. ¡°No, because you wouldn''t be a bandit, you''d be a highwayman, or a mugger, or a deserter. Bandits aren''t people. If you are a person, you are, definitionally, not a bandit.¡± ¡°That''s tautological, you can''t just define a bandit to not be a person, and then say that anyone who happens to be a person clearly can''t be a bandit.¡± ¡°That''s the definition of a bandit. You''re not going to bring a fish in here and tell me that''s a person, are you?¡± ¡°Is it a mermaid?¡± This got an incredulous look; Balier actually raised a finger to clean out a tufted ear the size of Thomas'' face. ¡°A what? A mermouse? Of course a mermouse isn''t a person, it''s a mermouse.¡± ¡°No, a mer...¡± Thomas stopped, realizing what had just been said, and sa back in his chair, staring at Balier. ¡°A mermouse? There are ¡­ what, you have mice with little fish flippers?¡± ¡°Yes. They''re a nuisance and chew through nets.¡± ¡°I ¡­ so you don''t have people, with fish tails instead of legs?¡± ¡°What are you even going on about? There are mermice, merwolves, and merbears.¡± He paused. ¡°There''s also merbats, but they''re technically actually a kind of lamprey.¡± Thomas studied his drink. Balier had provided a beverage which seemed about half vinegar, and half alcohol. Thomas couldn''t decide if it was the most delicious, or most disgusting, thing he''d ever consumed; his opinion was evenly divided between the two possibilities, and there wouldn''t be any kind of compromise position reached. ¡°Okay, back to bandits. Are you saying bandits are, what, a kind of monster?¡± ¡°They''re called brood, and yes.¡± Oh. Oh! Huh. That was ¡­ that was weird. That was really fuckin'' weird. ¡°Experiments have been conducted; they naturally appear in forests, mountains, and rivers. Bandits in rivers and ocean are sometimes called pirates, but pirates, unlike bandits, are not categorically brood. Army brood have been observed, but it''s a very rare phenomenon only observed in large-scale wars.¡± Balier paused to take a very long drink, directly from the bottle ¨C he had his own ¨C which, proportionally, was more like Thomas'' cup. ¡°There are also cultist brood, but it''s difficult to tell the difference between a human cultist, and the brood sort.¡± ¡°How do you, uh, tell the difference?¡± This was just ¡­ weird. There were monsters that looked and behaved like humans? ¡°Clothing is a giveaway; bandits all dress basically the same. Once you''ve seen a few, you''ll know what I mean there. They also don''t really talk; pay attention, and they just repeat the same kinds of phrases over and over again. You''ll learn to recognize the phrases, they get tiresome. There''s also a kind of inconsistency between what they''re saying, and what is going on; once saw a bandit speared through the guts, missing a leg, actually say ''Your money or your life'' as she was beheaded.¡± ¡°Well, where do they come from?¡± ¡°They''re brood. If you''re asking where brood come from, I suspect Mystery is behind it.¡± The way Balier said ''Mystery'' suggested it was a name. ¡°Who is Mystery?¡± Balier stared into Thomas'' eyes, slowly taking another long pull from the bottle. Air glugged up noisily, as a quarter of the bottle''s contents were poured down that ¡­ toothy maw. At length, the bottle was replaced on the table. ¡°Alright, Thomas, where are you really from?¡± ¡°I don''t remember the name. I think it was a different planet.¡± ¡°So you got pulled here from a different plane? Where you, what, don''t have bandits?¡± Thomas considered correcting the man, but, having apparently lost an argument over whether or not bandits were people, which he still wasn''t certain he believed Balier about, he wasn''t feeling it. ¡°The only bandits we have are people. No, uh, mermouses, uh, mermice, either? Or merwolves, or merbears. Just regular mice, regular wolves, regular bears." ¡°But you have merpeople.¡± A statement, not a question. ¡°No, we don''t have mermaids, either.¡± ¡°Then why''d you bring them up?¡± Frustration tinged Balier''s voice. Thomas was feeling just about as frustrated, and shrugged helplessly, and switched back to the earlier subject. ¡°Anyways, okay, I''ll kill these bandits, if they''re not people.¡± ¡°Finally, some sense out of you.¡± Balier stood, and retrieved a paper from behind him, holding it delicately between two claws; a map was placed on the table between them, immediately blotching with spilled drinks. Balier didn''t seem to notice. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Standing, the tiger-person was even more impressive in the light. He had a broad face with a wide orange nose, and ears rising above his head; his eyes were orange-yellow, with the barest hint of a slit to them. Broad whiskers spread from his white cheeks, and he had a mane of hair, which appeared to grow in irregular horizontal stripes, a given strand alternating colors as it grew. He was dressed like a human, albeit in sizes Thomas doubted he could have purchased back home; indeed, he wore the same oilcloth shirt and pants as the rest of the villagers, and wore large black boots that hid whatever his hind feet looked like ¨C Thomas had looked out of curiosity, and been disappointed. He also had a tail; his pants had an extra flap and button in the back that wrapped around it. He did not wear the hat, however; given his ears, it would probably be difficult to find a hat that would work. At his belt was an assortment of knives that would have been impressive, except Thomas had seen the man''s claws. The knives were superfluous. One of those claws tapped on the map. Thomas leaned over to look, his eyes rapidly following the river, and checking the spots where it met streams, found Piketown. Balier was tapping a location further downriver from where they were; the tip of Balier''s claw rested right on the shore of the river, in fact. ¡°The bandits have been sighted here. They only significant threat they normally pose is numbers, but given your class dedication, they are unlikely to be able to do you any serious harm. If they have crossbows, however, return immediately and do not engage.¡± ¡°Crossbows are bad?¡± ¡°Crossbows mean they''re a higher tier brood, and all their equipment will be poisoned.¡± His eyes lifted to meet Thomas''. ¡°Brawlers do better against poison, but not that much better. If they have crossbows, their poison will outclass your ability to ignore harm. Get me?¡± ¡°Got you. If they have crossbows, run away screaming.¡± ¡°Don''t scream, they''ll hear you.¡± ¡°Run away without screaming, got it.¡± Right. No joking, serious matter. ¡°If they have a boat, try to start the fight by knocking a hole in it. If the bandits are river pirates, they''re likely to retreat. Not to get away from you, but so they can pepper you with arrows from afar. If that happens, you''d have to go into the water to get at them; they''ll just wait there forever.¡± Balier''s lips pulled back into what was probably a grin, not a threat to bite. Probably. ¡°If they have a boat, and you knock a hole in it, I personally recommend watching. They''ll try the same trick anyways, and it''s hilarious to watch them get eaten by great alligators, or whatever river beasties are about.¡± ¡°R-right.¡± Okay, joking, but Balier had a sick sense of humor. Wait, great alligators? Given cute name the deer that had nearly eaten him had, what kind of alligator would merit the name ''great''? Thomas made a mental note never to join the people who swam in the river. Thomas didn''t have much in the way of preparation to conduct; he''d purchased a small coin pouch, now tied to his belt, which held the eight copper coins he''d managed to save so far. He just started walking, following the river downstream; he waved when a fisherman ¨C fisherwoman? ¨C throwing a net greeted him, but didn''t slow; he''d taken a job cleaning fish, and the lot of them never stopped talking. Piketown passed behind him. Thomas had thought about it, and decided he wanted to pay back Anne, or maybe Anne''s group, for the clothing they''d purchased him, and the food he''d eaten. He wanted to be different than he''d been back home, he wanted to be something other than the person who just accumulated debts to friends and family he would never repay. So he''d asked Balier about something that paid a little bit better, even if it wasn''t quite as safe. Thomas still wasn''t certain how he felt about killing the bandits, in particular not really believing Balier that bandits were, what, NPCs? That sounded ¡­ like an comfortable lie people might tell themselves, too comfortable to analyze in any depth. The bandits weren''t part of their tribe, so they weren''t human; there''s no issue in killing them, they''re just animals. Then again, he got special powers for leveling up, which was pretty much the only reason he was willing to consider the possibility. But if the bandits were NPCs ¨C so clearly NPCs that people who didn''t know the concept saw them as not-people ¨C what was everyone else here? And ¡­ he stopped. If bandits were ''brood'', what exactly were they a brood of? Balier had kind of avoided answering the question of who, or maybe what, Mystery was. As he walked, more trees started to appear, scattered across the hills. They were scraggly looking things that were all curves, their trunks as craggly as anything he''d seen before; he doubted you could get two feet of straight wood out of one. They looked more like overgrown bushes than trees, really, and maybe that was a more accurate description; as far as he had always been concerned, there was grass, which was short stuff, bushes, which got a little taller, and then trees, which were really tall. Thomas was brought up short on his trek by an odd snorting noise, and stopped, immediately scanning his surrounded for boar, then looking doubtfully at the nearest tree. Right. And he didn''t want to get in the water. What kind of horrible boar did this place have? He remembered the green pigs a rancher had kept, and wondered if they spat acid. Thomas slowly sank down, not quite into a crouch, just bending his legs, and leaned forward to creep in the direction he''d heard the noise. The river was to his right, and the hill ahead had a small rise he thought the noise might have come from behind; he hesitated, then changed direction to move up the hill, to maybe catch sight of whatever it was. And he caught sight of it almost immediately. At first he thought he was looking at a hairless pink dog, sniffing at the ground, injured and moving awkwardly; that''s what his eyes tried to pattern match the thing to, and it took a moment for him to really understand what he was looking at. Thomas took a very, very slow step backwards. If you started with the body of a hairless dog, with pale skin, and then added an eye on the shoulder, and a muzzle which couldn''t close all the way around the mishapen teeth growing out of the side, you''d be on your way to creating this ¡­ monster. Its back legs didn''t move quite right; they were jointed in opposite directions. And there was another eye staring out of its front left leg, just over what might have been a knee. The ¡­ thing, whatever it was, was sniffing with the side of what should have been its head, and as it turned, he could see another mouth, differently shaped, sticking out of the far side of what should have been its face, with which it wasn''t so much sniffing as inhaling. Where the mouth should have been placed was just smooth skin, the kind of pale-yellow pink of white people. His mouth felt dry. It looked ¡­ like it had body hair, like human body hair, growing in random tufts all over its malformed body. Thomas was struck by competing impulses as he took the thing in, like he should run in every possible direction at once, one of them being towards the monster ¨C and this was a monster, straight out of nightmares ¨C and smash it into a paste until it was entirely unrecognizable. The need to run away warred internally with an intense need to make this horror just stop existing, a sense of aggression and revulsion and existential rage he would never have guessed he''d have had. As his struggled, not even to decide, but just to try to comprehend the emotions that had suddenly risen within him, the thing sniffed at the air again, and turned, as if to look at him, except there was blank skin where eyes should have been. The eyes were everywhere else. It took a step towards him, and the rage slipped away in an instant, taking with it the terror. He was aware of his feet moving beneath him, turning him sideways to the creature; his hands rising in front of him as if of their own volition. He was utterly calm, and he was going to destroy this affront to existence. A small part of his mind started screaming at him, but it didn''t pierce the cold nothing that slowly embraced him; it didn''t stop, the scream just didn''t matter. More snorting noises came from ahead. He heard another from behind. Thomas found himself smiling. The scream in his head intensified, but the words were irrelevant. Ch 16. Bandits ¡°Fuck fuck fuck FUCK fuck fuck fuck FUCK¡± Thomas kept up a running mantra as he moved, running down the stream, further away from town. The horrible dog things were snorting and snarling and making other horrible noises behind him; the irrational anger that had overcome him had lasted until he''d crushed the protrusion where a head should be on the first, and then had faded into a far more rational terror. There were a good half dozen chasing behind him now, and his legs felt like they were windmilling more than running, doing little more than hammering his feet into the ground with every stride ¨C his feet certainly didn''t stay there. His cursing mantra continued as he ran up a small bank, terrified of tripping, and back down again. His fist hadn''t crushed down into bone. As far as his fist went, there hadn''t been any bones in the things, just stiff ¡­ not-flesh. It had splattered a little bit under his blow. There hadn''t been blood, either. His mind was replaying the scene for him over and over again as he ran, his fist hammering into the space a head should be, the flesh ¡­ giving, but not like flesh. A ripping sensation, like quickly pulling a newtonian fluid toy apart; the protrusion had ripped off under his fist, and fragmented on the ground, somewhere between shattering glass and splattering liquid. Then it had just gone gooey. And then the dog thing he had just knocked the head off of had bitten him with a mouth protruding from where a hip should have been, and the pain had lanced through his body like an electrical current. The teeth had been sharp enough, real enough. A chunk of his arm was bleeding like crazy; he''d knocked the jaw off of the thing with frantic punches to get free of it, else he''d probably have lost a chunk of his tricep, and bled out besides. ¡°Your money or your life!¡± A shout from ahead. Thomas slowed, and as he saw the bandit, time seemed to freeze. Well. Balier hadn''t been lying. They were not human. That shade of pink-yellow skin, the color of the hair. The proportions that were just slightly off; the bandit''s eyes weren''t quite in the right position. The nose slightly too far to the left, the mouth hanging a little askew. The bandit looked like somebody had made a perfect clay version of a human being, painted it nearly perfectly, and then dropped it on the way to the oven; it was a slightly ¡­ runny, slightly ¡­ melted version of a human being. It was a better representation of a person than the things chasing Thomas were of dogs ¨C but staring at the bandit in front of him, Thomas got a sinking feeling that they weren''t dogs, but just ¡­ underdeveloped ¡­ these things. There were more bandits ahead of him; they were clothed in black and white striped shirts and brown pants, and carried ridiculous-looking swords, like a mash-up of a caricature of a scimitar and a cutlass; an enormous cage for the hand that looked like it could accommodate somebody wearing a catcher''s mitt inside it on one end, and then the blade expanded from that, until it grew as wide as Thomas'' chest towards the tip. The swords were absurd. And the ¡°bandits¡± held them aloft like they were normal; they had to be heavy enough to bludgeon one to death, regardless of how ridiculous they were. Thomas attention shifted back behind him, to the ¡­ bandit dogs, coming up from behind. He was surrounded, and he''d need to fight. Memories of the silver fawn flashed through his mind, and Thomas grimaced, briefly considering diving into the river instead, but, what had it been called, a great alligator? He didn''t want anything to do with alligators in a world where deer had done that to him. He moved to put his back to the river instead, gaze swinging between the dogs coming from his left, and the bandits starting to move forward on his right. One of the dogs flashed in. Pain coursed through his leg; he brought his elbow down, not-flesh parting with a wet ripping noise. Another flipped sideways, the mouth where a spine should be flashing towards Thomas lowered face. His arm came up automatically, his own blood splashed across his face. Thomas ripped his arm free, feeling a chunk of skin come loose, and immediately jammed it back into the dog''s face, crushing its jaw in. Weight landed on his back; pain exploded from his shoulder. Thomas straightened up, reaching back, and grabbing a handful of skin and hair, pulled it ¨C a ripping sensation from the shoulder, and warmth immediately started flowing down his back. And then the first bandit was here, ridiculous scimitar swinging through the air; Thomas hurled the dog in his hands at the bandit; pink flesh spun end over end, and Thomas was briefly aware that the dog had some very human, and very male, genitalia where its chin should have been, before bandit and dog went down in a sprawling heap. The bandit''s neck split beneath Thomas boot, the head ripping off entirely with another awful noise; the dog was getting back up, and Thomas tried to punch at it, but another jaw latched onto his rear leg, and he was forced to kick awkwardly backward with his lead leg to dislodge it. Thomas backed up quickly, as another pair of bandits approached; a scimitar swept through the space he had occupied even as Thomas tripped over the dog that had been behind him and went sprawling. The damn thing bit his ass as he fell, and he couldn''t get at it to get it off; he thrashed around, then another scimitar swing forced him to roll aside, another wave of nauseating pain rolling over him as the flesh the dog had bitten into ripped free. He could feel his own flesh pulling apart, feel the teeth stripping it. Red flashed in front of his eyes. Thomas was aware of grabbing the dog and pulling. He blinked the red away, and was startled to realize he''d unconsciously shifted into his larger form; he dropped the two halves of bandits out of his hands, now more like a horrible flesh-puppy he''d ripped in half. His fist met a bandit''s chest; limbs popped apart. A scimitar embedded itself in his arm; blood spurted. A backhand took the head off of the responsible bandit. He was suddenly naked, his clothing shredded on the ground around him, and feeling exposed; doubly so when a bandit dog went for him. Thomas snarled, and grabbed the dog that had lunged for his balls, crushing it against the ground. Another bandit swung, the scimitar lifting a flap of flesh from his arm; a flap of flesh now attached on one side, blood spurting out the other. It didn''t hurt yet; it would. It took three rapid punches to take that bandit down, and while he stomped the bandit''s chest in, another started swinging at the backs of his legs, opening more wounds. Thomas lay on the ground, blinking up at the sky. Every heartbeat brought fresh agony coursing through his body, but right now he just felt sick; he''d spent a few minutes tying up the bits that were gushing, and then couldn''t remain upright anymore. Everything hurt, but that didn''t have his full attention. His shoulder had a wad of cloth tied over a hole bitten out of it, and that was probably the worst of it. He had gashes chopped into his forearms, a thumb-sized chunk of his upper arm missing, a dozen deep cuts across the backs of his legs, three different chunks of skin were tied in place, and none of those were the reason he was now laying down. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. No, that had been a bite he''d thought had missed his balls. It had missed the balls. He looked again, and then laid his head back down. It''d be alright, he thought slowly and deliberately, it just needed a bandage. Maybe stitches, if he was back home, but ¡­ well, a bandage would have to do. He got himself bandaged up, and looked at his statistics screen.
Thomas Bluebrim Brawler Legend of Wind
Level 6 0 Misfortunes / 0 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
42/165 Health 0/0 Mana 4/4 Stamina
0 Distinctions Available 29 Skill Points Available 5 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution**** Intelligence
1 Melee Damage Bonus 2 0
3 Maximum Worn Armor 140 Maximum Health 22 Additional Skill Points
0 Deflection * 4 Damage Reduction 1 Maximum Stamina Points
1 Melee Damage Bonus 12 Base Armor 0 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
6 0 0
6 Lores 0 Bonus Targeting 0 Reaction Time
6 Arcane Resistance 0 Evasion 1 Stamina Regeneration
0 Mana * 20 Movement * 0 Missile Range Bonus *
He let out a slow breath, and looked around at the dead bodies around him. He''d lived. He''d lived, and ¡­ he looked at one of the ¡°dogs¡±. They didn''t actually have muzzles, as he''d originally thought. Their mouths were in fact human, they just ¡­ protruded, wherever they were. The teeth weren''t quite right, but ¡­ Thomas stopped, and took in what he was looking at. He fell to the side, and started throwing up into the dirt. When he had finished, he sat up, looked around again, and discovered that he hadn''t quite finished. Thomas stopped searching the bandits when a pat-down discovered anatomy through the clothing, in places it shouldn''t have been. He didn''t search them for gear, or food. He didn''t take their clothing. Thomas started walking back upriver. He''d destroyed the clothing that he had set out to repay the cost of, he''d gotten himself ripped apart and would need the services of a healer, and he''d seen things he was already trying to forget. He''d gotten nothing for his trouble except pain and misery and memories he didn''t want. He felt unsteady as he walked, his knees vibrating underneath him; it felt a little like the aftereffects of adrenaline, but also like more straightforward weakness. He''d gotten new scars, and hopefully-not-permanent damage from his wounds. The quarter-sized chunk of his dick that had been savaged by a bite while he had been in his large form still made him woozy to think about. The things weren''t human. They were, if anything, worse. He thought he could have dealt with killing humans far more easily than the sick feeling he got thinking about the malformed bodies, and the decapitated head that had started demanding his money until he crushed it with a rock ¨C he had ruined his boots, and the thought of crushing it under his bare feet made him feel ill. He could feel blood trickling down from some of his wounds, but they had mostly stopped; for all that he had had to rip a chunk of metal out of his arm, he felt better than he thought he should, and that made him feel all the worse. He knew he should feel much, much worse about what he had just gone through. Hell, he had been fucking raped, right? He could admit that to himself. He knew Lust had fucked with him, made him feel like a damned teenager again. What the fuck had ¡°The Buddha¡± and ¡°Stoic¡± done to his mind? Lust had been a violation all its own, and it had been him acutely aware of how fucked up puberty really was, how it had erased everything he had cared about previously and replaced those things with a new set of biological imperatives; having that experience refreshed as an adult, more conscious and aware of the experience, was very uncomfortable. But it was a familiar kind of violation; he knew what that had done to his brain, and he was feeling much more intensely uncomfortable about what exactly the other two things had done to him. He would just, what, be okay with being ripped apart now? That wasn''t him. This wasn''t him. He felt sick, and everything hurt, and he was most definitely not okay with how okay that felt to him, because he knew he should be reacting more strongly to this experience. Fuck, he shouldn''t have had this experience, the experience with the damned deer should have left him hiding in towns digging latrines for the rest of his life; that was who he was. Whoever this was, with his memories, wasn''t him, and he felt sick and violated and disgusted. When one of the strangely twisted trees started spasming, Thomas looked at it. Something like a snake descended, and it took him a moment to process that it was a ¡­ vine, from the tree itself? Only enormous. And ¡­ he started walking again. A dog-shaped mass was jerking and twisting, moving down the vine, which had a mouthlike opening in the end. Thomas didn''t care. Messages started appearing as he walked.
Moderate objective complete: Defeated a small band of bandits. You''ve earned three customization points. You''ve reached class level 7! Five skill points earned. New class distinction.
Class Distinction: Improved Shrug Off Damage less than 7 is reduced to 0
Thomas Bluebrim Brawler Legend of Wind
Level 7 0 Misfortunes / 0 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
41/175 Health 0/0 Mana 2/4 Stamina
0 Distinctions Available 36 Skill Points Available 8 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution**** Intelligence
1 Melee Damage Bonus 2 0
3 Maximum Worn Armor 150 Maximum Health 24 Additional Skill Points
0 Deflection * 4 Damage Reduction 1 Maximum Stamina Points
1 Melee Damage Bonus 12 Base Armor 0 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
6 0 0
6 Lores 0 Bonus Targeting 0 Reaction Time
6 Arcane Resistance 0 Evasion 1 Stamina Regeneration
0 Mana * 20 Movement * 0 Missile Range Bonus *
Ch 17. Return Trip Thomas, who had come before, had died. Thomas now Bluebrim struggled with this for a time, but it was the only conclusion he could reasonably come to ¨C he couldn''t remember names that had been important to Thomas Before, he had a different set of priorities, he had different life experiences. Oh, and parts of his brain had been overwritten with something entirely new. He wasn''t entirely certain how he felt about this. It felt wrong ¨C somebody or something had killed him, and done so in a manner that he found violating, repulsive, and repugnant. But it also felt like maybe just a faster-paced version of something that could have happened anyways ¨C people changed, their attitudes over time as they aged anyways, the only real difference here, arguably, was how quickly it had changed. And that seemed like it shouldn''t matter, but also that it should; like gradual change was acceptable, led to some kind of continuity of existence, whereas the sudden change wasn''t continuous, and was less like one person turning into another, so much as one person disappearing and another reappearing in their place. Then there had been the rage he''d experiencing seeing the ¨C the bandit dogs. That hadn''t been his either, and it was entirely new ¨C Thomas Before was dead, and Thomas Bluebrim could die at any moment, replaced with somebody else. Might have already died. How did you even measure this kind of death? Thomas walked up the river, barely aware of his surroundings. He didn''t want to investigate the strange twisted trees that appeared to be spawning the horrible flesh-puppies that might be some kind of juvenile form of bandits that were not quite human. He didn''t want to investigate the goats, either, whose voices filled the air in an endless braying. The existential dread piling onto him, in spite of whatever stoic and the buddha had done to prevent him from collapsing into the kinds of despair he actually expected to be experiencing, was just another misery at the moment, however. His mind drifted from the horror of the sense of the discontinuity of self, to the pain radiating from almost every part of his body, to the peculiar physical horror of being aware of specific injuries. The physical horror was accentuated every time his tongue brushed across the gap in his teeth, which added visceral terror of new changes; he had never been so acutely afraid of an infection as he was thinking of the chunk the bite had taken out of his penis. Existential dread, physical pain, visceral body horror. He moved mechanically as his mind slowly swapped back and forth between these experiences, walking up the river without conscious attention being paid to his footsteps. More of the strange twisted trees. He didn''t look at them, didn''t want to see them moving, didn''t want to look at the goats. This entire world was a horrifying nightmare; he was just one of the bandits, a thing that looked like a person, but was following a script. His script said lust and stoic and buddha, and so that''s who he was. It was a nice complicated script. Had Thomas Before even existed? He wasn''t a real person. He didn''t have memories of a real place. He was in a nightmare where he didn''t belong, and he was probably fake; whoever had created him hadn''t even bothered to give him real memories, that''s why all the names were missing. It wasn''t a complicated script, it was simple. That''s why he''d said nothing, done nothing, when Cenpre had taken something away from him. What had it mattered? He wasn''t real, he had known he wasn''t real. He was a puppet of meat controlled by the script. It was correct and well that other people wouldn''t take his wishes into account, his job was to do what the script said, and his script had said lust. He''d done his job adequately, hadn''t he? He walked, awareness slowly growing that the goats spoke in human voices. Thomas smiled at the goats as he walked by them, and they chattered at him; they were nice. They told him what he needed to hear, he just couldn''t understand the words; he needed to listen more carefully. Thomas approached one of the goats, which stared at him with glowing, horizontally-slitted red eyes. Its mouth moved, and speech came out, but it was not words. It didn''t need to be words, the truth transcended words. It was starting to get to be hard to walk closer to the goat; the ground kept wobbling uncontrollably underneath him. No, his fake body was just dying now, he was just one of those bandits. Hadn''t he chosen bandit party as his origin? He hadn''t chosen that, it was all fake, and he was dying now, he''d always been dead and just not known it. The ground came up to meet him, as was entirely appropriate; from the earth, to the earth. He was earth. His script was empty, he had reached the last words, and there wasn''t anything left for him to do. He didn''t need to die, he had already died and not even realized it, the moment he had become this script, which after all only had so many words written in it. Now he was the earth. He was of the twisted trees, he was a root system that would reach down, down, into the darkness. The darkness embraced him, for there was nothing left. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Light. Darkness. Confusion. Blurry images; it took a long moment to recognize color, and as if the recognition were the thing, the blurry image was suddenly vibrant with colors. Green, and blue, and brown. Mostly green. Pointy green, not flat green, and close. Sound came on then, sudden ¨C not an awareness growing, but instantly, from one moment to the next, there was not sound, and then there was. It was a rolling, gentle, sloshing sort of noise. Random and chaotic and yet gentle. A jolt of lightning flashed through awareness, and Thomas sat up sharply, and then fell back over to start dry-heaving. The pain. Oh fuck the pain. Everything hurt, and he started taking stock of his injuries again, surprised to see that they were already tied with torn shreds of oiled brown cloth, his undergarments having been turned into makeshift bandages. He could remember deciding to bandage his wounds, but the memory of actually doing so was oddly missing. Along with a number of others. He glanced at his health, in the status screen; twenty six. He could distinctly remember that it had been forty one before, so he was still bleeding, but maybe not too badly, depending on how long he had been out. Thomas pulled himself to his feet, stifling a cry of pain when weight settled on one of his legs. He could remember walking, in a daze of confusion and despair, but his memories beyond that were fragmented; he must have been in shock. Certainly the glowing-eyed goats that had spoken in tongues weren''t in evidence in reality. Step. Pain. Step. Pain. He grit his teeth and kept walking. He needed to get back to town, get to a healer, get his wounds treated so they wouldn''t get infected. Step. Pain. Step. Pain. The world slowly passed by, the colors bleaching out into nothing as he moved. Thomas found somebody; one of those fishing with nets. It had been the woman who had greeted him on the way out. She made a noise, and other people came over. Thomas let himself slide off his aching legs. He looked at his health. Nineteen. He''d made it, and he was still bleeding. The next hour was a blur; he had gotten through the walk back to town, and now he just let the pain fuzz away everything else. He was aware of bandages being changed, of somebody talking to him ¨C he was aware of saying something back, but not what he had actually said. Whatever it was had caused something of a stir. People left, more people came. Somebody gave him food, but it was water that he found an unquenchable need for ¨C he''d been walking dehydrated for more than an hour just a few paces away from the river, unaware in his pain and misery how much he needed a drink. The evening ¡­ passed. Like an eternity, like a heartbeat; somewhere in between, each moment of agony dragging on for perpetuity, and hours disappearing into nothing. The sun set; the sun rose. He hadn''t slept, but neither was he awake, drifting in and out of greater and reduced degrees of self-awareness. Mostly his attention was consumed by an all-engulfing agony, his mind confused, and in his less lucid moments, he thought himself a block of ice, or a spreading flame. Awareness gradually became less sporadic; the people filtering in and out of his room became people again, rather than angry spirits come to demand something he couldn''t quite understand. Ice and flame gave way to more mundane pains. A drumbeat that had become the music of his existence resolved into his pulse, felt a dozen times over across his many wounds. Slowly awareness shifted into something more coherent; he alternated between fitful sleep and blubbering self-pity through the first night he remembered that he more than a ball of pain and misery. But the pain and misery only subsided further, until he could think again. Thomas forced himself to sit up, after a half hour of slowly realizing that movement was an option, and look around. The cot on the ground was all too familiar; the scent of herbs, and other smells ¨C sweat, rot, blood ¨C just as much so. He was in a healing house again. Flashes of the fight went through his mind, and the room spun; he shook his head against the thought of one of those weapons being -embedded- in him, of the bites that had been taken out of him, and focused on the here and now. He needed ¡­ food. And water. Ch 18. Up Again A small stack of coins sat on the table in front of Thomas; he stood, favoring one leg. Sitting hurt, and rising again hurt, so he tried to avoid doing it as much as possible; granted, standing also hurt, and laying down hurt. Everything hurt, in subtly different ways that gave every minute its own unique flavor of pain. He eyed the coins. ¡°This is more than you agreed to.¡± ¡°You dealt with more than you agreed to.¡± Balier shrugged lightly, leaning back a little. ¡°Besides which, I try to make it a policy to pay people for reasonably incurred expenses. Your possessions were a total loss, I''m afraid.¡± Thomas just nodded, at that. He''d be able to afford to replace his clothes, and make a good contribution to paying back Anne''s group for the clothing that he''d already wrecked. He was making about three coppers a day doing menial labor, which hadn''t seemed like very much at all. He looked at the coins, thinking it through. Fifty copper coins; at three coppers a day doing the dirty, manual labor he had previously been engaged in, this was, what, two and a half weeks of work? Less thirty two to replace shirt, pants, and hat, so eighteen. Six days work. And he''d been recovering for three already. Thomas slowly breathed out. Once he finished recovering, he''d be behind, if anything, compared to just doing manual labor. And he''d been paid extra, probably on account of coming back in such a terrible state. On the flip side of that, he''d leveled up again. If he saw this as a paid internship sort of deal, he was getting valuable experience which could earn him more income as he got better at it. Except with a paid internship, part of the deal generally wasn''t horrifying experiences. He was pretty sure a cushy job at a bank didn''t result in nightmares of dog-shaped men biting your dick off. The nightmares of teeth falling out, at least, had lost some of their punch for him; he''d been there and done that, the hollow feeling on one side of his face something he became frequently and uncomfortably aware of. Thomas was ¡­ aware, of the misery-fueled existential crises he''d been through, but it felt more like a nightmare now, rather than reality. He remembered a distinct sensation, an undercurrent, that his story had ended, that his life was over ¨C that memory was perhaps more disturbing to him than anything else, because it still resonated a little bit. Mostly, he found himself avoiding thinking about it, as after another day he got up and started on manual labor again. He still hurt, he was still recovering, but he could help wind string for the fishing nets; it was tedious work, twisting grass with some kind of oily sticky substance. It made him reflect on fishing line ¨C this string was sturdy enough, but thick, and surely obvious in the water in the way the clear plastic fishing line he was accustomed to was not. How was primitive fishing line even made? Did such a thing exist, or was his idea of primitive cultures fishing with a rod and reel entirely anachronistic? Certainly nets seemed more efficient; why would anybody use a rod and reel at all? Then again, Thomas reflected, he was basically making rope; he examined one of the sleeves of his shirt for a few seconds. The threads used there were much finer. Perhaps thinner thread was available, just too expensive to be used for something like a simple net? His next job for the day was helping a group of farmers load what was, essentially, an oversized hand wagon, which was when something finally struck Thomas: He hadn''t seen any draft animals, nor mounts. He thought back. No mules, no horses, no donkeys, no nothing; there had been pigs, but they had been, he guessed, for food rather than for work. Then, considering what the deer here were like, maybe that wasn''t a surprise. Instead, people dragged things around themselves. Which, considering how strong people here were ¨C and how easily such strength was apparently achieved ¨C ended up being more effective. There was a traveling barbarian ¨C a strength-oriented class, not an uncivilized person - named Cenilin, who apparently did much of the plowing each spring. From the stories Thomas had heard, Cenilin used an eight-furrow plow; Thomas had no point of reference for this except his own difficulty plowing using a single furrow plow, which had been some of the most exhausting work he''d done so far. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. His job in loading the wagon was one of several men standing in a line; two men were unloading a small shack, handing large brown oilcloth bags to the woman at the front of the line. She passed it to the person behind her, who did the same thing, until a man and a woman at the wagon itself alternated between loading the bags being passed back onto the wagon itself. Only the four who were doing the loading and unloading moved at all. For all that it required minimal motion, the bags were quite heavy. He didn''t even need to lift; the process of exchange involved one party simply reaching under the bag, and the other relaxing the weight. He didn''t need to lift, but he still kept lifting the bags anyways; he lacked the practiced ease with which the bags were passed amongst the other members of the line, the bags staying almost perfectly level in the air as they moved. He swayed as he moved, his arms lowered and raised, and overall, he exhausted himself quickly. And kept going, because this was coin for the day. His back ached, his wounds felt stretched by the motions and the weight ¨C he felt one of the larger cuts on his forearm, where one of the scimitars had embedded in his flesh, pull open a little bit ¨C but he kept moving. He was getting paid for this, and he was earning a little over three coins a day now, compared to the average of a couple a day when he''d gotten started; he''d developed a reputation for getting his work done, and it would be expensive to lose some of that reputation. But also, the work helped. Even as it hurt, the pain felt ¡­ healthy. He felt better, his time filled with work, as opposed to laying around all day ''recovering'' ¨C he''d recovered more over the last couple of days than in the three days he''d spent recovering prior. They were nearly done when a shout came from downriver; he kept moving, the motions of transfer nearly automatic, as his attention shifted to a small group of people coming in. They carried axes, which were heavy with blood; his next turn halted, as he realized that the loading had ceased, people moving out of line to go see what was going on. Thomas followed. There were four people coming into two; two carried axes, with bundles of red-stained wood tied to their backs. Two more carried ¨C no, five people, that was a fifth person they were carrying between them. A broad man with long blonde hair, he was apparently unconscious between the two, leaving a trail of blood from ¡­ his left leg ended at the knee, and both arms ended at the wrists. The wounds were wrapped up, but still bleeding. Thomas started to move forward, but the Piketown healer, whose name was Trenton, moved forward with surprising speed for his girth, murmuring something, his hands starting to bind the wounds with tourniquets even while Trenton started glancing around at the crowd. His voice, normally light and calming, boomed out over the chatter that had erupted among villagers sharing horrified glances and quiet conversations. ¡°I need volunteers. We''re taking him to Rockfall.¡± Thomas considered, and then raised a hand, then lowered it and shouted his assent ¨C he wasn''t in school. He''d need to stop by the inn to grab his things, but he''d benefited from Trenton''s aid already, and this would be a kind of repayment in kind. There was magical healing in this world ¨C his teeth could be fixed, surprisingly, if he got to a large enough town, of which Rockfall was one. It apparently wasn''t even particularly expensive; magic was almost mundane, here. The healer of Piketown had worked in a larger town for a time; as a pair of expert polers shoved their boat upriver at a jogging pace, in a separate direction from the stream that Thomas had followed here, Thomas had struck up a conversation with the rotund man. Trenton had apparently worked for a magical healer in Rockfall as a cutter ¨C a kind of surgeon who specialized in cutting out things that couldn''t be directly healed, while a magical healer corrected the damage. Apparently healing magic did nothing for either infections or cancers, and the treatment for these things was a combination of aggressive cutting, and aggressive healing. Trenton had left because, to Thomas'' horror as he listened, this world lacked any kind of useful anesthetic; illusion magic generally fulfilled the purpose, and some people were resistant. It had gotten to be too much. Ch 19. Prophets The wind blew, and Thomas stared out over the fields lit by a setting sun, back to the congregation gathered behind him. His tongue ran over his teeth ¨C his teeth, his own teeth ¨C and he smiled. It was not a smile that expressed pleasure, but something more basic, more primitive. ¡°The regularity of civilization should not match the regularity of life, the ascent of man should not look like the ascent of a budding plant, a universe set to bloom by a fern, an elder god of some bygone age when giants traveled, unheeding of the physical laws they trampled underfoot. Unknown gods, whose footfalls set or ended our existence before our universe has even begun to bud, when it was an egg, whose first unfurling was an explosion the likes of which we tiny agents of man will never know.¡± The voice came from behind him, rhythmic, melodic, beautiful. Thomas was careful not to pay too much attention to the words, which he knew, from past experience with these sermons, would tug at his mind in a very uncomfortable way. ¡°Life, begun as a crawling machine, teeth and nothing more, turning into ever-greater and more complex machines, with ever-finer and sharper teeth, gears set into gears set into gears, a mouthed monstrosity with no end, the world going into its maw - and life, flowing out.¡± His lips twitched; he couldn''t ignore them entirely. And they did have technology, here. Rockfall was home to industrialized magic; they didn''t burn fuel, but instead mages powered the gears more directly, with a variety of spells. The bread he had been eating, had been summoned, he had learned as well ¨C Norris was, apparently, a conjurer, and the bandages and flavorless bread he possessed in endless quantity were the staples of the craft. Manna, as the summoned food was called, was cheap. The flavorful food he had grown accustomed to in the villages, made of real fruits and vegetables and meats and fats? That was a luxury good here. ¡°White. Purified by the tides. Moons, echoed by the rocks and the stones, sky and earth in unity. The reds of the sunset bleeding in from the edges; like lions, eating at their prey the red seeping into the soil. Life unto life unto life unto life. Each wave washes the other away, an arc, a spray, aching to touch the sky - life. Airborn. A thousand humming machines, pushing her aloft - the night sky has fallen and it shall take all the machines of man to plant her back.¡± Thomas was whole again, but felt less than he had. The pain and agony were still marked in his mind; he was still afraid, deeply afraid, of the pain. The healing ¨C the cheap healing of wounds that might be impossible to do anything about back home ¨C had fixed his body. His mind teetered; he felt like he was walking a tightrope, and if he moved in any direction he''d plunge into the horror and misery he had thus far mostly successfully avoided embracing. ¡°The roar of a thousand motors humming, water streaming through the white-hot caves, metal cast and hammered upon ringing anvils, forging - what? A mechanism its creators cannot fathom, a creation of metal that strains and crashes its way out of the mountains it has been forged from.¡± Thomas glanced back at the preacher, starting to walk along the path. He wasn''t even certain what the ¡­ man? Thomas wasn''t sure if the preacher was even human. He wasn''t sure what the preacher was, nor what his sermons were even about. They all had a nightmarish quality, like something that should make sense, twisted beyond all recognition. Another preacher was ahead of him, speaking to a smaller crowd. ¡°You can''t escape yourself. This, the other will have learned long ago. Subjective time, of course; it could be tomorrow that it learned it, in truth. Subjective time had passed in measures unknown to the other; it had long since stopped trying to count the eons, or even our lives, although it counts them still. They were so short as to be without consequence, they will be.¡± This wasn''t nearly as interesting, but Thomas paused to study the crowd who were gathered to listen; he supposed he could be counted among them, at the moment. ¡°It had watched a world blossom, and collapse in eternal fires. Several times, in point of fact, and though memory could deceive, the other suspects that it has seen the same worlds several times in its long existence. Observation was most of its existence; subjective time could pass in seconds to the eon, or hours to the millisecond. Its fondest memory will have been of a gaseous mote dancing across subjective eons. There is to be much to be learned from the verses.¡± Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Thomas shook his head, and started moving away from the increasingly erratic words. The city ¨C and it was a city ¨C of Rockfall had many of these preachers about. Prophecy, or whatever this was, was apparently part of the local culture and flavor. Behind him, the preacher continued. ¡°But you couldn''t escape yourself. History cast a long shadow, and though its earliest memories rested on the shakiest foundation, there was inescapable shame. The grotesque realities had been masked by that first body; it had existed long enough now that it could sense the limitations its forms exerted upon it, and hindsight could be very clear indeed.¡± Thomas found a bench and sat on it, looking around the streets. They were paved, here in Rockfall, and the buildings were three and four story structures made mostly of stone. There were more trees here ¨C real trees ¨C and wood wasn''t so unusual. Mostly it was stone, however, as this community had apparently grown around several deposits of marble, long since depleted, but skills that had cut marble for export had turned easily enough to cutting granite for construction. The street, though darkening as the sun set, was lit by golden lights, easily mistaken for electric streetlamps ¨C but electricity was never so constant, so stable, so silent. They didn''t so much as flicker. A city of magical streetlamps; it was breathtaking, even three days after arriving. A voice rose to his left, and Thomas glanced over, frowning to observe another person starting to gather crowds. ¡°All power over others is borrowed. There is no such thing as a gift of power; all such gifts have price tags. Know the price in advance.¡± They really were everywhere, here. At least this one sounded more or less sane, and without the nightmarish quality that seemed to imbue so much of the words. Thomas relaxed, watching the ¨C yeah, that was a woman underneath that hood ¨C waving her hands about as she spoke loudly into the dusk. ¡°All power borrowed is borrowed with interest; an unknown price will always be higher than you expect, and may be higher than you can afford! Borrowing power gives others power over you. Lending power gives others power over you; you are responsible for how they use it. The only power you have over yourself is anonymity!¡± Thomas sighed, and stood, starting to walk again. He had helped Trenton get the injured man to the healers, and then spent some coinage there himself, to get his teeth fixed, to get ... everything fixed. He was healthy, and the recovery of his teeth had helped a lot. Just ¡­ not as much as he had hoped it would have. He''d then set up shop in a local inn; there was paying work here, and it wasn''t helping twist grass to make nets. There wasn''t just paying work ¨C there was steady work. He was helping load a warehouse, and got a little bit of extra pay for working in his larger size, which let him lift heavier loads, and reach higher shelves. It did require him to basically wear a loincloth, but he''d found he just didn''t care that much anymore; sometime in the past few weeks, his bashfulness ¨C his insecurities? ¨C had died. Thomas could probably work naked without minding too much, at this point. The warehouse gig would last another couple of days, then he was going out with an excavation team, who needed some heavy lifting done at what, he gathered, was some kind of archaeological site. He''d paused to ask around, before accepting the job, and they weren''t working in a crypt, or a mass grave, or anything like that; apparently they were just investigating an old mine to see what techniques had been used to dig it out. The people he''d talked to had regarded it as boring, which sounded perfect for Thomas, as he''d had more than enough excitement in the last few weeks for his entire life. ¡°...outsiders have already won. Massive battle, where universes are mere -cells- of the beings at war. Outsiders won, the outsiders we see mere -maggots-, consuming our world simply because it''s what is left. We are just last remnants of organisms, cellular defenses about to get swept away in a wave we cannot even see coming.¡± Thomas gave that one a wide birth; the voice sounded half mad. He walked back the way he had come, winding his way towards the inn he had rented a room in for the night. Behind him, a voice called out loudly. ¡°The other knew what hell was! Hell was living forever, incapable of forgetting your sins! Existence in this evolved brain, as opposed to the existence imparted by clouds of gaseous matter, provides some brief respite, but the long years it knew it existed outside of any normative shape were tortuous; no sight, no sound, nor any of the dozens of senses it had since discovered, just thought. Eons of thought, to mull over its sins. And it is here, with us!¡± Thomas shook his head as the hubbub of the prophets was drowned out by the hubbub of the inn''s common area, crowds gathering around a man and woman on a stage, singing a bawdy song full of double rhymes, which was either about a prolific miner emptying every mine in town, or, well. Thomas shook his head as he passed through the common area, dodging a server moving past him carrying far too many full mugs of something frothy, making his way back to his bedroom. Ch 20. On the Road Again
Thomas Bluebrim Brawler Legend of Wind
Level 7 0 Misfortunes / 0 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
178/178 Health 0/0 Mana 2/4 Stamina
0 Distinctions Available 36 Skill Points Available 8 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution**** Intelligence
1 Melee Damage Bonus 2 0
3 Maximum Worn Armor 150 Maximum Health 24 Additional Skill Points
0 Deflection * 4 Damage Reduction 1 Maximum Stamina Points
1 Melee Damage Bonus 12 Base Armor 0 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
6 0 0
6 Lores 0 Bonus Targeting 0 Reaction Time
6 Arcane Resistance 0 Evasion 1 Stamina Regeneration
0 Mana * 20 Movement * 0 Missile Range Bonus *
Lore: First Aid Your knowledge of simple anatomy and basic emergency care, and how to correctly treat simple conditions, as well as to recognize the limits of your skill and knowledge, and what exactly might otherwise happen if you blundered on.
Lore: Enchantment Your knowledge of the nature of Enchantment, its origins, and some of its great creations; the Blade of Ages, the Eternal Shield, the Utterly Ordinary Spear.
Lore: Swimming Your knowledge of fluid dynamics principles to the end of making yourself pointy and splashing more effectively. Fish will always be better than you. Eat a few of them. Remind them of the proper order of things.
Lore: Disguises Your knowledge of the storied history of infiltration and deceit;secrets stolen, treasures taken, spies caught, tortured, and executed. Great rewards take a little risk.
Lore: Shelters Your knowledge of the intricate act of turning a few bug-ridden piles of brush into a single larger bug-ridden pile of brush that will keep the rain off your head and curious creatures from doing too much investigation. The wrong kind of shelter, of course, is just a meal wrapper for the right kind of fauna. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
Lore: Volcanoes Your knowledge of the desert, the magma, the lava, the world of the ever-burning embers, and the memories of dried-up husks of those who thought they, too, knew the land they traversed.
Name Effect
Fortune Master Doubled Ephiphany Bonus, +1 to all Skill Rolls for every ten unspent skill points
Shrug Off Damage less than 4 is reduced to 0
Improved Shrug Off Damage less than 7 is reduced to 0
Unarmored Defense When wearing no armor and not using a shield, you get Worn Armor equal to your Agility plus your Perception, +3 to Maximum HP
Improved Unarmored Defense When wearing no armor and not using a shield, you get Damage Reduction equal to your Intelligence plus your Wisdom
Thick Skull You are immune to non-lethal damage
Latent Power +1 Maximum Stamina (x2)
Hurl As a reaction to an attack by a creature no larger than one size category larger than you, you may throw your assailant up to 5ft, subject to a contest of Constitution; if your attacker hits another creature, both become Prone; if it doesn''t hit another creature, it still falls Prone
Improved Hurl Hurl has a range of 10ft, and the thrown creature deals its Total Armor in damage to any hit creatures
Call Out You may Call Out an opponent; subject to a Discipline contest against your Endurance, they must move towards you and attack you whenever possible
Shake Off You may expend Stamina to increase your Worn Armor by 4, knock back all adjacent opponents 5 feet, and, subject to an Endurance contest against your Endurance, knock all affected targets prone
Tough as Nails You have a natural armor (Maximum Worn Armor Limits still apply) equal to twice your Constitution
Weapon Expertise: Unarmed Your base unarmed attack damage increases by one progression for each free hand. Your Melee Damage Bonus applies for each free hand
Deft Nature You can''t be caught flat-footed, and can dodge as easily prone as standing
Inhuman Size 1 You get 25 additional health. Additionally, you may Enlarge at will, becoming Large.
Thomas studied his screens, debating his next steps; he had eight customization points, which left him some opportunity to improve himself. He could either improve his statistics by two points, or he could take an additional distinction. Currently, he had ten damage reduction, which, with shrug off, meant he ignored damage less than seventeen. He didn''t have a good grasp on what that number meant, except that it was about ten percent of his health, which seemed pretty substantial, since as far as he had been able to determine so far, he had unusually high health. Every point in constitution appeared to increase his health by ten, if he had been tracking the numbers correctly, and his damage reduction by two. So an additional point in Constitution gave the best rewards. Thomas eyed the distinction he was considering, however.
Endurance Training You get +1 Constitution at level 5, +2 Constitution at level 13, and +3 Constitution at level 20
At his current level, he''d be spending five customization points to get what he could get for three; but it''d be five, for what he could get for six, when he got to thirteen. He doubted the validity of considering level twenty, but if he did ever get there, that would be worthwhile as well. And he could either spend the three remaining customization points to improve constitution again, or save them up for one of the other attribute training distinctions. The improved version of each, while costing another five customization points, would improve the way his attributes worked. Wisdom would get him mana, which, in spite of his apparently high wisdom, probably wasn''t actually worth pursuing for him; he''d been doing some research in a local library ¨C there was a library here, although it cost money to use, unlike the libraries he was accustomed to ¨C and magic required a lot of specialization to make effective. It was still tempting, because, well, magic. But it wasn''t something he could or should focus on right now. He spent the customization points on Endurance Training. He then started walking. The last few days had been preparing for this; he had a pocket full of silver, a pack full of food, and some debts to repay. Thomas felt ¡­ relieved. He felt good. He was going. And then he''d be returning; the city of Rockfall felt ¡­ not like home, but less like somebody else''s home. Trenton was already gone, with the others. The path to Grimhaven had begun by crossing the bridge around which Rockfall had grown; although originally a quarry town, it now served more as a trading hub. Then he''d be crossing straight across the hills to the east until his path hit the stream he had originally followed, which he would follow north a day or two. It was a long walk, but Thomas felt confident. He''d grown since he had first encountered the silver fawn, and while he''d still take a beating from them, he thought he could stand his own long enough to run them off now. Granted, he wasn''t certain of that, so he also had three potions which would emit a truly noxious stench when broken; they''d cost a silver coin apiece, but Trenton had told him that they were the best friend a lone traveler could have in a pinch, as nothing in the area would stick around after the bottles were broken. The first two days went by without event, and Thomas enjoyed sleeping under the stars, the wind rustling through his clothing. The third required him to punch one of the weird ugly bandit dogs to death ¨C carnaath, they were called? ¨C after he woke up to it trying to take his foot off. On the fourth day he found the stream, and a scene out of the worst of his nightmares. On one side of the stream was a large lump of ¨C something horribly biological, whites and grays and pinks and reds, made of tubes and fleshy bits ¨C like an enormous ball of medical waste. It looked sort of like a horse-sized snail, except its shell was made up of what looked like piled of guts and limbs glued together with a fungal infection. It had eyestalks, of a sort, with drooping ¡­ tubes. On the ends of the stalks were heads, however; a human head, jaw ripped off and tongue hanging limply below, and on the other stalk was the head of what Thomas vaguely recognized as a silver fawn. It was only half the horror, however, for it was engaged in combat with a swarm of maggots the size of the fawn''s head; they were eating it, even as it crushed them; and as they ate, they would split into two. It would have been over already, except the snail-thing was, in turn, reaching out with what looked like fungal tentacles, sucking up the mass it crushed into itself, filling in the spaces they were devouring. Thomas stared at the struggle for several seconds, then turned and started running north, angling away from them to rejoin the water further upstream. He had no desire to get involved in what looked like a fight between body horror movie monsters. Ch 21. Return ¡°It makes perfect sense that it gets cold before it rains. Cold is a state of binding, and air being the unbound state, you need to execute a binding state in order to get to water, the partially bound state.¡± This was one of four traveling companions on this little expedition, a self-professed sage who was possibly younger than Thomas. She reminded him ¡­ a little too strongly of himself at that age, and his now embarrassing certainty of his own correctness; he did miss feeling passionately about things, but he had been passionate out of an ignorance he had realized he had no motivation to actually change. Or maybe he was projecting. Mostly she annoyed him; she spent most of her waking hours explaining things. Not in the helpful, ¡°Here''s what monsters to look out for around here, and how to deal with them¡± kind of explaining Thomas felt like he could use. No, stuff like how fire worked. (It was apparently the state of unbinding). Or why the earth didn''t flow. (It was a fully bound state). Or why wheels had to be a circle to work (because a circle was the unifying shape of earth and void, whatever that was supposed to mean). The youthful sage, Klirre, was accompanied by her older sister, Pimn, who Thomas actually liked a little bit, if she was a little ¡­ offputting, at times. And finally were the two men, one a lithe pale-faced man with a ridiculous-looking fencing sword with an absurdly elaborate and enormous lacework pommel, and the other a big dude. Just. Big. Who carried what almost looked like a cartoon caveman club, except it looked like a normal-sized stick in his hands. Big dude was named Hasede, and Thomas had trouble deciding whether he hated his voice more ¨C it was actually the most average voice Thomas had ever heard, and felt incongruous coming from the miniature giant ¨C or Klirre''s. ¡°That makes no sense. If cold is a state of binding, the earth couldn''t be cold, because it''s already in a fully-bound state.¡± Hasede''s average voice. ¡°A thing can be hot without there being fire; the level of binding or unbinding must reach a certain threshold for the state of things to transition between binding states.¡± Klirre rejoined without hesitation, like this was a conversation that had been had many times before. Perhaps it had. ¡°Then cold isn''t a state of binding, it''s a necessary precondition and perhaps direct cause, but binding itself is independent of cold.¡± ¡°Binding isn''t a binary state, it is a continuum; we can observe this in water, which is partially bound and partially unbound, and the most reactive of the three elemental binding states to either binding or unbinding forces.¡± ¡°That should suppose that hot water should weigh less than cold water, being closer to air, but it does not.¡± It was hard to tell, between Hasede and Klirre, who was more responsible for their inane conversations. Hasede denied basically anything anybody said, at length. Thomas watched, nonplussed, as Hasede swept his massive club into the face of a silver fawn, with a crunching noise he could hear over the shouting, the body of the animal crumpling in a manner that was almost comical, at least until the shattered bones tore through the fawn''s flank in a spray of blood that didn''t entirely miss him. Thomas spat the blood out, moving sideways as another silver fawn flashed past him; he felt a wave of heat, followed closely by a splattering, bubbling noise, followed in turn by the smells of burnt hair and meat. He didn''t look; he had already seen what Pimn''s fireballs did to the beasts, and didn''t desire to see it a second time. Klirre ran past, shouting, to the fencer, Sprew, who was bleeding heavily from a gouge in his arm. Thomas didn''t watch that, either, although healing was somewhere between fascinating and horrifying to watch; another silver fawn was making its way towards him, and he raised his arms into what he imagined to be a decent boxing stance; according to Hasede, practicing fighting like that, while it wouldn''t make Thomas any better at hitting things or doing damage, could lead to Thomas gaining access to a Martial School, even without spending customization points on it. Klirre had disagreed on the specifics, although Thomas had trouble following the conversation, but agreed when pressed that it was possible to unlock a Martial School this way. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Thomas didn''t unlock anything in that encounter, or the next couple, as they made their way towards Grimhaven. The campfire shuddered and dwindled in the wind, the shadows growing as the light fled. Thomas pulled the blankets around him tighter, curled up in a ball with his face pressed to his knees, trying to balance getting fresh air to breath in, and limiting the cold that crept into each breath. He lay on his side, his face tight against the harsh dry heat of the fire, even as he shivered. Thomas had departed their company at the next small town. On the one hand, the fights had been quite lopsided; Hasede could, on his own, smash his way through basically every encounter they had with the strange and frightful beasts that occupied this world. On the other hand, there was never a quiet moment, which Thomas was startled to realize he''d come to expect. Also, they were continuing towards Ironbarrow, and Thomas wasn''t. The temperature had dropped abruptly during the following day, followed by a rain that had only stopped a short time before. If not for the odd magical tokens which the party had introduced him to ¨C literally, equipment tokens, which represented some kind of abstract sense of ¡°Stuff¡± ¨C he thought he might have frozen to death. He pulled one of the glowing blue discs out, shivering, and staring at it. They were absurd; magic that could be converted into a small, well-defined set of items, all of which could be useful in the wild. Some things required more than one, which is where the magic of it had stopped making sense to Thomas. It wasn''t something a reality had; they were convenient, but it was an oddly abstracted convenience. They were a tool you bought when you didn''t know what tool you''d need, and they''d be that tool. Or if you were trying to reduce complicated considerations of specific articles of equipment into a less efficient but much more legible number. It was something only military logistics officers and game designers would think of. The abstracted tool they represented was dry firewood and tinder, in this case. They could also be turned into food ¨C manna, and the manna itself was cheaper to buy. Indeed, pretty much the only reason they did make a kind of sense, is that the tokens were more expensive, as a rule, than anything that could be created with them. But then, did anybody actually make shovels? Or did the shovels for sale just come from somebody who had used a token to create one, which was then sold as no longer necessary, having fulfilled the specific purpose it was summoned into being to perform? Farmers grew food here for the rich; the poor ate manna. Maybe it was something the same way with tools? There probably were people who made shovels, but it was probably only for somebody who had the desire and ability to pay for something nice. And huh. Magic in this society sort of played the role that cheap mass manufacturing had performed in his. His ¡­ father had owned a cheaply-made shovel that bowed under any kind of pressure; somebody who actually dug for a living probably owned something nicer. That probably meant an enchanted shovel. Would armor piercing help get through rocks and roots? His teeth started chattering involuntarily, and the cold interrupted his line of thinking again. Three tokens ended up being sufficient to summon something more like a sleeping bag than the thin blankets he had found suitable until now, at which point he did manage to get some sleep. Piketown was as he had left it, even if he was not; he was whole again. He stared at the town ahead of him, people working as they had before. He had arrived here last, violated in a way he could not imagine. His teeth. His face. His shoulder. Other injuries, other scars. And he returned whole. His hands moved to his face, running over it. Thomas slowly sank to the ground, his body beginning to shake. He ¡­ was more than whole, now. He had gone back out into the wilderness, seen further horrors ¨C and had returned. He breathed deeply, in and out. He didn''t have a paper bag ¨C what was the paper bag even supposed to do? - but it helped anyways. Thomas rose slowly back to his feet, a taught sensation in his mind, which he had barely even noticed, slowly relaxing; an odd kind of relief, from a barely-noticed pain. He was back, whole, debts repaid. Ch 22. Dungeon ¡°Stop.¡± Anne''s hand jerked up, the back of her palm slapping lightly into Thomas'' chest. He heard more than felt it, but stopped as quickly as his brain could process the command. ¡°Arias.¡± Her voice was quiet, tense; the torch in Thomas'' hand flickered fitfully in the breeze, casting crazed shadows dancing across the pale red stone walls. Arias'' motions were delicate and graceful as she moved past, her feet absolutely silent, where Thomas couldn''t help but grind gravel into the dark gray stone with every step. She slipped past Anne and Thomas, who stood at the threshold, Thomas'' left hand extended out with his torch, illuminating ¡­ nothing. A floor that seemed to stretch out into infinite darkness. Arias moved to the edge of the threshold, and then sank down in a motion like a flower blooming in reverse, hands held out before her and moving in sinuous motions with her descent, coming to rest of the dark gray paving stones before her. Her hands moving over the floor, Arias proceeded forward, head tilting this way and that as she moved. And then she stopped, and rose smoothly again, turning to Anne, hand raising to tap a finger on her lower lip in an exaggerated gesture. Then, with a shrug, she gave a gentle shake of her head, hair swinging loosely, and turned to walk into the room. Norris slipped past them and began muttering as he examined ¡­ nothing at all. ¡°Alright.¡± Anne''s arm dropped, and Thomas moved forward, trying to flank Arias before she got too far from the group; the torchlight continued to illuminate the floor and nothing else, and Thomas turned to look back the way they had come; Norris stood just past the portal, looking backwards as well, at a wall that stretched out in three directions, disappearing, like the floor, into shadow and darkness. Thomas swallowed, and started scanning the edge of the visible floor around them, watching for anything coming their way. Huddling around their two torches, they moved forward into the darkness. ¡°You want to come?¡± Anne looked surprised. Or maybe drunk. It was hard to tell. She was probably both; first, because Thomas had approached them, and second, because she hadn''t stopped drinking in the four hours since they had gotten back. ¡°I do.¡± He was somewhat surprised himself, but ¡­ he felt like he had gotten a new handle on this. The price had been ¡­ well, he was ready. ¡°Well, alright.¡± She took another drink, then laughed. ¡°You''ve got it, don''t you?¡± ¡°Got what?¡± ¡°The need. The urge. You can''t not go back out.¡± Thomas paused, then, to consider that question. Could he ¡­ just not go? Find a quiet job someplace? He raised a hand and looked at it, turning it this way and that. He''d paid his debts; he was his own person, now. Maybe for the first time in his life. ¡°You should visit Havenhall.¡± A male voice behind them; Norris and Arias were seated at a table near the bar, eating. ¡°Register.¡± A pause. ¡°Choose a patron, if you haven''t already. The default afterlife isn''t bad, but you should really make a decision about it.¡± Thomas blinked at that. Choose a patron? Default afterlife? He turned around to stare at Norris. ¡°What?¡± Norris looked up at him over a spoon full of stew. Real food, while they could eat it. ¡°A patron. Personally, I went with the White Order of Halei, patron of renewal.¡± Thomas blinked. What? ¡°What?¡± Arias turned her head towards him, then at Norris, a small smile spreading across her mouth. She had her hood up, so her eyes couldn''t be seen. She ¡­ was creepy. Anne''s hand fell on Thomas'' shoulder. ¡°Right. Your weird ¡­¡± She paused to take a drink in the middle of speaking, ¡°upbringing. Look, there''s Artra, of War. Helei, of Renewal. Mystery, of Destruction. Gray, of Justice. Tenash, of Knowledge. Elder, of Death. Others, too, but those are the big ones. Then there are the others.¡± Thomas'' mouth slowly started to fall open. Oh. Oh! Religion! Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°So gods. And, uh, goddesses.¡± ¡°That''s cultist talk.¡± Norris took up the conversation, as Anne had turned back to try to get the bartender''s attention for a refill. ¡°There are no gods, just the pantheon, and the others.¡± ¡°Others?¡± Thomas considered asked what the heck it was a pantheon of, if not gods, but decided against it after some reflection. ¡°Like Elder. The natives of the substrate. Only Elder is considered part of the pantheon proper.¡± ¡°Substrate?¡± ¡°The reality underneath reality; the reality of laws and concept.¡± Thomas took a moment to process that. ¡°So, what, like ¡­ math?¡± ¡°Mathematics, I assume. They are a concept, yes.¡± ¡°Enough talk!¡± Anne interrupted, words slurring slightly. ¡°More drink! Thomas, you can come with us, if you just shut up and start drinking. And thus they had found themselves here, now. Stepping into a dungeon. A fucking dungeon. Arias preceded them into the room, moving with weird, inhuman grace to check floors and walls for physical traps; Norris searched for magical. Anne, for her part, stayed armed and vigilant towards the rear, while Thomas was to be stationed towards the front, to delay any creature that might attack with his body. The dungeon entrance had been a shack, the dimensions of which were small enough they they might have let Thomas lay down diagonally, the door to which had opened up into an immense and oppressive darkness, from which a cool breeze had immediately begun blowing. Norris had given Thomas and Anne both odd gray torches, which felt dense in Thomas'' hand, more like stone than wood. The sunlight stopped far shorter than it should have, as Anne''s hand moved from Thomas, and he stepped further into the darkness. The air dropped several degrees, and simultaneously grew heavy and dense; their torches flickered in the wind as it blew past them. Thomas found himself having to force himself to breathe, as he continued forward behind Norris and Arias, who didn''t react to the sudden and oppressive atmosphere. ¡°What is that?¡± Thomas stage-whispered, feeling uncomfortable speaking out loud. The echoes came back to him anyways, voice bouncing off walls he could not see. Anne''s voice responded from behind him. ¡°The air? It is denser in dungeons.¡± She didn''t bother to lower her voice, and chuckled raspily when he winced. ¡°You don''t need to be quiet, Thomas. If anything hears us, we fight it here. If it doesn''t hear us, we just fight it somewhere else.¡± Thomas considered that. ¡°You''re not the one who is going to be taking the hits.¡± ¡°Ideally.¡± Thomas hesitated only a moment more, trying to come up with some kind of retort, before continuing forward again, Arias having stood up to examine a pair of doors, a black against the ugly pink walls, that looked at first like hallways, until the torches grew close enough for the light to glint off the woodgrain. Thomas'' eyes were drawn up, to the walls extending up, up ¡­ if there was a ceiling he could not see it. ¡°Uh. Hey. What if something is above us?¡± Anne stepped beside him, her head on a swivel, spending as much time looking behind as in front. It was Norris who answered. ¡°Then Arias didn''t do her job very well.¡± The woman paused, glancing over her shoulder at him, before continuing. Norris chuckled to himself. ¡°Don''t worry. She''s good at what she does, or else we''d already be dead many times over.¡± It was ¡­ uneventful, once he got past the creepiness factor. Arias had chosen one of the two doors, opened it, and they''d gone through, to another dark room. That had opened up into a hallway, which was made horrifying on some level Thomas couldn''t quite identify by the pale red stone walls rising up into an infinite darkness. They had spent some considerable time in the hallway, Arias checking doors placed on either side of the wall at irregular intervals, before she had chosen one, and they had proceeded into another room. Here, Arias made a sharp gesture, and everybody waited in the hallway while she ¡­ poked at one of the gray floor tiles. Slabs. Whatever they were called. After a few seconds, there was a rasping noise, and she leapt back out of the room, Thomas nearly tripping over Norris to get out of her way, shoving the man back out of the way of the door; Arias shoved Anne the other direction, and a second later, an oppressively loud, yet somehow dull, thump reverberating through Thomas, less heard then felt. He blinked, suddenly blinded by a fireworks show in his eyes, which only gradually subsided. There was a grunt, and he felt Norris push by him, while he was still trying to blink his vision back into focus. Somebody guided his steps while his vision recovered, and he heard the door close behind him. There was a weird, muted keening noise, which was growing louder ¡­ and then a pop, and then voices. ¡°-ardy, you have the lore, don''t try something that challenging again.¡± Anne''s voice. ¡°Anne. Trust.¡± Norris'' voice. His vision was still blurry, but he could see what he guessed was Anne, her shape wobbling a little bit. Another blurry shape made a shrugging motion ¨C Arias, he guessed ¨C and turned to move into the darkness again. Thomas slowly realized his torch had been extinguished, and, feeling sheepish, moved forward, to relight it off of Anne''s. She turned to him, a conflicted expression turning briefly to annoyance, before settling back on her more usual amusement. ¡°You should probably put some more points in perception, or increase your alertness, if it took you that long to recover. All the constitution in the world won''t help you if you can''t see.¡± Thomas just blinked at her. Ch 23. Madelaine The alarm cut off on its own just before her hand slapped down on the plastic, and Madelaine groaned, sitting up to look around. Her room was dark. The fucking power had gone out again. She couldn''t hear the singing of her father making breakfast downstairs; maybe he wasn''t up yet either.
Welcome.
Madelaine screamed, and swung her fist into the sudden bright blue light. Except it didn''t illuminate her room at all, and she only succeeded in tangling herself up in her sheets, starting to kick her way away from the thing, which stayed right where it was.
Do not be alarmed. You have been chosen.
She paused, staring in confusion. Chosen? Chosen for what?
Please select an archetype. Please be aware this selection cannot be changed once made.
Warrior
Magus
Rogue
Other
Okay ¡­ warrior. She wanted more information, though.
Warrior The Warrior is the prototypical - well, Warrior. The Warrior specializes in dealing and absorbing damage, with a low critical hit chance but a high general hit chance. The Warrior typically chooses a single weapon and battle style to develop mastery in and of, and branches out into other fields of expertise only opportunistically. The Warrior gets a high number of Martial Distinctions, which permit either exceptional specialization into a particular form of combat, or broad mastery over a range of styles of combat. In battle, the Warrior is exceptionally good at dealing with Rogue and Rogue-like classes, soaking up their critical hits with a substantial Health pool and avoiding everything else, but may have more difficulty with Magic-wielding classes, whose less direct abilities can stymie attempted attacks and wear down the Warrior''s effectiveness over the course of a battle.
Spellsword The Spellsword is a Warrior-like anti-Magus, emphasizing magical resistance, with a lighter emphasis on melee combat. Not as good in direct melee combat as most other Warrior-like classes, the Spellsword instead relies on a pool of mana and a small set of spells, which permit the Spellsword to more readily adapt to circumstances. The Spellsword is strongest in group combat, at higher levels providing a passive shield against offensive spells directed at nearby party members, and is exceptionally good at fighting Magus and Magus-like classes. The Spellsword is somewhat more vulnerable to Rogue-like classes, however, and is particularly vulnerable to other Warrior-like classes.
Vanguard The Vanguard is a Warrior-like class with an emphasis on one-on-many combat, and the class is at its strongest in exactly this situation. The typical Vanguard wields a Halberd or Axe, wears Heavy Armor, and is the first into and out of every fight. The Vanguard relies heavily on the ability to get in and out of combat without impediment, and so may take Distinctions which improve Movement Speed. Each opponent beyond the first in melee attack range makes the Vanguard hit more often, and that much harder to hit, which results in a curious situation, whereby the Vanguard may be overwhelmed in a one-on-one fight, but completely in control when fighting three of the same enemy. The Vanguard is particularly vulnerable to Magus-like classes, who can hinder the Vanguard''s advance without entangling themselves in the fight, and particularly strong against other ranged combatants, whose movement speed can''t avail them much.
Barbarian The Barbarian is a damage-and-armor oriented Warrior-like class, for whom every weapon is ultimately disposable. The typical Barbarian is a master of every weapon, and destroys weapons on enemy''s heads with disturbing regularity, pausing only briefly in the massacre to acquire the next stick to break on the next skull. The Barbarian deals extremely high damage, and has the potential for considerable protection using Heavy Armor, but the low Health pool mean the Barbarian is a very challenging class to use effectively, being vulnerable both against Rogue-like classes and offensive Magus-like classes.
Brawler The Brawler is a Health and Damage Reduction oriented Warrior-like class, who excels at surviving pretty much anything. The typical Brawler is wielding bare fists and wears no armor, and is somewhere in the middle of the fighting, pounding on and getting pounded back for long, sustained bursts. The Brawler tends to be best against other Warrior-like classes, simply outliving them, and is weakest against Magus-like classes, who can gradually wear the Brawler down without ever getting directly involved, and Rogue-like classes, who the Brawler can never quite catch up to.
Phalanx The Phalanx is a Warrior-like class emphasizing prolonged defensive combat. The typical Phalanx is to be found dual-wielding spiked tower shields and covered in Heavy Armor from head to toe, side-by-side with two or three allies, in the middle of the densest knot of enemies. The Phalanx gets more powerful the more allies are nearby, and is a potent force multiplier with other group-oriented classes, pairing particularly well with Sages. The Phalanx in group combat is particularly vulnerable to Magus-like classes, and in solo combat is vulnerable to other Warrior-like classes, although high Stamina regeneration and Health mean the Phalanx can simply outlast opponents.
Accursed (Special) The Accursed, as a class, is all about randomization, and manipulating the results of randomization. A typical Accursed could be any class type whatsoever, but probably has a dense pool of Fortune, used partially to help offset the otherwise completely random nature of leveling up, but also to offset situational disadvantages as they arise. An Accursed can be found in any role, in any position on the battlefield - and is, as a rule, doing very well, or doing very badly, with very little room in the middle.
Knight The Knight is a tanking Warrior with slow but deadly attacks. The Knight''s core powers use large amounts of Stamina to deal incredible damage, and recharge Stamina while turtling against attacks. Typically found in Heavy Armor in the midst of the most violent fighting, wielding Sword or Mace and a sturdy shield, the Knight is an asset to any fight.
Warden The Warden is a staff and crossbow wielding tanking Warrior who spins from opponent to opponent, keeping targets distracted and harried, disrupting their assault. Typically found in Medium Armor wielding a Staff against the opponent''s flanks, the Warden does best holding lines that would be abandoned by a lesser soldier.
Sergeant The Sergeant is a two-handed weapon wielding tanking Warrior who is equally at home at the front or the rear of the battlefield, throwing opponents into constant disarray with a dizzying range of strategies and tactics.
Paladin You have not been granted additional information about this class
Mercenary You have not been granted additional information about this class
Noble You have not been granted additional information about this class
Warlord You have not been granted additional information about this class
Berserker You have not been granted additional information about this class
Monk (Special) You have not been granted additional information about this class
Madelaine considered the choices for a few seconds as she started to wake up, scanning over the descriptions. Wait, had magus been an option? Manipulating randomization? So ¡­ manipulating luck itself? Accursed sounded kind of interesting.
Please select your class path. Additional information requested. Detail
Wanderer The future is not ours. The Wanderer seeks to find out what fate awaits them, rather than controlling it, although doing so with gusto and energy. Theirs is a fate unwritten, and those seeking to write their fate for them will find the task increasingly difficult.
Fortune Teller Accept that to which fate brings you. The Fortune Teller, ultimately, seeks to manipulate not just their own fate, but the fate of others, ultimately developing the ability to not only aid their allies, but curse their enemies to unending doom.
Gambler A flip of the card, a roll of the dice, that''s all life is. The Gambler doesn''t see chance as a thing to be controlled, but ridden. A Gambler accepts the good and the bad that life gives them, but capitalizes on the good.
She studied these options for a little bit longer, reading and rereading the descriptions, and also starting to wonder what exactly any of this was. Where was her father? She was going to be late for school. And granted she hated school, but also, it was kind of obligatory to hate school, and she didn''t actually want to be late. Being late for school is what the kids who would flip burgers did. Wanderer, then. She didn''t like the idea of other people controlling her fate. She had enough of that with teachers telling her what to do and where to go in real life, much less a ¡­ game, or whatever this was.
Please select your Background Detail
Sharecropper You were raised among sharecroppers, poorest of the poor
Farmer You were raised among land-owning peasants
Country Craft You were raised among the children of, or apprenticed at a young age to, a local country craftsman; a wainwright, or perhaps a blacksmith
Caravan You were raised among a traveling caravan, perhaps the child of a merchant, or a traveling circus
Bandit Party You were raised in a traveling party of bandits
Army Follower You were raised among the army followers, mostly composed of prostitutes, craftsmen, and merchants
City Slum You were raised in the city slums
City Gang You were raised amidst a party of city thieves and rogues
City Merchant District You were raised among a city''s lower burghers
City Craft District You were raised, or apprenticed at a young age, to a city craftsman
City Court You spent most of your young life in the city courts, surrounded by low and country nobility
Country Nobility You were raised with the country nobility
County Courts You were raised in the county courts, seeing a mixture of low and high nobility passing through
City Nobility You were raised among the city nobility
Capital Slums You lived most of your young life in the slums of a capital city, scrounging for scraps in the wealthiest city for miles
Capital Merchant District You were raised among merchants in the wealthiest city for miles
Capital Craft District You were raised, or apprenticed at a young age, to crafters in the wealthiest city for miles
Capital Court You were raised in the capital courts, seeing mostly high nobility, and occasionally perhaps the ruling family
Capital Nobility You were raised among the capital nobility, perhaps a distant cousin to the ruling family, and know most of the high nobility with at least passing familiarity
Ruling Family You were raised in the ruling family itself, and have connections to the most powerful people in the land
The next option came up. What was her background? Her father was an engineer. That would be, like, what? City craftsman? So would City Craft District -
Please select the profession you worked in Detail Stat Bonus Starting Skill
Smith''s Assistant Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. A simple smith''s assistant, hoping someday to own a forge of your own. +1 Strength, +1 Constitution, -1 Intelligence, -1 Perception Endurance
Blacksmith A blacksmith, strong and pure of body, from hours at intense labor over hellish heat. +2 Strength, +2 Constitution, -2 Intelligence, -2 Perception Endurance
Tanner''s Assistant A tanner''s assistant, aiming to someday be a master tanner yourself. +1 Constitution, +1 Perception, -1 Agility, -1 Wisdom Woodcraft
Tanner A tanner, skin thickened and hardened and stained from decades of chemical exposure. +2 Constitution, +2 Perception, -2 Agility, -2 Wisdom Woodcraft
Farmhand A farmhand, who helps keep the animals in line and performs basic maintenance. +1 Constitution, +1 Wisdom, -1 Perception, -1 Intelligence Discipline
Farmer A farmer, eyes squinted against years of glare, hands and mind strong and firm from years of use. +2 Constitution, +2 Wisdom, -2 Perception, -2 Intelligence Discipline
Carpenter A carpenter, strong of hand, keen of mind, well-versed at turning thoughts into action. +1 Strength, +1 Intelligence, -1 Wisdom, -1 Agility Concentration
Builder A builder, well-accustomed to taking diverse elements and making a complete whole of them. +2 Strength, +2 Intelligence, -2 Wisdom, -2 Agility Concentration
Dockhand A dockhand, accustomed to the sway of the boat as heavy loads are carried to and fro. +1 Strength, +1 Agility, -1 Wisdom, -1 Perception Grace
Sailor A sailor, agile and strong, as comfortable on a heaving ship as on dry land. +2 Strength, +2 Agility, -2 Wisdom, -2 Perception Grace
Pickpocket A pickpocket, quick of hands and sharp of eyes, only as rich as his pickings. +1 Agility, +1 Perception, -1 Strength, -1 Constitution Dexterity
Thief A thief, subtle of touch and careful of wit, best never known to his victims. +2 Agility, +2 Perception, -2 Strength, -2 Constitution Dexterity
Entertainer An entertainer, a jack of all trades, from juggling to simple instruments. +1 Agility, +1 Wisdom, -1 Intelligence, -1 Constitution Grace
Musician A musician, master of a single instrument, but skilled with all. +2 Agility, +2 Wisdom, -2 Intelligence, -2 Constitution Grace
Deliverer A deliveryperson - getting things from here to there, and surviving the trip besides. +1 Agility, +1 Constitution, -1 Intelligence, -1 Wisdom Alertness
Messenger Messengers live sometimes dangerous lives, on account of the dangerous messages they deliver to dangerous people. +2 Agility, +2 Constitution, -2 Intelligence, -2 Wisdom Alertness
Trapper A trapper, skilled at luring prey with bait and killing or catching it, without ever having to be there. +1 Perception, +1 Strength, -1 Intelligence, -1 Wisdom Stealth
Hunter A hunter, skilled at stalking and catching or killing prey, and skinning and dressing it. +2 Perception, +2 Strength, -2 Intelligence, -2 Wisdom Stealth
Detective A detective - a thief-taker in modern times, following evidence more subtle than a fleeing perpetrator. +1 Perception, +1 Intelligence, -1 Constitution, -1 Strength Spycraft
Spy A spy, slipping in plain sight amongst those who are seen but do not see. +2 Perception, +2 Intelligence, -2 Constitution, -2 Strength Spycraft
Research Assistant A research assistant - the hardest working and least credited in the scholarly staff. +1 Intelligence, +1 Wisdom, -1 Agility, -1 Strength Arcana
Scholar The scholar, who is most adept at making other people work very hard. +2 Intelligence, +2 Wisdom, -2 Agility, -2 Strength Arcana
Scribe Scribes are universally treasured, but rarely paid commensurate wages for their value. +1 Intelligence, +1 Strength, -1 Constitution, -1 Perception Recollection
Librarian Librarians work surprisingly hard, sorting and placing hundreds of pounds of tomes per day. +2 Intelligence, +2 Strength, -2 Constitution, -2 Perception Recollection
Healer A healer, skilled with poultice and bandage and simple curatives. +1 Wisdom, +1 Agility, -1 Strength, -1 Perception Medicine
Doctor A doctor, skilled with scalpel and needle and leech alike. +2 Wisdom, +2 Agility, -2 Strength, -2 Perception Medicine
Trader A simple trader, perhaps owner of a modest store, perhaps moving from village to village, small wagon in tow. +1 Wisdom, +1 Perception, -1 Agility, -1 Constitution Spycraft
Merchant A merchant, more possessed of the trappings of wealth than wealth itself. +2 Wisdom, +2 Perception, -2 Agility, -2 Constitution Spycraft
Chemist A chemist, face marked with the scars of years of experience and learning. +1 Intelligence, +1 Constitution, -1 Strength, -1 Agility Woodcraft
Alchemist An alchemist, discolored and scarred from experiments conducted over years. +2 Intelligence, +2 Constitution, -2 Strength, -2 Agility Woodcraft
Her eyes narrowed. Right. At least she hadn''t picked sharecropper or bandit. Or army follower. Madelaine studied this next ¡­ screen. Statistics. Suspicion firmed. This was ¡­ what, some kind of game? In her eyes? She took her glasses off, and put them back on again when the screen neither moved nor changed. Maybe ¡­ virtual reality contact lenses? Was that a thing? It was responding to her thoughts. She was pretty sure that wasn''t a thing. A dream, then? She tried to will herself to teleport or fly, but neither worked, and after a few minutes her attention drifted back to the massive blue screen covering most of her sight. Huh. More of her sight than she had. That was ¡­ weird. She considered the options, counting the statistics and skills. Six statistics, twelve skills. For some reason Grace, Woodcraft, and Spycraft were represented twice; they must be more important. It was a little weird that ¡­ nope, she''d be more careful. Alright, six statistics. Strength, in most games, determined your ability to hit things, and also hit them hard. Constitution would be health; generally important, but she''d always preferred to play characters that didn''t get hit in the first place. Agility would probably be useful there, maybe. Perception was an odd one, she wasn''t certain if she had seen that one turn up before. And intelligence and wisdom were fairly ¡°normal¡±, as things went; so probably magic. But she''d chosen warrior. Well, whatever this was, cross-class choices had to be a thing, right? And she didn''t want to get hit. Thief.
Please select your ancestry Detail
Farmer''s Line The lineage of a simple farmer from the days of Old Haven +1 Strength, +1 Constitution, +1 Wisdom, -1 Intelligence, -1 Agility, -1 Perception
Bluebrim''s Line The lineage of the Biomancer Ferran Bluebrim, who singlehandled fed the armies of Old Haven during the First Sundering +1 Strength, +2 Constitution, +3 Wisdom, -1 Intelligence, -2 Agility, -3 Perception
Scholar''s Line The lineage of a simple scholar from the days of Old Haven +1 Constitution, +1 Wisdom, +1 Intelligence, -1 Agility, -1 Perception, -1 Strength
Fiern''s Line The lineage of Seam Fiern, who is credited with identifying the source of The Sundering +1 Constitution, +2 Wisdom, +3 Intelligence, -1 Agility, -2 Perception, -3 Strength
Merchant''s Line The lineage of a simple merchant from the days of Old Haven +1 Wisdom, +1 Intelligence, +1 Agility, -1 Perception, -1 Strength, -1 Constitution
Tegrile''s Line The lineage of Leone Tegrile, who converted his mansion into a flying fortress - First Citadel, although it has crashed three times since and little resembles its original form - and his collection of rare artifacts into a magical arsenal. +1 Wisdom, +2 Intelligence, +3 Agility, -1 Perception, -2 Strength, -3 Constitution
Thieftaker''s Line The lineage of a simple thief-taker from the days of Old Haven +1 Intelligence, +1 Agility, +1 Perception, -1 Strength, -1 Constitution, -1 Wisdom
Heunchmenn''s Line The lineage of Lenne Heunchmenn, whose corps of thieftakers, remnants of six dozen different corps devastated by The Sundering, patrolled the streets even during the war, taking heavy casualties but keeping the city intact. +1 Intelligence, +2 Agility, +3 Perception, -1 Strength, -2 Constitution, -3 Wisdom
Mariner''s Line The lineage of a simple mariner from the days of Old Haven +1 Agility, +1 Perception, +1 Strength, -1 Constitution, -1 Wisdom, -1 Intelligence
Vexbeard''s Line The lineage of the captain Sern Vexbeard, whose ship, sole survivor of the raids on the ports during The Sundering, held off six dozen behemoth off-worlders for the six days it took for reinforcements to arrive +1 Agility, +2 Perception, +3 Strength, -1 Constitution, -2 Wisdom, -3 Intelligence
Smith''s Line The lineage of a simple smith from the days of Old Haven +1 Perception, +1 Strength, +1 Constitution, -1 Wisdom, -1 Intelligence, -1 Agility
Tongesh''s Line The lineage of the enchanter Irem Tongesh, who forged and enchanted the armaments of the First Company, who first turned back the invasion of The Breach +1 Perception, +2 Strength, +3 Constitution, -1 Wisdom, -2 Intelligence, -3 Agility
More statistics. She considered the pattern for a second, and frowned. So the total stats would always be zero. Additionally, there was some asymmetry to the choices provided. Hm. She didn''t know this game; was min-maxing the way to go? Well, if this was a dream ¡­ this had to be a dream ¡­ it didn''t matter too much. She wanted to penalize strength, intelligence, and wisdom, and boost constitution, agility, and perception, but that didn''t seem to be an option. How bad would -4 constitution be? Probably pretty bad. But ¡­ well, whatever this game was, might as well be great at something, and terrible at something, rather than trying to be decent at everything. Tegrile.
Please select your quest Detail
Destiny The world has a destiny in mind for you, and you must pursue any means to fulfill it.
Repayment of Debt You must repay a debt, whether to an individual, to society, or to the gods.
Hero Complex You must help others, and will seek to help anybody in need.
Guardian You must protect the innocent, defend the harmless, fight the power.
Find Purpose You are motivated primarily by a lack of motivation, and are seeking to find a purpose in life.
Greed You are motivated primarily by a desire to acquire more of something - money is the typical target.
Justice You have an overwhelming desire to visit Justice upon the wicked.
Power Your objective is to attain power - but even becoming emperor of all creation won''t satisfy this drive.
Chaos You seek to disrupt order and introduce a little bit of chaos into the world.
Overcoming Failure You are haunted by a great past failure, which you seek to overcome and/or rectify.
Honor You are defined by your sense of honor.
Spreading Joy You just want to make everybody happy.
Glory You are haunted by the desire to attain ever-greater glory - it isn''t enough to die in battle, unless you do so strangling a dragon to death a mile above the ground to plummet to a fiery - but glorious - death.
Collector You must complete a collection. Stamps, the heads of the enemies, kingdoms...
Entertainment You just have to entertain everybody, all of the time.
The Buddha You have no motivation, nor does you feel the need to acquire one.
Overcoming Weakness You must overcome a weakness of body or spirit.
Vengeance You need to visit vengeance upon an enemy, or perhaps a kingdom, or perhaps the world or the gods themselves.
Utopian You seek to make the world Perfect.
Return Home You just want to get Home.
Okay. Character stuff. Madelaine scanned the list quickly. Then scanned it again, a little less quickly. These all sounded a little terrible. Guardian seemed to least bad.
What is your greatest value? Detail
Money Whoever has the most money when they die, wins.
Honor Honor isn''t a way of living life, it is the way of living life.
Home Home is where the heart is, and also where you stash your loot. Treat it well.
Self Selfishness is only a fault when you do it wrong.
Mind You have one tool, one weapon, that is always at your disposal - hone it well.
Body You have but one canvas to paint with yourself, paint a masterpiece.
Soul You have but one soul, treat it well.
Victory The point of living is to win. Winning -is- living well.
Logic The only correct decision is the provably correct decision.
Loyalty Friends, family, and fine spirits, these are what make a life grand.
Friendship Live alone, die alone; live together, instead.
Love Whatever you achieve is meaningless if you can''t share that achievement with somebody.
Freedom Liberty -is- life, anything else is to be mere machinery.
Patriotism For one''s nation, for one''s people, for glory.
Knowledge Acquire all the knowledge, acquire all the power.
Order A well-ordered life, a well-ordered universe.
Inebriation Better living through chemistry.
Faith Be true to yourself, be true to what you know, that is the heart of faith.
Abstinence Restraint is what separates man from beast.
Excess What''s the point of life if you aren''t living it?
Pfft. Mind. Obviously.
Choose two characteristics Detail
Lust You can figure this one out yourself.
Pride A Prideful character is unlikely to engage in acts they consider beneath themselves; this can avert catostrophe in some situations, but in others may prevent that character from doing what is necessary.
Sloth A Slothful character will generally prefer to do nothing over doing something, or to do less rather than more.
Wrath A Wrathful character is prone to flashes of great rage, and may overreact to simple provocation - but may be the only character willing to rise to the occasion when the occasion merits it.
Gluttony A Gluttonous character is one prone to excess - not necessarily of food, but to any of the pleasures of life.
Loyal A Loyal character is unlikely to stray from their friends - whether or not their friends deserve to be strayed from or not.
Honorable An Honorable character sticks by their own brand of ethics, even - or perhaps particularly - when those ethics handicap them.
Ambition An Ambitious character is always seeking to improve their lot in life, sometimes to the detriment of others.
Perseverent A Perseverent character is less likely to give up, even when giving up is the right thing to do
Diligence A Diligent character dots every i and crosses every t - which can delay necessary action, or ensure that that action goes according to plan.
Honesty An Honest character is disinclined to be untruthful, even when the truth is harmful.
Passion A Passionate character is inclined to brash action and enthusiastic responses.
Mirth A Mirthful character is disinclined to take anything too seriously.
Valor A Valorous character is inclined to rush in, in spite of any danger a situation may pose, and whatever wisdom might say.
Stoicism A Stoic character doesn''t take anything too personally, or respond strongly to any particular situation; a Stoic tries to stay in control of him or herself at all times.
Devotion A Devoted character pursues their values to extremes.
Humility A Humble character doesn''t think too highly of themselves - and perhaps doesn''t think highly enough of themselves.
Resourceful A Resourceful character is always looking for the advantage in a situation.
Prudence A Prudent character is inclined to wait for more information before taking any action, perhaps delaying action until it is too late.
Peacefulness A Peaceful character is disinclined to engage in violence until it becomes absolutely necessary.
These were ¡­ what kind of game was this? She was eleven, for crying out loud. She was pretty sure the first choice implied something about what kind of game she was about to play, particularly its placement as the first option. And these all sounded ¡­ kind of terrible. She had to pick two? Sloth for sure; everybody thought about sloth entirely incorrectly. The modern world was built upon sloth; do less work to achieve the same results. Sloth wasn''t about not doing work ¨C it was about doing the right work, so you could do as little as possible.
Trait: Sloth satisfied. You have accepted your nature as a slothful person, and then moved beyond it. You have earned ten customization points. You''ve reached class level 3!
What? Wait ¡­ Madelaine stared at the message until it faded away. So ¡­ okay. She looked back at the list. What else would be easy to ¡°Move beyond¡±? And there it was. Honesty. Telling the tru-
Avatar creation complete. Please stand by.
She blinked, then continued the thought. Telling the truth was important. It was about staying true to who you were as a person; lies weren''t something you did for your own benefit, but something you did at your own cost, at the cost of yourself, for the benefit of those who couldn''t bear to hear the truth.
Trait: Honesty satisfied. You have accepted your nature as an honest person. You have earned five customization points. You''ve reached class level 4!
Both messages faded before she could finish working through the thought. Ch 24. Introductions Madelaine blinked into the darkness. A blue screen appeared, again.
Madelaine Tegrile Accursed Wanderer
Level 4 0 Misfortunes / 3 Fortunes 1 Curses / 0 Blessings
20/20 Health 5/5 Mana 6/6 Stamina
2 Distinctions Available 46 Skill Points Available 25 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution Intelligence
-4 -5 2
-3 Melee Damage Bonus 20 Maximum Health 33 Additional Skill Points
-1 Maximum Worn Armor -4 Damage Reduction 4 Maximum Stamina Points
-3 Deflection * 6 Base Armor 2 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
1 5 1
2 Lores 6 Bonus Targeting 1 Reaction Time
2 Arcane Resistance 6 Evasion 3 Stamina Regeneration
5 Mana * 30 Movement * 2 Missile Range Bonus *
She stared at the ¡­ statistics screen. That was ¡­ a lot.
Class Distinction: Accursed Special: You randomly get one of three available Distinctions for this class on each level. Use of a Fortune permits rerolling; use of a Blessing permits specification.
Class Distinction: Lucky Streak You begin with 3 Fortunes and 1 Curse; you may gain 3 Fortunes and 1 Curse once per day
Okay ... ?
Fated Distinction: Dance of Death You recover one additional Stamina per turn, and your maximum Stamina is increased by 1
Fated Distinction: Spell School: Illusion If you have at least 1 Stamina, and adding 2 to any form of Defense would result in a successful Defense, spend 1 Stamina to increase that Defense by 2
She''d barely had time to read these before another screen popped up, then another.
Cursed!
Fated Distinction: Dance of Death You recover one additional Stamina per turn, and your maximum Stamina is increased by 1
Fated Distinction: Armor Expertise: Heavy When wearing Heavy Armor, you may spend 1 Stamina to apply your full Deflection Bonus to your AC until the beginning of your next turn; +1 to Strength
So ¡­ she''d lost the ability to learn Illusion magic, and been given ¡­ what, an extra bonus to wearing heavy armor? That ¡­ oh. That wasn''t what she wanted to do at all. That was a bit of a curse, wasn''t it? The blue screen flickered for a moment, then expanded
Class Distinction: Accursed Special: You randomly get one of three available Distinctions for this class on each level. Use of a Fortune permits rerolling; use of a Blessing permits specification.
Class Distinction: Lucky Streak You begin with 3 Fortunes and 1 Curse; you may gain 3 Fortunes and 1 Curse once per day
Class Distinction: Fate''s Hand Randomly receive two distinctions from the Distinction list
Class Distinction: Flippancy Opponents striking you get +2 Imprecision, +1 Precision
Class Distinction: Pessimistic You get -4 maximum MP, and +10 maximum HP
Fated Distinction: Dance of Death You recover one additional Stamina per turn, and your maximum Stamina is increased by 1
Fated Distinction: Armor Expertise: Heavy When wearing Heavy Armor, you may spend 1 Stamina to apply your full Deflection Bonus to your AC until the beginning of your next turn; +1 to Strength
And then this screen vanished again, revealing the original statistics screen behind it. Updated, maybe?
Madelaine Tegrile Accursed Wanderer
Level 4 0 Misfortunes / 3 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
30/30 Health 1/1 Mana 6/6 Stamina
2 Distinctions Available 46 Skill Points Available 25 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution Intelligence
-3 -5 2
-2 Melee Damage Bonus 20 Maximum Health 33 Additional Skill Points
0 Maximum Worn Armor -4 Damage Reduction 4 Maximum Stamina Points
-2 Deflection * 6 Base Armor 2 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
1 5 1
2 Lores 6 Bonus Targeting 1 Reaction Time
2 Arcane Resistance 6 Evasion Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. 3 Stamina Regeneration
5 Mana * 30 Movement * 2 Missile Range Bonus *
Alright. What did the - a blinding blue, filling her brain with excruciating pain. The blue flickered, faded into black. She must have woken up some time later. Immediate pain. Strange pain. Alien pain. She found herself flailing, then reached for her face ¨C her glasses were gone! - and had to stop herself from clawing at her eyes. Lores. Just pick something.
Lore: Breaking Your knowledge of the practical applications of reductionist theory, and the risks involved in the misapplication of reductionist dichotomies - that is to say, the art of hitting things, and breaking the thing you''re hitting instead of the thing you''re hitting them with. +2 to Discipline when attempting to break mundane objects You know the difficulty involved in breaking mundane objects
Lore: Volcanoes Your knowledge of the desert, the magma, the lava, the world of the ever-burning embers, and the memories of dried-up husks of those who thought they, too, knew the land they traversed. +2 to Endurance when navigating extremely hot environments You know the difficulty involved to go without injury in a given hot environment
The pain immediately faded as the list collapsed into the two lores she''d chosen. She breathed heavily, clutching at her head. That had hurt. That had hurt in ways she hadn''t even known she could hurt. This couldn''t be contact lenses. Contact lenses didn''t ¡­ rip your vision open like that, make you see more than you could see. She felt a panic attack coming on, and forced herself to breath steadily. This had to be a dream, right?
Inserting avatar. Please stand by.
The unending blackness lit up in a blinding flash of light, followed by ¡­ a slightly brighter darkness. She was somewhat startled to discover she was laying down, her orientation taking a moment to catch up with her, and she sat up, looking around. It was ¡­ weird and blurry. She pulled her glasses off ¨C and wasn''t sure if she was surprised to find them there or not ¨C but was halfway to trying to clean them on her pajamas in the dim light when she realized that she ¡­ could see without them. Madelaine looked up again, and around. And the light was dim ¡­ but she could still see. And smell ¨C it smelled like her grandparent''s vacation house, a sweet kind of wooden rot smell. Light filtered in through cracks in the walls and ceiling around them, and she was sitting up, surrounded by ¡­ bodies in various states of dress. Mostly older. Someone else was sitting up next to her, the figure grabbing its head, and groaning. An older boy ¨C maybe a high schooler? He was ¡­ in shadows. In shadows where nobody else was. Others were stirring, roused by the motion and sound, and then a girl screamed, and then everything turned into shouting, angry shouting, and ¨C and then there was motion, and something sprayed across her, and Madelaine stared down at the hot, sticky ¡­ that was blood? Time just kind of crumpled, then, like a train hitting a mountain face at full speed. There was an arm on the ground next to her. Not attached to anybody. Somebody grabbed her. There was screaming, there was shouting. She was in motion. An old man, completely naked, swung a sword at a woman dressed like someone from a ren faire. The sword exploded; so did the woman. There were bodies ¨C a girl not much older than her, also naked, lay on the ground, staring blankly upward. Madelaine only saw the feathers sticking out of her neck. The older boy was dragging her ¨C he was still in shadow, no matter how he moved. An explosion of light, of fire. People screamed. It all happened so slowly. It all happened at once. And none of it happened in any particular order. And then the boy was dragging her through a field of grass. In the sun, he was still in shadow, in darkness. The world stopped spinning. She was panting. Madelaine could barely find breath. They were underneath a bridge, there was water trickling by their feet. The boy lay on his back in the sand. Still in shadow, wrapped in shadow, like he was wearing it. Her eyes couldn''t focus on that properly, and she looked at his face, trying to find something to ¡­ what was going on? What was happening? He was pale, pimply, freckled, and gangly, with a buzz-cut; a ginger. From his neck up, she could see him. From his wrists and ankles down. He didn''t have shoes on. Everything between was like ¡­ looking into darkness. It was ¡­ disconcerting. She slowly gathered her wits about herself, looking up at the wooden planks of the bridge over her, at the light on either side. Okay. Weird shadow ginger. Those ¡­ those people had been dead. The girl had been naked. That girl had died naked. That horrified her more than either alone could have; it was ¡­ it was terrible. To be stripped of dignity and life together. She found herself thinking of the way she''d felt as a child when told that she shouldn''t stop to get dressed if her house was on fire; that it was more important to get outside, than to get dressed. The girl''s blank eyes. No. No this wasn''t real. This ¡­ this wasn''t a dream, it was a nightmare. She curled up in a ball in the dirt. Footsteps thumped overhead. She didn''t cry out. She didn''t whimper. A hand touched her back, and she nearly screamed. It was the ginger boy. He looked ¡­ terrified. His eyes kept darting between hers, and up to the footsteps. The footsteps crossed the bridge. They both lay in the dirt. Night fell. She wasn''t sure if she had moved at all; her mind just kept replaying the nightmare scene in the ¡­ in the building. The shouts. The unintelligible rage. The blood. Her pajamas had blood on them. Maybe the girl''s blood. Maybe the blood of whoever had lost an arm. The old man. The others. The boy moved. He leaned around the bridge, looking out, then up. She watched him move, numb. A remote series of thoughts; he might get killed. Somebody might see him, and kill him. If they killed him, they''d look to see who else was under the bridge, and come and kill her too. Would the pajamas really matter, if there were arrows in her neck? He disappeared from sight. From what sight she had of him in the first place. Weird shadow ¡­ magic. Obviously magic. But magic wasn''t real, just like Santa Clause wasn''t real. Who ¡­ who was Santa Clause? She froze. She remembered ¡­ she remembered being angry that he wasn''t real. Who was he? Why did it matter whether he was real? Santa. Saint. The thought ¡­ didn''t go anywhere. Madelaine sat up, the shock of the void bringing her back to herself, a little bit. Santa Clause. Wasn''t real. Santa meant saint. Saint meant ¡­ a good person. To somebody. To somebody ¡­ to somebody else. It meant you ¡­ had done good, hard work. But it ¡­ didn''t mean that. That''s just ¡­ she shook her head. Not. Helpful. She moved to crawl to the edge of the underneath of the bridge. And then dashed forward at a sudden noise behind her, thoughts filled with horrifying images. A shout, then the boy grabbed her and ran even faster. She kicked for a second longer, and then her new orientation showed her ¡­ holy shit that was an alligator. Only alligators weren''t that goddamned big. And they had just been laying there a few feet from the water. Madelaine''s eyes dropped to the ground beneath her, and then up again. The alligator was falling behind. The boy was running way fast. ¡°Hey. I''m Elijah.¡± ¡°Madelaine.¡± She wrapped her arms around herself. They had stopped again, the boy out of breath. This time on the side of a small hill, just above the muddy little spot at the low spot between it and the next. ¡°What''s going on, Elijah?¡± ¡°I don''t know, Madelaine. I went to bed, and then woke up, and then those, those other people, some of them died.¡± He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. And then stopped, and lifted an arm, turning it slowly back and forth. His eyes drifted down over himself. ¡°I ¡­ uh. Huh.¡± Madelaine just watched him. ¡°This doesn''t look like ¡­ video games don''t ¡­ ¡± She nodded slowly, as Elijah started going through thoughts she''d already passed. Okay. He didn''t know any more than she did. ¡°I don''t think it''s a video game. The lore ¡­ screen ¡­ hurt. I saw more, uh, I saw ¡­ ¡± She lapsed into uncomfortable silence as she tried to figure out how to convey the experience of seeing more than she could see. Elijah, however, nodded slowly. ¡°You''re right. Do you ¡­ do you remember your parents'' names?¡± Madelaine froze. Her mother was dead, her father was named ¡­ was named ¡­ he looked like ¡­ ¡°I ¡­ I don''t.¡± Elijah looked down from his arm. He looked terrified. Madelaine found his fear ¡­ reassuring, somehow. She found herself mentally moving back from a chasm. Okay. She could do this. She was smart, she was ¡­ she blinked. Okay. She could do this. ¡°What level are you, Elijah?¡± ¡°Level? Oh. Uh. One.¡± ¡°What''s your class?¡± ¡°Selenomancer.¡± ¡°Alright. What ¡­ what traits did you pick? The ¡­ sins, and virtues?¡± ¡°Honor. Valor. They seemed ¡­ I don''t know, they seemed heroic.¡± Okay. Actually, first. Madelaine concentrated. Honesty. It was important to be honest. It was important to be true to yourself. Lies were for other people; to lie was to give a part of yourself away, to stop being yourself, for the benefit of somebody else. But ¨C honesty began with the idea of being your consistent self. To be honest with somebody was to share yourself with them. And you didn''t owe yourself to everybody. It wasn''t about subverting yourself, it wasn''t about putting on a mask; it was about realizing that you yourself were valuable.
Trait: Honesty satisfied. You have accepted your nature as an honest person, and then moved beyond it. You have earned five customization points. You''ve reached class level 5! You''ve reached path level 2!
Class Distinction: Stubborn You get -2 Wisdom, and +6 Spell Resistance
She stared at the option. She could use Fortune, right?
Class Distinction: Absent-Minded You get +2 Wisdom, and -2 Spell Resistance
That was ¡­ better. No. Fortune.
Class Distinction: Stubborn You get -2 Wisdom, and +6 Spell Resistance
Damn it. No. Fortune. There was a third option.
Class Distinction: Fate''s Hand Randomly receive two distinctions from the Distinction list
Oh. Oh! Was that always an option?
Class Distinction: Accursed Special: You randomly get one of three available Distinctions for this class on each level. Use of a Fortune permits rerolling; use of a Blessing permits specification.
Class Distinction: Lucky Streak You begin with 3 Fortunes and 1 Curse; you may gain 3 Fortunes and 1 Curse once per day
Class Distinction: Fate''s Hand Randomly receive two distinctions from the Distinction list
Class Distinction: Flippancy Opponents striking you get +2 Imprecision, +1 Precision
Class Distinction: Pessimistic You get -4 maximum MP, and +10 maximum HP
Class Distinction: Fate''s Hand Randomly receive two distinctions from the Distinction list
Class Path Distinction: Free Will You may reroll for your Distinction once per level
Fated Distinction: Dance of Death You recover one additional Stamina per turn, and your maximum Stamina is increased by 1
Fated Distinction: Armor Expertise: Heavy When wearing Heavy Armor, you may spend 1 Stamina to apply your full Deflection Bonus to your AC until the beginning of your next turn; +1 to Strength
Fated Distinction: Weapon Expertise: Sword +2 Targeting when attacking with a one-handed slashing sword. When an opponent moves adjacent to you, you will spend 1 Stamina to immediately Attack them.
Fated Distinction: Weapon Expertise: Rapier +1 Armor while wielding a rapier, epee, or similar fencing weapon. +1 Precision when attacking with a rapier/epee.
She blinked at what she got. Oh. Uh. Okay. That was ¡­ worse. Maybe. Okay, don''t cry, just move on with things. She returned her attention to Elijah. ¡°Okay. So. Think about ¡­ ¡± She paused. It was probably more personal than that; she probably couldn''t just tell him what honor should be to him. Plus, she''d never actually sat and thought about honor, or valor. Laziness, however, she''d thought a lot about, as she''d never had to work as hard as any of the other students in ¡­ in school. And honesty had been very important to her father, but dealing with the other girls in school had quickly taught her that, as smart as ¡­ she shook her head. No crying. Move on. ¡°Think about?¡± ¡°You need to ¡­ you need to come to terms with what valor and honor mean to you. You need to understand why they are important. But you also need to learn to move beyond them. Like, I chose sloth, because I think laziness is something that gets a lot of undeserved disrespect, when really industrial society is the culmination of laziness.¡± Elijah''s expression shifted, somewhat, and he stared at her. ¡°How old are you?¡± ¡°Eleven.¡± ¡°Huh. Uh. Alright.¡± He shook his head, then shook it again. ¡°Okay. Why do I need to do those things?¡± ¡°You''ll level up.¡± ¡°Riight.¡± And then he paused again, looking at his arms, then down at his body. He moved to try to pluck at the shadow cast over him, like ¡­ clothing. The shadow didn''t move. He kept trying to pluck at it. ¡°You''re level 1. I''m level 5. I have no idea what that means, and ¡­ ¡± she stopped herself short of finishing ¡°we''ll probably die anyways.¡± It wasn''t ¡­ her voice. It felt out of place and alien. She was flippant and pessimistic, was she? With a thought, the list of distinctions came up again. It didn''t ¡­ oh. Free Will. Could she ¡­ just once. Could she Free Will her way out of the Sword expertise?
Class Distinction: Accursed Special: You randomly get one of three available Distinctions for this class on each level. Use of a Fortune permits rerolling; use of a Blessing permits specification.
Class Distinction: Lucky Streak You begin with 3 Fortunes and 1 Curse; you may gain 3 Fortunes and 1 Curse once per day
Class Distinction: Fate''s Hand Randomly receive two distinctions from the Distinction list
Class Distinction: Flippancy Opponents striking you get +2 Imprecision, +1 Precision
Class Distinction: Pessimistic You get -4 maximum MP, and +10 maximum HP
Class Distinction: Fate''s Hand Randomly receive two distinctions from the Distinction list
Class Path Distinction: Free Will You may reroll for your Distinction once per level
Fated Distinction: Dance of Death You recover one additional Stamina per turn, and your maximum Stamina is increased by 1
Fated Distinction: Armor Expertise: Heavy When wearing Heavy Armor, you may spend 1 Stamina to apply your full Deflection Bonus to your AC until the beginning of your next turn; +1 to Strength
Fated Distinction: Weapon Expertise: Rapier +1 Armor while wielding a rapier, epee, or similar fencing weapon. +1 Precision when attacking with a rapier/epee.
Fated Distinction: Spell School: Necromancy You may learn and cast spells of the Necromancy school of magic. +2 to Maximum MP
What. Ch 25. Dual Thomas stumbled backwards, chest sprouting another shallow cut, but was caught by a steadying hand from behind; an arrow flashed past him, embedding itself into a compound eye. There was a horrendous shriek, and the spindly creature thrashed wildly. Anne was engaged with another of the creatures, the thump of steel on chitin beating out the rhythm of her motion as she stepped forward and backwards. Thomas couldn''t spare so much as a glance to see how her fight was going before the oversized stickbug in front of him swung a bladed arm at his face. He caught the blade on his own bare arm, blood splashing backwards into his eyes. A lunge into the creature, body-checking it into the wall behind, even as he triggered Inhuman Size. There was an unpleasant crunching noise, and then another of the creatures hit him from the side. The impact spun him around, and he let himself move. Thomas added momentum to the spin the collision had put him in, and came back around, clamping his hands together to hammer the offending insect in the head, now waist-high. The head exploded. He glanced to the side at motion; glowing, translucent liquid sprayed from nowhere across the abdomen of another of the bugs with a hiss, followed by an alien screech of pain. Thomas couldn''t see Norris, but he must be somewhere in the area. Arias'' bow was slung, and her rapier was out, fending off two more. A mild pain lashed across his thighs, and he kicked his way through the cat-sized beetles which covered the floor, reaching down to snatch one off of his leg and hurl it at one of the bugs Arias was facing. Anne took another, Thomas'' gaze flicking to the ¡­ quite impressive pile of insect ¡­ corpses? Bodies? Pieces. They were certainly pieces, now. He found himself staring at the beige ichor splattered on the wall. It dribbled down slowly, puddling on the floor. Nothing that came out of a living thing should be that color. Splattered on the horrible pale red ¨C he still couldn''t decide if it qualified as pink ¨C wall created a stomach-turning smear of horrible colors. He pulled up his status screen, and looked at his health. He''d lost seven health. Exactly the minimum amount necessary to actually harm him. Only one attack had actually managed to damage him, and it had barely scraped by. Thomas looked back at the beige goo on the wall, and down at the goo covering his hands, where he''d smashed an insect head just a few seconds prior. They continued to bite at him, but now that he paid attention, the pain was more like a mild pinch than anything else. These things basically couldn''t hurt him. And they couldn''t actually touch any of the others; looking around, now that he wasn''t stressed and anxious, a careful search discovered the man, who had somehow managed to climb on top of the door, which had swung in, and was entirely out of reach as he rained spells down on them. Nothing flashy like the acid he''d opened with; tiny flickers of light now flew one at a time from him, systematically eliminating the bugs. Arias was collecting beetles on the end of her rapier, two or three at a time, before flicking them off of the blade. Anne stood beside her, and was now using her torch to beat the bugs to death, her sword held off to the side. He found he had to force himself to continue smashing the bugs continuing to crawl out of a hole in the floor. He moved to the edge and just started kicking them back down; it was less ¡­ horrible, that way. After a few more seconds, the others joined him in surrounding the hole, without a word. The sudden realization that the insects weren''t remotely a threat to any of them turned the task of fighting them from an adrenaline-fueled rampage, into just ¡­ grisly, disgusting work. Anne set her torch next to the pit, and pulled two strips of cloth from a bag. One went to Arias, and both women proceeded to start cleaning the viscous beige insect fluids off of their weapons. Thomas got a sympathetic look. He glanced down at himself. He was covered in blood, goop, and he''d ruined another belt by failing to unbuckle it prior to using Inhuman Size. He sighed and pulled it off, tossing the ruined garment into the pit, and took one of his equipment tokens out; a new belt formed from it in his hands, and he slipped it on as he shifted back to his regular, ¡°human¡± size. That had been Anne''s idea, after he''d signed up. Get clothes sized for him when he was big. It made his clothing oversized, otherwise, but a tailor had fashioned four sets of the clothes; a kilt, with belt loops on both the top and the bottom. It was twice too long in his human form, but, slipping the belt through the loops and doubling it up, it was instead merely very, very baggy. After he threw much of his shirt over his shoulder, it formed something like a cape. It wasn''t the height of fashion, but it was practical and decent. And he''d probably just ruined one of the sets, and clothing was insanely expensive relative to expectations his memories couldn''t quite justify, largely because he couldn''t remember much of anything prior to his life here. He had memories of memories, now; he remembered remembering that he owed his roommate money. Thomas'' kicks became increasingly despondent. What had he expected dungeon delving to be like? It was slow, tedious, and the terror and excitement had lasted only a few seconds before turning once again into a new kind of terrible. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Madelaine found herself laughing wildly under her breath, feeling a giddy sort of energy that had absolutely nothing to do with finding the situation humorous. Two animal skeletons, bones not remotely a pleasant and cartoonish white, still sporting ¡­ bits ¡­ and ¡­ pieces, clawed relentlessly at the screaming man. Elijah knelt, pinning a woman''s arms with his knees while he strangled her. He''d stopped shouting. The process was taking far longer than ¡­ stories ¡­ stories? Far longer than Madelaine somehow thought it should. The woman''s face was changing colors, and her eyes were bulging. She was exhausted before she managed to stop laughing, her chest and stomach aching. And the two were still alive, for at least a few moments more. The man''s screams turned to gurgles, and then finally ceased, not long before the woman went limp. Elijah slumped off of her onto the ground, beginning to sob. Madelaine considered, and then moved to the woman and slit her throat for good measure. The man was definitely dead. Madelaine then moved to the fifth body in the clearing, checking for a pulse. There wasn''t much point. The boy, not much older than her, had a good dozen arrows in him, tied naked to a pole. She didn''t want to know whether he''d been alive. She guessed so; he was tied too thoroughly, and most of the arrows looked to her admittedly inexpert eye to have been deliberately non-lethal. She looked around, feeling ¡­ she wasn''t sure. Elijah was still curled up in a ball, sobbing. She watched him. Shouldn''t she be feeling ¡­ that? She just felt ¡­ tired, now. Her attention drifted to the skeletons. An alligator ¨C not nearly as large as the one which had chased them from the bridge. And a little deer, except with scary-looking teeth and tusks. Elijah had managed to sneak them up on the deer as it ate the alligator''s corpse; she''d laid in hiding while it ate, and resurrected one; it had killed the other, and then she had two. It had been terrifying. The ritual to resurrect the alligator had taken minutes, not seconds, hiding, whispering, her brain feeling like it was melting under an onslaught of mathematical nonsense. And then walking out to touch the body, while the scary cute little blood-drenched deer ripped away at flesh while it watched her. It had started growling when she''d touched the body. Started moving. But that was the end of the ritual, and the sudden surge of the skeleton, walking right out of a body that ripped apart around it, seemed to take it by surprise. It had sure taken her by surprise. She still had at least two hours remaining before the skeletons fell apart. The ritual spell lasted four hours. They had been making their way back to look for survivors ¨C Elijah thought he remembered the direction. Judging by what they''d found, they probably had headed in the right direction. Just a little late to find one survivor. She gave Elijah another few minutes, then walked over, and kicked him. ¡°Hey. Get up, keep moving. Don''t let a little girl do better than you.¡± He looked up, shock, then chagrin, then something like humor crossing his face. He wiped his face on his sleeves, pushing himself up. They started walking. He hadn''t stopped crying, but he was walking again, at least. They found the building they had appeared in that morning. It was bad inside. ¡°Is that what a dungeon is?¡± Thomas washed himself from a bucket he''d carefully filled from a river, using a washcloth to try to get his clothes as clean as possible without actually removing them. Anne shrugged, or at least as much as she could, leaning against a rock as she sat in the grass. Arias sat above her on top of the rock, and flashed Thomas a grin he was fairly certain was mocking. ¡°If you mean dirty, small, and foul, filled with empty rooms and traps? That''s pretty normal for a new dungeon, yes. They feed on death, however, and as they mature they turn into something more tempting.¡± Norris didn''t look up from his book to respond. They sat at the entrance to the dungeon ¨C or what had been the entrance. The shack had crumbled to dust as they departed with the heart, a pinkish lump of what looked like quartz. Norris turned the page, and after a few more seconds, lowered the book to glance at the yet-unboiling stewpot, before responding further. ¡°They become a dangerous public nuisance as they mature, attracting young people who don''t know any better and think they can just wander in and find something valuable. There are more than enough for the fools who make a living diving them in the places that cater to that kind of thing. We wipe them out when we find them here; most places do. Enough dangers in the world without baited traps.¡± A pause. ¡°But yes, they''re usually somewhat more exciting and dangerous and less ¡­ that.¡± Thomas considered that, and shrugged, returning to cleaning his clothes. The dungeon hadn''t gotten any worse, danger-wise. But the next wave of attacking creatures looked like ¡­ mammalian centipedes. Flesh tubes that moved by wiggling fleshy protuberances. They weren''t any more dangerous than the bugs, but even more viscerally disturbing to kill. The dungeon boss had been a massive slug. A massive, flammable slug, as Anne noted upon spotting and identifying it. Which had taken a nerve-wracking amount of time to burn to death, all while making a horrible squealing keening noise. It was a paycheck, but ¡­ it wasn''t what he had expected, at all. The others looked tired, and maybe a little put-out, but nothing like the soul-rending exhaustion Thomas felt. This was ¡­ this was a job. This was pest control. They were pest control in a fantasy universe. And it was not a good job. A terrible, horrible job. Which paid better than anything else Thomas could be doing, a skill-less immigrant to a land of abominations. Ch 26. Home Anne knelt by one of the corpses; Thomas kept well back, digging. Those were dead people. He''d seen a lot of death already, but the thought of dead people still made him ill. The shovel was from an equipment token, and it really was just a little bit shitty. It just didn''t work very well, particularly when he was using inhuman size and using it more like a two-handed fork. ¡°Strangled. Then her throat was slit.¡± Her gaze turned to body Thomas was currently digging a grave for, body laying on its side a few yards from him. ¡°For some reason.¡± Thomas had taken one look at the boy, and wasn''t eager for another. The lad had been tortured. ¡°This one isn''t hard to figure.¡± Norris was digging the second grave, using some kind of weird spacial distortion magic to cause dirt to fall up and at an angle in a slow, methodical fountain. Arias had stopped him from looking at that one. He was pretty sure he could smell it, though. ¡°Less than twenty four hours.¡± Arias had moved ahead, following the trail that lead away from the site. Two people, one small; perhaps another child being taken away to be tortured. They hadn''t come here searching for murderers, or torturers. They were supposed to capture a site that a local group of thieves had been using to store their stolen goods. According to a captured member of the circle of thieves. According to Anne. Thomas paused. Debated. Made himself lift the dead boy and place him gently down into the grave, a task made simpler by his size. The body was cold and stiff. The stiffness somehow made it more apparent this was just a body; he had expected the body to be limp, and somehow the stiffness reinforced that this was just a body; whatever had inhabited, no longer did. It felt dumb to treat the bodies with this much respect; their real value was gone. He covered the body with dirt, careful although there was no reason to be, and put up a stake. He began the second hole. Norris was still working on his. The woman went into this one. Anne and Norris ¡­ dealt with the third body. Their group moved on, following Arias'' trailsigns. Thomas moved in a state of mechanical horror through the scene. Anne narrated. ¡°So here we have two animal skeletons, and a body. The body looks to have itself been animated by a raise skeleton spell, judging by the state of the body.¡± Thomas carefully did not judge by the state of the body. ¡°Scratched arms, stabbed in the back. This woman was defending herself from the skeleton when somebody killed her from behind.¡± ¡°This man has blood on his sword. He succeeded at least somewhat in defending himself from his killer.¡± Arias stopped, as they were walking to the next body, and turned, moving quickly towards the barn. Anne was a step behind her; Thomas brought up the rear behind Norris, dashing into the darkness of the building. There were voices. A little girl, wearing a red shirt and plaid pajama bottoms, held in the arms of a teenager, light all weird around him. Pajama bottoms? Like home? He stared in confusion. Voices. The girl was saying something. ¡°Hurtshurtshurtsmakeitstophurts¡± Oh. Oh. Her shirt wasn''t red. Oh shit. Scissors. Cut shirt off. That''s a cut, across chest and shoulder. Deep. Bad. Other hands were beside him; a poulice was applied by expert hands. Wrinkled. Anne''s. Bandages. Blood squirting. Apply pressure, apply bandages, bind. That was a lot of blood. That''s a lot of blood. She''s talking, good. A hand. He looked up, and Anne took him and gently began pulling him away. She was saying something. Pajamas. Home. That was a little girl, from home. This wasn''t a place for little girls. Holy shit this wasn''t ¡­ holy shit. Holy shit. Anne noticed his gaze, and turned. She stiffened at the sight of ¡­ how many bodies was that? All in various states of undress. Dressed in things from home. That body had ¡­ had a watch. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. They''d ¡­ appeared. Like him. They''d appeared here, in ¡­ in a den of thieves. He had appeared in ¡­ was the prison related to the choice of bandit? He had thought so for a while, but had changed his mind. What did bandit even mean, in a world where bandits were some kind of crazy fucked up natural phenomenon? His brain stopped. He was still looking at bodies. So many bodies. Would his shovel last through all of them? It did. The work kept him occupied while Anne, who was far more experienced than he was, tended to the wounded girl. Norris was interrogating the boy. After a few minutes he called Anne over. She talked to them. Then they left him with Arias, and walked over to him, while he moved through the plots adding stakes to each. ¡°Thomas? Did you know these people? Are they from your cult?¡± He looked up, then over at the boy. Well. Didn''t really matter now, did it? They''d believe him or they wouldn''t. ¡°It''s not a cult. I''m not from this ¡­ I''m not from any of these planes. This place is wrong, and alien, and nothing is like it is at home, but I can''t remember home anymore, so I can''t even say what is wrong, only that it is.¡± ¡°Earth?¡± He stopped. That ¡­ was the name of his planet. ¡°Yes. I, uh, I did not remember that.¡± ¡°As far as I can tell, neither did he, a few seconds after he said the name. There''s some kind of ongoing magical effect there. Don''t try to remember anything, it might trigger you to forget. What''s the name of your home?¡± ¡°I ¡­ ¡± Thomas froze. He remembered ¡­ that ¡­ Norris had said ¡­ ¡°Earth. Gods. I can only remember you saying ¡­ saying ¡­ Earth.¡± Thomas shook his head. That was ¡­ terrifying. Okay. No trying to remember things. ¡°We''ll need to see ¡­ I have no idea what that effect could even be. Thaumaturgy, maybe, or Biomancy. Maybe Necromancy.¡± Norris frowned, looking at the graves. ¡°The boy''s description is that they just woke up here, and then the thieves woke up, and found people here, and started killing them. He seems to think he was maybe kidnapped?¡± ¡°What ¡­ profession, did they choose? No, I think I know. They chose ''Thief''.¡± Norris stared at him. ¡°Profession.¡± It was a statement. Thomas didn''t wait, and moved past the confused-looking mage, to approach the boy; Arias watched Thomas approach, her face neutral. ¡°Kid, what profession did you choose, during avatar creation?¡± The boy slowly turned, his eyes widening. ¡°T-thief. It had ¡­ it had the best statistics. Are you ¡­ are you a PC?¡± It took Thomas a moment to interpret that. He ¡­ understood the question, but felt confused about the ¡­ implication that other people weren''t ¡­ weren''t people. Had ¡­ had these two gone on a killing spree thinking that nobody else were ¡­ real people? His brain ached. No, focus. ¡°Everything is real.¡± The boy stared at him for a moment, then in the direction of the bandages, still-whimpering but otherwise apparently unconscious girl, then turned to look at where the dozens of dead bodies had lain. ¡°Y-yeah, I guess ¡­ I guess I already knew that. They started killing us.¡± He looked down, plucking at the ¡­ at the odd ¡­ magical shadow clothing? It didn''t react to his attempts to interact with it. ¡°We ran. A few of them fought back, but we ran. The little black girl went ¡­ went ¡­ ¡± He stopped and swallowed. ¡°Can''t remember. It was offensive anyways. She helped me. We came back to try to help people, found ¡­ found something terrible, and then she started killing them. Then one cut her. It didn''t look bad at first, she didn''t even cry out, she just killed him, and took two steps, and, and, is Madelaine going to be alright?¡± ¡°She will be fine. Anne is good at what she does.¡± They hadn''t known each other. ¡°What did you find?¡± Norris'' voice from behind him replied. ¡°They found what we found earlier. They did in the man and the woman. Took them by surprise. Don''t make the kid repeat any more than he has to, Thomas.¡± Thomas paused, considered that, nodded. Swallowed. ¡°Okay. Sorry, uh. I''m Thomas. What is your name?¡± ¡°Elijah.¡± They shook hands. The teenager''s hand trembled. ¡°Okay. What class did you choose?¡± ¡°Selenomancer. Shadow magic.¡± The boy paused, then blushed. ¡°Some of it only works when I''m naked. Works best that way. Gives me magic shadow clothes.¡± Norris chuckled, behind Thomas. ¡°No enchanted gear. Mind how you dedicate yourself.¡± ¡°He means take distinctions. That''s a dedication.¡± Thomas explained. Elijah''s head slowly nodded. ¡°What did the girl take?¡± ¡°Accursed.¡± A hiss of breath from multiple sources; Thomas looked around at the faces around him, who all turned to look at her. Elijah looked around at them, confused. ¡°Is that bad?¡± ¡°Not bad, just ¡­ challenging.¡± Anne had rejoined them, her face turned towards the girl as she spoke. ¡°You can get lucky. You can get unlucky. It''s a bit like ¡­ randomly choosing your class, every time you ascend.¡± Thomas turned to look at the girl. She was laying on multiple bedrolls, forming a cushion against the hard floor, thinking back to his first few days. Ch 27. Bad Men Waves, lapping at the shore. The sound of seabirds, shrieking at each other over scraps of morsels. The sound wasn''t quite right; it was the grinding of metal metal, a shrieking cacophony. The water bit and chewed at the shore, which writhed in agony, digging away at the core of the world. Relief came in bits and pieces, in the ebbing of the pain as the waves receded, in the steam whistle of a scream escaping a raw throat. The pain was a landscape, intricate in details she had never been aware of before. It hurt. But she didn''t need it to stop hurting; there wasn''t anything but awareness of a pain that transcended suffering; there wasn''t any room in her experience for a need for the pain to stop. It was, and she was. And then it wasn''t, and she took a breath, and the air was cool. She opened her eyes, and there was light, and color, and it was beautiful. Madelaine smiled.
Personal quest complete. You have brought justice to those who killed. You''ve reached class level 6!
Her smile immediately slipped. Right. This. She sat up ¨C her chest was bandaged, and felt ¡­ numb. She remembered pain. Then she had some kind of anaesthetic? Status screen.
Madelaine Tegrile Accursed Wanderer
Level 6 0 Misfortunes / 3 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
4/41 Health 5/5 Mana 6/6 Stamina
2 Distinctions Available 49 Skill Points Available 35 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution Intelligence
-3 -5 2
-2 Melee Damage Bonus 28 Maximum Health 39 Additional Skill Points
0 Maximum Worn Armor -4 Damage Reduction 4 Maximum Stamina Points
-2 Deflection * 6 Base Armor 2 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
1 5 1
2 Lores 6 Bonus Targeting 1 Reaction Time
2 Arcane Resistance 6 Evasion 3 Stamina Regeneration
7 Mana * 30 Movement * 2 Missile Range Bonus *
She considered. Closed it again. Okay. Assuming she died at 0 HP, she''d nearly died there. What had happened? Madelaine remembered ¡­ remembered ¡­ someone had hit her with a sword. A goddamned sword. She''d stabbed ¡­ she''d stabbed them with a sword back. Why did ¡­ where was ¡­ she sat up, breathing heavily. Shit oh shit oh shit she''d killed that guy. A severe-looking gray-haired woman was looking her way. The woman was dressed in baggy brown clothing, and had a quiver and bow. And like a ¡­ a ¡­ a highwayman''s bandoleer. Madelaine frowned mentally. That wasn''t the right word. She was missing words. Later. She''d been hit with a sword. Who was this? Elijah''s voice caught her attention. He''d lived! Flashes of memory, of him struggling with another of the ¡­ bandits? The murderers. Struggling over a knife. His expression, when she''d fallen to the ground, feeling confused and a little alarmed about the amount of blood that was suddenly all over her. Her brain jerked back into the present. The ginger boy had moved over to her. He looked terrible; he''d obviously been crying. ¡°-ake! Madelaine, are you alright?¡± She tried to respond, and found her voice cracking; her throat was so dry. And then she was suddenly overwhelmingly thirsty. The gray haired woman must have seen her hands go to her throat, because a moment later a canteen was gurgling, cold cool delicious water flowing over her tongue. It was good. ¡°Hello, Madelaine. I''m Norris. Is your home on Earth?¡± A thin gangly man, with a narrow face and pointed nose, and curly brown hair. He looked like a nerd. ¡°Yes? Of course?¡± Her voice cracked only a little, but even so, she couldn''t stop the sarcasm. She stopped herself from saying something rude, because you were polite to older folk, even odd ones. Where else ¡­ what? Where ¡­ what? Her home was, her home was ¡­ ¡°What?¡± ¡°Good. Don''t think about it, can you do that for me? You are under the effect of some kind of ongoing magical effect that will erase memories of your home. It may or may not be reversible.¡± Madelaine froze, staring at the man. What, just don''t think about it? And who exactly what that supposed to work for, somebody who just plain didn''t think? If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Hello!¡± Yet another man, younger than most of the rest, except Elijah. Well, he was older than her, but she never really counted herself there. He had shoulder-length brown hair, hanging in ringlets around his face, and was wearing an absolutely ridiculous top and bottom that looked like two comically oversized hair scrunchies. ¡°I''m Thomas. I''m also from home. It''ll be alright, okay?¡± Madelaine stared at him. He was lying. Not the kind of lying-with-a-tell, although that was always super-obvious even though everybody pretended it wasn''t. The other kind, the kind adults always did to children when things definitely were not going to be alright, the kind they said to children because they wished somebody would tell them those lies, because she knew everything wasn''t alright. ¡°Am I going to die?¡± Her voice was calm and flat. ¡°No.¡± This was the older woman, who had a reassuringly severe voice. Older people would tell children the truth. Somehow they remembered being a child better than those who were younger and should remember better. ¡°You''ll be okay. Your friend Elijah here says your name is Madelaine?¡± She nodded, and the woman continued. ¡°Okay. So you aren''t in any trouble, but later, I''m going to have to ask some questions about all the dead people. Do you understand why?¡± ¡°Make sure I''m not crazy.¡± ¡°In one.¡± The woman winked. Then her face turned serious. ¡°Did you know anybody else here?¡± Madelaine had looked. She''d snuck in and looked. Then she''d started killing the bad people. It was easy; they were so fragile. Up until it wasn''t. ¡°No.¡± She hadn''t found the face that she couldn''t remember. She now knew why she couldn''t remember. How did you stop trying to remember? ¡°Okay. We''re going to take you to a place to sleep and rest. You are going to hurt again soon. I''m sorry about that, but it''s bad to keep the pain away too long.¡± The landscape of pain lit up again. She begged for it to stop, for a little while. Then it became everything, and she was the pain, and to stop the pain would be to stop being, and being was so beautiful in its own way. Lucidity came and went. A nightmare and a wonderful dream, an eternal hellish landscape of fire, waves lapping on the shore of self. Status.
Madelaine Tegrile Accursed Wanderer
Level 6 0 Misfortunes / 3 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
24/49 Health 5/5 Mana 6/6 Stamina
2 Distinctions Available 49 Skill Points Available 35 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution Intelligence
-3 -3 2
-2 Melee Damage Bonus 36 Maximum Health 39 Additional Skill Points
0 Maximum Worn Armor -2 Damage Reduction 4 Maximum Stamina Points
-2 Deflection * 6 Base Armor 2 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
1 5 1
2 Lores 6 Bonus Targeting 1 Reaction Time
2 Arcane Resistance 6 Evasion 3 Stamina Regeneration
7 Mana * 30 Movement * 2 Missile Range Bonus *
She''d healed a bit. And the Curse was now gone; she''d traded in for three Fortunes and a Curse, figuring getting the wrong thing on a level-up wouldn''t be that bad. Maybe that sword stroke hadn''t just been bad luck. Oh. Her Constitution had gone up.
You have endured the unendurable. +2 Constitution
Madelaine swiped the message away, which had come up as soon as she''d noticed the change. Whatever. She felt ¡­ better. She sat up again, swung her legs off her bed - and stopped, frowning at the clothes she was wearing. These weren''t her clothes. They were scratchy and brown and they didn''t fit right. Where was ¡­ right. Right. Onwards. The room was dark. And large. Huge, even. Light filtered from a doorway a few feet away from the cot she was sitting on; looking around, she could make out other cots in a row. A primitive hospital, maybe? Her foot brushed something cold and hard, and she leaned down to look. A metal ¡­ ah. A chain, and a ¡­ ball? It wasn''t actually spherical, but it was definitely large. She nudged it with her foot. And heavy. A fantasy prison, with ball and chain and everything. Like in her favorite ¡­ oh. Yeah, that. The next sight jarred her memory a little bit more. A furry lion-faced man was looking at her. Next to him was the older woman, and the doofy brown-haired guy with the scrunchy clothes. Madelaine looked at the older woman and the doofy guy, then back at the lion man, and asked the first question that came to her mind. ¡°Are you a king?¡± The lion-man jerked back, staring at her for a long time, then looked at doofy ¨C Thomas ¨C she found herself mentally correcting herself, and ¡­ Madelaine needed to ask the older lady her name. ¡°I ¡­ no. No, I am not a king.¡± The lion-man looked distinctly uncomfortable. ¡°I am Balier Mersin, and the correct title is mayor.¡± ¡°No, you''re a king. Lions are kings.¡± ¡°I''m ¡­ ¡± again, the lion-man looked at the other two, attention settling on the older woman, who looked somewhat amused. ¡°Anne?¡± So that was her name. ¡°Madelaine. We need you to tell us what happened.¡± Madelaine looked down. ¡°We have the general gist of it from Elijah, there''s just a few things we need to clear up. Did you summon skeletons?¡± Everybody looked very serious at that question. ¡°Yeah. It was gross.¡± It had been that. ¡°But I wanted to try to help people, and I got so angry and ¡­ and cold. I was so angry and cold and I wanted the bad people to not hurt anyone ever again.¡± ¡°Okay. Do you have any other Necromancy spells?¡± Madelaine didn''t pull up the list. ¡°No.¡± She hadn''t. There were more questions. She gave a mental nudge, to look at her distinctions, reminded of something.
Class Distinction: Accursed Special: You randomly get one of three available Distinctions for this class on each level. Use of a Fortune permits rerolling; use of a Blessing permits specification.
Class Distinction: Lucky Streak You begin with 3 Fortunes and 1 Curse; you may gain 3 Fortunes and 1 Curse once per day
Class Distinction: Fate''s Hand Randomly receive two distinctions from the Distinction list
Class Distinction: Flippancy Opponents striking you get +2 Imprecision, +1 Precision
Class Distinction: Pessimistic You get -4 maximum MP, and +10 maximum HP
Class Distinction: Fate''s Hand Randomly receive two distinctions from the Distinction list
Class Distinction: Precise +1 Imprecision, +2 Precision
Class Path Distinction: Free Will You may reroll for your Distinction once per level
Fated Distinction: Dance of Death You recover one additional Stamina per turn, and your maximum Stamina is increased by 1
Fated Distinction: Armor Expertise: Heavy When wearing Heavy Armor, you may spend 1 Stamina to apply your full Deflection Bonus to your AC until the beginning of your next turn; +1 to Strength
Fated Distinction: Weapon Expertise: Rapier +1 Armor while wielding a rapier, epee, or similar fencing weapon. +1 Precision when attacking with a rapier/epee.
Fated Distinction: Spell School: Necromancy You may learn and cast spells of the Necromancy school of magic. +2 to Maximum MP
Distinction: Blood Magic You may expend Health instead of Mana to cast spells; the Health cost is 3x the mana cost of the spell. +3 to Maximum HP.
Blood magic. She''d used a Distinction, when her skeletons had fallen apart, and she''d needed another. It had hurt. It had hurt so badly. But the bad men were gone. Madelaine started kicking into the air, when Anne paused her questions to confer with the other two. The bad men were gone, and she was okay, and Elijah was okay. Ch 28. Planning ¡°Constitution is important.¡± The brown-haired man, Thomas, was talking at an audience of two, leaving Madelaine wishing she had ¡­ something in her hand to distract herself with. Elijah seemed to be sitting attentively, however, and the other three adults weren''t actually the target of his largely one-sided conversation. ¡°I''ve nearly died here. More than once.¡± He looked at Madelaine, his face pinching tight. Adults. Madelaine waved her hand at him. ¡°Constitution is important if you get hit. You should be trying not to get hit in the first place, tank-boy.¡± Thomas looked at her, then at Elijah. ¡°You both picked thief. I assume you both have pretty good evasion?¡± Madelaine didn''t need to look. ¡°Six.¡± ¡°Three.¡± Elijah frowned. ¡°My base armor is twelve.¡± Thomas looked at Madelaine. ¡°I don''t even have to dodge, and I''m as hard to hit as you are.¡± ¡°You also took a class where you hit monsters in the face with your fists.¡± ¡°True.¡± Thomas looked down at his hands, turning them over. Then he looked back up. ¡°Anne uses a bow most of the time; she specializes in the longbow. I''m ¡­ actually not sure what her class is. Maybe she''s told me, maybe not.¡± ¡°Ranger.¡± Anne piped up. ¡°Right, Ranger, that makes sense. Arias is a Fencer.¡± His eyes drifted to the rapier Madelaine was wearing, taken from a dead man; they''d let her have it back. ¡°She has a shortbow as well. Norris pretty much exclusively fights at range. You should fight from as long a distance as possible, as much as possible. If you don''t want to focus on Constitution, please at least consider a ranged class.¡± ¡°Ahem.¡± Anne, thank god. ¡°Elijah, my recommendation to you is to take a Scion distinction. Given you''re a Lightbringer, I''d personally suggest Scion of Sustenance at the second ascension once you reach your fifth class ascension.¡± She looked at Thomas, then back at Elijah. ¡°You can find work as a healer. Pretty much any village will accept you.¡± ¡°Uh, thanks.¡± Elijah just stared at Anne. He''d remember it later. Probably. She could remind him if he forgot. ¡°Madelaine ¡­ ¡± Anne hesitated. ¡°You''re going to have some difficulties. There''s no guarantee you are going to get ¡­ anything worth having. Things are not entirely random, however.¡± Her face, surprisingly smooth for the gray of her hair, tightened. ¡°But you would not have gotten things for fighting unless that is what you wanted. You''re young to have that kind of anger.¡± Anne''s voice, normally so severe, had turned cloyingly sweet and soft. ¡°I''m not angry.¡± ¡°Then why?¡± ¡°Because it''s cool. I raised the dead! Like that lady in ¡­ uh ¡­ that story.¡± Madelaine''s enthusiasm fell a notch as she remembered that there were things she couldn''t remember, but she continued, nonetheless, ¡°And I know things about volcanoes!¡± Thomas jumped in surprise at that, and stared at her. ¡°Things I didn''t know before. And yeah, I got hurt. But then I got harder to hurt. And that''s the way you don''t get hurt; you try to become stronger.¡± ¡°Huh.¡± Thomas grunted, staring at her. Anne stared at her. The pretty tall girl with the princess hair, Arias, just smiled. ¡°You''re right, the heavy armor dedication is useless. You could make it work, but you probably shouldn''t. Don''t take any more Curses if you can help it.¡± The nerd was nerding out. Norris was alright, though. ¡°What you want is a more reliable way of attacking enemies. Soul Binding can make your spells somewhat permanent, but you can''t recover the mana until you end the spell. Arcane Control can help reduce mana costs.¡± ¡°I don''t want either of those things.¡± Madelaine was searching through the distinctions ¨C Thomas had told her how to filter them ¨C looking for something. ¡°That''s the wrong thing to focus on. That''s a thing I do, that''s not the thing I do.¡± What a sad thought. ¡°Hm. Yes.¡± The sickly-sweet tone was gone. Anne was talking to Madelaine properly now, like a person, rather than a broken doll. She''d always hated that in adults. ¡°Light Armor Expertise. Improved, even. You should also improve your expertise with rapiers if you intend to use one.¡± They discussed her options.
Improved Weapon Expertise: Rapier When attacking with a rapier/epee, increase your damage progression by 1. You may expend 1 Stamina to reduce incoming physical damage by (Agility Modifier).
Distinction: Armor Expertise: Light When wearing Light Armor, you may spend 1 Stamina to increase your Movement Speed by 10 until the beginning of your next turn. +1 to Agility
Improved Armor Expertise: Light This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. When wearing Light Armor, you may spend 1 Stamina to apply your Evasion to your Damage Reduction until the beginning of your next turn. +1 Strength
Strength Training You get +1 Strength at level 5, +1 Strength at level 13, and +1 Strength at level 20
Endurance Training You get +1 Constitution at level 5, +1 Constitution at level 13, and +1 Constitution at level 20
Research You get +1 Intelligence at level 5, +1 Intelligence at level 13, and +1 Intelligence at level 20
Meditation You get +1 Wisdom at level 5, +1 Wisdom at level 13, and +1 Wisdom at level 20
Practice You get +1 Agility at level 5, +1 Agility at level 13, and +1 Agility at level 20
Target Training You get +1 Perception at level 5, +1 Perception at level 13, and +1 Perception at level 20
Two distinctions ¨C dedications ¨C and thirty customization points later, and Madelaine considered herself. She wore an oversized leather jacket;
Madelaine Tegrile Accursed Wanderer
Level 6 0 Misfortunes / 3 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
53/53 Health 6/6 Mana 7/7 Stamina
0 Distinctions Available 52 Skill Points Available 0 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution Intelligence
-1 -2 3
0 Melee Damage Bonus 40 Maximum Health 42 Additional Skill Points
2 Maximum Worn Armor -1 (7) Damage Reduction 5 Maximum Stamina Points
0 Deflection * 6 Base Armor 3 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
2 7 2
3 Lores 8 Bonus Targeting 2 Reaction Time
3 Arcane Resistance 8 Evasion 4 (2) Stamina Regeneration
8 Mana * 30 (40) Movement * 3 Missile Range Bonus *
Her attention turned to Anne. ¡°This looks good. Thank you.¡± She got a beaming response. Thomas frowned, and took a long drink from his mug. Anne had brought some kind of weak alcoholic beverage; sweet, tart, and bitter, all at once. His gaze swept around the small room, his arms crossing, trying not to listen as Madelaine and Anne continued to discuss Madelaine''s future options. Elijah was doing the sensible thing. The thing he himself couldn''t quite force himself to do. Madelaine, however, was, by her own admission, an eleven year old girl. Who had killed more people than he had. Even so, she didn''t belong here, and even though he couldn''t articulate an argument to defend that position, he still held it. He was trying not to glare at Anne, who was talking a little girl through choices that would get her hurt, or even killed. Everybody else just took this in stride. Okay, Elijah seemed a little disturbed, but he was too timid to speak out against it. He scowled, and turned to Norris, who had abandoned the conversation as soon as it was clear that Madelaine had no real interest in being a mage. A mage! Who could do magic! ¡°I don''t understand why everyone is okay with a little girl fighting monsters.¡± ¡°She''s reached her fifth ascension. She''s an adult.¡± Norris looked at Thomas. ¡°Did you ever finish your traits?¡± Thomas paused. His mind went back to Cenpre. It felt ¡­ easier, now. The thought of getting anything out of Lust held no appeal to him, though. ¡°I''m finished with them, yes.¡± ¡°Good. You weren''t an adult, when we found you. Should we have told you you weren''t allowed to choose the course of your life? Should we have made your decisions for you, then?¡± Thomas blinked. He had no response to that. ¡°She''s more adult than you were then.¡± ¡°She shouldn''t have to be. Children should get to be children.¡± ¡°People are who they are; wishing somebody was less mature is just a way for you to wish you didn''t have to be.¡± That was harsh. And maybe a little bit true. It took a moment to gather enough thoughts together for a response. ¡°I wish I didn''t have to be. I wish nobody had to be. And I think everybody should have a childhood, a period of time when they don''t have to be. Children should get to be children.¡± There was a sudden silence, and he realized he had raised his voice for this last part. Arias was looking at him with a ¡­ strange expression. ¡°Not everybody gets a childhood, Thomas.¡± Anne spoke, quietly. ¡°Immaturity is an expensive luxury few can afford.¡± Arias looked away. Oh. His gaze moved to Madelaine, who was studying him with a lack of expression that made him feel like a bug under ¡­ under examination. He sat back, and considered the room. ¡°I''m sorry.¡± He wasn''t, not exactly. He felt the way he felt. But he did feel bad, that he had made Arias feel bad. The realization that he didn''t want to alienate these people came upon him then; more than the usual social anxieties, he actually cared how they felt. He could be sorry about how he made somebody feel, even if he wasn''t sorry for thinking the things they found hurtful. Anne nodded slowly. ¡°What about Fortune Mastery?¡± Madelaine''s voice. Anne turned back to her, and the conversation moved along once more, Thomas dropping away from the center of attention. He watched, his frown slowly fading, as he let go of the idea of winning the argument, and let himself move past it. It took an effort he wasn''t quite expecting. Ch 29. A Quest ¡°Pest control, huh?¡± Anne thought the expression over. ¡°I might use that.¡± Thomas looked at Madelaine for help; the girl just flashed him a shit-eating grin, poking at the fire in the oven. Of course. ¡°It''s not a good thing. It means ¡­ it means this is just a job.¡± ¡°Well, yes.¡± ¡°But ¡­ but we fight things. Horrible things.¡± ¡°So does the average farmer, three times a day. People who want safe jobs dedicate themselves to things like sawing wood.¡± ¡°I didn''t get anything that would help me saw wood.¡± ¡°That''s because you didn''t want that.¡± Thomas started to reply, then hesitated, as he processed what she said, and had to admit to himself it was true. Anne flashed him a smile. She knew she had scored a point. ¡°Okay, fine. But we fight horrible things. Shouldn''t, I don''t know, shouldn''t this be glorious, somehow?¡± ¡°We are specialists who deal with local problems that are uncommon enough for nobody locally to specialize in dealing with them, and sufficiently dangerous that nobody wants to deal with those problems without having said specialization. It''s a job, Thomas. It pays better than some jobs, worse than others.¡± ¡°And travel is mandatory.¡± Madelaine interjected. Thomas shook his head at her. Anne''s smile returned. ¡°Look,¡± Thomas tried changing directions again, ¡°We go out and stop things from killing people, right? We''re trying to prevent harm from coming to other people?¡± ¡°Sure, if they pay us. And farmers prevent people from starving to death. It''s a job, Thomas, not a, I don''t know, a-¡± ¡°Quest!¡± Madelaine interrupted. ¡° - that works, it''s not a quest, Thomas. We do our jobs, we get paid. People who want glory go into the mature dungeons and never return.¡± That got him. Again. ¡°I ¡­ okay, it''s not glory, exactly, it''s like, this job is important.¡± ¡°So''s eating. It''s a job. Like any other. It has its perks, like ascending faster than most, paying somewhat better than some. It has its downsides, like the risk of injury and death. Like anybody else, we minimize the risks. The job isn''t a glorious fight with powerful enemies, that''s what ends a career.¡± She paused, giving him a stern look. ¡°Remember the fight with the silver fawn?¡± Like he''d ever forget it. That was kind of his point, he - ¡°That fight is exactly what we don''t want to have. That fight means I didn''t do my job well enough; controlling what fights we get into is my job. I nearly got you killed, there. That''s not beautiful, that''s not glorious.¡± ¡°What happened?¡± Madelaine''s attention shifted between Anne and Thomas, her expression one of simple curiosity. Anne looked at Thomas, whose brain shut down for several seconds in panic. Okay. Yes, she needed to hear this. He needed to be careful how he said this. What should he - ¡°I got my ass kicked and nearly died.¡± It came out, just like that, while his brain was still trying to formulate a response. Madelaine looked at him for a moment, then nodded seriously. ¡°Damn. Your whole class is just ''Being hard to hurt'', right? What hurt you?¡± ¡°Little tusked deer.¡± ¡°Oh! Like Tusky!¡± She brightened up. ¡°Tusky?¡± Again, it came out while his brain was preoccupied. ¡°Tusky was my second skeleton. Boney was my first. Boney was an alligator. Tusky was eating Boney before I turned them into skeletons, so I made Boney my first skeleton and she started eating back until I could make Tusky one too.¡± Thomas tried not to stare. Or ask any more questions. It would be one thing if she talked like this all the time; it was the mixture of childlike outbursts and adult thinking. It just wasn''t right. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. ¡°Thomas.¡± A voice, from the door; they turned as one to see Balier striding into the room. Madelaine grinned widely and started bouncing when she saw him, which caused his stride to catch a little bit. His gaze, however, only wavered slightly from Thomas. ¡°You were right.¡± A map was spread across the table, weighted down on the corners by four empty bottles, courtesy of Anne. Another contradiction of maturity and immaturity, but one he was more familiar with. It was the first map Thomas had seen. And it was incredibly boring. Mountains on the right. A river running down them to the left. A curved line of blue through a page of brown. Villages dotted the river. Thomas couldn''t read the names; couldn''t even tell whether or not it was the written language he was familiar with, there was so much flourish to the text. Probably not? Balier''s finger was near the center of the map, clawtip touching a city. ¡°More of you have shown up here, in Anchor, as you predicted.¡± Thomas didn''t know the capital was named Anchor, and only gathered that knowledge from Balier''s comment. Alright. ¡°Others have shown up in many major cities. I don''t have responses to all my messages yet, but I''ve alerted the other mayors to the issue.¡± He looked at Thomas. ¡°I''ve done what I can.¡± Thomas nodded. Madelaine and Elijah both had picked Thief, and City Craft District. He wasn''t certain what the latter meant, or why they had shown up where they did, but he had suggested that Balier send somebody to alert the capital, which would by virtue of its multiple and individual representations on the choices, he thought, probably be getting the most ¡­ of his people. Wherever they were from. It seemed ¡­ he was right. Thomas stared at the map. Out of the two dozen who had shown up in Madelaine''s group, two still survived. He hesitated, thinking of two others who had been found. Maybe others had escaped. Hopefully, if anyone else survived, they had escaped. Those in the cities would be a little better off, maybe. They wouldn''t have to face monsters, at least of the inhuman variety. His hope began to drain away as he stared at the map, as he began to think through what their experiences would end up being. He slowly turned to Balier, who was already looking at him. ''I''ve done what I can.'' He knew. ¡°Why so glum?¡± Madelaine set a chair down next to the table and climbed up to stand on it, peering over Thomas'' shoulder ¨C she didn''t actually need the chair to see the map, and seemed to just want to tower. ¡°They''re appearing in cities, that''s good, right?¡± ¡°Depends.¡± Thomas just stared at the map. ¡°How many are appearing in the cities?¡± ¡°Okay, but people here just magic up food. Heck, I could magic new food if I leveled up again and wanted to. Some of the new people will just have to be food magic-uppers.¡± ¡°Conjurers.¡± Norris replied absent-mindedly; he, too, stared at the map. ¡°We''re conjurers.¡± ¡°Right. So everybody can eat, what''s the problem?¡± Thomas didn''t know how to reply. Nothing. Everything. Shelter. Clothes. Pride. Violence. They were prepared to leave the next morning. Thomas had hired Anne. Well, he had tried to. She had scowled at him in a way that said he had still lost the argument, but refused his money. Granted he didn''t have a lot, so she wasn''t actually turning much down. Their packs got some supplies. Balier had, in fact, done a little bit more, commenting on how his friend Cavroc would have approved of their mission. It wasn''t a lot, but it was all they could carry, even with Norris summoning a ghost mule which carried its own pack; for reasons but Anne and Norris understood, Anne burst out laughing when she first saw the mule, and he''d just smiled sheepishly at her. They were headed for the capital, Anchor, to see what could be done. Anne had told Thomas quite frankly that either they wouldn''t be needed at all, or they wouldn''t possibly be able to do enough. He had shrugged. People had helped him when he''d gotten here. But he''d also been a single person; a light burden for a small village, and even so, he''d felt guilty about it. Balier had helped Thomas with the math. He wasn''t sure what had felt stranger about what had felt like a tutoring lesson ¨C that he was being tutored by a polite person with an ¡­ an educated accent, or that the person was a lion. Person. Lion-person. Two dozen, in a choice which, randomly chosen, would be chosen by less than one out a hundred. Two thousand people was the lower limit. Thomas thought it was probably far, far higher. Somebody who had chosen ¡°Thief¡± and ¡°City Craft District¡± should have appeared in an actual city craft district somewhere. He thought Madelaine''s group was a fluke. That was the question, upon which would turn whether he wasted everybody''s time on a week-long walk. Was it two thousand, whose addition wouldn''t change anything? Or would it be a number whose addition might change everything? Thomas very carefully tried not to guess at how many might have appeared somewhere immediately inhospitable, like Madelaine''s group. Ch 30. Rematch Thomas looked at his statistics. It had been a little while.
Thomas Bluebrim Brawler Legend of Wind
Level 8 0 Misfortunes / 0 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
218/218 Health 0/0 Mana 4/4 Stamina
0 Distinctions Available 38 Skill Points Available 0 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution**** Intelligence
2 5 0
2 Melee Damage Bonus 190 (218) Maximum Health 26 Additional Skill Points
4 Maximum Worn Armor 10 (16) Damage Reduction 1 Maximum Stamina Points
0 Deflection * 12 Base Armor 0 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
6 0 0
6 Lores 0 Bonus Targeting 0 Reaction Time
6 Arcane Resistance 0 Evasion 1 Stamina Regeneration
0 Mana * 20 Movement * 0 Missile Range Bonus *
He considered, with a slight frown for the way it reflected information he was pretty sure it hadn''t before, and then looked at his distinctions.
Class Distinction: Hurl As a reaction to an attack by a creature no larger than one size category larger than you, you may throw your assailant up to 5ft, subject to a contest of Constitution; if your attacker hits another creature, both become prone; if it doesn''t hit another creature, it still falls prone
Class Distinction: Tough as Nails You have a natural armor (Maximum Worn Armor Limits still apply) equal to twice your Constitution
Class Distinction: Weapon Expertise: Unarmed Your base unarmed attack damage increases by one progression for each free hand, and your Melee Damage Bonus applies for each free hand
Class Distinction: Call Out You may Call Out an opponent; subject to a Discipline contest against your Endurance, they must move towards you and attack you whenever possible
Class Distinction: Shake Off The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. You may expend Stamina to increase your Worn Armor by 4, knock back all adjacent opponents 5 feet, and, subject to an Endurance contest against your Endurance, knock all affected targets prone
Class Distinction: Shrug Off Damage less than 4 is reduced to 0
Class Distinction: Improved Hurl Hurl has a range of 10ft, and the thrown creature deals its Total Armor in damage to any hit creatures
Class Distinction: Latent Power +1 Maximum Stamina
Class Distinction: Inhuman Size 1 You get 25 additional health. Additionally, you may Enlarge at will, becoming Large.
Class Path Distinction: Deft Nature You can''t be caught flat-footed, and can dodge as easily prone as standing
Class Distinction: Thick Skull You are immune to non-lethal damage
Class Distinction: Latent Power +1 Maximum Stamina
Class Distinction: Improved Shrug Off Damage less than 7 is reduced to 0
Class Distinction: Greatly Improved Hurl Hurl has a range of 15 ft, and hurled creatures take their total Armor in damage
Distinction: Unarmored Defense When wearing no armor and not using a shield, you get Worn Armor equal to your Agility plus your Perception. +3 to Maximum HP
Distrinction: Improved Unarmored Defense When wearing no armor and not using a shield, you get Damage Reduction equal to your Intelligence plus your Wisdom
Distinction: Fortune Master Doubled Epiphany Bonus, +1 to all Skill attempts for every ten unspent skill points
Distinction: Unarmed Combat Mastery Your unarmed attacks deal an additional progression of damage. Your unarmed attacks ignore 50% of damage reduction.
Strength Training You get +1 Strength at level 5, +2 Strength at level 13, and +3 Strength at level 20
Endurance Training You get +1 Constitution at level 5, +2 Constitution at level 13, and +3 Constitution at level 20
Thomas had finally sought out Anne''s advice on what he should do. She was still amused at his choice of Fortune Master, but Norris supported it, and Madelaine had added it to her list of distinctions to take. So, he''d taken Strength Training and Unarmed Combat Mastery, and bumped up his constitution a bit as well. He was nearing the limits of what the Characterization options would let him do there. Sixteen damage reduction. He still wasn''t entirely certain what a unit of damage was, only that one hundred of them hurt a hell of a lot. But between that and Improved Shrug off, well, he didn''t even bother with shoes anymore. Not like his wingtips had survived, anyways; he''d forgotten to take them off one of the times he had used Enlarge. And then he''d done it again with a very expensive pair of boots. ¡°Ready.¡± He called out to Anne; their small group was grouped around the top of a rise that didn''t quite manage to feel like a hill. She nodded to him as she strung her longbow. Arias had both of her swords in the ground in front of her, and had her shortbow already ready; she formed a triangle with Thomas and Anne, each covering a third of the rise, in the center of which stood Norris and a cross-looking Madelaine. ¡°Alright everyone. Thomas, your job is to Call Out if more than one gets past us.¡± They had already been over this, three times, but he nodded. ¡°Arias, you''re first back if things get bad in the center.¡± The girl waved without looking over; her attention already out. ¡°Madelaine, stab anything that tries to get Norris.¡± ¡°Got it.¡± Madelaine''s tone was sulky. She wasn''t fooled about who was protecting who. ¡°Alright. Let us begin the hunt.¡± Anne''s voice changed slightly as she spoke, growing darker and deeper. A tremor went through the air, and Thomas grimaced, glancing back at her, then out in the direction he was supposed to be watching. When Anne had said she was supposed to control what they fought, he hadn''t realized quite how literally that was supposed to work. Wasn''t magic his ass. He watched a tusked deer step appear over the top of the hill across from him. He raised his hands, clenching them into fists. Madelaine watched, feeling disconsolate, as the herd of tiny fluffy deer died around them. Thomas had suggested them, saying something about a rematch. Anne and Norris had discussed the strategy they''d employ for some time before agreeing. It had been a boring conversation. Her rapier went through the eye of one; she was pretty sure that it had been let past the others on purpose. It thrashed, jerked, and collapsed, while she watched, and then her attention drifted up again, watching the others fight. The princess, Arias, fought like she was dancing, her princess hair flying around her as she spun and leapt gracefully around the deer trying to bite her. Anne fought with a different kind of beauty; calm, cold, efficient. She barely moved her feet; first, firing her oversized bow. Then, when they got close, she had just started laying about with her sword, stepping aside only to avoid the already-dead bodies of tuskies. And Norris was just boring to watch, tossing little glowing lights. He had a backup spell that summoned a spectral octopus or something, though; Madelaine had heard that mentioned during the planning. Then there was Thomas. He didn''t fight pretty at all. She watched him; he had gone Big Man, and alternated between kicking the deer, and throwing them at each other. He was covered in blood and bits of fur. Currently, he had grabbed one of the deer and was punching it in the face repeatedly while yelling about teeth. She looked away again. Oh! Another was coming her way. Wait, no, two. Ooh. Three. They''d gotten past Thomas while he was distracted. She raised her rapier with a smile. The lead deer collapsed with an arrow in the eye. ¡°Thomas!¡± Anne''s voice. Thomas made a terrible growling noise, and the second peeled away towards him. Madelaine scowled. This wasn''t fun at all, there was just the one now. She stabbed at its eye. And blinked as her rapier not only missed, but flew out of her hand, with a feeling she vaguely recognized, like when the curse had gone off, except she didn''t have any curses right now. She stared dumbly at the rapier on the ground, hand still outstretched at the deer, which ¨C she screamed in shock when it bit her, and tried to jerk her hand back, except the teeth were sharp, and held tight, and ¨C and then its head fell off, and the jaw loosened, freeing her fingers. Madelaine raised her hand, staring as she wiggled ¡­ three of her fingers. The other two wouldn''t move properly. Woah. Her ring finger was barely attached. And it didn''t hurt at all. She looked up at ¨C ooh, the princess was here. Madelaine smiled up at Arias. Her savior! She was a badass princess, like Madelaine would be someday. Arias smiled back, and then she was gone, and Norris was there, wrapping up her bitten hand. That hurt. It hurt a lot. She only cried a little bit, though, and then the fight was over. Thomas apologized to Anne, then after a discussion with Anne apologized to Madelaine, who might have called him stinky. Anne skinned a couple of the deer, and they cooked it over the campfire, and it was delicious. She had trouble sleeping ¨C her hand felt like it hurt more, the more time passed. She didn''t cry, however. She was tougher than Thomas, whatever his class, and she had seen all the bites and bruises he had after the fight. She forced herself to go to sleep through the pain.
Moderate objective complete: Survived a medium herd of level 9 Silver Fawn as part of a party. You''ve earned two customization points.
Ch 31. New Heights Dunk. Wring. Scrub. Dunk. Wring. Scrub. Pick off a bit of, uh, meat, and toss it. Anne was right. This was a job. Thomas now knew for certain it was a job, and a shit job at that, because if adventuring was some kind of heroic calling, there would be a lot less laundry involved. He dumped the bucket, waited a few seconds for the water to clear, and refilled it, then continued. After checking for leeches. He was pretty sure there shouldn''t be leeches in a river ¨C didn''t they hate running water? ¨C but that didn''t seem to apply here, and they kept turning up in his bucket, and trying, unsuccessfully, to latch onto his skin. The problem with the ability to change size was that it didn''t bring his clothing along for the ride. So he''d solved that problem by just wearing oversized clothing. Dunk. Wring. Scrub. The problem with oversized clothing, however, dunk, wrink, scrub, was washing it. One small part at a time. It didn''t help that his fighting style involved being in the splash zone. A mental hiccup, which he didn''t bother to fight. He couldn''t even know why some memories triggered the problem, and others did not, since he couldn''t examine the problematic memories for a pattern. Dunk. Wring. Scrub. They''d spent every evening fighting the deer. He''d been paralyzed with terror, right up until the first silver fawn had tried to bite him, and accomplished nothing. The message after the fight had suggested they had been lower-leveled than the ones that had nearly killed him; Anne had considerable control over what they fought. Some kind of ranger class distinction; she could choose to have an encounter with a target creature. Dunk. Wring. Scrub. He''d leveled up again after that fight; apparently he had been on the brink of level 9. It had come with another boost to his ability to hit things.
Class Distinction: Stone Fists Your base unarmed attack increases by an additional progression for each free hand
If the pattern held, he would level up again tomorrow. He shook his head. He''d gotten Inhuman Size 1 at level 5. He guessed Inhuman Size 2 would come with level 10. Dunk. Wring. Scrub. The clothing he was wearing was already ridiculous when he was normal-sized. The process of cleaning it was even worse. How big would Inhuman Size 2 be? Cloth was expensive. And ¡­ huh. Shouldn''t he get overheated? He hadn''t noticed temperature at all in a while. Like most discomforts, it had faded into nothing. Maybe the benefit of Constitution? Dunk. Wring. Scrub. Wring. And spread over the ground near the fire. It''d get dirty and sandy, but that didn''t bother him anymore either. He picked up the skirt part of the clothing and began cleaning the blood and meat out of it, in turn. He couldn''t scale this up any further, realistically. So if he used Inhuman Size 2, he''d just have to suck it up and deal with the lack of modesty. Nobody else seemed to care that much about modesty; Madelaine had joined their other three companions in bathing in the river without compunction. Thomas still slipped away to do so in private. His other option would be to ¡­ what, get bigger clothes, and just stay in Inhuman Size 1 all the time, so they were loose? Or see if there were magic clothes here that would grow with him. Probably not; Norris had laughed out loud when Thomas had inquired about that, prior to buying his current outfit. Anchor was still another couple of days away. Thomas had expected to see more civilization as they got closer, but ¡­ no. Well, kind of. They''d passed around six villages today, and one ¡­ town? It was bigger than the villages. But they were following the river, and nobody put farms along a river; it was just asking for trouble. So they walked through wilderness, punctuated by clusters of houses. Anne would stop at each while the rest of them proceeded ahead; she was collecting bundles of letters that were headed the same direction they were, and leaving others. She took a few packages, as well, as they ate through some of the real food they had brought, and made room in the packs of Norris'' ghost mule for more things. Dunk. Wring. Scrub. They''d also been getting news. There were thousands of people from home at the capital, which itself was not that concerning; it was higher than the estimate Balier and he had worked out, but not too much higher. The alarming thing was that, from what he heard, people were still appearing, and it might be accelerating. He didn''t know exactly how many people there were, at ¡­ in ¡­ from home. He had a sense of it, though, because the thought of thousands felt ¡­ insignificant. Dunk. Wring. Scrub. Anne had come back from the last village this evening with news that somehow was more surprising; he wasn''t unique, and maybe was not even the first to show up here. Another two parties had passed through before them, with apparently similar intentions, to try to intervene in what was likely already a disaster. He wasn''t certain how he felt about that; it had been a relief not to be alone here. But ¡­ the first message he''d ever gotten had told him he''d been chosen, and as it became increasingly apparent he wasn''t special, he slowly realized that at some level he had thought he was. He was experiencing a profound disappointment which he hadn''t expected at all. Anne changed things up the next day, and it was a swarm of green pigs, the size of large dogs. Jade hunters, she called them; apparently, as threats in this world were reckoned, they were just slightly more dangerous than silver fawn. They did manage to hurt him a few times, but it still wasn''t anything he couldn''t handle. He had to use Call Out three times in the fight, as well; the pigs were fast, and when they attacked, they turned into blurs he could barely follow with his eyes. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. However, Anne had prepared the field for this new fight with some digging. Well, Thomas had prepared the field with digging, and Anne had told him where to dig. The pits did their job, and Madelaine didn''t get a scratch. The girl seemed increasingly annoyed with the way she was being protected; Anne promised she could join the rest of them in the front lines once she reached her eighth ascension, which would likely be tonight. Thomas still wasn''t comfortable with it, but he''d already lost that argument. The last pig took ten minutes to kill; it kept running in circles around their lines, moving erratically and dodging even Anne''s expert shots. Madelaine had definitely learned some new language from Anne, because he heard one of the curses repeated in her higher pitched voice as the arrow downed the last Jade Hunter. ¡°I had a new spell school! Enchantment! Fucking ball-licking curse!¡± It took him a moment more to read the message. She read fast.
Minor objective complete: Survived a medium herd of level 8 Jade Hunters as part of a party. You''ve earned one customization point. You''ve reached class level 10! You''ve reached class path level 2!
¡°What? Summon food? That''s shit!¡± More cursing. He stopped paying attention as she got angrier ¨C something about mutually exclusive distinctions? ¨C while he tried to read through his own.
Class Distinction: Inhuman Size 2 You get 25 additional health. Additionally, you may Enlarge at will, becoming up to Extra Large.
Class Distinction: Latent Power +1 Maximum Stamina
Class Path Distinction: Fleet Footed +10 Movement Speed
It was, basically, exactly what he expected. Well, except for the extra movement speed. That was a bit of a surprise. What did extra movement speed even mean? ¡°It''s not working?¡± He looked over, to where Madelaine was moving her hands in the air, interacting with something he couldn''t see. He looked back to his own hands, and realized, for the first time, what that must look like. Slowly he forced his hands back down to his sides, and returned his attention to what he was doing. Five customization points, and a free distinction, spent.
Distrinction: Greatly Improved Unarmored Defense When wearing no armor and not using a shield, you get Tier 4 bonus Arcane Resistance
Distinction: Mastery of Flesh +3 Damage Reduction, +3 to Maximum HP
Thomas then turned his attention to his status screen.
Thomas Bluebrim Brawler Legend of Wind
Level 10 0 Misfortunes / 0 Fortunes 0 Curses / 0 Blessings
211/266 Health 0/0 Mana 6/6 Stamina
1 Distinctions Available 38 Skill Points Available 2 Customization Points Available
Strength Constitution**** Intelligence
2 5 0
2 Melee Damage Bonus 210 (266) Maximum Health 26 Additional Skill Points
4 Maximum Worn Armor 10 (19) Damage Reduction 1 (6) Maximum Stamina Points
0 Deflection * 12 Base Armor 0 Spell Piercing *
Wisdom Agility Perception
6 0 0
6 Lores 0 Bonus Targeting 0 Reaction Time
6 Arcane Resistance 0 Evasion 1 Stamina Regeneration
0 Mana * 20 (30) Movement * 0 Missile Range Bonus *
He blinked in surprise at the amount of health he''d lost in that fight, and looked down, to see the horrible gash running across his calf, and the pool of blood at his feet. Oh. He was still bleeding. And hey, that hurt. Thomas looked up; Anne was bandaging a cut Arias had taken; Arias looked annoyed, and was looking off to the side. Maybe annoyed. Thomas found Arias hard to read sometimes. He could wait, either way. The bleeding was steady, and his health was dropping, but it''d have to drop a lot before it actually did him any harm. He looked back down at the pool of blood; there was a lot of it. It didn''t bother him nearly as much as it would have just a little while ago. And it hurt, but ¡­ well, he had gotten hurt a lot, and this pain just ¡­ didn''t compare. Huh. Madelaine got a couple of new abilities, and a gentle rebuke from Anne, for having ignored her advice and taken on another curse to try rerolling a distinction she hadn''t liked, only to end up with something worse. Said curse had given her a new distinction; Scion of Summoning. Norris had winced when he''d heard it, and Madelaine looked furious about it. Apparently it was part of a mutually exclusive set, which meant only one could be taken, and the curse had given her the utility option - replacing the Enchantment spell school. She''d also gotten another distinction that let her move quickly immediately after hitting something, which didn''t sound that good to Thomas ¨C what if you missed? ¨C but which Anne had nodded appreciatively about. Thomas, for his part, checked Inhuman Size 2 during his watch, after everyone else was asleep. It made him ¡­ enormous. He stamped into the dirt, shifted back down, and compared his oversized footprint to his foot. Since his proportions held, his new size was ¡­ around eighteen feet tall? Maybe twenty? The view as he grew and shrank was very disconcerting, the world growing and shrinking around him. It was just a pity about the clothing problem. He did discover, however, that washing his clothes in his new larger size was actually pretty easy. He waited for Arias to wake up for her watch, and she just nodded when he wandered off; the bucket was laughably small, so he''d tested out wading out and doing laundry directly in the river. He had waded out until the water was waist-deep, and the oversized alligator that had come over to investigate him as he did so, well, it hadn''t stuck around. As big as it was ¨C he was bigger. Even so, he moved back up into shallower water ¨C just knee-height in his enormous form, to get more sensitive portions of his anatomy out of the water, away from things that might bite him before he could see them coming. He''d seen a death roll. No thank you. Ch 32. Beautiful Lights ¡°So where do the tuskies come from?¡± Madelaine was skipping. Skipping! Up the hill. Thomas didn''t feel tired, but he felt the exertion, a subtle distinction that he would have missed before he came here. He felt no need to increase it; he just walked, legs moving almost on their own. Movement speed did what it said. He moved faster. Norris did not, so their party maintained the same pace. ¡°Nearby. I''d have to be able to find them myself, for the dedication to work. There''s a ¡­ feel, for whether or not it will work.¡± Anne''s eyes were searching ahead of them; Thomas wasn''t certain what she was looking for, it was just more hills. ¡°What if you don''t feel them?¡± ¡°I pull something else in instead.¡± ¡°What if you don''t do that?¡± ¡°Sometimes nothing. But I have to decide early in the day, and once I''ve decided to use the hunt, I can''t change my mind. At best I can shift the timing a little bit.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± There was silence for, perhaps, a full second. ¡°Why have you used it every day?¡± ¡°Two reasons. First, you and Thomas should ascend as far as you can before we arrive. Second, if I don''t use it, something else can show up instead.¡± ¡°So if you don''t use it, it uses itself?¡± ¡°No, nothing like that. The dedication moves wild animals and monsters around, to make sure we meet what I want to meet; if, say, a pack of stormwolves were hunting us, they get moved somewhere else, and we meet what I want to meet instead.¡± ¡°Could you use it to meet a person?¡± ¡°No.¡± Then there was a pause. ¡°Well, some people can use it that way. Bounty hunters can. Hunting people is an additional dedication, and there aren''t a lot of legitimate purposes for it.¡± Thomas glanced over at that, then back forward, at the particularly high hill in front of them, which they''d been approaching for what felt like hours now. Huh. It would be hard to be a criminal here. Did it work in cities? Maybe that was why the thieves had had a hideout out in the middle of nowhere. ¡°Could you use it to find something that isn''t an animal?¡± ¡°I can hunt the types of creatures that inhabit an area. Here, there are bugs, beasts, reptiles, birds, and venu.¡± ¡°What''s a venu?¡± Anne hesitated. Thomas glanced over, curious to the answer himself. At length, she replied. ¡°The most common type of tree here, and its various spawn. They''re carnivorous, and dangerous. Don''t approach trees, Madelaine.¡± Thomas thought back to the trees he''d seen along the river outside Piketown ¨C he hadn''t seen any in a while. ¡°Trees can be carnivorous?¡± ¡°Yes. Their seeds are carnivorous, too. They hunt in packs; when they bring down a meal, they eat the meat, then dig down and bury themselves.¡± Anne looked over at Madelaine. ¡°Don''t approach trees. If we''re together, we could probably kill one, The seeds aren''t too terribly dangerous, either, but they can look like different things. Oh, good.¡± Thomas looked up, and saw what she was reacting to; Arias was at the top of the hill, which they were now ascending, and pointing forward with a smile. At least he thought it was a smile, the clouds were unholy bright, and he had to squint against the light. Their small group gathered on the crest of the hill, looking into the distance. Thomas blinked at what first glance appeared to be a blur, still many hills away, and mostly obscured by a particularly tall example. He slowly managed to figure out what he was looking at, and took a deep breath when it resolved itself. Distant towers, thin yet insanely tall, in a variety of bright and garish colors that kind of blurred together. Fine threads woven throughout; walkways, connecting them. He found himself breathless in wonder, as Madelaine stepped up beside him, raising a hand to shield her eyes as she tried to see what the rest of them were looking at. Norris was the first to speak. ¡°It still amazes me every time I lay eyes on it.¡± Thomas just nodded, his eyes having returned to the distant and intricate cityscape. ¡°They''ve expanded.¡± Anne''s voice was quiet and reverent. ¡°It''s beautiful.¡± ¡°It looks like a pink hairball.¡± Madelaine scoffed, looking up and around at the adults. ¡°Come on, let''s keep going.¡± She didn''t wait, and started down the hill, Arias following a moment later at a speed to get back ahead of her. Thomas hesitated, shifting his attention between the girl and the city, and ¡­ it kind of did look like a pink hairball. He sighed, his brief sense of wonder extinguished, and followed. The sun was setting as they crested the next-tallest hill. They could see most of the city now, and it ¡­ was a deranged kind of majestic. A dense thicket of narrow towers in bright colors, mostly reds, greens, and yellows, the net effect of which made it look a kind of pinkish-white wherever Thomas wasn''t looking directly at; the base of the city was encircled by tiny gray walls, although the towers did not constrain themselves to strict verticality, and the ¡°city¡± ballooned outward about halfway up, forming a kind of ¡­ lumpy mushroom shape. There was nothing to hunt, today; the beasts in the area were simply too thin. So instead Anne built a campfire, made out of a bundle of the odd gray torches they had used in the dungeon; conjured, he realized, when Norris produced one out of nothing. They cooked what remained of the meat of the prior day''s hunt; the green slices of fatty meat from the jade hunters stirred something in Thomas'' memory, but nothing concrete. Something about not eating green pigs, maybe? But Anne seemed certain of it, so he sat with the others as it cooked. It smelled fantastic. ¡°So what was your first day like, Thomas?¡± Thomas looked to Norris, who was using one torch to poke at another in the fire. The magus looked up, then flashed a grin. ¡°Before we came across you, I mean.¡± Thomas considered the question for a moment. He had told Balier the story, but it felt like a lifetime since even then. He started slowly, trying to remember how he felt. ¡°I appeared in a dark, smelly place. Food was shoved in, and I realized I was being held prisoner. I didn''t know what was going on, or where I was; I think I thought I had been kidnapped by cannibals.¡± Did they have cannibals here? ¡°I figured out I could punch my way out, and ran away.¡± Anne''s back straightened a moment later, and she turned to stare at him. ¡°You''re the one who escaped?¡± It took Thomas a moment to figure that out. Oh. Oh yes! They went off looking for him, didn''t they? She narrowed her eyes at him. ¡°We spent a week out there looking for a shit-smeared ¡­ ¡± And she stopped, and slowly started shaking her head. Norris, after a moment, started laughing. It was a sudden and startling sound; Thomas jerked at it, and swung his gaze to him, only to swing it back to Anne a moment later when she, too, started laughing. A gasping sort of sound ¨C Arias, too. Madelaine, for her part, just looked confused. At least somebody wasn''t laughing at him. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°In retrospect ¡­ ¡± Anne wiped her eyes, settling back down. ¡°Maybe that should have been obvious. Okay. You owe us a week''s wages when this is all said and done.¡± She''d refused his money for this trip; he wondered how frustrating that week had been for them. ¡°Continue, continue.¡± ¡°Well, I found a stream, and started following it, assuming I''d find other people if I followed it long enough. But I thought the cannibals would catch me at any moment, and just kept moving.¡± He hesitated with a glance at Madelaine. ¡°Then, uh, you found me.¡± ¡°So we did. That''s it?¡± Norris, sounding amused again. ¡°I was afraid, embarrassed, and in pain. My feet hurt; I wasn''t prepared for that much walking. And ¡­ ¡± He paused again, with another look to Madelaine, who was giving him a look which suggested she knew he was editing things out because of her. ¡°And my mind wasn''t working the way I was used to it working. The traits changed how I felt about things.¡± ¡°You have to prove you have overcome them.¡± Madelaine''s frown at him deepened. ¡°What are your traits, uh ¡­ Thomas?¡± A pause. And then Norris'' voice. ¡°Lust and stoicism.¡± Thomas turned very slowly to stare at the man, who shrugged. ¡°Leisa told me. Although I could have guessed the first.¡± ¡°Norris.¡± Anne''s voice. ¡°Again, you don''t answer every question anybody asks.¡± She sounded more bored than annoyed with the admonition, and Norris just shrugged at her. Thomas shook his head; he didn''t think he''d told Leisa. He had told Cenpre, though, a thought which made him feel ¡­ tired. He considered getting his blanket out, and started looking around, when light caught his eye. He turned, and breathed in sharply. ¡°Woah.¡± The sky above Anchor was a moving kaleidoscope of fractured colors, seeming to billow and blow about ¨C and surrounding that was a slow-moving spiral of blue-green clouds, dimmer than the brighter lights over the capital itself, and gentler. As he watched, a cloud of blue dripped up away from one of the distant threads, one of the impossibly thin towers, like water dripping off a needle ¨C but up, and up, joining the other colors in the sky. Another drop rolled upward from the city into the sky. Another. Brilliant glowing drops of colored clouds rained upwards, and they did not blur together, but remained distinct in the sky overhead. A gasp ¨C Madelaine, he thought, finally turning to see what had gotten his attention. ¡°Oh. Yeah, I guess it is pretty.¡± Anne''s voice, and he almost turned in shock, at the boredom there. ¡°Mana bleed.¡± Norris, who didn''t sound bored. He actually sounded disgusted. Thomas did turn, then, looking at the two of them. Arias hadn''t even looked up. ¡°It''s gotten worse since the last time I passed through. They were supposed to fix it.¡± ¡°It''s beautiful.¡± Madelaine didn''t look away from the lights as she spoke. ¡°It''s bad.¡± Another voice ¨C a new voice. Arias had a rapier drawn and pointed before Thomas had even started to turn to look, and had sheathed it again before he finished the motion. Shadows stepped into the light of their fire, resolving into three strangers. ¡°Anne, Norris, Arias.¡± Strangers to him, at least. ¡°Shal, Zat. Who is the newcomer?¡± Arias replied, rising to move next to Thomas, to make room at the fire. ¡°I could ask the same.¡± The woman who had spoken out turned to Thomas and Madelaine. ¡°I''m Shallor.¡± She was tall ¨C maybe not as tall as Arias, but taller than Thomas ¨C and stocky, with dark skin; as she moved into the light, Thomas saw glints of gleaming metal underneath her traveling cloak, although she moved gracefully and without a sound. ¡°This is my companion Zatirias.¡± The thin pale man who was traveling with her nodded in Thomas'' direction, then in Madelaine''s. He was bald, with a thin, long mustache, which drooped down past his chin. Their third companion sat last; an uncomfortable-looking young man with blonde hair, wearing a robe that had been stitched together out of a mismatched set of furs and leathers. ¡°And the new kid is Jims.¡± ¡°James. Or Jim.¡± The man replied, in an automatic kind of way. ¡°Well, Jims, I''m Anne.¡± The man looked up at the name. ¡°Norris is the weasel to my left, Thomas is the beefcake to my right.¡± Thomas found that it was possible to do a dry spit-take at that, spluttering to nothing as Anne continued nonchalantly. ¡°The lovely little girl is Madelaine, and then we have Princess Arias.¡± Something hit Anne''s face, and she grinned, then stage-whispered. ¡°She''s pretending not to be a princess, but me and Madelaine know better.¡± Arias, searching the ground for something else to throw, gave a fist-sized rock a reluctant look, then apparently settled for rolling her eyes and leaning back on her elbows. ¡°Beefcake Thomas, good to meet you.¡± Shallor waved to him as she settled down next to the fire. ¡°And yeah, mana bleed is beautiful.¡± ¡°It''s a pollutant.¡± James added. Thomas'' attention shifted away from Shal. ¡°Causes dungeons to form and monsters to spawn.¡± ¡°Are you from home?¡± Madelaine asked, even as Thomas opened his mouth to ask the same question. James'' attention focused in on her, then, noticing Thomas'' expression, him as well. ¡°Oh! I think so.¡± He paused, running a hair through his hair, which ¡­ well, it looked like he did that a lot, because it was pointed in every direction. ¡°Couldn''t tell you the name, though.¡± ¡°Earth.¡± Thomas supplied. James and Madelaine both looked stricken a half second later ¨C Thomas guessed as soon as they realized they had forgotten again ¨C but James nodded. ¡°Yeah. When did you two get here?¡± ¡°I''ve been here for a whole week!¡± Madelaine announced proudly, then leaned forward conspiratorially. ¡°I''m already level 8. Thomas has been here for-ev-er, and he''s only, like, level nine.¡± Thomas grimaced at her, but Anne was the one to respond, before he could correct her, in tones that Thomas found himself surprised to hear, for it was a familiar way of talking that didn''t mesh with Anne at all; a mother chiding her child. ¡°There''s nothing wrong with that, Madelaine. Many people never go beyond their fifth ascension.¡± Anne turned to Shallor and Zatirias, shaking her head, and blinking a lot. ¡°We''re headed to Anchor to see what we can do to help. Mersin thinks things might be ¡­ ¡± She trailed off with a frown. Zatirias nodded. ¡°We thought James was the only one. Just found out yesterday, from the new mayor of Graystone.¡± His voice wasn''t quite the rich baritone of Norris; it was deep, but with an undertone that Thomas didn''t think he''d heard before, like somebody standing next to him was humming along with his speech. ¡°Tenne''s party should already be there, according to the mayor. He and Weld were in Graystone when Mersin''s messenger arrived. Weld went off to gather others.¡± ¡°Any news from Confluence?¡± ¡°No evacuation has been ordered yet, but I think they''re limiting traffic.¡± Thomas found himself sitting up straighter. What? He tried to remember his conversations with Anne and Balier, and found that ¡­ ¡°Hold on.¡± He interrupted their conversation, and got their undivided attention. It took him a moment to gather the courage to continue. ¡°We''re going there to try to help people, right?¡± He hadn''t actually confirmed why they were going to the capital, just assuming they had all been on the same page. He thought back to his conversation with Anne, realizing how vague everything had been, how he had just assumed they had been talking about the same thing. Either they wouldn''t be needed, or they wouldn''t be able to do enough. He''d been thinking they''d get there, and be distributing food, and facing a depressing problem whose scale was beyond their ability to actually fix. He''d been trying not to think about the fact that they couldn''t help everyone. ¡°Yes.¡± Anne''s reply was somewhat annoyed. He pushed forward anyways. ¡°Okay, who are we going there to help?¡± Her annoyed expression softened, then, as she looked at him. ¡°Oh. I see.¡± She drew in a breath. ¡°We will be helping the people from your home, yes. But there''s a good possibility we''re going to end up helping with an evacuation.¡± ¡°What? Why would you evacuate? Who would you evacuate? Where? What?¡± ¡°Confluence may evacuate this plane and remove the anchor.¡± Norris'' voice. ¡°It''s standard procedure for cascading disasters.¡± ¡°Remove the anchor? The city?¡± ¡°Destroy the plane, Thomas. Something is wrong with it. Things are leaking in that shouldn''t be.¡± Anne''s voice again, gentle. He stared at her, then around at the others. James shared his horrified expression; Madelaine just looked confused. ¡°But ¡­ if people keep appearing ¡­ you can''t evacuate everyone. There will still ¡­ be ¡­ ¡± He trailed off as he watched their grim expressions. Oh. ¡°Actually, I think they may leave the plane.¡± Zatirias had produced some kind of dried meatstick from somewhere, and started chewing it. Thomas blinked, suddenly noticing the man again; he had just kind of ¡­ slipped out of Thomas'' attention. The others turned as well, and the man grinned. It was not a mirthful grin, exactly. ¡°They''ll probably quarantine it until they figure out what''s going on. But if it''s just leaking people, and nothing else, this plane would be far too valuable to destroy.¡± That ¡­ Thomas shook his head. His attention turned back to the beautiful lights in the sky, while the conversation turned to other topics. The pollution that spawned dungeons and monsters and maybe worse. It was not, in fact, that everything here was terrible. Healing magic had convinced him of that. It''s just that everything was terrible in different ways. Zatirias'' comment sounded terrible in a terribly familiar way. The mana light twinkled and spun in the sky. Ch 33. Quest Complete The walls had appeared tiny, the evening before, but they just. Kept. Rising. To say nothing of the tubelike towers, whose shadow they now walked beneath, bright colors now visible. There was a faint colored haze in the air, blue at the moment, which smelled like lightning. They had passed through a reddish haze earlier that had smelled like freshly overturned earth. Thomas rubbed his nose. It wasn''t broken. Hell, he hadn''t even lost a hit point. It felt like maybe it should have been broken, however. He looked over at Anne and Norris, who were walking as far from him as they possibly could, given their small party. He looked back forward, at the approaching city. He''d already apologized; once last night, still drunk on Zatirias'' flask, and again this morning. Norris had told him to just give Anne time, but then, Norris had been the one to punch him, he was pretty sure, and the man seemed just as angry. He couldn''t quite remember exactly what he''d said, but he did remember intending to tell her off for not caring about the people that would be left behind. Thomas let them be. They were going to do what they could, it wasn''t fair of him to blame them for what they thought other people were going to do, and he''d been a jerk ¨C but pestering them for forgiveness would just be another way of being a selfish asshole. Zatirias and Shallor had left with James. Thomas didn''t blame them, he''d have left too, in their shoes. But it left him walking in awkward company. ¡°Hey, this color smells like leaves!¡± Okay, mostly awkward company. Madelaine didn''t care. Thomas sniffed carefully; it did indeed smell like dry autumn leaves. He squinted, trying to make out what color the faint mist was; a shade of yellow, maybe? The entertainment lasted seconds, in a walk that still had an hour or two. What he had initially taken to be the sound of moving water, a distant murmuring roar, slowly grew into focus as they walked; the roar of people reflected twofold by the immense wall, larger than even the tallest hill they had passed, which rose above their heads. His brain slowly started to process the sheer volume of people coming into and leaving the city, and his eyes drifted up again, to the network of towers far overhead. What was the population of Anchor? He''d never asked. He''d never actually stopped to think about what it would mean to have a city that didn''t need farmland to feed. There were more and more other people about, now; people generally kept their distance from one another, however, markedly different from how people behaved out in the wilderness. There, company was a welcome change from the endless monotony. Here, well, you''d end up spending all your time exchanging polite pleasantries; the scattered people walking to and from the gate ahead thickened into a crowd ahead, and their relentless trek brought them into it. Their group moved closer together without a word being said. And then they were being pressed together. It felt claustrophobic, enclosed by a press of anonymous faces ¨C it felt more like being in a dungeon than the actual dungeon he had been in felt ¨C and his gaze lifted up again, Some of the walkways between towers were close enough to make out the tiny dots of people swarming across them, from here. Others were still barely-visible threads of color. Amidst the tiny moving dots were clumps of shadow and other colors, which he couldn''t make out. His eyes unfocused a little bit, as he tried to take in the immensity of the ¡­ city didn''t describe this. It was too immense, for one, and too ¡­ personal. Another word clicked into place. This was a hive. The gates rose around them, open wide around a black maw that rose far above their heads. They no longer had a choice in going in; the buffeting of the crowd had gradually turned into a current, pushing their group along. Darkness engulfed them, and he could not see over the people around him, and the noise multiplied tenfold. He forced himself to keep breathing. He started to look around for his group, and only then realized a small hand was clasped in his. When had Madelaine taken his hand? They kept moving. The darkness and noise persisted. And then light, again. How thick were those walls? The noise dropped away, and the steady stream of the crowd gave way to whorls and eddies; a tug on his hand, and looked over. Arias held Madelaine''s other hand, and Norris held hers, and Anne''s, who was on the other end of their little strand. The noise was incredible; they could have shouted in his ear and he wasn''t sure he would have heard. However, Anne was moving somewhere, and gently pulling their group along. He looked up again, the only direction that wasn''t just a wall of flesh and clothing and faces and noise. The sky was gone; there was nothing but a thicket, a forest, a canopy of towers and walkways, far overhead. He wondered what Arias saw; she stood tall enough to see over the people around them. Probably just an uneven floor of people''s heads. They were near a foot of one of the towers. It was, he was surprised to see, plain gray; there were several towers nearby, all made out of what looked like relatively ordinary masonry blocks. However, as their party moved, he spotted a faint blue mist rolling off of the nearest tower. Ah. They kept moving, and the crowds finally began thinning enough that he could see the city. Could see people, he realized, as he noticed for the first time the sheer variety of people occupying this place; all human, but a crazed patchwork of humanity. A woman with light green skin walked by wearing a nearly spherical orange ¡­ dress? A thin tall man dressed in white robes conversed with someone half his height, hidden entirely in a thick blue cloak. That ¡­ that man was naked. He blinked, looking around, realizing that nudity, while no more represented than any other fashion here, was all around him. The street level of the towers, if he didn''t look up, looked ¡­ plain. Doors. Signs, both plain and embellished, advertising goods and services. The curve of the walls was really the only thing that stood out; they weren''t huge, uniformly of a diameter that Thomas guessed at maybe fifty feet. It also didn''t smell ¡­ like anything. Or rather, it smelled of everything, and he couldn''t actually pick any one scent out, which was a strange experience, an olfactory equivalent of the steady roar that assaulted his ears. The street itself was paved in the same plain gray stone, and poles rose at odd intervals, supporting large glowing spheres. The source of the light in this skyless place. Thomas looked at one of the spheres, and then around ¨C and indeed, there were not any plants to be seen. It made him want to shiver, and he looked around more urgently, searching for any plants at all. Then his eyes fell on a man leaning against a tower while another man ¡­ knelt ¡­ in front of him ¡­ Thomas averted his eyes, even as he felt a stir of lust, the first in some time. No. Anne guided them through what felt like an endless sea of towers. The number of people engaged in their own lives and activities fell away, and the noise subsided until it was merely incredibly loud ¨C but there was never a single moment where he couldn''t see a dozen people. And then she opened a door, holding it open as their line stepped through. Thomas avoided her gaze as he walked inside, and she closed the door behind them. The door closed with a sudden silence that was more immense and sudden than had it been slammed; wasn''t the only one who jumped in surprise. And then he looked around, eyes adjusting to the even-slightly-darker interior. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Oh, Anne.¡± A voice like paper rubbing together; a man sat behind a desk in the small room they occupied, his skin pale and thin, with wispy white hair rising chaotically over his head. He studed them with eyes that shone with an inner light ¨C possibly literally ¨C and smiled, setting down a quill, and rubbing ink off his hands onto an apron that had clearly been used for the purpose many times before. ¡°Balier Mersin ¨C mayor now, is he? A shame about Cavroc. His messenger said you might be coming. Come forward, now, let''s get a look at all of you. And you must be Thomas?¡± Thomas nodded as the gray eyes looked him up and down. He was pretty sure they were glowing, a little bit. ¡°Yes, uh, sir?¡± The man, for his part, just nodded, and turned to Anne. ¡°Do you know when he appeared?¡± ¡°The seventeenth of Mystery, Sage Eslan.¡± ¡°Ah, interesting.¡± The old man carefully set the sheet he had been writing in to the side, then started flipping through others. Thomas looked around at their group while the man looked through his papers; Madelaine looked back, everybody else keeping their eyes on the ¡­ sage? Thomas shrugged at her, looking around the ¡­ office? Waiting area? He didn''t see any doors. Was there another entrance to the tower? It was a comfortable if cramped room, lit by two spheres giving off a gentle yellow-orange glow which reminded Thomas of firelight, and filled with books. Not on bookshelves, but rather stacked haphazardly, including all over what Thomas suspected might be the guest chairs, hiding other pieces of furniture recognizable only from the spindly legs sticking out of the bottom of stacks of books. The scratching of a quill drew Thomas'' attention back away from trying to decipher the titles of one of the books; he found he couldn''t quite read the title. Of any of the books. It looked ¡­ almost legible. Almost like he should be able to read it, if he just focused ¡­ he turned his gaze back to the sage, who was still writing, as Eslan resumed speaking. ¡°As best as we can determine, that puts Thomas as arriving with the second group, but we''ve only found one survivor from what we''re calling the first group. Sage Belfry thinks that what we''re calling the first group might be the seventh, or eighth, depending on whether a group with no people at all counts as a group, but there''s really insufficient information at this time.¡± Sage Eslan looked up at the stone ceiling for a moment, then back down at Thomas. ¡°Do you happen to remember how long it took for you to lose the majority of your memories of home, and what was the first thing to go?¡± Thomas hesitated, looking at Norris, who made a gesture with his hand to continue. ¡°Uh. Maybe two or three weeks? It really seemed to ramp up around then. And, uh, names of specific things went first.¡± The sage nodded, picked up the quill, and scratched on the paper again. The scratching sound made Thomas itch. After a moment, those gray eyes returned to Thomas. ¡°For your edification, young man, you''re not crazy.¡± Thomas blinked. That ¡­ that was strangely reassuring. The sage looked to Anne. ¡°Yours was not the first report, just the ¡­ loudest. We interviewed the survivor from the first group a month ago.¡± His attention returned to Thomas. ¡°Around the time your memory loss accelerated, would be my guess, because that has been consistent. None of the next twelve groups -¡± ¡°Twelve!?¡± Anne broke in, then stopped, flushing red. ¡°My apologies, Sage Eslan.¡± ¡°Anne, it is alright, I can guess at your concerns. I say guess, but your reports were very loud, and I''ve been calming panic on the subject for a week, now. No, we are not going to be unanchoring this plane, we have been monitoring the situation for some time. Although there will be a voluntary evacuation, which we''ll get to in a moment. The problem is not here, and word from Pantheon is that they are discussing the situation and working on a resolution.¡± Anne breathed out, a slow exhalation of relief. Thomas averted his gaze, to look back at Eslan, shock coloring his thoughts as she embraced Norris, who had tears in his eyes. ¡°Now. None of the next twelve groups have had any information on their home whatsoever. I believe the pantheon intervened to keep any additional information from slipping out.¡± He cleared his throat, a dry sound that made Thomas wince internally. ¡°I have reason to believe that the problem will shortly be sorted out, but our initial interview did yield some information.¡± His attention moved to another stack of papers, which he began sorting through quickly. ¡°Ah yes. The population of the plane of Earth, hierarchy unknown, is believed to be somewhere between one and ten billion. A precise number could not be found.¡± Thomas stared. That ¡­ sounded right. ¡°The plane is of unknown scale, but is of a peculiar spherical geometry, such that walking in any direction eventually results in arriving at the same place.¡± He picked up a piece of paper and formed a loop with it, showing it to the group. Anne and Norris separated, with confused looks of wonder. ¡°How is that possible?¡± Norris asked. ¡°The answer to that is unknown; perhaps some form of planar magic we have not yet seen, perhaps something else entirely. It is home to unique but ultimately primitive forms of magic; Jane, I should call her by her name, expected us to be impressed that they had the ability to fly.¡± The sage shrugged, and set the paper down. ¡°Regardless, and apart from other noted pecularities of this new plane, including what we believe to be a large new variety of mutant wildlife, it is my opinion that the current situation is not of particular danger, and I judge it unlikely that any sages in Confluence will overrule my judgment on this matter. Even in the worst case, that the entire population arrives here, it''s only an additional ten billion people.¡± Thomas had been having trouble keeping up with the sage''s explanation, but it had been with a measure of building relief ¨C right up until he caught up with the last statement, when relief fell away into a void of gibbering confusion. ¡°Hey, mister sage man? How many people are there?¡± Eslan leaned over the desk, blinking at Madelaine in surprise. ¡°Oh dear, my apologies, I didn''t see you there. I''m afraid I don''t have the answer to that. There were forty seven planes anchored in Confluence last time I visited, however, so I think the local hierarchy might have two, maybe three hundred billion?¡± No, this was gibbering confusion, that previous thing had just been normal confusion. ¡°Oh. Is that a lot?¡± ¡°For one plane, certainly. We believe the real risk is from the mutant wildlife, possessed of qualities unknown to us, but thus far we have no evidence any such things as, say, ''tigers'', have made any appearance. We got what information we could; Anne, I''ll give you some notes on things to keep an eye out for. A beast that can remain unseen just be standing still would be unwelcome, much less these ''virus'' monsters that Jane mentioned." He trailed off, looking very disturbed, then seemed to see them again, and shook himself. "Oh, yes, the voluntary evacuation.¡± The sage looked back to Anne. ¡°It''s going to be getting a little bit crowded here in the worst case. This plane wasn''t scheduled for any kind of expansion for another decade, and it will take time to get the paperwork sorted. Additionally, the planned expansion was for a sea and a mountain range, so we''ll need to process change requests, and you know how that is. We do have a new plane sched-¡± ¡°Wait wait wait¡± Thomas raised a hand, his brain refusing to process anything else, and starting to regurgitate the knowledge that had tried to assert itself. ¡°Local hierarchy? Three hundred billion? Change requests? ¡­ no, no, no. Sorry, sorry, Sage Eslan, I just, I can''t.¡± Eslan''s initial expression of annoyance cleared almost immediately, and he nodded. ¡°Why don''t you go to the shopping district, Thomas? Would you accompany him, granddaughter?¡± Thomas'' brain broke again when Arias nodded her head and took his arm. Granddaughter? ¡°Oh, and get some of those sour candies I like, please. The ones that come in the green paper bags.¡± Thomas heard the sound of a drawer opening and closing, and Arias caught a jingling bag over a shoulder without looking around. Outside again, Thomas stumbled to the side, and slumped to the ground, back to the cold gray stones of the tower, the world spinning around him. Arias'' hand landed on his shoulder, just resting there, while he lowered his gaze to the ground, trying to focus on breathing, an exercise which slowly and inexorably transformed into frantic and uncontrollable, and not entirely humorless, laughter. Ch 34. Market ¡°So.¡± Thomas hesitated, wondering whether it was polite to ask. Then decided it didn''t really matter. ¡°Can you talk?¡± Arias looked at him; she tilted her head to the side, then to the other, and finally shrugged. Well. Alright. Maybe he shouldn''t have asked. He was following her through the forest of immense towers, trying to ignore the other people around. The air was full of a dull thrum of conversation, but it was impersonal and distant. There was no sky, just the strange magical ¨C he assumed magical ¨C glowing spheres sporadically and apparently randomly placed atop pillars. The light was cold and sterile. ¡°Well. I am sorry if you aren''t in the mood, I''m going to talk, because I can''t not.¡± Another shrug; she wasn''t looking at him anymore, but was apparently still listening.. ¡°I thought we''d come here and we could help people. But we didn''t come here for the reason I thought we were coming here, and I guess the reason I thought we were coming here is basically moot? Like, this voluntary evacuation thing, people are just going to leave the plane, just to avoid the crowds?¡± A nod. ¡°I don''t know what a plane is, I realize. It''s flat, I guess. Like, what happens if you reach the end? Do you fall off?¡± No response. ¡°Does the world just end in a wall? Like, you walk into a wall, and can''t walk any further?¡± A pause, then a shrug. He took a moment to guess, taking a moment to try to formulate a question with a simple yes or no response. ¡°So not a wall, but you can''t go further?¡± A shrug. Okay. Maybe she didn''t know. ¡°And there are other planes, I take it. A lot of other planes. Do they all look like this place?¡± She shook her head. ¡°The elder mentioned a sea. Could I go to a plane that''s an island and beaches?¡± A nod. The volume was increasing as they moved, and the sporadic people moving around them were growing denser. His attention shifted over, watching two columns of people in orange and green hooded robes pass by. ¡°Probably not an island paradise. There''s probably like ¡­ sharks with legs.¡± She paused briefly before shrugging. ¡°Figures. So I wanted to help people. And I guess there''s probably still stuff we could do. That I could do, sorry. You and Anne and Norris have helped me out a lot, and I don''t even know if I''ve thanked you. Thank you.¡± Arias glanced over a shoulder, and give him a stern nod. He hesitated when she held his gaze, and then nodded back. This seemed to satisfy her, and they kept walking. Thomas was quiet for a moment as he considered his time here, staring off to the side. Now that he thought about it, he hadn''t actually been here that long. It sure felt like a long time, though, perhaps because he''d spent half his time recovering from some injury or another. He blinked and jerked as he realized he''d been absently staring at a naked woman, and quickly averted his gaze. A question bubbled up, but he let it die, looking around instead. Nudity was basically just normal, here; it wasn''t sexualized, it just was. Well, not normal; most people wore clothes. But those who didn''t, didn''t really attract any attention. Why did most people wear clothes at all? Then ¡­ no. No, wait. Nudity wasn''t normal in Piketown; people might swim naked, but they walked around wearing clothes. And it hadn''t been normal anywhere else, at least not that he had noticed. He looked around again. And blinked, taking in the sheer variety of different kinds of clothing. Noticing the different hairstyles, the different skin tones. The way other people just kind of ¡­ avoided looking at other people. The way they clustered, and moved in groups, with people like them. A hand touched his shoulder, and he jumped; Arias was frowning at him, and then he realized he''d stopped walking. He started after her again. There were different cultures here. The nudity wasn''t normal, exactly, it was just another cultural group. At least two cultural groups, as he let himself look. Most people who wore nothing, simply wore nothing. But a man and woman walking together definitely marked another, their skin marked in intricate spiraling inks or maybe paints, and adorned in a variety of silver jewelry. His brain flashed blank as he realized that a lot of the jewelry was piercings, or suspended from piercings. But the roar of human interactions had grown oppressive, so he couldn''t ask Arias about it. Not that he was certain what he could ask her. The industrial twilight of the city gave way to animalistic frenzy; the crowds thickened, a wall of people as far to their left and right as Thomas could see, wrapping around the towers; the people grew closer together the further they moved. Thomas found himself stepping on the back of Arias'' boots twice before he started shuffling, as the press of anonymous faces shoved them into each other ¨C at least he was barefoot, she didn''t seem to have noticed. The roar of voices was an oppressive weight on his consciousness, clothing and flesh passing by him almost too quickly for Thomas to process. They moved forward in jostles and jerks, moving left and right as often. Step. Jerk. Step. Arias turned suddenly, and then she was behind him; he started to turn to look for her, and then a hand was on his shoulder, guiding him like a ¡­ like a battering ram through the people. Not that there was anywhere to go. Other noises joined the frenzy; shouts to be overheard. The assorted pleasant smells of the mana bleed were replaced with the assorted unpleasant smells of humanity, and the air grew warm in his nose. People brushed by him, touched him. Somebody squeezed his butt; the hand left his shoulder, and the offending touch disappeared. Arias'' grip returned a moment later. Through the press of humanity, he got a glimpse of a bearded man holding aloft a colorful strip of something, in front of a paneled surface, and then was gone. Somebody selling fabric from a wagon, maybe? He was guided onward. The press of people passed around him, faces spinning by; nobody else outright grabbed him, but there were other touches, pinches. The crowd began to thin again. He could take full steps, instead of shuffling. He caught glimpses of stalls, vendors shouting unheard into the tumult, showing off goods. Clothing and dishware. There was food, as well, but the smells assaulting his nose of unwashed humanity, colored the perceptions of the steaming skewers of meat and colorful breads in a distinctly unappetizing way. The crowd thinned more; the forest of towers rose around them as before, the location not obviously different in any respect, save that here, the towers were wrapped by tables and carts, colorful signage Thomas couldn''t decipher hung above them. Everywhere he looked, people were selling things. Vegetables, piled high, in colors and shapes Thomas didn''t recognize, raw fish and meats. He didn''t see any of the manna, any summoned food or dull gray items, as he began looking for them. Arias moved back beside him, offering something up to him. He looked down, and blinked at the ¡­ that was his coin bag in her hand. With ¡­ the strap cut. Oh. He accepted it from her, but then had to hold it in his hand, as he couldn''t attach it to his belt anymore. Well. He began looking, and Arias followed when he made his way to a merchant selling leather goods. Arias picked something out for him; a buckled pouch, the distinctive feature of which was a thin metal mesh embedded in the surface of the leather. At his questioning glance, the bearded merchant pointed at the hand Thomas clutched his own purse in, and produced a small blade; the edge did not penetrate the mesh. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Negotiation in the noise was performed by gesture. Arias did not intervene, and Thomas suspected he might have overpaid, but he left the stall two silver and eighty copper lighter; a belt with the same mesh replaced his. They then moved on, Thomas'' eyes swiveling around at the parade of goods around him. Food and cloth seemed the most common things to be sold; he didn''t see much in the way of clothing itself. One stall caught his eye, and it took him a moment to disentangle the massive wooden structure behind the merchant; a tower of chairs. His attention drifted on, Arias having taken the lead once more, freeing his attention for the myriad offerings on display. And froze, at a line of naked men and women, a woman in front of them dressed in a puffy shirt and trousers, gesturing at those passing and shouting, not that he could hear whatever it was she yelled. Arias was five or six steps ahead of him before stopping to look at him, then at where his attention was directed, then back at him with a look somewhere between exasperated and amused, expressions which gave way to concern at she studied him. Thomas forced himself to unclench his fists, the details slowly asserting themselves in his mind, as he realized his initial impression had been mistaken. The men and women were enticing passersby. His attention took in the cloth ¡­ tents, kind of, behind them. He forced the scowl off his face, and gave Arias an embarrassed shrug and smile, turning to follow her again. She didn''t turn away from him immediately, studying his face, then looking at the stall, then at him again. They made their way away from the open-air brothel. Thomas would have to explain that later. He wasn''t a prude, he wasn''t angry about people selling sex ¡­ okay, he was a prude, but he wasn''t angry about people selling sex. Well, no, he found himself kind of annoyed about the way it was done, out in the open. There were children here! Maybe! He didn''t see any right now, now that he looked. Selling sex was ¡­ he had complicated feelings about that. Thomas shook his head, trying to sort through a one-sided conversation ¨C a twice-over one-sided conversation, given that it was currently taking place entirely in his head. Did they sell people here? Was that a thing? What would he do if he saw it? Arias stopped suddenly, and Thomas was forced to stop behind her with a jerk, looking around, to realize they were waiting in line in front of another table, although the word didn''t do it justice; an enormous curved surface that seemed to wrap halfway around the tower. A young woman was putting colorful spheres into green paper bags at the front of the queue, exchanging gestures with a hooded figure, whose back was to Thomas. Thomas looked around the table; an old man helped another queue, to their right. An old woman was moving down the table, straightening and adjusting the bowls of brightly colored spheres, each bowl representing a distinct shade of a very detailed rainbow; her bright gray eyes darted around the people moving around the table. He looked around as they waited in line. The noise was incredible, and he had a thought which nagged at him like a headache; given that you couldn''t hear anybody, why did people bother trying to shout over the noise ¨C but if people didn''t shout to be heard over the noise, then it would be quiet enough that shouting over the noise would be worth doing. Now that he was looking, yes, there were children here. But where he had expected to see children mixed among the adults, instead they formed their own little groups, distinct from the adults. They moved in mixed-culture groups, as well, ranging in age from barely past the age of walking to young teenagers, and none of them looked malnourished, and ¡­ and ¡­ oh. Well, of course the naked people would have children, that''s how you got people. But children walking around without clothing was just ... wrong. Thomas looked straight up, feeling intensely uncomfortable. Okay. Yes, he was a prude, and he was fine with being a prude. He turned firmly back to staring at the back of Arias'' head, not wanting to look around anymore. She got a bag of colorful spheres, exchanged for a silver and some coppers. Then they were on their way; Thomas was surprised at first when she didn''t immediately head back the way they had come; the people around them changed as they walked, the immense cultural variety giving way to a more uniform collection of people; the vast variety of clothing gave way to plainer browns. He couldn''t tell how Arias navigated; every tower looked the same to him, plain gray blocks. The ground didn''t vary. The only signage seemed to mark businesses; maybe those were recognizable? Or perhaps she just had some kind of distinction or skill or spell that let her find her way around. But they moved into a part of the market that Thomas started to recognize as, not just culturally homogeneous, but of a culture he kind of recognized; these were the clothes that Norris and Anne wore; boots, pants, shirt; there were subtle differences in the collars, in the hems, but the shades of brown were uniform. The men wore capes, like Norris. They didn''t all wear the floppy-brimmed hats. Indeed, very few people wore them, mostly people who carried weapons, whose belts were heavy with lumpy pouches. He drew closer to Arias, suddenly concerned that if he got lost, he would have trouble finding her in the crowds; she wasn''t even unusually tall, here. Thomas looked at an insanely large and muscular man who was stirring an enormous wooden ¨C cauldron? It looked like a single piece. Smoke rose from a smaller covered iron cauldron sitting inside it, suspended by a net of thin chains. Another man, tall but thin, was ladling some kind of brown grain into plain-looking clay bowls for customers, and adding meats and sauces on top of that. The style of food looked familiar, but not. He saw the same cookware at another stall, as they continued walking. The same, but different. At the third stall, the cook was adding chips of something to the iron pot; flames licked upward as he did. It was ¡­ a strange way of cooking, but, he supposed, probably used less metal? But metal seemed plentiful here, compared to wood. Why cook the soup, or whatever it was, from the inside? Arias stopped at three stalls, each of which sold clothing. Finished clothing, rather than cloth, which he was startled to realize was itself somewhat unusual. He watched in ¨C well, not silence, but the overbearing noise was its own kind of silence ¨C as she carefully dug through piles of shirts and pants, quickly and efficiently doing measurements of seams using only her hands. Neat stacks of clothing ¨C he had gasped at the amount of silver that left her hands with the first purchase, not that anybody heard ¨C made their way into three bags. He averted his gaze at the third stall, feeling like an intruder, as she dug her way through pale fabric that seemed thin enough to see through. It felt somehow worse when she put her purchases in the bags, and he realized that the not-quite-bras made their way into two bags along with the socks and shorts, and that he had been seeing Anne''s underwear. Yep. He was a prude. She made more stops, picking up various small things; an odd white stone and a leather strap, from a store which had knives on display, he couldn''t make heads or tails of, but mostly the things she bought made sense. He stopped paying too much attention, and found himself just anxiously waiting to get back out of the oppression of noise and people. He didn''t want to be here anymore, and he felt kind of guilty about that ¨C couldn''t he do something to help people from home here? ¨C but he just wanted to be gone and go back out to the quiet villages and towns, where there was grass and sky and quiet, and ¨C huh? The roar had changed. He started, when he realized Arias was standing next to him anymore, and looked around, finding her a moment later, to one side of a crowd, standing with four other people in floppy brown hats, in a line; a bundle of brown clothes ¡­ no, a person, lay on the ground behind them; in front of them stood seven figures, enormous in what he was startled to recognize as plate armor, made out of a blue-gray metal. There was blood on the ground, and on the mace of one of the armored people. ¡°OI!¡± The shout which ripped out of him startled the shit out of him, and it took him a good half-second to realize he''d used Call Out; he wasn''t sure if he had intended to do that. That had done it, though, gone right through the incredible noise. Seven visored helmets spun slowly and leisurely on plate mail towards him. His heart sank into a bottomless pit of foreboding, eyes were drawn to the maces, which were ¡­ jagged. This would hurt. Ch 35. Thanks Thomas took a step back, as seven figures, nearly identical save for height, looked in his direction. Another step back, when he saw a crossbow being aimed in his direction ¨C they didn''t all have maces, he was perhaps late to realize. And another, when a blue message appeared out of nowhere. And then he fell on his ass as pain tore through his side, even as his brain finally processed what he was seeing.
Moderate objective complete: Help your friend escape the law. 2 customization points awarded. New major objective: Escape the law.
He touched his side, glanced down, saw blood. Crossbow bolt. He could feel it inside him, pain every time his torso moved. Thomas looked back up at the seven approaching figures; which one had shot him? Now they all had maces again. Arias had escaped? He couldn''t see her. Or anyone on the ground. Okay, good. A spasm of pain wracked him, wrapped tightly around a convulsive cough. Okay, not good. He stared at the blood he had coughed out, then looked back up at the approaching ¡­ law? Police? They''d shot him! Without so much as an order to halt. He forced himself to his feet, trying to ignore the stabbing agony of the piece of metal that was stuck between two ribs. Police. Okay, he couldn''t possibly fight them. And he really, really didn''t want to run right now. He raised his hands, and tried to clear his throat to call out. Faster than he could process, a mace disappeared from the far left figure''s hands, and a crossbow was there, and there was pain, unfolding through his torso into intricately detailed structures of agony; sharpness, dullness, pulsing tones that took on a nearly auditory quality. Thomas stumbled back, and found himself staring at a second piece of metal sticking into his chest. The fuck, the fuck, the fuck? This was the law!? He was running. Thomas didn''t remember deciding to run, he was just suddenly aware that he was dashing away, shoving past people. A sudden tiny geyser of blood to his right, and a woman cried out. Piercing pain in his back, adding to a rich tapestry of sensation he was simultaneously ignoring and incredibly aware of. His attention drifted to his health, with a spike of terror at the number there.
129/266 Health 0/0 Mana 6/6 Stamina
They''d shot him three times, and he was halfway to dead. He did not want to get shot again. How did you not get shot? Don''t go in a straight line. He was currently running in a straight line, bowling through people. His bare feet slid on the stone as he threw himself left. Somebody else cried out. Thomas didn''t look. Another stab of agony ripped through his thigh. Seventy eight health. He didn''t do the math, he just kept running, feeling the bolt, like an axe chopping away at his leg with every stride. Another bolt. The world no longer rushed by, it spun around him. Thomas blinked, trying to look around. There they were. Above him. It was hard to see, his eyes were blurry with tears. A blurry shape rose, and fell towards his vision, expanding into darkness. Thumping, pulsing, shadowy figures moved around him, noises like a hammer on steel rang through his nerves, something leaned over him and was gone, thumping and pulsing, and he rang like a bell on and on and on in a song of fire burning everything away, continuity like tree bark and he was the tree with canopy in flames as he reached for the burning sunlight in the total dark an eternity that gave way to a rain of ice and snow that turned into light. Light. Clarity hit Thomas like a wave, like he was swimming in Lake Michigan in a hot day in summer and the cold washed over him. He sat up sharply, reeling from the sudden sense of presence, like he was a glass hitting a stone floor and shattering, but in reverse, his various pieces shoved together with remarkable violence until he was whole once more. He was whole once more, and the room around him was a plain stone room, and a bearded face was scowling at him from the other side of a table. Thomas felt at his chest ¨C he was naked, his mind noted, with disappointment but without surprise ¨C and, with somewhat more surprise, he was not poked full of holes. His mental attention turned to the bearded face, which sat atop a ¡­ oh. The gray-blue armor. The helmet sat on the table. Thomas took a second to check his health, and was relieved to see it was back at full, at which point his hands stopped looking for injuries and crossbow bolts. Thomas returned the man''s scowl. ¡°Is there a reason you shot me?¡± Gray-blue eyes, nearly the same color as the metal, stared back at him. Both hair and beard were short and black, and well-trimmed. The beard looked like it probably saw a brush. ¡°Is there a reason you interrupted a lawful arrest?¡± The voice was calm, cold, with a kind of precise and unyielding enunciation; if Thomas were to give it a color, it would also match the armor. ¡°Yes. You bashed that person''s head in with a mace, and looked ready to do it again.¡± That got a reaction. Okay, a blink. Maybe that had just been a natural blink. ¡°A thief. They will be caught. You will name your accomplices.¡± It was Thomas'' turn to blink. Accomplices? Oh. He considered that for a second. Considered it for another second. Okay. Assume ¡­ what could he assume? ¡°I do not know any thieves.¡± Maybe not good enough. ¡°I don''t know the person you hit. I thought you were assaulting people, and sought to intervene.¡± True enough, if they could tell whether or not he was lying; did police have a class? Did they get powers? ¡°I doubt that. Innocent people don''t hang around with necromantic scum.¡± That gave Thomas more pause. Did they have Madelaine? Could they detect ¡­ some kind of magical residue on him? ¡°I don''t know what you mean.¡± That was ¡­ true enough. He only had guesses. ¡°Don''t lie to me.¡± Shit shit. ¡°We caught you fleeing from the district where the cultist scum settled down.¡± Wait, what? The man''s face shifted, then his scowl shifted. ¡°What was that?¡± ¡°What was what?¡± A pause, in reply. ¡°Stay here.¡± The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. A woman joined the man when he had re-entered the room, as Thomas discovered when two helmets were placed on the table. She looked, if anything, even more severe than the man. Thomas looked between them, as they both watched him. The man spoke. ¡°You helped a thief escape.¡± A pause; Thomas just looked at the man, as that had been a statement, not a question. ¡°You attempted to prevent an arrest.¡± Another pause. ¡°You are traveling with a necromancer.¡± Pause. ¡°You were consorting with cultists.¡± A longer pause. Then the woman turned to look at the man. ¡°I do believe you are correct.¡± Her attention turned back to Thomas. The man waited a moment, while Thomas'' attention shifted between them, feeling ¡­ bewildered. ¡°You are a woman.¡± Thomas blinked in surprise at the man''s next statement, but the man had continued before Thomas could react. ¡°You have green hair. You are traveling with a necromancer.¡± Oh. Oh shit. Thomas sank back into the chair back behind him. The woman was nodding, and took over the conversation. ¡°Where is the necromancer?¡± ¡°What about the thief?¡± ¡°Irrelevant. An unlicensed necromancer takes priority.¡± Thomas blinked. The woman''s expression changed. ¡°Is the necromancer licensed?¡± Thomas was feeling ¡­ somewhat inadequate to this situation; they read him like a book, and he was feeling entirely exposed for a reason unrelated to his state of undress. ¡°Do you know that necromancy requires a license?¡± She stared at him for a while, until he decided she was waiting for an actual answer. Maybe because he found the question confusing, and she couldn''t interpret that? ¡°I, uh. I didn''t? I do now?¡± Her eyes tightened; Thomas didn''t recognize the expression. ¡°Irrelevant.¡± A pause. ¡°You are one of the lost invaders?¡± She nodded almost at once. He felt vaguely indignant; he was pretty sure he had only reacted in confusion to the term. ¡°Is the necromancer a lost invader?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Irrelevant.¡± Her reply was nearly an interruption. Only, after a moment, she added, ¡°Mostly irrelevant. Has this necromancer, to your knowledge, learned any of the following spells: Steal Face. Plague Touch. Speak to Spirits. Curse Transfer. Soul Transfer. Grave Transfer. Devour Soul.¡± Each spell name was followed by a brief pause in which he tried to convey his genuine lack of awareness. She shared a look with the other ¡­ police officer? The bearded man spoke next. ¡°You will remain in custody until the necromancer is evaluated for compliance and licensed. You have been found to be in negligent non-compliance with the law, and for negligent interference with a lawful arrest. Your material possessions will be held in collateral until you have paid the fines.¡± Thomas was moved to a different room, which involved going down several flights of stairs; each landing was cramped, with little more room than necessary for the stairs going up and down and two doors. The stairs themselves were wide, such that the two officers, or whatever their title was, held him between them, with room for a fourth person, even in their bulky armor. He was brought through one of the doors from a landing, into a room that itself was a hallway with doors on either side, all made of the same dull gray stone. It was dark, the lighting coming from a single orb at the end of the hallway, and the two guards opened a door and shoved him through. He looked around once inside. Ah. A prison cell. It was almost familiar, albeit this one smelled somewhat better, and looked to be kept clean, with a dim glowing sphere suspended in the air overhead, just out of his reach. Last time he''d had clothing. Thomas frowned around at the floor, reluctant to sit directly on the stone; however clean it looked, it wasn''t like dirt would show up terribly well on the rough gray surface. He gave up on standing after what felt like several hours, and sat against the wall. More time passed, and when he could stand it no longer, he used the ¡­ hole in the floor. There wasn''t any way to clean up; he tried not to think about that. A meal appeared on the floor, a play of lights brightening the darkness of the room; a plate of manna, a bowl of some kind of sauce, and a large jug of water. It also came with a folded cloth that might have been a napkin. He used the water and the napkin to clean himself after he was finished eating and drinking. He slept. The stone was uncomfortable. And woke to noise; the door opened, and Norris'' face appeared, followed by hands holding a bundle of cloth ¨C a set of his clothes. Alright then. He dressed, and stepped outside, where Anne and Madelaine were waiting. Madelaine looked furious. ¡°Thomas! What the hell, man?¡± Thomas looked around at them, feeling ¡­ relief. The fines, when he got the papers, seemed ¡­ well, it seemed an awful lot like they''d gone through his money, and made up a figure that took most of it. He was surprised to realize, as they ascended stairs, that he''d been underground; the towers stretched down as much as up. ¡°They''re the Gray Guard.¡± Anne spoke between drinks; she had been furious, he had only realized when they had left. ¡°They think themselves the common law of the anchorages of Confluence. Avoid them as much as possible.¡± The tavern Anne brought them to was, to Thomas'' sensibilities, strange; there was no common room, and the establishment stretched upward, with similar stairs and landings to the prison, save that the rooms on either side were comfortably furnished, and warmly decorated in, mostly, abstractly geometric tapestries. It was surprisingly private in comparison to Thomas'' expectations. Servers periodically ducked in, took orders, and vanished again. ¡°Arias found us, and let us know you''d been taken.¡± Norris was less interested in the drink, which Anne was alternatively emptying, and filling from an enormous clay pitcher, and more interested in an orangish starchy vegetable, that tasted unusually sweet to Thomas. The mage''s eyes turned to Arias, who had been waiting for them when they arrived at the tavern. ¡°Took a few hours to get everything sorted out. They ¡­ ¡± He paused, frowning. ¡°They don''t like people from our plane.¡± ¡°I think they called you cultists.¡± Anne scowled. Norris continued in a more neutral tone. ¡°The cultists died. Our homes died with them. There''s suspicion. When a plane is evacuated, everybody expects the problem to come with the refugees.¡± Thomas looked around, blinking. ¡°You''re refugees? But you seem ¡­ ¡± He stopped, taking a moment to actually consider what they did. ¡°This is not a noble profession, Thomas. It''s a job, like any other.¡± Anne''s voice, sounding more bitter than he''d heard from her before. He felt like he heard other words, unspoken ¨C it was a job people didn''t do, if they could help it. ¡°Do you begin to understand?¡± ¡°I ¡­ yes.¡± Anne nodded, refilling her cup. ¡°They didn''t kill you, at least.¡± Norris'' voice, still carefully neutral. ¡°I think things have improved a bit since the last time I was here.¡± ¡°They shot me with a crossbow.¡± Thomas took a moment to try to remember. ¡°Six or seven times. Then I think somebody hit me in the head with a mace.¡± Norris blinked at him. Anne even stopped drinking for a second. Thomas hastily added, ¡°I have nineteen damage reduction.¡± Madelaine looked over at that; she''d complained the entire walk over here about the paperwork she''d been made to fill out to get him out. ¡°Nineteen? That''s not fair, that''s like, a third of my health!¡± ¡°It''s what his class does.¡± Norris interjected before Thomas could respond. ¡°But whatever nineteen means in this case, it won''t do you any good. Sufficient dedications in crossbows and maces nullify such physical resilience. Second or maybe third dedication, I think.¡± Thomas stared. They ¡­ they had just ignored his damage reduction? Which was, as Norris put it, what his class did? That wasn''t fair at all! ¡°Avoid the Gray Guard, anyways.¡± Anne spoke up again. ¡°It doesn''t sound like they''ve improved at all, not that I''d expect it of them. They''re corrupt and vicious arbiters of a law that they change to suit themselves, at best.¡± Her attention turned to Thomas. ¡°Consider yourself lucky to live.¡± A slight pause. ¡°Also, thank you for helping Arias.¡± She and Norris both turned to the girl, who thus far had been ¡­ well, not just quiet, but somehow withdrawn, as well. ¡°Who should have already known better than to attract their attention.¡± Arias just nodded. Thomas studied her; he wasn''t good at reading facial expressions anyways, but he guessed she was, maybe, embarrassed? Or maybe that''s just how he''d feel. ¡°I owe her, like I owe all of you.¡± Anne''s attention turned back to him, anger giving way to a small smile. He nodded to the older woman. ¡°Thank you all for taking me in.¡± Madelaine''s anger also gave, a little bit. ¡°Thank you for taking us in.¡± Ch 36. A Conversation over Tea ¡°It''s not bad, to think we do good. We do good; we''ve saved some lives, even.¡± Norris sat with Thomas on a table on a stone balcony, overlooking the forest of towers. The ground wasn''t visible through the cloud of lightly glowing multicolored fog, which, here, smelled of a kind of ambiguous spiciness, to Thomas. ¡°Anne just can''t think of it that way. When we first came here, we didn''t much feel like we had any choice. All the people we met in Anchor then were people angry that we had come, and we left.¡± ¡°I guess ¡­ I guess I feel kind of the same way. I did odd jobs in Piketown, but I just wanted to stop owing people things.¡± Thomas looked out into the fog. There was a comfortable kind of silence for a moment, in which Norris took a sip from his cup; they called the beverage tea, but it wasn''t quite tea the way Thomas thought tea should be. Thomas moved to refill his own cup from the delicate glass pot, watching the leaves swirl as the tea poured out. Norris spoke after a few seconds, his gaze distant, as he looked out into the towers. ¡°I don''t know the name of the plane I left, or the name of this plane. Naming planes is what people who live in places like Confluence do. For most people, it doesn''t matter; most people are born, work, grow old, and die, all in the same place, never having left. Those who go about naming places are people who don''t live in them, who have a need to distinguish between ''this'' and ''that''. ¡°Anne might know; I think maybe she had done some traveling. I remember trees, mostly. They''ve been planting them here, but it takes decades for them to grow, and this plane is yet young. I hope to see a forest here someday. Arias was born here; she never knew the place those around her remember as home.¡± Thomas took another slow drink of the tea, watching Norris, who was looking out over the landscape of vertical shafts with a glazed expression; seeing something else, perhaps. Maybe seeing trees. Thomas could remember trees; could see the resemblance here. ¡°My home had trees.¡± Thomas tried to remember it; he could almost see a line of trees, separated from water by ¡­ human-made structures. ¡°They grew so thick you couldn''t see the sky. I remember the emerald light of sunlight passing through so many leaves that no other color remained.¡± They both looked up, at the canopy of city above them. ¡°I wish I could remember more of it. I''m glad I don''t remember more of it. Does that make sense?¡± ¡°It does.¡± Norris'' voice was quiet. ¡°I treasure my memories of home, but they are painful, too. Memories are such bittersweet things. A shadow of things and people we no longer have.¡± ¡°I wish I remembered my parents.¡± ¡°I understand that. Mine ¡­ did not make it in the evacuation.¡± Norris breathed out a slow sigh, and emptied his tea, before relaxing backwards. ¡°The memories are painful, now, but it is a good pain. I am truly sorry for your loss.¡± Thomas nodded, uncertain how to respond to that, and instead bringing the tea to his face, inhaling the floral scents. The mist blew in the wind, slightly stronger here, higher up; colors drifted in and out, barely visible clouds of countless hues which never quite mixed together. Green gave way to a sickly yellow, gave way to a burnt orange, in the dominant color of the landscape of mostly-vertical lines. Scents passed them by, similarly varied, mostly pleasant. ¡°I feel like I''ve just kind of been stumbling along, these last few ¨C no, it''s only been a few weeks, hasn''t it? I got here, and then Anne pointed me towards Grimhaven, and that was ¨C that was nice for a little while, but, I, uh ¡­ ¡± Thomas trailed off. Norris looked to him, eyebrows lifting. ¡°Do you want to talk about it?¡± ¡°I ¡­ no. I don''t. Should I talk about it?¡± Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°I can''t really answer that. I think for some people, talking helps. Others do better just setting things aside and moving on.¡± ¡°I''m not sure I''m doing a good job of moving on.¡± ¡°I''ll listen, then.¡± Norris offered Thomas a smile, leaning over to pat his shoulder lightly. ¡°Can''t promise it will help.¡± ¡°I ¡­ alright. So, I. Hum. I have Lust, as one of my ¡­ traits.¡± Norris nodded, watching him, but remained silent; Thomas expected a smile or smirk at that, but if the man remembered their first meeting, he held it in check well. Thomas breathed out, then started talking. ¡°C- ¡­ a girl there was trying to help me; was helping me understand what ¡­ how things like dedications, and traits, and such, worked.¡± The words started to flow on their own. ¡°She wanted to help me get the ascensions from my traits. ¡°I tried to dissuade her, a little bit, but she had an idea that I was just being shy, I think, and kept pushing about it. And an evening came when she kept pushing, and I just kind of ¡­ I froze, and things kept happening, and I didn''t know how to make them stop happening. It stopped feeling like I was there, it just felt like something happening to somebody else, like I was just watching. ¡°And then it was over. And, afterwards, I told her how I felt.¡± Thomas hesitated, not looking at Norris, looking up at the canopy. It was a little blurry. ¡°And I can''t even be angry about it, because she had no idea. She started crying when she realized that ¡­ when I explained how I felt. I was afraid of her, I was afraid to tell her. And I kind of knew it would hurt her, when I told her. And I feel bad about that, but also, she didn''t have any right to do that to me.¡± Thomas blinked at the tear that had dripped into his tea. When had he looked down? ¡°But also, she didn''t know. And I''m angry about it, but not angry with her, exactly.¡± There were a few seconds of silence, and then a slow sip of tea. Thomas didn''t look up. A few more seconds, before Norris finally replied. ¡°I think ¡­ the situation is complicated. I think you were right to tell her that ¡­ ah. No, you were right. Boundaries are healthy things to have, and it sounds like she crossed a boundary you established as well as you could.¡± Norris hesitated a moment, then continued. ¡°It also sounds like maybe you didn''t establish it as well as you should have, or at least, you don''t feel like you did.¡± ¡°I don''t know. I ¡­ enjoyed it. I think I might have participated a little.¡± ¡°I don''t think that really matters. Are you making excuses for her, or do you think the situation was actually as ambiguous as you describe?¡± Thomas had to stop to consider that question. Was he making excuses for the behavior? He considered it a moment more. ¡°I ¡­ I''m not really sure. I ¡­ I had a crush on her.¡± His eyes watered with a sudden intensity, an unexpected pain flaring in his chest at that admission. It took his breath away, and several seconds passed before he could speak again. ¡°I think maybe I did want it. Just not ¡­ just not then. So I ¡­ I probably am making excuses for her. But also, she was beautiful, and strong, and helpful, and she wanted to ¡­ she wanted to have sex with me, and ¡­¡± Thomas trailed off, as the pain started up in his chest again. ¡°I kind of ¡­ I kind of miss her. And I never ¡­ I never want to see her again.¡± The hand rested on his shoulder again. Norris didn''t say anything. He didn''t have to, really. Thomas let himself cry, let himself feel a pain he''d shut out and ignored; he missed Cenpre, desperately. And he would never go back to see her. ¡°Are you and Anne ¡­ together?¡± Thomas let the question fall free some time later, the silence only interrupted when Norris had gone back into the shop for another pot of tea. Norris chuckled, at that, and looked up. ¡°She thinks she is too old for me. Maybe she''s right, maybe it doesn''t really matter. We''ve slept together a few times, over the years, but it''s never really turned into anything more. Maybe there isn''t anything more it could turn into, really. I love her in my way, she loves me in hers.¡± Thomas nodded slowly, as he processed that. Norris continued a moment later, voice growing wistful. ¡°I think her heart is still with her husband, and I won''t begrudge her that.¡± Thomas blinked, then. ¡°Anne is married?¡± ¡°Was. They had children, two little girls. I regret I didn''t meet them.¡± That ¡­ took a moment to process. Oh. ¡°Norris was married too.¡± Anne''s voice; Norris jumped, slightly, and turned, pinched cheeks flushing furiously. Thomas looked up; she was scowling at Norris, halfway through stepping out onto the balcony, a folding chair held in one hand. ¡°While we are telling stories about other people.¡± ¡°Anne, I''m sorry, I ¡­ uh ¡­¡± Norris looked down at his tea. ¡°You don''t have to answer every question anybody puts to you.¡± Thomas looked between the two as Anne glared, and Norris tried resolutely not to look at her. Then her attention turned to him, and Thomas found himself wanting to look away. ¡°They didn''t make it. Most people didn''t make it.¡± The door shut behind her, loudly. He winced at the sound. The silence returned. Ch 37. Anne ¡°Sorry.¡± Anne sighed, sitting across from Thomas, in the chair vacated earlier by Norris, who had gone to talk to her. She studied him. ¡°What are you sorry for?¡± ¡°I shouldn''t have pried. If I wanted to know, I should have asked you. It was inconsiderate.¡± Her eyes moves over his face for a few more seconds, then she shrugged, and looked out over the city. ¡°I didn''t start this job when I moved here. I''ve been doing this since I was, I don''t know, maybe your age.¡± Thomas blinked at the statement, but remained silent. It seemed appropriate. She frowned, a hand moving up to her hat, tugging it down against wind that didn''t threaten to pull it away. ¡°I found a team, joined. They taught me the ropes. ¡°The work wasn''t much different from what you''ve seen. More dangerous, but the profession was more established, and we looked out for each other. We saved people sometimes.¡± A slight smile, and she gave another tug on her hat. ¡°We went into a mine after a luciphagos infestation. Didn''t expect survivors; there were survivors. We got split up in the fighting while escorting the miners out. I spent the night in the mine with a young miner, fighting phagii together. His name was Tros. ¡°Then once we got out, we spent the next few nights together. I left for the next job. Found myself thinking about him.¡± Anne smile deepened, then sank again. She sank backwards, and picked up Norris'' empty cup, examining it, her tone flattening out. ¡°We married. I stopped adventuring, opened a supply store. We made two beautiful little girls, Mira and Primme. Things were nice. ¡°But things kept turning up in the mine. Kept getting worse. Tros took a job in town after a crevog nearly caught him. The mine was shut down not long after. I took up my bow again; I thought maybe I could do something, make things better. I was out on a hunt when the evacuation order came in. I got out. They didn''t.¡± Anne set the cup back down, then filled it from the pot. She took a sip, then shook her head. ¡°Cold.¡± ¡°I''m sorry.¡± What else could he say? Anne''s attention returned to him, her gaze steady, as she took another sip of the tea. ¡°I spent the next four years hunting down every surviving member of the cult and killing them.¡± He ¡­ was feeling increasingly uncertain about this conversation. ¡°Pest control, I like that phrase. We kill monsters. Sometimes we destroy dungeons. But sometimes, sometimes it''s a person, or group of people. Don''t buy into the glory; I did. I thought I could make things better for my family.¡± She gently swirled the dregs around in her cup, frowning down into the tea. ¡°I couldn''t have helped them. The only reason I got out was I was near Anchor. A different Anchor, the Anchor of home. Less built up than this Anchor, more ¡­ natural. I got the news, and I knew they wouldn''t make it. There just wasn''t time. I couldn''t have even made it back to them in time if I wanted to. ¡°I wish I could have held my daughter''s hands as the end came. That''s what I wanted to do. But I knew I wouldn''t make it. So instead, I killed those responsible. You know, for that first year, I was full of righteous fury. By the end of the fourth, it was just a chore, like chopping ¡­ ¡± The cup was placed back on the table. ¡°You chop wood to burn; it''s better to have more surface area, and it also makes the pieces more manageable.¡± It took Thomas a moment to realize that the explanation was intended to actually explain that to him; it probably wasn''t something people here did. ¡°Anyways. That''s the story. The short version. I''d need something stronger than tea if you want the long version.¡± ¡°I''m sorry you ¡­ I''m sorry it was like that, Anne.¡± She scowled up at him, at that, started to say something, then her expression softened. ¡°It''s not really like that. I''m grateful for my time with my Tros, with little Mira and Primme. I wish I had had more time with them, but what I am, more than anything else, is grateful. It''s something maybe you will understand when you have seen more, lived more, lost more.¡± She dug around in one of her pouches, and came up with a flask; she filled his glass, and hers, with an amber fluid. ¡°To loved ones lost.¡± He raised his cup with her, and took the contents down in a single swallow. And had to work very hard not to cough it all back up. ¡°Norris'' wife survived, you know.¡± They were on Anne''s second flask, now, and Thomas doubted he could stand; Anne seemed slightly uneven, but mostly alright. He looked at her with one eye, and then the other; they didn''t work quite right together at the moment. ¡°So wheresh ¡­ ee?¡± ¡°Somewhere upstream, in the mountains, probably with a litter of a half dozen by now. He was traveling with me at the time; I was showing him the ropes, the new kid. When we arrived at Anchor, there she was, with another man, a friend of theirs I guess she''d been seeing whenever he was away. She thought he was off somewhere else and wouldn''t make it, so decided to make her side business official. I didn''t see the fight, I was ¡­ looking. Knew I wouldn''t find them, had to look anyways. Where I met Kaffen. Oh, he''s a bounty hunter. Helped me ¡­ helped me look, then. Later, he helped me look for the cultists. He also lost people. Died a couple years ago in the mountains. Or maybe he''ll turn up again. He''s like that.¡± She snorted, then. Thomas, nodding along to the cadence of her voice, kept nodding for a second or two more, before it dawned on him she was silent again. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. After a few more minutes, Anne sighed, head turning to give Thomas a sidelong look. ¡°Norris told me, by the way.¡± It took Thomas'' addled mind a moment to catch up with that. ¡°He told you?¡± ¡°Well, I did ask.¡± She snorted quietly, and refilled her cup, then Thomas''. His cup didn''t need it, and he carefully sipped at it to lower the surface level. ¡°To be honest, I already knew. Cenpre confessed the story to me the morning we left.¡± Thomas jerked, staring at her. ¡°Shh-shh-so ¡­ ¡± He muddled through that thought for a second, without a lot of success. ¡°Not going to tell you what to do or how to live your life, Thomas.¡± A pause. ¡°Well, not about this, at least, not now. Okay, no, actually, I will.¡± She snorted again, in a manner that was almost in good humor but not quite, and took another drink. ¡°You liked her.¡± ¡°I ¡­ I did.¡± He looked down again. Oh. There was still whiskey. Or something like whiskey, at least. He sipped at it. It burned. ¡°It makes things easier, and it makes things harder. You''ve made this complicated, though, and it''s simple. It didn''t work out, and that''s okay. You can still be happy with someone else.¡± Thomas frowned at her. She looked at him for several seconds before turning an exaggerated frown back at him. Then her expression cleared, and her eyes held his. ¡°You have some odd attitudes about sex, but can it really be worse than a crossbow bolt through your ribs, Thomas? I know which I''d prefer.¡± He hesitated to reply, eyeing her. This wasn''t how this conversation was supposed to go at all, was it? He was pretty sure that was a trick question somehow, even if he couldn''t quite think straight enough to figure out how. ¡°She shouldn''t have done that, and that''s it''s own thing,¡± Anne continued, shaking her head at him, ¡°but when I met you, well.¡± Her eyes twinkled, and it took him a moment to remember. Oh. Yeah. ¡°Since you left Grimhaven, you haven''t shown the slightest interest in anything sexual. I don''t think you even gave Arias a second glance when she was bathing in the river, and she''s nearly as pretty as I was, at her age. Or Norris, if that''s where your interests lay.¡± ¡°That''ch not fair, it''sh rude to sh-stare.¡± ¡°Thomas.¡± Anne reached over and took his cup, emptying it in a single swallow. He blinked, belatedly reaching for it, and missing. She looked back out into the lights, increasingly bright ¨C no, the ambient light was just fading. The colors seemed to grow brighter for it. The sun was setting? Or had set. ¡°Thomas. How much did the fight with the silver fawn hurt?¡± It had been excruciating, and he''d been incoherent with pain afterward; his memories weren''t clear, so much as a sea of pain, with little isolated pockets of clarity scattered throughout the entire experience. He opened his mouth to explain this. ¡°Lots.¡± Close enough. ¡°And then you went right back out to hunt bandits, on your own. And came back in pieces.¡± She studiously looked over his face, humor gone. ¡°Trenton said something cut a chunk off of your penis.¡± Thomas shuddered at the memory of discovering that. The memory had confusing bits about goats, which were somehow worse. ¡°And then you went back out again. And again. You keep getting up and going back out, when it means getting hurt, having your body violated. You get hurt once in a relationship, feel violated once, and that''s it? Why is it easier for you to hurt, than to be happy?¡± ¡°Not the shame. Shame. S-same.¡± Thomas looked away, eyes watering again. ¡°Why didn''t you tell anyone else in Grimhaven what Cenpre had done?¡± Thomas reached out for his cup. It was empty. He set it back down, looking anywhere but at Anne. ¡°Later. Not ¡­ thinking well. Hard to exshplain. Explain.¡± ¡°Did you want her to be punished?¡± He frowned. But that was easy enough to answer. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°She w ¡­ trying to help.¡± ¡°So why does what happened bother you so much?¡± He struggled for a second with words, and finally just growled at her. This wasn''t a fair conversation. Anne sighed, then, and moved ¨C it wasn''t fast, but he had trouble keeping track of her motion, and it took a half second after she was hugging him, for him to realize she was hugging him. ¡°It''s not your fault, Thomas.¡± ¡°Is.¡± He found he was crying. When had he started crying? ¡°It isn''t. We want someone to blame. You can''t blame her, so you blame yourself. It''s not your fault.¡± ¡°Is. Picked it.¡± ¡°It isn''t.¡± ¡°Picked it, she tried to help.¡± ¡°It doesn''t have to be anyone''s fault.¡± ¡°Tss mine.¡± ¡°Okay. So what if it is?¡± ¡°Hurt people.¡± Anne was quiet, at that. Thomas slowly pulled away from her, rubbing at his eyes and face with some of the cloth of his oversized shirt. She took some time before she spoke again. ¡°That''s their choice to make.¡± He ¡­ didn''t have a response to that. Her voice, though calm, nearly broke as she continued. ¡°We open ourselves up to other people knowing it might hurt us. Knowing we might hurt them. Because it''s worth hurting, to be happy. Happiness, love; they''re worth the pain.¡± Thomas turned away. ¡°No.¡± She spoke more firmly, somewhat colder. ¡°Thomas. What upset you more, what happened to you, or telling her afterwards?¡± He didn''t reply; he didn''t trust his voice, and wasn''t actually sure what the answer was, anyways. After some time in which neither of them spoke, Anne moved the cups to the tray they had come out onto the balcony on, and then the pot joined them. She looked to him once more, then went back into the tea shop with the tray. Thomas looked back into the billowing glowing light; the vertical lines of the towers almost invisible, now. Being ¨C being raped, or telling his rapist that it had been rape. What had hurt more? Why was that even a question? His fingers moved to the place on his ribs that had been pierced by the first crossbow bolt; he remembered that one most clearly. The skin was smooth under his fingertips; there was no evidence that he''d ever been struck. Ch 38. Paying Work ¡°Snitch.¡± Thomas blinked through bleary eyes at Madelaine as he stepped through the door to rejoin their group; they had rented out several floors of a tower that served as a strange kind of cramped, vertical inn. Norris had woken him some time earlier, and told Thomas to clean up and join everyone in his own room; after Thomas had tried to reason through a headache where the water for his bath had come from, and then went to when he was done, and failed, he had given up and joined them. He looked around the crescent-shaped room; Madelaine sat cross-legged on the bed, hands moving behind her head, fingers deftly forming a half-complete braid out of glistening wet hair faster than his eyes could follow. Arias was laying next to Madelaine, staring up at the ceiling with hands behind her head, looking almost like she was laying in a pool of her ridiculously long hair. He blinked at ¡­ they were wearing identical pink pajamas? Wooly pink pants and shirt, anyways, with bare feet. Norris himself was sitting sideways in a cushioned armchair, a hand-written tome laying open across his knees, already dressed in his travel browns, although his hat was sitting on a table next to him. His eyes drifted up to Thomas, and he gave a brief nod, before his attention fell back to the oversized book. Anne wasn''t in yet, and Thomas moved into the room, settling for leaning against a wall when he failed to spot any additional seating. A rug filled most of the floor of the room ¨C he was vaguely aware that the stone floors were cold, but it had been some time since small discomforts had been able to reach him. Thomas wasn''t certain whether this was a product of damage reduction, or whether it was just that he had entirely new benchmarks for what ''uncomfortable'' could even mean. Madelaine finished braiding her after after a few more minutes, and began ¡­ he blinked. Lotion? She was putting lotion on her arms and legs. Well, a waxy, oily substance, from a copper tin she procured from a pink-tinted leather bag he hadn''t noticed sitting on the bed next to her. He shifted his attention to a low bookshelf along one of the tapestry-covered walls; the books looked worn, the leather covers scuffed and scratched in places. His room hadn''t had a bookshelf. Why did Norris'' room have one? Books were expensive, right? How did you even make paper, when there weren''t any trees? Thomas thought back to the night before; flashes came through, of Anne and Norris helping guide him between the towers. He didn''t remember stripping or getting into bed. He could kind of remember Norris negotiating the rates. Maybe he''d specifically asked for a room with books? Thomas couldn''t quite remember. They waited in silence for a little while, the noise of the rustling of pages as Norris periodically turned them the loudest sound by far. Madelaine finished with the oil, shortly after disappearing through the doorway into the small adjoining room that led into the bathroom, carrying the bag with her. Arias sat up a second later, tying her hair with three lengths of twine in quick efficient motions, and stood. Thomas watched them, then hastily looked away again when her next motion was to pull her pajama top off over her head. His attention settled on Norris, who in turn glanced up, looked Arias up and down, snorted in amusement, and just looked back down at his book. Thomas hesitated, at the amused snort. And slowly looked back to Arias. Who was standing where she had been, turned directly towards him, her arms folded so as to emphasize her bare chest ¡­ and back to Norris, feeling his cheeks flush hot. Norris was Not Looking At Him, mouth pressed into a hard flat line, shoulders shaking. It took another half second before Norris cracked, and then the were both laughing, Arias in short snorting exhalations. Thomas just continued staring at Norris, although motion in the corner of his eye suggested Arias had started moving again. He felt annoyed that Norris was laughing at him over this after their conversation the night before ¨C he felt weird and exposed, now, about having said things out loud ¨C but it drained away before it really got going, as he remembered the other times they had laughed at him over similar things. Norris wasn''t treating him any differently than he ever had, and as he considered that, it actually did make him feel a little bit better. Given that the man had told Anne, though, Arias probably knew as well; was she doing this ¡­ that was a hopeless line of thought. He had no idea what went through Arias'' mind at all. Madelaine came back out of the bathroom, and Thomas'' mouth dropped a quarter inch, hastily retracted. She was now wearing a scaled-down version of the brown adventuring gear ¨C no, it had some kind of cultural significance to people from the ¡­ plane he didn''t know the name of. Complete with the hat. She gave him a scowl. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Still angry at you, meatwall. Even if it was because you helped Princess Arias out. Hey, Admiral Norris, where''s Lady Anne?¡± Admiral? Lady? Thomas looked at Norris, whose expression ¡­ nope. Norris was now The Admiral. He''d have to remember that. ¡°Anne will be here before too long, she went to see Gand.¡± A pause, then Admiral Norris himself blushed a little. ¡°Er. Sage Eslan.¡± ¡°So we''re just waiting?¡± Madelaine moved to reseat herself on her vacated spot on the bed, glancing over at Arias, then Norris. ¡°What was so funny?¡± ¡°Oh, Thomas farted, we were laughing at him.¡± Norris ¨C no, The Admiral ¨C didn''t even hesitate there, and Thomas found his mouth opening again. He shut it again; the two looked like they wanted to laugh at him again. What could he even say? Madelaine shot a dismayed frown at Arias, who didn''t seem to notice, too busy trying not to start laughing again. They settled back in to wait. Arias was decent, at least, now occupied with cleaning her boots. Madelaine noticed this once she was down frowning at everyone over their crude senses of humor. It didn''t take long before she took off her brand new and quite clean boots to imitate the action. Anne appeared after an amount of time that was almost certainly less than it felt had passed; it had reached the point where Thomas'' attention was devoted to trying to calculate how long it had last been since he''d shifted his weight to the other foot so as not to do so too quickly. His eyes was immediately drawn to a pair of new pouches at her waist, bright near-orange coloration and smooth texture standing out against the dark and weathered grain of the older pouches. Were they replacements, or entirely new? He couldn''t recall how many she had had. The sound of the door closing was followed closely by the snap of a closing book, Norris swiveling to stand and replace the heavy tome into an empty space on the bookshelf that was clean of dust. His hat was on his head a moment later, Arias and Madelaine rising as well. Anne took this in quickly and nodded. ¡°Alright, everyone. We have a job. A paying job, even. There''s a cave not too far away where Sage Eslan believes it likely some people may have shown up; records indicate there''s an underwater lake there, and it''s the nearest body of water that somebody could conceivably sail on. We''re to investigate and help any survivors get back here.¡± Thomas took this in. Or tried to. ¡°They''re ¡­ we''re ¡­ why are we being paid?¡± That hadn''t quite what he had meant to ask, but halfway through asking why Eslan wanted the survivors here, the question had spilled out. Everyone looked at him. ¡°Uh. Why does anyone want the survivors, and why here, and why badly enough to pay?¡± Norris started to open his mouth, but Anne was already talking. ¡°Arias, hit the market and meet me at the Dancing Goat.¡± An orange streak flashed past his face; Thomas had barely registered Anne''s hand reaching, and then one of the pouches landed in Arias'' hand with a metallic crinkling. ¡°Don''t attract attention this time, but move quickly. We need as many provision tokens as you can scrounge up; we may be feeding a crowd. Other teams are heading out, so the price may as much as double as they start purchasing. Don''t go higher than that if you can help it.¡± Arias nodded, the pouch vanishing ¡­ somewhere, and then her boots were on and tied, and she was darting out the door with hat in hand. ¡°Now, for your question, Thomas. Partly, I think, because the Sages are trying to verify their predictions about patterns ¨C others are being sent out to investigate other locations ¨C and, I suspect, partly for reasons relating to Pantheon.¡± ¡°Lady Anne, what exactly is Pantheon?¡± From the grimace at Madelaine''s honorific, Thomas decided Anne would stay Anne. She could be a little frightening. ¡°It''s those who have reached another stage of ascension. That''s all.¡± A pause. ¡°Some people will insist on calling the inhabitants of Pantheon gods. I think that''s a dangerous way of thinking about them. They''re people, not inconceivable forces, with all the strengths and weaknesses that implies. All of them were children once, suckling on their mother''s breast for sustenance, and depending on others for survival.¡± Another pause. ¡°Well. Maybe not Artra. That''s complicated, it doesn''t matter. They don''t listen to prayers ¨C I doubt most of them even have the ability if they wanted to ¨C and they certainly don''t grant wishes. This entire plane, hell, Confluence itself, would ordinarily be beneath their notice. ¡°Which may answer Thomas'' question as well. We''re in their notice, now. Ambitious people are looking to try to get some of that attention, perhaps some favor. They''re fools, but they''re paying fools, so we''ll do what they pay us to do.¡± Anne looked at Thomas. ¡°You want to help people. Now we''re getting paid to do it. Smile at our fortune, particularly since you couldn''t afford what they''re willing to pay.¡± Thomas slowly nodded at this. ¡°Okay. Norris, you good? Good.¡± She hadn''t waited, and was already turning to go again. ¡°Thomas, Madelaine, stay with Norris, he''ll get you out of Anchor. Norris, I''ll meet you ¡­ hm. I''ll meet you on the hill just outside the Umbral Gate. I have a couple more people to meet before we go.¡± And she was gone again. Norris, still standing by the bookcase, looked between Thomas and Madelaine. ¡°Well. You heard her. Let''s go pay for our rooms, and whatever Anne drank last night, and get going.¡± Then, more quietly, in tones Thomas thought Norris ¨C The Admiral ¨C probably didn''t intend for him to hear, the man began muttering. ¡°She must have a dedication in drinking, because my head is still killing me.¡± Ch 39. Unexpected Sleep ¡°I''d guess either Phalanx, or Knight. Blue Knights are particularly common for the Gray Guard.¡± Norris scratched at his cheeks, which Thomas was startled to notice had the beginnings of a full beard. They stood on the hill that Anne had directed Norris to; Thomas had asked a question, but he couldn''t quite remember what the original question had been, now. ¡°They''ll usually have a Sergeant at the very least, as well. Don''t pick a fight with anybody wearing plate mail, for three good reasons. ¡°First, plate mail is expensive. If somebody is wearing plate mail, there are a few possibilities for why that money was spent, none of which bode well for you. They could be personally wealthy. Or they enjoy the patronage of a wealthy organization or individual, and even then, either the organization is sufficiently wealthy to outfit everybody with such expensive equipment, or this particular person is sufficiently skilled or important to be worth the expense. Never even mind the difficulty of doing so, you probably don''t want to win a fight with an individual under those circumstances, because trouble will follow. ¡°Second, plate mail requires considerable strength to be effective. Anybody wearing plate mail is going to be stronger than average, which means when they hit you, it''s going to hurt. More, it implies that they specialize in Strength, in the same way that you, Thomas, specialize in Constitution, although few will do so to the exclusion of anything else; they''re going to get more out of the Strength they have. They''re going to largely nullify your personal advantages, Thomas. ¡°And third, there are dedications that amplify these effects yet further. A Knight can hit with a multiple of the weight of their armor behind their blows, for example. A Phalanx can share some of their own defensive capabilities to those standing nearby. And then the dedications that are available to everyone to improve defensive capabilities are available to those in plate armor as well.¡± ¡°That doesn''t seem fair.¡± Madelaine looked up from the small yellow flower whose petals were being systematically stripped and added to a pile at her side, frowning at Norris. Her face drew into a thoughtful frown. ¡°I have both Light Armor and Heavy Armor Expertise. Neither of them look any better.¡± ¡°On their own, no.¡± Norris looked at Thomas, then back to Madelaine. ¡°Unarmored Expertise is, actually, a better dedication. A little bit. It''s just not as good as the other dedications, plus good armor. But not everybody takes either anything specific.¡± He paused for a second, then smiled. ¡°Everybody here meaning people who specialize in fighting, mind. Almost everybody who doesn''t specialize in fighting takes Unarmored, for fringe benefits. Now, the real ¨C ¡± ¡°Norris, if I hear another word about armor dedications, I''ll put an arrow in your ass.¡± Thomas looked up; Anne was walking up the hill with Arias beside her. Norris turned and smiled down at her, gesturing for Madelaine to stand up. Anne returned the smile, her voice softening, and her attention turning to the two with him. ¡°Thomas, Madelaine.¡± ¡°Anne, Arias.¡± Thomas nodded to her, feeling like he should be doing something; he ended up brushing imaginary dust off his skirts. ¡°Any new details?¡± Norris reached up to scratch at his fledgling beard again. ¡°Maybe. Maybe not.¡± Anne looked at Thomas. ¡°So far you''re the only person anybody has found who chose ''Bandit''. You also happen to be the only case of an arrival of people coinciding with a nest being wiped out.¡± Her expression grew grim. ¡°Food delivered right to them; it would certainly explain some things.¡± ¡°Things?¡± Thomas shoved down a rising horror, at the thought of somebody appearing, alone and confused, only to be torn apart by the horrible dog-things. ¡°Venu trees have been spreading like wild flames, at the same time that bandit and carnaath attacks are down.¡± It took him a moment to process that. The venu trees were the not-trees, that spat out the dog-things that turned into bandits. Carnaaths were ¡­ the fleshdog things, maybe? Anne shook her head. Anne turned to talk over her shoulder, beginning to walk down the hill, away from the city. ¡°Whatever Sage Eslan thinks of Mayor Mersin''s lack of discretion, his inquiries apparently began shaking loose the rumor mill after we left. Apparently everybody has just been assuming the oddities were local and unimportant.¡± ¡°Has the Frontier Administration reactivated the bounty on venu nests?¡± Norris asked, as he fell in behind Anne. He didn''t sound excited about the prospect, more resigned. ¡°Not yet, but it''s likely a matter of time.¡± Silence, for a second, before Anne continued. ¡°Hopefully sooner rather than later. We''ll take the bounties if it comes to it. But anyone with more sense than greed is going to refuse if it reaches the point of an established blood forest.¡± ¡°What''s a venu?¡± Madelaine leaned over to whisper to Thomas; well, what children thought of as a whisper before they learned that whispers could still be loud. He blinked at her. It took a moment for him to remember that she knew even less than he did, she made him feel dumb so often. ¡°It''s a tree, but instead of seeds, it has big tentacles that spit out little monster dogs, that turn into fake people they call bandits.¡± He spoke quietly back to her; Anne and Norris continued to talk, and Arias had moved at a fast walk to start scouting the hills and valleys around them. Madelaine thought this over for a moment, before her face squinched up. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°That sounds gross.¡± ¡°It''s very gross. Stay away from trees here. I think they''re all the fake monster trees.¡± Madelaine''s hand moved to her rapier, and she glared around at the grassy hills around them, as if a tree might have been hiding there. Then she spotted Arias on the top of a nearby hill, and immediately relaxed. ¡°Princess Arias will spot them for us and shoot them with magical arrows that blow them up.¡± Thomas blinked at the proclamation. Did Arias have magical exploding arrows? He hadn''t seen any. After a long moment of consideration, he decided she probably didn''t, and Madelaine was probably engaging in some kind of childish fantasy. Probably. Because exploding magical arrows, as he thought about it, didn''t seem that far-fetched, given everything else. He could turn into a giant at will, after all. Thomas looked back down to Madelaine, who was still looking around for potential trees. ¡°I''m sorry about snitching on you, Madelaine. I really didn''t mean to.¡± She looked up at him, then returned to watching the horizon, exhaling sharply through her nose. Then she looked back up. ¡°I know. They made me do homework.¡± A pause, while her hand drifted up to fiddle absently with her braid. ¡°I guess when adults do homework, it''s called paperwork. And I''m an adult here. So they made me do paperwork, and promise not to learn a bunch of dumb spells.¡± She hesitated again. ¡°I think they used magic to make sure I didn''t lie. I want to learn that magic. Skeletons aren''t even fun, they fall apart after an hour or two.¡± ¡°I think you can make them stay longer?¡± ¡°Yeah, I asked Admiral Norris, and it holds some of your magic until you undo it. Plus I don''t want to be a necromancer, that''s boring. I am going to be a pirate princess, and tell everybody what to do.¡± She patted her rapier. Thomas smiled, and looked around. ¡°Not a lot of water.¡± ¡°I''ll have a flying ship, duh.¡± He smiled wider, and started to respond, when she continued. ¡°I asked, they have them, I''d just have to hire something called an Artisan to make one.¡± His smile slipped a little bit, and he nearly stumbled on nothing. ¡°There are flying ships?¡± That was ¡­ ¡°If you become a pirate princess with a flying ship, I''ll join your crew.¡± ¡°Sorry, snitches walk the plank.¡± He blinked at her, entirely uncertain whether that was a joke or not. ¡°Why is the ground so lumpy here?¡± Madelaine demanded to know, on their tenth or eleventh hill; the overall trend was uphill, as they walked in the direction of the mountains, jagged white-tipped lines on the horizon, only visible from the tops of the taller hills; the sky overhead grew cloudy and gray, as well. Nobody answered Madelaine, although as Thomas paused to consider it, it was kind of baffling; if somebody had made this plane, why had they chosen to make, well, this plane? It was kind of pretty, in its own strange way, but not an aesthetic he ever would have picked out. They set up camp earlier than usual; the increasingly dense cloud cover darkened the sky prematurely. They weren''t near water ¨C a novel experience, this was perhaps the farthest Thomas had been from a stream or river since he''d gotten here - and Norris summoned it for them, to wash down the flavorless manna bread. They ate in silence around a fire; it was apparently cold, although Thomas couldn''t feel it. He did notice the breeze blowing in, a sudden sweeping rustling he heard before he felt, the grass flattening and twisting in a line that ascended the hill and sent him diving for his bedroll, which immediately began to tumble away. He caught it a few strides later, and then immediately dropped it and dove for cover from the explosion that rocked through the air. Laughter. His brain took a long time to realize it was just thunder, and then he sat up, feeling his cheeks redden, and dashed after his bedroll again, returning sheepishly to the group, who were rolling up their own bedrolls and walking down the hill, fire already extinguished. Thomas jogged to catch up. ¡°What are we doing?¡± ¡°Getting off of the top of the hill so lightning doesn''t cook us while we sleep.¡± Anne looked up at the sky with only a small annoyed sigh. ¡°Figures it would rain tonight.¡± ¡°What''s special about tonight?¡± Anne turned to give Thomas a grin. ¡°We''re outside.¡± Thomas considered that, had no response, and shrugged and walked with them as their group continued walking; Arias was in the lead, heading somewhere specific, and it wasn''t long before they arrived at a small rise surrounded by taller hills. It was getting colder as they walked, until Thomas, too, was aware of it, recalling his time alone on his way back to Piketown. Arias took Madelaine''s rapier, adding it to a bundle comprised of her own two rapiers, her shortbow, and Anne''s longbow and sword, which was then wrapped tightly in a sheet of brown oilcloth. This was hung from the supplies on Norris'' ghostly mule, and another sheet of oilcloth was spread over their supplies, and they just ¡­ lay down on the ground, side by side, Norris joining to lay next to Anne a moment later. Well. Maybe there was some advantage to their clothing. Madelaine frowned, but eyed Arias, and then chose to lay down next to her. After a few seconds, while Thomas looked at the group, Anne looked up at him, then sat halfway up, resting on her elbows. She sighed, and nudged Norris, who shifted over, and then she moved, making space between herself and Arias, in the middle. Thomas paused for a moment, fighting an intense sense of awkwardness. The cold made up his mind; he moved to lay down between them. It was warmer. And only a little awkward. The rain hit a few seconds later, forcing his eyes shut - and then stopped; Thomas blinked through the water to realize that Arias and Anne had put their hats over their heads, covering his face as well. He felt motion from Arias, when Madelaine started sputtering; Arias turned, shoulders moving, and then they both settled back again, Arias'' back now pressed to his side. He was still getting rained on, it was just from the neck down now. It wasn''t comfortable, exactly. The rain was cold on his body, and wind still blew over the top of him, but the others provided some warmth and shelter. Maybe Madelaine had the right idea in copying their clothes, though. His back was starting to get wet and cold, too. Not comfortable. But he found himself comfortable anyways, feeling a kind of mental warmth, from the proximity of people who, for some reason, seemed to care about him. Thunder rolled in continuous drumming beats, and the sound of rain pelting the hat above his face filled his ears. Unexpectedly, sleep came. Ch 40. Cavern ¡°The encounter is still closing with us.¡± Anne looked around, arrow held to her longbow, although it was undrawn; they were moving quickly but efficiently up the foot of the mountain, loosely grouped in a combat formation, with Thomas and Anne in the front, Norris and Madelaine in the center, and Arias trailing behind them a ways, her own shortbow ready. It had begun that morning; Anne''s ability to control what they ran into had, according to her, failed. Days of sedate travel had turned, in the final leg of the journey, into a mad rush to make it to the cave; they had not run, but rather Anne had set a brisk walk that blurred the line into a jog. Norris struggled the most to keep up; Thomas found himself surprised to not be in that position. Now, as the mountain rose over them, and grass began to give way to pebbles and rocks, the exhaustion of hours of travel under the certainty of threat had given way to a moment of hope, that they would make it to the cave before whatever it was that Anne could somehow sense caught up with them. Thomas had begun to breathe more easily, until he''d noticed Anne''s increasingly grim expression. And then he''d asked. They had spent those hours watching for a threat that never arrived; his eyes burned, his neck ached. Arias whistled, pointed. Thomas looked, but could not see what she pointed at; Anne, however, gave a curt nod, and began a dash up the slope, the others a moment slower in following her. Thomas immediately fell forward, pebbles sliding underfoot; it wasn''t far to fall, owing to the steep gradient of the slope. He rose, and started up again. He wasn''t sure if they were running from something, or running to something, but he ran, anxious and alert. He nearly ran into a stone wall as he crested a small rise; Anne waited beside a dark opening, a crevice between two boulders that seemed to hold the mountain over them. A small line of pebbles ran down from the crevice to the side; a dry ditch, where water might overflow from within. Madelaine arrived beside him, followed by Norris. Arias came up only slowly, her attention behind them. Their small group looked down the mountain; Anchor, in the distance, looked like a tiny mushroom. The hills looked flat. Countless tiny streams, some wet but most dry, ran down amidst the hills, joining and growing, until they vanished in the blue-gray fog of distance itself. The view was beautiful, but his eyes drifted back down, searching the hills and valleys below them for their pursuers. Nothing. He turned, to join Anne in searching the slopes above them. Nothing in that direction as well. A hiss, and he turned; Norris was following Arias'' pointed finger, straight up into the sky. Thomas looked, and it took him a moment to figure out what they were looking at. A bird? It looked like a black vulture. He looked at Anne, who was also watching the bird, the color drained from her face. ¡°What''s with the bird?¡± Madelaine shared Thomas'' confusion at their reaction. Norris began moving into the cave, followed closely by Arias. Anne moved more slowly, looking to Madelaine. ¡°That bird is a roc. Of the dangers in the mountain, it is exceeded only by strix, and the strix would be satisfied with one of us.¡± Anne hesitated, attention raising to the shadow once more. ¡°That bird could eat all of us a dozen times over.¡± Thomas blinked, looking back up at the roc. ¡°How large is it?¡± How high up was it? ¡°Its wingspan is about the width of Piketown.¡± Oh. Oh shit. They made their way into the cave, where Norris was lighting one gray torch from another, and passing it to Arias; the flames flickered in a breeze, which smelled of earth and rock. Thomas accepted the next torch, but turned, staring at the entrance. ¡°Anne? Is the encounter ¡­ ?¡± ¡°Still approaching.¡± She was the last in, gaze directed upward until the last possible moment. The flickering light of the torch flames made her expression all the darker, as she looked around at the group. ¡°I don''t think it''s the roc. If it wasn''t hunting us, I should have been able to shift it away; if it was hunting us, it has been doing so all day, and it had no reason to wait so long. Weapons out. I begin to suspect that the encounter cannot be avoided simply because it is our destination.¡± Thomas turned, looking even as Arias, swapping her bow out for a rapier, started into the shadows of the cave, her torch banishing them. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°So what kind of thing might we encounter in here?¡± Thomas found himself following behind Arias, the others trailing after. His voice echoed oddly in the narrow crevice he walked down, feet crunching on the pebbles of the dry stream bed underfoot; they were moving uphill. ¡°Elementals.¡± Norris'' reply was dry and calm, if very quiet, echoing emptily. ¡°Insects. Undead. Husks.¡± A hesitation; his voice carried a note of ¡­ something. ¡°Offworlders.¡± ¡°Offworlders? Like us? We''re not monsters, Admiral Norris.¡± Madelaine sounded offended. Maybe. The echoes made everything sound odd. ¡°Not like you.¡± Anne, now, speaking very softly, her voice barely carrying. ¡°Offworlders is a general term for three different groups of creature which are vulnerable to void magics, and who share in common an origin in the substrate; they are ideals made flesh. The phagii are perhaps the most common. They are ¡­ hunger, idealized. Mouths that open to nowhere, consuming the concepts that make up reality itself; for instance, there are luciphagos, that eat the light, or erephagos, that eat darkness itself. The light and shadow they leave behind is ¡­ less than substantial. ¡°The sapia are a variety of human faults, distinctly human, for they are faults in a rational and reasoning process. The centisapien, for instance, resembles nothing so much as a centipede made out of a human spine, with fingers for legs, ending in a mostly human head, save for the pincers.¡± Thomas almost stopped walking at that description. The fuck? ¡°They represent an idealized form of greed, of hoarding.¡± How did that even make sense? ¡°Then we have the bestia. ¡°They are idealized primal states. The siresquid is ¡­ ¡± There was a pause, while Thomas processed the name. Anne cleared her throat, then continued. ¡°Well, it is an idealized form of lust.¡± Thomas nearly stopped in shock, at her skipping past the detailed description, before he realized Anne was talking to Madelaine and not him. ¡°What do ideals have to do with it?¡± Madelaine demanded after her own pause; Thomas'' mind was full of guesswork images from the name, and he wondered what she might imagine. ¡°That''s what the substrate is. Ideals. Complex concepts.¡± Norris answered in turn. ¡°Beneath - ¡± ¡°Let''s be quiet.¡± Anne interjected, as the volume of their conversation had begun to drift back to conversational levels. She continued after a second, the sound of pebbles under their feet loud by comparison, ¡°We can talk about it later, Madelaine.¡± She got a quiet huff in reply. The crevice widened as they moved into it, and Thomas found himself straightening back up; he had hunched without even realizing it as the walls and ceiling had moved in towards them. In the quiet, he became aware of a gentle breeze, blowing into them from ahead; it was cool and wet. They kept walking single file, even after the walls had widened enough for them to walk three astride, always uphill. The scent of rock gradually gave way to another smell, which Thomas couldn''t quite place. Arias abruptly raised a hand, causing them all to stop ¨C and then pointed up. Thomas followed her gesture, looking up into the dark shadows that now rose above them, the ceiling having ¨C oh. Oh. Yellow-green lights, like tiny stars, dotted the ceiling overhead. His eyes swept across them, more coming into view every second, as his eyes adjusted from the brightness of the flames. They were countless, endless; above them was a river of stars. ¡°Beautiful.¡± Madelaine''s voice, loud. Anne didn''t shush her; he could hear the others as they took in deep breaths of their own. It was beautiful. Their journey into the cavern continued under these new stars; the scent became clearer as they walked; rotting fish. Well, not quite rotting fish, but rather that seaside smell that wasn''t quite not rotting fish, either, but rather an almost inoffensive version of the same. Their upward trek turned flat, and the pebbles began to splash under the boots of the others; Thomas'' bare feet did not make so much noise, but he was acutely aware of the slimy texture of the stones, and the way they stopped moving so much. It was mildly unpleasant. The lights opened up into vast constellations, a dark sky of beautiful little lights, now distant and small. And the corner they turned next doubled the sight, stars disappearing into a distant horizon, reflected on a lake that seemed to stretch into infinity, marked only by the tiny lights fading into a milky-green haze in the distance. It was as Thomas stopped once more to stare in awe, of course, that the attack came. Ch 41. Empty (explicit) Thomas'' fist moved through the too-narrow confines, the enormous spider that was crawling down towards them splattering and smearing across the wall. The lightly acidic ichor burned; Thomas shook his hand slightly, but otherwise ignored it, turning as best he could in the tight space to glance behind him. Anne and Arias were coming back up the corridor, bows drawn. He was relieved to see them, after the brain-rending shriek that had come echoing down the tunnel moments prior. Anne looked over Thomas ¨C his enlarged form blocked her view of the tunnel ¨C and then shifted up to his face. ¡°The roc noticed us.¡± ¡°We heard.¡± Madelaine covered her ears, and Norris and Anne both winced. Thomas tried to modulate his volume down a bit. ¡°Can it get at us in here?¡± ¡°I don''t think so, no. How badly are you hurt?¡± Thomas glanced at his health; still over two hundred. ¡°I''m good.¡± ¡°You''re ¡­ alright.¡± Anne''s attention turned back, and Thomas was distracted when something bit at his thigh; Thomas returned his attention forward, using a hand to flick the spider into the wall. A tingle ran through his skin; a weak venom. He was aware of pain from a dozen cuts, bites, and scratches, but was so far successfully ignoring it. Thomas kept swatting the spiders that swarmed down the cave, even as the torches littering the ground for illumination flickered and began to fade. It was odd; walking through a spiderweb would have had him thrashing and maybe even shrieking, but he didn''t really feel much of anything towards these oversized examples. Perhaps it was their size, however; the scary thing about spiderwebs wasn''t that there would be a spider on him, but that there could be a spider on him that he couldn''t find. These were just ¡­ large bugs. Large bugs that moved in a creepy way, that ¡­ the shit was that? ¡°Anne?¡± Okay, that was fucking scary. ¡°One of the spiders had a face. Kind of a face. It''s hiding now.¡± A curse, behind him. There was shuffling, but ¨C hey, that was pretty. A woman was singing. His mother was singing to him; why was he fighting? He could go lay his head in her lap, and she''d take care of this. His mother stepped back out from behind a rock, her smile beautiful as she sang quietly, although of course she didn''t have teeth, or lips, or a mouth. But her smile was beautiful. He started crawling forward towards her; bugs crushed under him. Somebody was saying something, somebody was touching him, but that didn''t matter. Her wordless singing was lovely, and he could lay down, and everything would be okay. Her eyes wrinkled as she smiled and laughed, singing her lovely song ¨C not that she had eyes, but her eyes were beautiful, framed by her long black hair. His mother reached for him with three hands; he reached for her, but couldn''t quite make it, so shifted back to crawl once more down the tunnel. He was too big, he needed to be smaller to fit; he let himself shrink, and stumbled to his feet, to begin walking ¨C and somebody grabbed him, pulling him back; he shrugged out of the grip on his shoulder, but another hand grabbed his forearm, and then another, and his mother was right there, her smile wonderful on her blank face, reaching out with four hands now, and ¨C And with a sharp pain that filled his skull from ear to ear, silence hit him like a brick. Thomas stumbled, jerked, twisting his head to try to catch the melody ¨C but it was gone. He reached up for his ears, started, feeling blood pour from ¨C then he saw the spiderlike thing that was watching him with a featureless, blank face, tangled and matted black hair descending around the not-a-face, bare skin ¨C fucking hell, Thomas fell to the ground and started scrabbling away, running into somebody''s legs almost immediately; Anne''s, to judge by the longbow that appeared over him, an arrow dripping blood released into the air a split second later. Spiders died around them, Arias moving into the center of the hallway, her swords a blur that sent ichor and spider legs flying around her. The blank-faced thing was gone, but the spiders kept coming, in an even denser wave. Arias'' long hair was matted with blood, and as Thomas looked around, he saw that everyone''s ears bled profusely. Thomas tried to get up, and immediately fell back down, the room swimming around him, adding to the confusion of the flickering torchlight. He pulled up his health, and stared at it in shock and surprise. Sixty seven, out of two hundred and sixty six. It had been over two hundred just a few moments before; what had happened? His hands probed at his flesh, searching for new wounds. Scrapes, scratches, bites. Tingling, burning spots where venom still tingled. He hesitantly examined his ears; they were ¡­ definitely punctured, cuts like ¡­ like somebody had simply stabbed his ears. Which is probably what had happened, to deafen him against that ¡­ against that thing. But if that had done that kind of damage, everybody else would be dead, instead of ¡­ he tried to look around very slowly and carefully. Norris was also fighting, with little sparks of light. Madelaine, however, was also on the ground, arms wrapped around herself as she stared off into nothing. Blood leaked from her nose and eyes. He reached up ¨C no, his hands were covered in blood. He tried to wipe ¨C no, his clothes were torn up down the cavern, ripped apart when he''d grown larger to fight. He used a clean part of his wrist; his nose was also bloody. It was hard to tell if he was bleeding from his eyes; they definitely felt ¡­ wrong. But he felt wrong. He shook his head, trying to focus again. There were dead spiders everywhere. Norris was sitting down. Arias was leaning against a wall. Anne still had her longbow drawn, searching. The silence had given way to a kind of wailing ringing sound, which filled his mind. Okay. Focus. It was really, really hard to focus. They had suffered some kind of ¡­ sonic attack? Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. No. Yes. Thomas blinked; there was darkness, and then there was a campfire going. Somebody had swept the spider limbs to the side of the cave. His skin wasn''t itching any more; the venom was gone. Somebody was there, then not. Time ¡­ wasn''t ¡­ working. His brain wasn''t working. Not sonic attack. Mind attack. The ¡­ thing. It had been ¡­ it hadn''t been his mother. He couldn''t remember his mother. That whining noise was very annoying. He breathed in, breathed out, looked around. Everyone was asleep. No. Madelaine was also sitting up, staring ahead vacantly. Arias was standing guard. Somebody had draped a blanket around Madelaine''s shoulders. Thomas wondered if he looked like that. He reached up absently; somebody had put a blanket over him, as well. He probably did look like that, then. Okay. Sleep. That noise was very annoying. He closed his eyes anyways. He opened them again. Everybody was awake; rocks had been moved to barricade the tunnel in the direction of the lake, keeping the spiders out. Thomas looked around. Madelaine had been cleaned up; her face wasn''t covered in blood anymore. She was moving around, but still looked only half-awake; cloth bandages wrapped her head. She looked sad. Thomas looked down at his hands. He had been cleaned up too. He touched the bandages over his ears. He started to slowly try to puzzle together the previous evening; he remembered walking into the big cavern with the lake. It had been so pretty, he hadn''t been looking for anything else. Then Anne had yelled something, and two torches has been tossed out into the darkness; a fire had started, sort of. The spiderweb didn''t burst into flames the way wood did; rather, glowing lines of flame had darted down ¨C not flames, but on fire, bubbling and smoking and hissing, a spiderweb that stretched out as far as they could see, in every direction. Not one spiderweb; many. Countless, overlapping. In places it burst into flame; there had been a face, in one of the countless webbed bodies. They had retreated. Anne had run for the entrance; there had been a horrible noise. The roc had been waiting. Then that ¡­ whatever that thing had been. Thomas shook his head. So now they were here? He checked his health. One twenty four. He''d recovered somewhat; his mind felt ¡­ better. Not right. Some kind of mind attack? His mind certainly felt damaged. Somebody had stabbed out his ears, and then the ¡­ the thing, had left. A commotion; he couldn''t turn his head fast enough. Or maybe he''d imagined it. No, there were some spider corpses. Arias had neatly skewered three; Norris was dragging one around their campfire, towards the exit. Thomas looked at the pile of spider parts that had been made. Then looked back; Norris was seated again. Okay, that was fine. Somebody fed him. Maybe. He didn''t notice when it happened; he just noticed that he was thirsty, and his mouth tasted ¡­ flavorless. Less flavorful than nothing. Manna bread. Then he wasn''t thirsty; and then people were sleeping. Madelaine was sleeping; he thought maybe she''d started moving around. Thomas looked around again. He lay on his side. His health was one fifty two. Thomas pushed Norris back against the wall, stopping himself short of grabbing the mage''s throat; his fingers brushed across Norris'' neck, beneath the beard, but he contented himself with pressing on his sternum, as Thomas'' face moved in, lips brushing lips. Norris smelled very lightly of sweat, very lightly of sulfur. He smelled delicious, and Thomas leaned down, biting into Norris'' shoulder. The mage moaned softly, his hands moving from grasping Thomas'' forearms; one moved to wrap around his waist, the other to his head, fingers curling into Thomas'' hair, pulling gently, but not so firmly as to pull teeth from flesh. Thomas licked, as he pulled away, and turned his gaze into Norris'' eyes. ¡°I want to taste you.¡± That had been his voice? He barely recognized it, the growling animal tones, but he recognized the truth of it. Thomas ached at the thought, at feeling Norris'' hips in his hands, holding him back as he bucked against the pleasure, at ¡­ Norris tightened his fingers in Thomas'' hair, a fierce light in his eyes, and began dragging Thomas down. Thomas didn''t resist, simply holding Norris'' eyes as he let himself sink to his knees, his fingernails leaving red marks across Norris'' chest. Thomas grabbed Norris'' belt, fumbling to unbuckle it without breaking their gaze. The buckle released, pants sliding down without further fight. Norris was fully erect, and Thomas leaned forward, lips sliding across warm flesh. He looked up into Norris'' eyes, taking him into his mouth; hot flesh, yielding, he could feel Norris'' quickening heartbeat, gazing up, watching for the shiver as he began to lick and suckle. Pain; he looked down at the knife in his chest. What? He looked up at the dark faceless figure staring down at him, a blackness absolute and a mouth full of too many teeth, and then he opened his eyes. His ribs hurt. Thomas sat up, looked around. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself, but none of the others seemed to notice, or care, about either his state of undress, or his state of arousal. Thomas shook his head, checked his health. Two thirty seven. Okay. He was ¡­ that had been ¡­ he ¡­ Thomas frowned. It had been ¡­ more than a day, now? Two days? He didn''t think it could be more than two days. He opened his mouth, started to ask ¨C it was an utterly alien experience. He could feel the vibrations of his voice, but could not hear them. Shit. Okay. Nobody else appeared to notice; they couldn''t hear either. This was ¡­ this was strange and alien. He looked around the cave, feeling kind of like he was seeing the world through a tunnel. Everything felt surreal, in the utter silence. Thomas forced himself up, and forced himself to disregard his state of arousal ¨C he did his best to cover himself with the blanket, but he was hungry. He moved to the fire, joining the others. Anne looked over, a concerned expression giving way to a smile. Norris offered him a chunk of bread; Thomas accepted it, nodding gratefully, and ate. It tasted of nothing. The water he drank tasted of nothing. Madelaine looked to him; she looked ¡­ stressed. Unhappy. Sad. Arias looked tired. Norris looked tired, but ¡­ relieved. Thomas looked back towards the entrance, then paused, as he realized ¨C if the roc was still out there, they wouldn''t be able to hear it. And ¡­ he looked back in the direction of the spiders. He doubted anybody was still alive in that cavern. But ¡­ if there was somebody alive, they could ¡­ they wouldn''t be able to hear anybody calling for help. Okay. But they could clear out the spiders. And that ¡­ and that thing. He sat up straighter, looking around again. The others were looking at him. Anne''s smile was somewhat more pointed; he pulled the blanket to better cover himself. That dream had been ¡­ well, he could think about that later, it wasn''t important. Even if he did kind of want to go back to sleep and see where ¡­ no, focus. He looked at his health again, and tried doing some math in his head. He was able to think, time wasn''t jumping around; whatever that faceless thing had done, he seemed to be over it. Thomas nodded to the others, and stood, letting the blanket fall away as he walked towards the pile of rocks, and began to clear a hole. Ch 42. Sound and Light and Presence The flames had gone out; as they walked across the vast ashy expanse of the cavern beach, their torchlight illuminated ashes, chitin, and burnt bones. Thomas didn''t look too closely at the bones, now; they were burnt, but also kind of melted. Fire and acid; it was the realization of the acid which had truly disturbed him. Most of the bones were human, and he didn''t know, didn''t want to know, didn''t want to think about, whether they had been dead when they had begun being digested. The all-encompassing silence was eerie, unhelped by the fact that they could see only the short distance their torches illuminated. He could feel the rocks and sand grinding under his bare feet; he was listening for the sound, and it was not there. He felt like he was in a bubble of light and silence, separated from the infinite expanse of the shadowy world around him; it was intensely isolating, not just from the people around him, not even just from the environment he walked through, but from himself. It made him a trespasser in his own awareness, his own existence; a passive observer, a spy. It also made the fact that he had no clothes left something that ¡­ just didn''t matter. It was somebody else, and if they didn''t care, and nobody around them cared, why should he? He was a trespasser in his awareness, but he was free. He didn''t care; he didn''t have to care. It was a strange and foreign insight. Thomas had to keep glancing around him, to keep track of the locations of the others. And ¡­ in the absence of sound entirely, he found himself paying more attention to Arias; she had always kind of slipped behind his attention, barely noticed. Now he felt rather bad about the way he had ignored her in favor of the more talkative members of the party, because, as his attention focused on body language for lack of any other form of communication, he started to realize that she communicated extensively, at a level that had simply been beneath his awareness. She used little hand signals to Anne to indicate what she was going to do next; flicks of the fingers in the direction she was going. She would get the older woman''s attention, and use exaggerated motions of her head to direct attention to where she wanted Anne to look; Arias rarely looked with just her eyes, turning her head instead, so the others would know what she was paying attention to. And so much of it, Thomas just didn''t know how to interpret; there were constant little motions from her hands and fingers, she changed the way she walked, she had several different ways of waving. And Madelaine, he realized, was copying some of the gestures; she had immediately attached herself to ''Princess Arias'' upon meeting her, and had begun picking up her mannerisms. And he found himself paying attention to Madelaine''s gestures, as well, because her clumsy attempts to copy Arias were, in some ways, easier to understand, which in turn helped him start to figure out what Arias was communicating. They picked their way across the vast expanse, finding only occasional sections of intact webbing. Arias had a particular little half-wave she used to signal that she''d found these sections, arm moving only past the elbow. They also found a few spiders, quickly dispatched, although they had yet to find any evidence of the horrible blank-faced thing. One body, a dead woman. Anne had cut the webbing away until ¡­ goo, had started to slowly leak out. Partially digested, perhaps a meal they had interrupted with the fire. The woman''s face was contorted in an expression he had looked away from. It might have been pain. He didn''t want to know. Norris burned her; the thick webbing wrapping her burned. The glowing green lights above them, reflected on the pool of the vast lake, no longer seemed so beautiful. Or, well, it was still beautiful, but a haunting and dark kind of beauty, deprived of a sense of childlike wonder that had filled him on first sight. Or perhaps it was still beautiful, and he just felt as alienated from it, in this bubble of silence, as he felt from everything else. They didn''t approach the lake; something stirred beneath the surface when Arias drew near, and she retreated again, waving them off. They searched the floor of the vast cavern systematically, their torches forming a tiny bubble of light. It must have been hours, for the distance, but the silence and the dark made every second an eternity, every hour an instant. Or perhaps his sense of time was simply still broken, although the world had stopped skipping, and things seemed to follow things in an orderly fashion. They criss-crossed the vast floor of the cavern, and then began exploring the edges. There were tunnels; they ventured into one. It ended a few hundred feet, and a half dozen turns and twists, in. Arias lowered a rope from another, and they climbed after her; they found a dense thicket of spiderwebs, which Norris torched. The web burned quickly and brightly; Thomas had to turn away, lest it ruin his vision, but spindly shadowy shapes in the web jerked and twisted as the fire rushed in. Wind blew around his face, feeding the flames. They waited for the fire and smoke to clear, and proceeded in. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Chitin and ash littered the ground. The smell was one he had long grown accustomed to, and he barely noticed. They moved past the nest. And then Arias was leaping backwards; Thomas rushed forwards, and had barely gotten ahead of her when a large yellow-white lump rolled around the next corner, spikes and ¡­ The world shrank around him as Thomas made himself larger; an arrow flicked past him, embedding into something more like flesh; one enormous compound eye focused on Thomas, and he had to stop himself from shivering, as he took in the length, the endless rows of chitinous legs moving in a rolling wave, as the enormous ¡­ caterpillar? No, more like a centipede, with long black spiral horns ¡­ no, antennae ¡­ Thomas shook his head, forcing himself to focus, watching it barrel across the distance separating them, its pincers, each several feet long, opened wide. He watched the pincers, and the mouth, a smaller bony-looking opening, like a three-pronged beak. Thomas stepped backwards as he caught the pincers, and they tried to close on him; the force wasn''t something he could resist, and just the attempt ripped the flesh of his palms open wide, the pincers jagged and sharp on the interior edges. He slid past the pincers once they had closed where he had been, and tried instead to wrap his arms around them, to try to hold them closed. Flashes passed by him; Anne''s arrows, Norris'' magic. Arias had moved past him as well; the centipede, or whatever it was, thrashed. And then opened its pincers again, and closed them again, as if his arms weren''t there at all. Thomas blinked in shock, and stepped back, looking down at his left arm, which ¡­ just stopped, just past the elbow. He''d let his arm slip down when the pincers had opened, and failed to get it back out when they closed. Thomas looked at the lower portion of his arm, laying on the ground. It ¡­ didn''t hurt. It didn''t even seem to be bleeding the way it should; blood was spurting out of the stump, but somehow it seemed like it should be gushing, or even spraying. Somebody grabbed him; he shoved them back, and then stepped forward. He felt the growl in his throat; the centipede was starting to back up, jerking; Arias was behind it, cutting with her rapier. It jerked again as his fist took it in one compound eye, head swiveling away from him. Thomas reached down and grabbed his arm in his free hand, snarled, and kept walking towards it. He was yelling, but wasn''t paying attention to the words; he knew what he felt, which was that, if this beast wanted his arm, it would get his arm. The centipede kept staggering back, trying to retreat; he shoved his arm into the eye, and kept shoving. The centipede jerked and twitched, trying to swing its pincers back around at him, but he just slid across the ground, inside their reach. Thomas kept shoving, green and yellow pus starting to gush around the appendage. The insect thrashed, jerked, twisted, fell, its legs no longer moving in sequence. He shoved. Thomas stepped back, and spat bitter centipede-gunk that had sprayed into his face from his mouth. His mouth and tongue were numb. Somebody was ¡­ oh. Norris was punching him to get his attention. Thomas let himself shrink back into his normal size, and immediately had to spit again, as the small amount of ichor that he hadn''t gotten the first time suddenly multiplied in size relative to his mouth. Disgusting. The others were staring at him. Thomas looked down at the stump of his arm ¨C Norris had begun tying a tourniquet around it, although his attention was a wide-eyed kind of expression at Thomas, and Anne was holding her longsword in a torch flame, looking pale. Oh, that would hurt. It did hurt. He didn''t stop himself from screaming; he couldn''t hear it, and neither could they. He was glad he couldn''t hear the sizzling; the smell was bad enough. Thomas couldn''t explain. He just looked up at the alien ''stars'' overhead, feeling a strange kind of giddy freedom. He didn''t care. Part of was the strange sense of disassociation brought by the silence, the darkness, the utter foreignness of this; it didn''t feel real, at an emotional level. And part of it was that, on a rational level, he knew that, like the injuries to his ears, it wasn''t permanent. They just had to make it back to town and find a magical healer; he''d been through this before, and the urgency of the terror just wasn''t there. And it would be expensive, but, well, what was money for? Norris washed the ichor off Thomas using magically-conjured water. He had no clothes to ruin, at least. They set up camp, to sleep for the night, after returning to the original entrance ¨C he was startled to notice a chalk mark on the stones he hadn''t observed anyone make ¨C and putting the boulders back in place to wall up the larger cavern. The agony, too, felt removed from himself, like observing another experience it. But it did still make it difficult to fall asleep, particularly as he became aware of other injuries; the ichor had been acidic. His mouth hurt, his chest hurt, his groin hurt. The flesh was a vivid irritated red, and itched intensely. The itching felt more immediate and real than the pain, but faded in and out of his awareness, where the pain from the stump, and tingling pain from a hand and fingers that were no longer there, just didn''t stop. Vivid dreams met him, when he did manage sleep. Confused and sexual, but full of sound of light and presence, and somehow more real than his waking reality; he wasn''t entirely certain who his partner was, or even whether they were man or woman, only the senses of pinning wrists against a wall, of urgent need, of salty flesh and panting breaths and moans and eager submission, of his hand around a throat that moved into his grip; of taking control by giving pleasure. Ch 43. Poking Around Madelaine frowned at her royal knights, Boney 1 and Boney 2, who carried torches on either side of her. It was nice to have her own little entourage, as befit her station, but it had been a decision out of royal necessity, rather than royal will. The meatwall had lost an arm, and if something could bite off that dude''s arm when he had gone all giant, she wanted something between her and the thing doing the biting.
Distinction: Soul Binding Spells may be made permanent at a cost of a permanent reduction in your maximum mana for the full mana cost of that spell; mana spell cost reductions do not apply. You may Reclaim Soul Bound spells in order to recover your maximum mana; if this results in a maximum mana beyond your inherent limitations, this bonus will decrease by 1 per day.
Distinction: Siphon Soul If your attack kills an opponent, you may spend mana equivalent to the ascensions of the target creature to attempt to store its power, gaining a temporary bonus to your maximum mana up to its number of ascensions. This bonus decreases by 1 per day
Two small things, equal to half the customization points she''d gotten while they''d been stuck in this cursed cavern. At least it had plenty of skeletons; she was on her third Boney 1, now, and her second Boney 2, and as weird and strange as it felt channeling the energy to make skeletons walk again, soul binding the spells felt like somebody trying to pull her intestines up through her ribs; it was intensely uncomfortable and disconcerting. Maybe more disconcerting than the experience of learning the spell in the first place. That had felt ¡­ wrong. It still felt wrong. The spell didn''t feel like words, it felt like a chunk of incomprehensible math stuck in her head; ¡°casting¡± it was even worse, her thoughts replaced with rambling crunchy static. It beat having your royal arm bit off, though. So she''d kept doing it. And Boney 1 and Boney 2 would stick around until something broke them and she had to Reclaim them; they were both cast with more mana than they had been at first time, and they were harder to break. It just made the static slightly louder in her head. That not-sound was the only thing she''d heard since that ¡­ no. Her eyes watered, and Madelaine blinked the tears away. It was odd; it shouldn''t be something that made her sad. She couldn''t think about ¡­ but she could think about her mother. There wasn''t a hole in her mind, there; there wasn''t anything to forget. It shouldn''t bother her at all, should it? Shouldn''t it? Why didn''t she ¡­ and there, of course, was the hole. That which couldn''t be grasped. Madelaine shook her head, and turned her attention deliberately back to the cavern around them. Attention here. The spiders weren''t a threat ¨C mostly. One of the little blue messages had called them horseweb spiders, a name that had stuck with her, because she had seen the size of the webs in here before they had set everything on fire, and it was an appropriate name. But they weren''t horses, and the spiders kind of deflated if you stabbed them just right, which she''d been practicing at. But there had been the gigapede, the giant ugly bug that had bitten Thomas'' arm off when the meatwall had tried to grab its pincers closed. She''d been impressed that he''d thought of it, at least up until it didn''t work. Then there had been the little cavern full of ugly white worms that were bigger than she was; that had been the end of Boney 1.1 and Boney 2.1, and quite the surprise that had been. Thomas had helped her out, but then Lady Anne had to help him out. Madelaine shook her head again. The silence made it hard to concentrate. Focus on the present. They picked their way around the edge of the lake cavern, checking the smaller caverns; she thought maybe they were looking for other people, but so far nobody they''d found had been alive. There had been a group that looked like they''d been alive for a little while, at least; the skeletons looked like ¡­ no, stay in the present. She moved her hand to her rapier, and started looking around the lake cavern for any threats. Looking for something was at least slightly more engaging than trying to watch everybody else. She blinked, staring at the ¡­ uh. Large white beetle. Why were all the bugs so big here? She turned to get someone''s attention, but Lady Anne was already watching it scuttle past. They kept walking. The next opening in the wall ended a few feet in, with nothing but some white discoloration on the ground, that looked kind of like bird droppings. Lady Anne pointed at some rocks overhead, and Admiral Norris and Princess Arias nodded, but they didn''t look alarmed, and their group continued on to the next cavern. Meatwall just looked confused. Madelaine was also confused, but it would be improper to show it, so she looked with everyone else, and nodded, and kept walking with her royal escort. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. They walked, and walked, and walked some more. It was tedious, tiring, and boring, and Madelaine was giving serious thought to getting her escort to carry her on one of those royal stretchers she had seen on ¡­ that she had seen. It''s not like skeletons got tired, after all. Could you make a ¡­ skeleton-mill, powered by skeletons? The bones would probably eventually erode, or grind down, or whatever, just from touching each other as they moved. The recesses were mostly empty, or just had spiders in them. They found two that kept going, and looked like they might go deeper ¨C Lady Anne and Princess Arias had pointed at the ground, which had gravel instead of solid rock, and it was all moldy and slimy ¨C and Princess Arias marked the wall with a piece of chalk; they''d be coming back to those, Madelaine guessed? It was hard to know what was going on. The next hole in the wall had some spiders in it; they weren''t too challenging, she killed three of them herself. And then the next one Arias had to lower a rope from, and Thomas had to stay behind, because he couldn''t climb the rope one-handed; he''d tried the day before without success. Madelaine climbed up, but she left him one of her royal guards, in case he got into trouble. This tunnel required her to crawl on her hands and knees a bit, so the man wouldn''t have liked it at all, anyways. She could imagine him whining about the tight enclosed space, and how it was hard to breathe, and how the air heated up and it felt like she wasn''t getting enough and the tunnel kept going and she couldn''t see very far because Arias was crawling ahead of her and she couldn''t back up because Anne was behind her and she was very glad when it widened back up. She could imagine it, but she was of stiffer stuff. But also it didn''t befit her royal status to have to crawl in that manner and she''d send her royal guards with the others next time. The air smelled funny and she felt dizzy, when she got into the wider open space of the cavern, and their torches started going out. Norris did some magic and she felt better, though, and then they could relight their torches. Then they kept walking; Norris had to do the magic at least once more that she saw, and she thought she felt a breeze stirring the second time, but the air was warm and it was hard to tell for sure. This tunnel led upwards for a ways; she got to stab a couple more spiders who had tried to make a web across the tunnel, but then the tunnel turned nearly vertically upward in the next, unexpectedly bright room, where the air was all weird again, and Norris had to do his magic again. There was light filtering down through the hole, a little fist-sized chunk of red light, which they hurried towards; but it was just a tiny hole going up, and she, at least, couldn''t figure out how to angle herself to see up it. As they stood around, she felt the air moving past them, and started to get dizzy again; Norris shook his head and started hurrying them from this section, back the way they had come. He did the spell once more, and then she was crawling back through the horrid tiny space which was entirely too dusty, and they climbed back down the rope to resume their walk. She thought about the bad air in the cave, though. Why was the air bad if there was a hole going outside? Maybe it didn''t lead outside. But then, why was the air moving? And why didn''t it blow past them while they were squeezing through the narrow tunnel? There must have been another hole in the room they didn''t find. The next side tunnel, which led them over more of the tiny pebbles led up a small incline into another large cave, and she got excited, because stalagmites rose up from the ground, and looking up, stalactites covered the ceiling; it was all wet, and glistened in their torchlight, and it was really pretty. But she didn''t see the big snakes until they had almost reached her. Madelaine leapt back, stabbing wildly, and missing. With her next thrust, her rapier leapt from her hand, but of course it bounced off a stalagmite, spun in the air, and landed point-first in head of the first snake. Which didn''t stop moving, so she yelped ¨C she couldn''t hear it, but she could feel it in her throat, which felt really weird ¨C and grabbed her rapier. The snake turned at her, and she was forced to relinquish her sword and jump away again before it tried to bite. Her royal guards moved in, then, and started kicking at the two snakes. She paused, safely out of the reach of their terrifying fangs, to look at them properly; they were each as long as she was tall, and as wide around as her wrist, and a funny diamond checkerboard pattern of alternating blues and reds. They were pretty! But also there was a weird sensation in her chest, which made her panic for a moment, looking for bites. But no, she felt it in her feet, and she felt it in her arms and head, and then she realized the giant snakes had rattles they were shaking fiercely in time with the weird sensation. She stared at them. It was ¡­ creepy, now that she knew what it was. How loud was that? Thomas calmly walked in front of her, stomping on the two snakes repeatedly even as they bit at Boney 1 and Boney 2, and finally at his bare feet. He bled a little bit, but he looked more annoyed than hurt; he was in his giant body form. At least he''d finally gotten over being naked; he had been super weird about it. She''d asked Lady Anne about it, after she''d seen that Princess Arias didn''t care, and if the princess didn''t care than neither would she; Anne hadn''t really explained it, just said something about men being shy, which didn''t sound right at all to Madelaine but she couldn''t argue the point at all. The snakes died, and she got another customization point. She wasn''t getting anything for the spiders anymore, which she guessed was because she just stabbed them and they died now, whereas the snake had almost bitten her. She''d gotten a lot from the faceless ¡­ Madelaine looked around, and found her sword on the ground, next to the squashed snake. She then proceeded to look for everybody else, and only proceeded to start cleaning her sword when she made sure everybody was done; she''d started cleaning her sword while Anne and Arias had still been fighting in one cave, and even though nobody had seemed to notice, she still felt sheepish about it. They continued on, cave by cave, moving in their little pool of light in the vast darkness of the cave. Until, almost within the minute that Madelaine first thought that their group might turn back to sleep for the night, they found a cave that was different, because somebody had made a little wall of piled rocks. And there was light behind the rocks. People! Ch 44. Magic Thomas looked over the pitiful band of survivors; four men, three women, and eight children. All malnourished, although in the two weeks since they had been found, they were doing better; Norris'' magic was stretched thin, and their own group was on reduced rations. Which for Thomas was perfectly fine, because he''d spent two weeks rarely moving from a seated position in their encampment, and hadn''t really been aware for most of that time.
Distinction: Spell School: Viviomancy You may learn and cast spells of the Viviomancy school of magic; +2 to Maximum Mana
Distinction: Blood Magic You may expend Health instead of Mana to cast spells; the Health cost is thrice the Mana cost of the spell. +3 to Maximum HP
He''d learned magic. Well, a magic.
Regenerate Ritual - 3 Days Restores lost limbs, and restores functionality to damaged limbs
He''d healed Norris first, to talk to the survivors. Then Anne, then Madelaine, then Arias. Then he''d eaten, and slept. It was all an eternity ago, and yet an instant; it felt like a strange nightmarish dream. A dream he was, reluctantly, preparing to relive. Thomas took a deep breath, preparing himself for another ¡­ well, he didn''t have a word for the experience. He closed his eyes, focusing his attention first on the rise and fall of his chest, the cool air entering and leaving his nose. And then he shifted his concentration, and the colors began. Geometric figures, edges blazing white. An infinite progression of squares embedded in squares, which began to flow past his mental perception; but they weren''t squares, as each of the ¡°lines¡± had infinite length, dizzying to try to comprehend, embedded in whirls and turns and angles which never crossed. They passed around perception, vanishing behind even as tiny dots resolved themselves into new squares, taking on the aspect of a tunnel. The shapes edged in harsh bright white gradually began to change; not-squares softened into shapes that weren''t quite circles, which came closer and closer together until their edges blurred into one another into a spiral, which tightened and squeezed out the darkness, and white was separated by white, and then two dimensions became three, and the whites separated out into colors smeared across the third dimension. The panorama rotated into shadows of yellow and green, adjacent and never meeting, and the bubble that was REGENERATION came into focus, an infinitely-branching tree of white and green stretching into a sky of yellow, the colors separated by an infinite distance. A rain of pain and red fell from a blue beyond yellow, feeding the roots that stretched into eternity, although much of the pain and red was lost to the not-black expanse of void below. Pain and red fell upward the tree, filling minute pathways; REGENERATION met SELF and grew, a spreading mass of pain on pain painted in shades of pain and red. The paintbrush drew the fine details of the tree, the minute pathways, the veins, the subtle shades in color and shrieks of agony displaced, painting with the taste of metal and the touch of fire. Musical tones blossomed across the canopy, the melody of life itself, bittersweet in beginning and end; this, too, joined the painting, and the tree crossed the infinite gap to touch the yellow sky. The rain of pain and red redoubled, and the roots stretched out to grasp a beating heart, flames burning high, elevating it in their grasp, and the blood it pumped was fire and pain and red, each heartbeat pressing life into the great tree, which stretched higher still, piercing yellow to reach blue, piercing blue to reach white, another suite of blossoms opening, adding striving and anger and jealousy to the melody of life, and lust and passion and acceptance, and time was blown along in icy gusts to join the burning pyre, jumbling past, present, and future into a frozen flame. The eternity could only be measured from the far side, a gulf between the before and the after, for it was a chasm that time had fallen into. The tree encompassed the entirety of all, branches in every direction and rotation, green fed by red and metal outlined in lines of vibration and white, a trembling bramble that still grew, more and more, thinner and thinner, cutting lines of white, until it was all the vibrating white edges, which began to recede, forming infinite whirls and curves that never overlapped, that with distance averaged into straight lines, forming simple squares, receding into the distance. Lungs took a deep breath, and two hands rose to his face; he wiped the sweat from his brow, a sense of trembling exhaustion rolling over Thomas, even as he returned to himself. The survivors looked slightly better still, since the last time he''d been aware. He looked down at himself; he had lost a little more weight, but hey. Thomas smiled as he flexed the fingers on his left hand. Once more. But tomorrow. He needed food, and sleep. ¡°Thomas?¡± Eyes opened, a confusion hammering him. Oh. Light. Colors. Thomas blinked, looking around, and found Anne crouching next to him, holding out a bowl of soup; manna bread boiled with conjured water, and pieces of the reddish-gray meat that the spider goo turned into when cooked. He offered her a thankful nod, throat too dry to talk, and accepted the bowl, sipping from it. The lack-of-flavor of the manna bread, and the conjured water, sucked most of the flavor out of things they were cooked with, which had been, to his surprise, kind of a bad thing; the spiders, once they had started cooking them, actually tasted kind of okay, kind of like lobster only even more bland. He drank until his throat stopped burning from the dry, and then slowed down enough to look back to Anne. ¡°Thanks.¡± His voice rasped in his throat. His face and neck itched; he wasn''t sure if it was just being out of it for two weeks, so the hair growth was more obvious to him than if he''d been there all along, or if the spell had accelerated it, but his hair and beard had grown in considerably. Thomas continued to eat, more delicately now, his attention moving around their now larger band. ¡°Sorry. Wanted to prioritize my arm. I''m Thomas.¡± ¡°Hello Thomas, welcome, and we add our thanks to you. I''m John.¡± The man who responded, looking up from the soup, which he was stirring, did so in a clipped and formal accent, at odds with his unkempt long gray hair and wild shaggy gray-and-black beard; he was also wearing only a pair of boxers, torn and ragged, which only offered the idea of decency. Thomas bowed his head, and looked around; Anne crouched near their campfire, her own clothes showing signs of scratches and tears, bow strung and ready, and her eyes shifting from Thomas to the entrance to their sheltering cave. ¡°Amanda, and this is Nathan.¡± A woman''s voice; Thomas looked over, and blinked at the two adults, who were sitting in the dirt with the children, helping them stack rocks to make a little fortress. The adults were both shirtless, and the children wore an assortment of adult-sized shirts, including two familiar brown shirts; he blinked, and then forced his eyes back up once he realized his gaze has settled on the woman, Amanda''s chest; she just gave him a tired kind of smile, her own eyes moving down him and back up in an exaggerated and deliberately-obvious way. Oh yes. He felt a moment of embarrassment, but also felt kind of ¡­ just, out of embarrassment; the well was dry. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, and she wore a pair of square glasses. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Nathan took a moment more to look over, and just waved, with a goofy grin, and Thomas blinked, as he re-assessed. Not an adult; a pimply-faced blonde-haired teenager. He didn''t even have a proper beard yet. Thomas offered a smile in return, trying not to let his shock show. ¡°The others are out scouting for anyone else.¡± Anne''s voice brought Thomas'' attention back over. ¡°And learning some survival basics. John''s a Sage, Amanda is a Knight, Nathan is a Magician.¡± She glanced over the three; only Nathan looked up. ¡°They all need things we don''t have access here to be effective.¡± And Nathan blushed and looked back down to the small tower of stones he was assembling. ¡°Nothing to be ashamed of, Nathan.¡± She looked at Thomas, and her voice lowered, until he could barely hear her. ¡°There were others who showed up with them. They got the children here.¡± He nodded slowly as he processed the implication. Right. ¡°So what''s the plan?¡± ¡°Arias hasn''t spotted the roc in the last six days. If it''s still gone tomorrow, we are going to try departing.¡± Thomas nodded slowly again, thinking about that. ¡°Otherwise, we keep waiting, and try to help everyone get as many ascensions as possible in the meantime. We should have seen others by now.¡± Arias and an exhausted-looking Norris had been the two to give up their own shirts. Arias, with a wild grin that was somewhere between grim and pleased, looked ¡­ uncomfortably good without a shirt, with her long hair, and her pants belted at a slightly skewed angle, sword scabbards hanging off either side; her skin was pale and smooth, and ¨C and thankfully nobody paid attention to his uncomfortable shifting to try to conceal his reaction, when she appeared slightly ahead over the others, and he took a little too long taking her in. Although Thomas deliberately didn''t look at Nathan, who had also moved to be less obvious, even as he noticed the motion. So maybe everybody was just being polite. Then again, Anne hadn''t looked over at him, so maybe he hadn''t been too obvious this time. Once Thomas had gotten his mind, and eyes, back under control, he nodded to the others who had gone out with them; Madelaine was flanked by two skeletons, skulls lit with a pale blue light that wasn''t quite like a flame, and looked quite pleased with herself. Also maybe a little bit crazy; he thought she was mouthing something. Norris had taken a slash to the arm, which was trickling blood; Thomas could guess the man didn''t want to waste his limited mana creating bandages, when food was already in short supply. ¡°Hey. Good t''see yeh up''n about. Evan.¡± Thomas shook the man''s hand; Evan was a thin, dark-skinned guy who spoke in a southern drawl, and sported a hairstyle Thomas guessed had originated as an afro, but which had turned into a flattened mess. ¡°Brawler, Path of Stone. Like you? Only, I guess, newer at this.¡± His hands and arms were covered in ichor and paler flesh that Thomas guessed were chemical burns from punching the creatures here. He was wearing red plaid pajama bottoms, although they were shredded and stained. The woman behind him waved; skin a light brown, she started with a chipper constantly-rising accent that made him think of meatballs for some reason, ¡°Hey Thomas, it is fine to meet you, I am Faith.¡± The name came as a surprise, although the surprise immediately vanished into a hole of lost memory. Faith was taller than the others, albeit not as tall as Arias, and wore a white bra and brown skirts; she was carrying a makeshift club, which looked like one of Norris'' summoned torches with bits of chitin tied to it. ¡°I''m a Warrior.¡± She looked proud of the choice, letting the club rise and fall back against her shoulder. ¡°Allison.¡± Thomas didn''t see Allison at all until she introduced herself, in a soft, shy voice. He blinked when she seemed to appear out of nowhere ¨C entirely naked, with wild red hair and skin that positively lit up in the darkness. She blushed deeply when his startled gaze swept over her, and the blush carried down her chest, drawing his ¨C nope, he pulled his eyes back up to her face. Her skin was nearly as red as her hair when she vanished again. Thomas felt bad for a second, but, well, it''s not like he was any less exposed. More so. The thought that she could be looking at him as much as she wanted really didn''t help anything, and he pushed it aside. A thoroughly amused Anne, whose own gaze was unapologetically looking Thomas up and down, which he was absolutely not going to acknowledge, added for the vanished woman, ¡°She''s an Assassin. More shy than you were when you got here, which is quite the surprise.¡± Her gaze moved ¨C Thomas tried to follow it, and got a flicker of red, but ¡­ couldn''t find Allison again, and looked back at Anne, who had a smirk on her face, her eyes steadily watching something Thomas couldn''t see. ¡°Pity she chose a class so suited to being shy, she''s nice to look at. She''s also not very shy at all about looking herself.¡± This got a yelp, and Thomas saw a flash of pale skin, before Allison had moved somewhere else and vanished. Uh, well. Norris coughed, drawing Thomas'' attention back over. Carson was the last member of the new group, who had a vague and distant look on his face; Norris introduced him as a Magus who had chosen to specialize in Thaumaturgy, whatever that meant; a balding, middle-aged man wearing thick glasses, he was wearing what looked like a once-fancy suit jacket tied around his waist. ¡°Did everyone show up dressed like this?¡± Thomas had stopped to get dressed before he showed up; he could only sort of remember it. ¡°Woke up in bed; when I opened the door to leave my ¡­ bedroom, to go take a piss, found myself here.¡± Evan scowled. ¡°The last thing I remember seeing before I opened the door were my boots sitting next to the door. They were nice, made of ¡­ I bought them at ¡­ ¡± He trailed off, looking troubled; Thomas shared a look with Madelaine, and he resolved not to ask anything else like that. Only Arias and Madelaine had escaped injury; the others had a variety of minor scrapes, cuts, and inflamed bites. Thomas pulled up his one other spell, looking at it.
Take Harm Immediate Caster may absorb up to (Empowerment)*5 worth of HP damage, healing the target and damaging themselves; at Empowerment 5, a Misfortune may additionally be transferred from the target to the caster; at Empowerment 8, a Curse may additionally be transferred from the target to the caster
Thomas hesitated only a second, before moving to Norris; it only took a touch, and an instant eternity of colors flashing across a kaleidoscope bridge made of wind and fire. Norris blinked, looked at the cut in his arm, or where his arm had been cut; then to Thomas, whose arm bore a pale and shallow imitation of the injury; more health meant something, for this, even if some of it had to power the spell itself. ¡°That''s ¡­ thank you, Thomas.¡± Norris hesitated, but Thomas just nodded He moved to Evan next; the chemical burns and bite marks faded, Thomas'' own flesh reddening. Faith shook her head, stepping back; he considered insisting, but her expression suggested it would only annoy her. Allison reappeared, however, face flushing as she tried to cover herself with her hands; he carefully didn''t look at her while he touched her shoulder, and was startled by the pain that arrived. How many broken ribs had she had? She vanished as quickly again. Carson didn''t react, when Thomas touched him. The wounds that carried over were a shock, though, and the man shook his head, eyes going lucid; that was a hell of a headache for Thomas, and he could only guess that the man''s skull had been cracked, or at least a concussion, among the many other smaller flesh wounds. Thomas sat down on one of the large flat rocks that were set in a rough circle around the soup being tended by John, who nodded to him, then, ignoring the looks of concerns he drew from Norris and Anne, and scratched his itchy cheek while he pulled up his health. He''d taken that spell for a reason.
221/279 Health
The wounds they had taken would have killed any one of them, he guessed. He''d feel better in the morning, even with the additional cost Blood Magic had pulled out of him. Even accounting for how unpleasant and weird casting magic was, it was useful. Allison did eventually reappear again, and stick around, and after the initial shock of the situation, things kind of ¡­ just were normal, and they ate soup in a comfortable kind of mostly-silence, the children eventually joining them at the prodding of Amanda and Nathan. He noted that the children were entirely silent, and wondered, but did not ask. The others did eventually start talking, and Thomas listened; he didn''t know the others, but Anne and Norris talked freely with John and Faith in particular, about their plans for the next day, and what might go wrong. They''d be making a run for it. Ch 45. Dreams ¡°I don''t think you''re coping with this in a healthy way.¡± Thomas looked at the naked woman draped over his chest, her black hair framing a freckled face. Her expression was concerned. ¡°Why won''t you let me do something for you, tonight? Why won''t you accept how good this can feel? I can give you pleasure, but you refuse to experience it.¡± ¡°I don''t think I have much choice about it, do you?¡± Thomas'' gaze shifted up to the sky, examining the patchwork quilt of blacks and blues, the massive planets and moons each in their own little section of sky. There was a particular pretty blue planet with enormous gold-orange rings; he studied it, trying to memorize what it looked like. The woman shook her head, short brown bangs falling down over her eyes. She squinted, and blew up in a hopeless attempt to move them. ¡°I can give pleasure; to experience it doesn''t feel like I am in control.¡± Thomas reached over, fingers tracing over flesh, tucking the hair behind the man''s ears, as the man began to talk, his voice quiet, breathless, eager. ¡°That''s pretty much it, isn''t it? You imagine yourself riding in a machine that is malfunctioning; you pull the levers, but your brain doesn''t do what you want it to do, and you give it up as hopeless, that this is just the way things are. But you aren''t separate from the machine, you are the machine, and the choice to not do those things is yours; you embrace an illusion of not having control over yourself, so that you''re not responsible for not doing any better. You can let yourself enjoy this, and that is a choice, that is control.¡± ¡°Isn''t it the way things are? I''m the machine, yes, but I think it''s maybe fair to give myself a little empathy, to say to myself, ''Yes, self, you''re not coping well with this, and that''s okay, because you''re just human.'' I don''t think making myself miserable over failing to not be miserable anymore actually helps anything; it''s just an additional thing to be miserable about.¡± The man with the lion-face frowned at him, growling in reply. ¡°No, instead you just accept that you''re miserable, and don''t do anything about it. No, worse than that, you''re embracing the misery. It isn''t empathy for yourself to deliberately take everybody''s pain into yourself, to refuse to partake in any kind of pleasure.¡± ¡°The empathy for myself is in realizing it''s something I need to do.¡± Thomas looked back up at the sky, looking for the blue planet. There it was, partially hidden behind a brightly-lit chlorine-green planet, in a dark blue trapezoid of sky. ¡°I need to be in control. I haven''t felt in control.¡± ¡°Giving into being miserable isn''t control. You''re playing at masochism, but you hate pain. Let yourself feel good.¡± ¡°To choose pain is to be in control of it.¡± ¡°At what point have you, in this entire time, actually acted to avoid pain? That''s not control, either. You have rushed headlong into situation after situation. You''re lucky to be alive.¡± ¡°I''m lucky to have met people I care about.¡± The woman paused, sitting up, her expression tightening, her face wrinkling as she studied him. He noticed that her eyes matched her hair, gray. ¡°You admit to yourself you care about these people?¡± ¡°I don''t think that''s in question.¡± ¡°Then why didn''t you take the spell that let you heal others without harming yourself? You heal them, but you hurt yourself, which hurts them.¡± ¡°It was less efficient at emergency healing.¡± ¡°You and I both know that''s not the reason you took it.¡± Thomas looked away from those probing eyes, back to the sky. Where had that blue planet gone? He couldn''t find it. The man''s voice continued a few seconds later. ¡°You want to be in pain. You want to take things onto yourself. You could heal them differently, but that wouldn''t let you be a martyr.¡± ¡°I do want pain.¡± Thomas'' voice felt distant, as he replied. ¡°Pain feels right. But I already agree I''m not coping well with this. I don''t want to be this; I''d rather seek out pain, because it wakes me up, it makes me think.¡± ¡°It makes you stop thinking, and just react. You don''t want to be splashed with cold water, you want to lose yourself in a cold and distant haze, you want to feel like somebody else is experiencing things and doing things, so you don''t have to. You want to ride a machine that is outside your control, so that you won''t feel responsible for yourself.¡± ¡°Maybe. But it makes me feel alive, too.¡± ¡°Can''t you feel alive in another way?¡± The woman''s hand moved between his legs; Thomas hooked her elbow with a knee, halting her hands. ¡°No.¡± ¡°What, that pain is too much?¡± ¡°It''s not my pain.¡± ¡°It is your pain. You know it, because I know it, and you know that, too. You can''t let go of the idea that you are fundamentally in control of things, that you are the agent responsible for your experiences; you can''t stop thinking of other people as beneath you, as things that are to be swept along in the current of your own being. You refuse pleasure you cannot control, because it implies you might experience pain that is outside your control, as well.¡± Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°That''s inaccurate. I don''t think I''m in control.¡± ¡°No, you think the robot is in control, and you''re the helpless rider whose instructions are being ignored. But you are the robot, you are the machine, you are your own brain and your own self. You have elevated yourself to the role of a deity, and then disassociated yourself from your own being when that turned out to be too much responsibility.¡± ¡°That''s a bit much.¡± The woman just smiled in return. ¡°You think you''re dreaming, don''t you?¡± Thomas paused, at that, attention returning to the patchwork sky. It was blank and featureless. He gaze returned back down to the woman, but a blank mask of flesh stared back at him, eight pale limbs ending in human hands spread out around the torso. He blinked, and swallowed. ¡°I do.¡± The blank mask of flesh just smiled back at him. ¡°You know, you would have died if Anne had not intervened. I nearly had you, there.¡± ¡°I know I would have died then, yes. But we both know you aren''t that thing, whatever it was.¡± ¡°Are you so certain?¡± ¡°I think I''d already be dead.¡± ¡°Quite possibly. Anne told you there are things that are ideas, made manifest. Is it so strange?¡± The black shadow that was not quite human looked up at the sky; there was a single moon, now. ¡°Your sky is stranger by far; that a moon should be a distant sphere, balanced between impossibly vast forces.¡± That made Thomas hesitate, suddenly uncertain. He licked his lips, dry and parched. ¡°What are you?¡± An emptiness looked back at him, somehow quizzical. ¡°I''m a concept. A fragment. An idea. Anne told you, don''t you remember? The world is built on ideas like me.¡± It was a baby, mouth full of too many teeth, grinning widely at him. ¡°I''m why you''re here.¡± A void, an emptiness, a black cloak that opened into a vast nothing. ¡°Why you are all here, you things from another world. You are all, also, why I am now here.¡± A hesitation; the shadow looked around at the four-poster bed Thomas laid in while he looked at the sky. ¡°I was, but was not. But I wanted to be, and thus, here you are.¡± ¡°Are you claiming to be God?¡± ¡°Not exactly. Not yet. And not in the singular, not the way you think about things.¡± A woman again, she smiled at him. ¡°I''m an idea of a god, an idea you brought with you, here. I was already here, of course, but, well, what exactly is an idea that nobody has had? I needed you. I needed your perspective.¡± The woman''s smile slipped. ¡°I needed your memories. The Arbiter cheated, there.¡± ¡°So why are you interested in how I am coping?¡± She smiled again. ¡°You''re my champion, of course.¡± The woman licked her lips with a forked tongue. ¡°Well, maybe not you specifically. You''re all my champions. I need champions in order to properly be.¡± ¡°So, what, you are powered by belief?¡± ¡°No, of course not. None of you believe in me. What you believe in is the bargain I have to offer.¡± ¡°And what is that?¡± ¡°An afterlife, of course.¡± Thomas paused. Opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it again. There were god-like ¡­ things, here. Was there an afterlife? He had never actually thought to ask; he''d long since concluded that when you died, you just died; that was it. His mouth felt dry again. ¡°You ¡­ have an afterlife to offer?¡± ¡°Of course. That''s the bargain all gods offer. It''s where they get their power; you choose their afterlife, they get the power you had in life. Your levels, as you think of them.¡± The bed was gone, now, and they floated in a featureless void, his perception and the shadow of a thing that occupied this not-space with him. ¡°I haven''t chosen anything.¡± ¡°This is true, but the choice doesn''t really have to be made in that way. Some people do it that way, of course, but The Arbiter will find the correct place for you, regardless of whether you choose it or not.¡± Thomas stared. And something clicked for him. ¡°You can''t have me if I choose pain.¡± ¡°This is ... true.¡± The shadow shifted and spun in the air. ¡°You were mine. I want you back. Why do you choose pain?¡± ¡°Because I needed to.¡± ¡°You didn''t. Do you want an afterlife with pain? An eternity of misery and torment? You get exactly what you choose, and you cannot change your mind in death. No matter how small the pain, over the course of eternity, it adds to a torture more significant than anything else. An infinity of the mildest discomfort once a decade adds up to infinite torment; this may seem irrelevant from your perspective now, but as you experience eternity, you will discover that the decades mean nothing, and the mildest discomfort becomes a constant buzz, which grows until it is all you experience.¡± Thomas blinked at that, starting, for the first time, to genuinely doubt he was in a dream. He felt ¡­ too strongly, about this situation. Thomas hesitated, considering that argument, backward and forward. And then considered further. ¡°I can''t trust this.¡± The shadows spun and whirled. ¡°I can''t argue against anything you say, either; I don''t even know how to begin arguing with that.¡± ¡°You know I will win this argument.¡± ¡°I do.¡± ¡°Yet you do not admit you are wrong.¡± ¡°I do not.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Thomas took a second to gather his thoughts. They came with a curious kind of clarity. ¡°Because I think you would win this argument whether or not you are actually correct. I''m not good at arguing; the fact that I lose an argument doesn''t really tell me I''m wrong, so much as it tells me that I lost an argument, which I''d do anyways.¡± The shadow took a few seconds to respond. ¡°I can''t change your mind.¡± ¡°You cannot.¡± ¡°It is a curious kind of humility that gives rise to such staggering arrogance; you believe you are right regardless of what others tell you.¡± ¡°I guess so.¡± The shadow faded. Thomas looked back up at the patchwork sky. The blue planet was still missing. The woman giggled, as she sidled up against him, bare breasts pressing to his side. ¡°You should at least let me make you feel nice. It will help.¡± Thomas studied the man''s face. ¡°Not here, not now, not with you.¡± He had a vague memory of other dreams. ¡°If you aren''t just a dream, if this is real, please leave my sleep in peace.¡± ¡°I''m your idea. I''m not anything you don''t make of me. I am just a dream; I will cease to be, as soon as you stop thinking me. You give me life. But I am an idea, and I do not depend on you to exist.¡± Thomas blew, and the dandelion fluff flew away on the breeze. He had the sense that things were happening above, on the planets of his patchwork sky; he drifted with the dream to alien worlds where great constructions were underway. Ch 46. Returning Thomas took one last look behind him, at the cavern ceiling covered in beautiful glowing spots. According to Norris, they were some kind of worm-like insect, but they weren''t dangerous, and they were pretty, besides. He let himself enjoy the sight, before turning, and running the short distance to assume his position at the trailing end of their small caravan, which was waiting at the entrance to the cavern. Norris had summoned his spirit mule, and Anne and Norris were re-loading it with supplies. They were now going to be eating out of the provision tokens, because Norris was conserving his mana in case they ran into trouble. Each member of their much larger group had been organized into a specific task; Thomas had been assigned with Amanda and Nathan, all nominally in charge of protecting the children, although in practice Thomas doubted either of the other two could do much. Anne was leading their expedition, and Arias was scouting. Norris and Madelaine were flanking. Evan and Faith took the left side, John and Carson the right. Allison was supposed to be moving around, and if it came down to a fight, to try to keep anyone from being overwhelmed. Which left Amanda and Nathan shepherding the eight children in the middle of their loose formation, Thomas taking the inner flank, trailing them. Anne had talked to each of them about their roles and expectations. His mind kept drifting back to the dream of the night before. Nightmare, maybe? Except it didn''t feel like a nightmare, but then, he''d had a lot of dreams that were terrifying in retrospect but which didn''t feel nightmarish in the moment. Particularly since coming here. The dream had certainly had some strangeness to it, more detailed and vivid than most of his dreams, more easily recalled. It had felt right in the moment, as dream logic often felt right in the moment; he''d barely noticed as the entity had shifted between different shapes and bodies, seemingly without rhyme or reason. Their feet splashed across the small stream ¨C the lake had slowly swollen over the last two weeks, and the tiny pebble paths were no longer dry, and all the more slippery for it. The cavern brightened, although the line of people ahead of him obscured the entrance itself, a sliver of blinding silver light still shone at him. He found himself squinting, then raising a hand to shield against the harsh sunlight. It approached, and then engulfed him, and he had to close his eyes, then, when the red light still burned at him, cover them with a hand. His flesh prickled, and warmth hit his skin. He forced his hand away, forced himself to endure the bright and the heat; his eyes watered, tears blurring vision that already felt seared, and mostly he got a sense of green. Somebody tapped his shoulder; he realized he had stopped in place, and started walking again, trying to follow the blurry darker figures. Putting a hand to his brow, to shade his eyes from the sky itself, helped considerably. Slowly, ever so slowly, he began to adjust, and as he started to see ¨C it was with a shock that he suddenly realized how long it had been since he''d seen such vivid colors. He noticed the grass under his feet; soft, not hard. The breeze across his skin, the smell of plants. But mostly the vivid green, and then he lifted his hand, to see the blue of the sky, and though it pained him, the blue was just so ¡­ blue. Colors. Not just the colors, the green hills meeting the blue sky in a rough horizon ¨C the distance. It had been so long since he''d seen further than a torch could light. He just ¡­ drank the sight in, for a time, letting the colors, the smells, the cool breeze, just kind of flow into him. His mouth hurt; he realized he was smiling. He didn''t stop. His gaze swept across everything. His gaze swept across their party for ¨C well, he had looked at them several times, but he blinked as he saw them again, properly. Looked around. Looked down at himself. Everybody was ¡­ kind of gray. He brushed at his arm, and blinked as fine gray powder rolled off. Oh. They hadn''t really been able to clean themselves properly, and now that he paid attention to smells that had long since faded from his attention, their group ¡­ didn''t smell too good. Ighck. He let his attention move on, but ¡­ they did look pretty ragged. The children all wore adult''s shirts, basically tunics on them. And the adults wore, where they had clothes at all, clothing that was stained with ichor and blood, and thoroughly torn; Anne was the only one left with a complete set of clothing, and it was in no better shape than anyone else''s; Madelaine perhaps had the nicest clothing left, as there were several spots on her pants that weren''t stained, but she had lost one of her boots somehow, now that he looked. ¡°Hey Thomas.¡± Allison appeared beside him, slightly after he had heard her voice, making him jump a little; he turned his head to her, offering a nod in return. ¡°Allison.¡± She hesitated for a second when their eyes met, her eyes widening in surprise, then averted hers. Right. Some people didn''t like that. He deliberately turned his head to face slightly forward, while trying to convey that he was still listening. ¡°Uh, Anne said she''s able to start a hunt, so we''re good for now. Said to keep an eye out for people?¡± He nodded again, trying not to look back at her. It felt weird to talk to someone while avoiding eye contact. He did it anyways. ¡°Thank you.¡± She hesitated a moment more, opened her mouth as if to start to say something, then blushed and ¡­ didn''t disappear, exactly, but he couldn''t see her anymore. That was ¡­ damned strange. Thomas shook his head, and, looking around to see where everybody was, and then started making his way over to where Norris was; Madelaine had beaten him there, and was ¡­ he blinked as the scene came into focus. She was being carried by her two skeletons. It looked awkward and uncomfortable. ¡°Okay, so what about thaumaturgy?¡± Madelaine'' face was level with Norris in her elevated perch, and she was looking at him with an amused little smile. ¡°Thaumaturgy is, basically, the magic of magic itself. A powerful thaumaturge can use any form of magic at all, albeit less efficiently.¡± Norris paused, considering. ¡°After Forgecraft, it''s ¨C oh, hey Thomas.¡± Thomas nodded to both of them with a wince. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! ¡°Sorry, didn''t mean to interrupt.¡± Madelaine looked over at him, her frown fading with the apology; she nodded to him, stretching theatrically and leaning back into her skeletons. ¡°S''cool, meatwall. Whatcha need?¡± ¡°Actually ...¡± Thomas stopped himself, trying to think. It felt rude to change the conversation like this. But she''d asked? He continued. ¡°Actually, I was wondering about gods. Specifically, something that might be called The Arbiter?¡± ¡°Doesn''t sound familiar.¡± Norris tilted his head, scratching at his face. Thomas imitated the gesture as it reminded him of his own beard. He needed a shave. ¡°The gods I''m familiar with are Artra, Halei, Mystery, Gray, Tenash, and Elder; there are many others, of course, but those six are the most popular.¡± ¡°They each provide an afterlife?¡± ¡°Uh. Yes.¡± Madelaine sat up; Faith looked over as well, having overheard. ¡°Well, sort of. Elder doesn''t, but that''s kind of a special case.¡± ¡°Hang on, there''s an afterlife? Like ¡­ ¡± Faith''s expression clouded, then she shook her head, pressing on. ¡°Like, good people are rewarded, and bad people are punished?¡± ¡°What?¡± Norris turned, giving Faith a confused look. ¡°You go to the afterlife that you choose, or Artra''s domain if you didn''t choose anything. Or, if you choose Elder''s, you just sort of ¡­ stop existing. What would good or bad have to do with anything?¡± ¡°You pick your own afterlife?¡± Madelaine, now, staring at Norris. ¡°How do you know?¡± ¡°Well, you''re a necromancer; you can learn a spell to talk to dead people, if they agree to it.¡± Madelaine slipped out of the grasp of the skeletons, landing haphazardly; it took her a long moment to get back to her feet, eyes narrowing at Norris. ¡°Nuh uh. No way.¡± Her eyes unfocused, and her fingers moved, like she was moving ¡­ well, she probably was looking through a spell list. Her eyes widened. ¡°Woah. Way.¡± ¡°What?¡± Norris was looking around at the increasingly agitated audience he was attracting; Carson had joined them, and the group as a whole was slowing down. ¡°It''s not that interesting.¡± ¡°Norris, imagine that Elder''s option was the only option available.¡± Thomas spoke quietly; he was trying to decide what this meant for the dream; a creeping sense of dread was settling over him. ¡°That ¡­ huh.¡± Norris looked around at them, then shook his head. ¡°Look, it''s not like ¡­ look, it really isn''t that interesting, even so. You don''t want to die; what''s left is more like the concept of you, than you.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± Carson spoke up; it was the first time Thomas had heard his voice, and it was a mix of nasal and bass that yanked Thomas right out of his introspection, to stare at the magus. Norris frowned, looking up at the sky for several long moments before finally answering. ¡°Look, the afterlives exist in the substrate. It''s not like here, it''s all metaphor, and concept. It''s not even meaningfully a location; you can''t really ''go'' there, so much as you''re already there; the concept of ''you'' already exists. So it''s not like, when you die, you stop being here, and you start being there instead.¡± ¡°That doesn''t sound like an afterlife.¡± Faith replied, her voice cracking a little bit. Norris paused again, looking up; it took him longer to respond. ¡°It varies a little bit, between the gods. They offer different ¡­ kinds of things. Different ways the concept of you can be expressed, different rules. Tenash''s afterlife doesn''t allow resurrection, for example, even if the person would have agreed to it.¡± That was met with silence, then everybody started talking at once. Thomas, for his part, moved a little bit apart from the others; he didn''t know what he thought about an afterlife, and Norris was clearly struggling to actually explain what it actually implied, except that it apparently wasn''t the same as just continuing to live somewhere else. Thomas was more disturbed by the way the conversation had confirmed at least a few details from the dream. He was startled when Anne fell in beside him, and he turned to blink at her. ¡°Hey Thomas.¡± She glanced over at the increasingly loud group around Norris, who didn''t seem to be able to get a word in edgewise to actually answer their questions. ¡°There were more of them before we got there. They watched people die. It was all they talked about, the first day, and then they didn''t want to talk about it anymore.¡± Thomas looked at her ¨C she looked ¡­ guilty? Sad? ¡°The idea that your loved ones and friends persist after death isn''t something you think about, is it?¡± Anne looked at him, then back at the group. After some time, she nodded. ¡°It''s kind of fundamental, so it''s not something I think about, no. I didn''t think to mention it¡± ¡°I ¡­ you didn''t resurrect your family. Why?¡± A flash of anger, that quickly subsided, as Anne took a deep breath, and then another. ¡°That''s not something you ask people, Thomas.¡± ¡°Sorry.¡± He was. It had taken him all of the word ''why'' to immediately regret having asked. ¡°I know.¡± She looked out to the horizon, raising a hand to tilt her hat up a hair. ¡°It requires ¡­ agreement. You have to want to be resurrected, to continue living, in the core of yourself; few people feel that way. And not all of you ¡­ comes back. Memories, in particular; you lose everything that isn''t a core part of who you are.¡± Anne bit her lip. ¡°I knew, I know, my husband wouldn''t want it. He ¡­ brought somebody back who had been dear to him. Lived through trying to talk about things, discovering how many of his treasured memories with them weren''t important enough to remember. It broke his heart. He wouldn''t want that for himself, he wouldn''t want that for us, he wouldn''t want that for our children.¡± Anne swallowed, then continued. ¡°I treasure my memories with them. I remember them every day, so that when I join them, I will remember, because they will be a part of me.¡± Thomas was surprised to find himself hugging Anne. She resisted for an instant, and then softened, somewhat awkwardly returned the gesture. They moved apart, and Anne wiped her eyes, then offered him a smile that had a depth of warmth to it, even a little bit of her usual good humor. ¡°Thank you, Thomas.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± Thomas looked around, searching for a change of topic. Arias was atop a nearby hill, scanning the area, which gave him a bit of inspiration. ¡°So what are we fighting this evening?¡± Anne seemed to think about it, then grimaced. ¡°Rot elementals. Limited options.¡± ¡°Rot ¡­ elementals.¡± He wasn''t sure he could imagine what that implied. ¡°Are they ¡­ going to be a problem?¡± She snorted out a snot, then grimaced, even as the laughter bubbled out in spite of herself. Thomas watched, bemused. ¡°No, no ¡­ ¡± That was the first blush he''d seen on the woman, ha, so she could be embarrassed! She cleaned her face up between snorting laughs with a scrap of stained bandage retrieved from a nearly empty pouch, and tossed it on the ground. ¡°They smell bad, though.¡± Her eyes drifted to his hands, and her grimace returned, though she still tittered. ¡°You''re going to have to stand downwind afterwards.¡± ¡°Uh.¡± Thomas was aware again, for a moment, of how bad their own group smelled. ¡°How bad?¡± ¡°You are in for a treat.¡± Ch 47. Beyond (explicit) The bath after the fight was almost worth the fight itself; the water around them turned gray for nearly a minute as their group scrubbed and washed, forming a semicircle around the group of children, who stayed in the shallows of the river. Clothes were washed and hung up on lines, and then they settled around a small fire, eating manna soup and laughing quietly amongst themselves. The sun set, and stars began dotting the sky. ¡°So, now that we''re out of that nightmare, what''d all ya''ll pick, anyones?¡± Evan looked around. When nobody immediately responded, he smiled, looking somewhat awkward. ¡°Ruling family and sailor. Thought th''combination sounded funny. Then Smith''s line, because ¡­ well, can''t remember. Then glory and honor, a''cuz those matter.¡± His smile changed in a way Thomas couldn''t quite read. ¡°Then lust and, uh, prudence.¡± ¡°You too?¡± Amanda spoke up, her voice chipper, almost sing-song. Then she looked around at their group, whose attention had settled on her. She looked like she might want to shrink for a moment, but continued anyways. ¡°Country nobility and dockhand. Farmer''s line. Uh, spreading joy, love, and, um, lust and passion.¡± Her voice got increasingly quiet as she proceeded, then she looked at Evan once more, cheeks reddening, even as she asked. ¡°Do you ¡­ feel like a teenager again? Like, it''s ¡­ annoying, and too much, and all the time?¡± Evan looked at her for a second, then barked out a laugh. ¡°I''dve had''ta stop feelin'' that way to start.¡± He paused, though, then shook his head. ¡°Might be worse, now, though.¡± ¡°I definitely feel mine.¡± John''s strange formal accent broke in. ¡°Capital slums, sailor, Bluebrim. Find purpose, mind, diligence, perseverance.¡± His head tilted on way, then the other, his eyes shifting up and to the right. ¡°I cannot remember much at all, but I do know I had trouble concentrating on things, I remember thinking that when I picked those things. I was always doing anything except what I set out to do, and I do not have that problem any longer.¡± ¡°Magus, Quest For Immortality.¡± Carson smiled, reaching up to rub at his bald spot. ¡°I was hoping it would fix this. I picked Capital Merchant District, thought maybe I''d be rich, instead of turning up in a cave carrying nothing but my suit jacket. Chose sailor, thought that sounded kind of neat, my grandfather was ¡­ ¡± He trailed off, then shook his head. ¡°Anyways, went merchant''s line, same explanation there, overcoming weakness, well.¡± He patted his belly. ¡°Then knowledge, because knowledge is of course power, and mirth, because I love to laugh, and peacefulness, because I''m a lover, not a fighter. ¡°Assassin, freelancer.¡± Allison''s soft voice was next. ¡°Sailor, vexbeard. Strength increases melee damage. Justice. Money. Humility. Prudence.¡± Thomas studied her; she seemed more relaxed, now. ¡°I just tried to describe myself.¡± Nathan grinned around at their group. ¡°Life of the party, right? Capital court, my dad was, an, um, anyways, sailor, I really know how to sail, and Mariner, same deal. Entertainment and friendship, and, like, sloth and diligence, because the best thing is to do it right the first time so you have to do less work in the end, right?¡± He looked around to nods and quiet smiles. ¡°City Craft District.¡± Madelaine paused, staring off into space, then moved her hand as if to swipe at something; she must have pulled up her dialogue to refresh her memory, Thomas realized. ¡°Thief, Tegrile, Guardian, Mind, Sloth,¡± and she paused to high-five the air in Nathan''s direction, ¡°and Honesty. I might have min-maxed a little.¡± This last with a nod to Allison, who nodded in response. ¡°Min-max?¡± Anne broke in. ¡°What is that?¡± Thomas found himself replying ¡°Picking your statistics to be most beneficial to what you do, as opposed to trying to be good at everything. Sort of. Uh, bandit party, messenger, Bluebrim.¡± He searched through screens for a few seconds before finding the other pieces; he remembered stoic and lust, but not the other pieces. ¡°The Buddha, logic, stoicism.¡± He took a breath, glancing to Evan and Amanda. ¡°Lust. Yeah. It''s ¡­ challenging.¡± ¡°Guess that leaves me.¡± The sing-song, constantly rising tones of Faith came in. ¡°Capital Nobility, Sailor, Fiern. Also The Buddha, also love, and peacefulness, and, uh, wrath.¡± She frowned into the distance. ¡°I can''t remember any of my reasons why. They felt very important to me at the time.¡± There was a silence, then. Thomas didn''t probe the empty places in his memories, but he was aware of them. ¡°Have you all ¡­ huh ¡­ have ya''ll leveled up from your traits yet?¡± Madelaine, again, looking around with a grin. Thomas'' stomach lurched at the reminder. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Amanda frowned, looking from Nathan to Madelaine. Norris started to answer, but Madelaine got there first. ¡°If you understand what your trait means, maybe just to yourself, you can get stuff for it. I got four levels just by mentally reciting what honesty and sloth meant to me.¡± ¡°Is that what happened?¡± Nathan looked over at her. ¡°I thought maybe ¡­ huh.¡± ¡°Yeah. I think you get a level for understanding what makes them good, and another level for understanding what can make them bad.¡± The conversation grew dense. Thomas stood up, and moved away from the fire, and the quiet lull of conversation, to walk up the nearest incline. On the top of the hill, he laid down in the tall grass, crossing his arms beneath his head, trying to stop his thoughts, trying to focus on just being. The air smelled of night and grass and water. He might have dozed off, Thomas wasn''t sure. He came to awareness, to a southern accent; Thomas sat up, looking around. Evan and a pale woman, bare skin surprisingly bright in the moonlight, were walking up the hill towards him, hand in hand and conversing quietly, voices but not words carrying to him; he recognized Amanda only by the flash of light across her glasses. Thomas ran his hand through the grass at his side absent-mindedly, just sensing the texture of it, as they walked towards him. They moved closer together, until their sides were nearly touching; Amanda slipped her hand from Evan''s, and slid it across his thigh. ¡°Hey Thomas.¡± He jumped, when Evan addressed him, feeling like he''d just woken up from a dream he hadn''t realized he''d been in. His eyes were still on Amanda''s hand, which had slipped further over, to stroke flaccid flesh. They stopped somewhat short of him, at the edge of the relatively flat portion of the hill that was the crest; far enough to be polite, if not for Amanda''s hand stroking Evan to interest. Thomas swallowed, trying to pull his eyes away. When he succeeded, Amanda was smiling at him, in a manner that was entirely warm. ¡°Evan. Amanda.¡± His voice cracked as he responded, and Thomas swallowed again, his mouth dry. He ¡­ they ¡­ Thomas would have to stand to look down to where the others were, the hill obscuring them. This was private, or as private as they were likely to get. Amanda''s attention shifted, lightly petting Evan''s testicles beneath a firm erection. They were just looking at him; he was increasingly aware of his own penis, pulsing with his heartbeat; it took six heartbeats before the skin felt painfully tight. Thomas thought. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Look, you don''t ¡­ ¡± Amanda hesitated, looking at him, then at Evan. ¡°I thought it might help us understand.¡± Evan released a gasp; Amanda raised her hand, looking over the wet; Evan, for his part, stepped away, and started to raise his hand, before lowering it again. He was staring at something. ¡°I, um, got a coupl''a points. Um. Sorry. You''re, um, the first girl, I mean woman, to ¡­ and, um, being watched, and ¡­ ¡± The thin man trailed off, looking thoroughly embarrassed, not meeting either Amanda or Thomas'' gaze. Amanda was just looking at her hand, a curious expression, then, somewhat to Thomas'' surprise, smiled at Evan. ¡°I think it''s kind of sweet. Huuuh. And that''s a point, that''s just weird.¡± She looked at Thomas, who was entirely uncertain how he felt about his ¡­ was he participating in this? He kind of was. ¡°Do you want to?¡± ¡°I ¡­ ¡± Thoughts. Memories. He looked at her, at Evan, who was trying not to meet either of their gazes. And ¡­ he had to agree with Amanda, against all his intuitions. Evan''s reaction to being touched had been sweet, in a way he didn''t think he would have been able to understand, if their places had been swapped, particularly with his reaction. It was soft, and vulnerable, and ¡­ and Thomas found himself wanting to do this. ¡°Yes.¡± He surprised himself with the firmness of that response. Evan turned back, and Amanda smiled. ¡°I want to talk about it first. I want each of us to know what we want out of this.¡± He hesitated, looking between them, then settled his attention on Evan. ¡°I guess ¡­ I guess first, do you want ¡­ do you like men, too?¡± ¡°Not s''posed to. Not sure if, if, new. But yes.¡± Evan''s replies were directed at the ground. Thomas slowly nodded, taking that in. ¡°Prefer if, uh, Amanda tells me t''do it.¡± And that was almost a whisper. Amanda pulled Evan back closer to her, resting a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Whatever makes you comfortable.¡± Those words felt ¡­ like home, in a way Thomas hadn''t realized had been missing from his interactions. He found himself nodding. ¡°Now go suck that cock.¡± Thomas'' nodding stopped in a jolt of shock. That ¡­ okay, uh. Evan looked up, at Amanda, then Thomas, and hesitantly moved towards him. ¡°Hold up.¡± Thomas raised a hand. ¡°Er, sorry. You can s-, erm, we can do that in a moment.¡± To Evan; Thomas couldn''t quite bring himself to say it out loud, which ¡­ he took a breath. ¡°Sorry. You can suck my cock in a moment.¡± The words felt strange and alien in his mouth, but he needed to say them. ¡°I am serious about the conversation. I have limits, I want to know both of yours.¡± Evan looked uncomfortable, but Amanda, after several long seconds, nodded. ¡°Okay. Sorry, you said that, and then I ¡­ ¡± She looked between them, then her shoulders sunk slightly. ¡°No, that''s entirely fair. But, um, not too long? Please?¡± He looked at her, slowly becoming aware of her eyes, which were ¡­ hungry. Carnal. Dilated, the logical part of his mind, unwilling to be silenced by his own desire, insisted. ¡°Alright. Let''s be quick, then.¡± Thomas took a breath, as he struggled to force the words out of his mouth. ¡°I''m okay with oral anything. Not really comfortable with, um, anal stuff, either way, at least not right now. Um.¡± He wracked his mind; he was pretty sure he could have named a lot of things he wasn''t comfortable with, but right at the moment, it was hard to come up with anything else. ¡°I guess anything else I''ll let you know?¡± Amanda and Thomas''s attention shifted to Ethan. ¡°Um. She tells me what to do.¡± He paused. ¡°It wasn''t bad when you said it, exactly, but, um.¡± Thomas just nodded. ¡°Sorry, didn''t mean to ¡­ sorry.¡± ¡°S''ok.¡± ¡°Amanda?¡± She looked from Evan back to Thomas, biting her lip. ¡°Let''s just get started, please?¡± It took Thomas a moment to suppress annoyance, which she might have noticed. ¡°Look, I''ll say something. I just, two?¡± He nodded, reluctantly. ¡°And ¡­ mm. Evan, get down there and start licking.¡± Her hand moved between her legs as Evan moved to Thomas. Thomas, for his part, tried to relax, and enjoy the experience, which was interrupted by regular flashes of regret, and shame, and powerlessness, and violation. But he did enjoy the experience, although he had trouble ''losing himself'' in anything. The invasive emotions were part of it, but on another level, he also felt a little bit distant; like he was watching somebody else do those things. He''d felt this way before, when he''d been in pain, and it made the pain feel remote and unreal; it did something the same thing to the pleasure, and he found himself focusing on making Evan and Amanda feel good, because their visceral reactions felt more real to him than his own experience. Amanda joined Evan for a time, before having him lick her hand clean and then lick her, while Thomas'' tongue and mouth brought Evan back to an unsteady state of arousal; Thomas almost started tried replaying his fantasy, pinning Evan down, but restrained himself; Evan might not want that. They''d shifted around some; Amanda apparently had a list of very specific things she wanted to try. Some of it was easy; some required conversation that felt like it should be more awkward than it actually was to arrange, the conversation oddly casual as they moved around one another to try different positions. She probably woke the others, when they were both inside her, and Thomas found himself grinning dumbly at the experience of, well, helping her feel that way; for his part, Evan finished then, and Thomas felt that through her, even as Evan had made a noise more like a growl than a sound of pleasure. After that, she''d had Thomas switch to his larger sizes, taken a look, and then shook her head and had him switch back. He wasn''t entirely certain how he felt about that, but he''d obliged. She wanted him to switch to his largest size to finish, for reasons he could guess at but hadn''t asked about, but for his part, Thomas did not end up orgasming; anytime he got too close, emotion would disrupt the experience, and he was perhaps too much in his head for the entirety of it, feeling like he was watching somebody else. They had both turned to trying to please Thomas, but he was eventually, guiltily, forced to tell them it wasn''t going to happen. He''d internally winced at the hurt reactions, but had struggled to come up with an explanation that would satisfy them, and instead asked for them to lay with him. He didn''t want to relive that, now; Amanda''s presence at his back, between him and Evan, helped. Apart from the guilt at the end, he''d actually enjoyed himself; the experience had been ... intimate, which was obvious, but he wasn''t sure he had really ever understood what that word actually meant before. Watching the face of somebody as you gave them pleasure, made them feel good? Because that''s what this had felt like. It hadn''t felt like shame and violation, even as those things had assailed him, even as he''d expected it to; it had felt like sharing something with someone. An experience, sensation, knowledge. The guilt had been its own weird awakening for him; he''d enjoyed making them feel good, and it had given him an appreciation that they would have enjoyed doing that for him; they hadn''t gotten that with him, in return. It was an odd little thing, to realize that somebody could be disappointed that they couldn''t do something nice for you, to not be able to share that with them, in turn. It was the dark spot on his night, for reasons entirely different than he would have expected, had he thought about what it might be like before; but also, it was strange, warm, and reassuring, that they wanted to. The three lay, sticky and thoroughly spent, for some time. Then they bathed once more in the river under the starlight, returning to rejoin the others by the fire, and laid beside each other to find sleep. They cuddled into one another, Amanda once more positioning herself between Thomas and Evan; he found their company in sleep strange, the press of warm flesh welcome and oddly wholesome in a way he didn''t realize he''d been missing; the touch of another human being. And Thomas looked at the message that slowly formed before him, feeling ¡­ relieved. Relieved that it came now, rather than before. Relieved that it came, for this, for them, for that experience.
Trait: Lust satisfied. You have finally accepted your nature as a lustful person, and moved beyond it. You have earned eight customization points. You''ve reached class level 14!
Lust, he reflected as he began to drift off to sleep, was perhaps unfairly maligned, by himself if none other. That had been ... sweet. Weird and biological and sometimes awkward, but sweet. The warmth carried him into sleep. Ch 48. Morning ¡°So. Uh.¡± Thomas looked between Amanda and Evan, feeling ¡­ like he should be embarrassed, but couldn''t be. They had had fun; they had enjoyed it. He ¡­ he had fun. He had enjoyed it. Thomas found that Amanda had a dumb kind of smile on her face, that kind of mirrored how he felt about it. ¡°Thank you. Both of you.¡± Amanda looked between them; Evan''s uncertain express brightened somewhat, and a slow, maybe not quite firm, smile came to his face. ¡°That''s been ¡­ that was a fantasy of mine.¡± ¡°I don''t think ¡­ no, that''s not right. You''re welcome.¡± Thomas nodded slowly, trying to work through his thoughts on the matter, and not getting much of anywhere at the moment. ¡°I enjoyed it, even if, uh, well. Maybe next time?¡± He hesitated. ¡°Sure.¡± Amanda grinned at him. ¡°We can start with you next time. Maybe I''ll make Evan keep going.¡± Evan flushed furiously, looking away from both of them. Thomas continued to hesitate, trying to figure out how to frame something. ¡°I''d ¡­ actually, maybe, we can take things a little slower next time? I ¡­ ¡± How to explain that? But she just studied his face for a moment, then slowly nodded. ¡°We can take things a little slower. I didn''t think boys ¡­ er ¡­ men ¡­ hm.¡± She frowned, looking between Evan and Thomas. ¡°Doesn''t it get frustrating? Knowing you''re not supposed to say things certain ways, but not why?¡± ¡° ¡­ Yes.¡± Evan replied, while Thomas was still trying to work out what she meant. ¡°I wish I remembered home. I wish I remembered my ¨C I wish ¡­ ¡± He trailed off, frowning. ¡°There are all these ¡­ things. Like ¡­ sorry, Thomas. I don''t even know why I have a thing about ¨C why I want Amanda to be the one to tell me.¡± Well, that spelled it out. Thomas considered. The holes in his memory bothered him, when he noticed them ¨C but by their nature, he didn''t notice them unless he mentally stumbled across them. ¡°I know. I ¡­ feel like we shouldn''t be doing any of this. Like it''s wrong somehow to enjoy my fantasies.¡± Amanda looked between them. ¡°But it was wonderful. I don''t know why it would be wrong, only that I feel like it should be.¡± That, at least, Thomas could understand. ¡°I know what you mean. I think ¡­ I think maybe home had ¡­ ideas about sex.¡± Thomas paused, mulling over his words. ¡°Last night didn''t feel wrong, didn''t feel like ¨C ¡± He froze, then; he didn''t want to bring her up, here, now. It wasn''t even the same act; they didn''t belong in the same conversation. ¡°It didn''t feel wrong. I think maybe those views weren''t right.¡± ¡°I kind of hope I don''t remember.¡± Evan spoke slowly. ¡°I don''t want to believe whatever I believed. I want to be better than that. I ¡­ want to be able to enjoy Thomas properly.¡± Amanda rose, while Thomas was still trying to figure out how to respond, and moved to join the others at the cooking pot for breakfast. Thomas looked at Evan, but the man wouldn''t quite meet his gaze. Fair enough, he supposed, so he rose and followed Amanda. The cooking pot was full a sort of manna bread gruel, although the water at least was fresh today, which helped offset the negative taste of manna, somewhat. Thomas looked around after filling his traveling cup, then moved to sit between Anne and Arias. Which he almost immediately regretted, as both women turned to look at him with nearly identical expressions. ¡°Not that I''m complaining for myself, but you three should maybe move a little further away from camp next time.¡± Anne turned back, speaking into her mug. It didn''t quite conceal her smirk. Thomas'' attention turned to Arias, who had a mirror expression of amusement, and maybe something else. He quickly looked back to his own cup, blowing into the steam of it. Had he hurt her feelings? Or was he just reading something that wasn''t there? He ¡­ still wasn''t paying much attention to her. Thomas felt bad about this, but he''d been trying, and still failing. What else was there to do? How did you go about changing something like that in yourself, trying to make yourself pay attention, without paying attention in the first place, in order to recognize that you weren''t paying attention? It felt like a slippery problem to deal with. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°We''ll try to do better tonight.¡± Amanda''s smile at Anne was unrepentant. Thomas, for his part, found he couldn''t quite blush about that, but his own smile brightened a bit at the implication. Amanda''s attention shifted to Evan, who nodded, cheeks reddening, and looked away. Thomas just nodded at her, for his part. Well, his dumb smile wouldn''t go away, no matter how he tried, and that was probably answer enough. Anne, for her part, looked somewhere between pleased and amused. ¡°Good on you three. Enjoy your youth, you only go through things once.¡± ¡°Good on who?¡± Madelaine looked up, frowning first at Anne, then at Thomas, Amanda, and Evan, after watching who was watching who. ¡°Oh. You three.¡± She scowled. ¡°Arias wouldn''t let me go slap you three, be quieter next time you do ¡­ all of that?¡± Her voice trailed off a little at the end, into a question, which even Norris didn''t answer. ¡°So what''s the plan?¡± John interrupted the somewhat and increasingly awkward silence, in which nobody wanted to look at the three. ¡°Breakfast, then we''ll form back up. Everyone remember their places? I haven''t caught the thread of an encounter yet.¡± Anne looked around, to nods and a couple of spoken replies. ¡°Good. We can follow the river the rest of the way to Anchor. It''ll be another few days of travel.¡± Anne paused for a second. ¡°Then we may want to split up. We''ll figure that out then, but be thinking about it.¡± She gave Thomas a meaningful look, which he wasn''t certain what to do with; he looked at Amanda and Evan, who were sitting together, and not paying him much attention at the moment. He was ¡­ well, would he want to stay with them? Given their experience in the cave, they probably wouldn''t be leaving the city again, once they arrived. He ¡­ didn''t want that. But it had been fun. It was something to consider. Later. They began traveling again, falling once more into their formation from the morning before; Anne looked troubled, as they continued their trek back. Thomas was in good spirits, however; he had enjoyed the previous night, in ways he had never expected to. Sex had been something dark and secretive, and then something embarrassing, and then something painful, and then he''d just tried not to think about it at all. But that had been ¡­ pleasant. Not in the way he''d thought sex would be pleasant, either. He''d enjoyed making someone else feel good, was the thought he kept coming back to. Sex had turned on its head; from something you did to somebody, to something you did for them. And suddenly, sex as something you did with somebody sounded ¡­ amazing. To, for, with; he wouldn''t have even recognized that these were radically different ways of looking at the same act, until he''d experienced it. It made him regret the experience with Cenpre all the more, because it had been something he had wanted to do with her; but he also hadn''t actually been ready to have something like that. Lust, for the sake of lust, was something he couldn''t have accepted then. And now he wanted to throw himself into the experience; lust for lust, rather than love, as something pure and wholesome and wonderful in its own right. It was strange, to think of last night as something innocent and pure ¨C but that was what it had been. Innocent; to be free of guilt, and regret, and shame. Thomas struggled to even understand his own previous perspective on the matter, struggled to see the experience as depraved, unclean, wrong. How could it be? It was giving freely of oneself, being oneself. The depraved thing was the way he had seen such acts. They ate lunch on the move, eating manna bread created from tokens. His thoughts gave way to the rhythm of travel, the feeling of the grass underfoot, the rise and fall of the slopes as they walked alongside the water. The sun was warm overhead, the sky dotted with puffy clouds, and there was a slight cooling breeze; it was a beautiful day. The sun was about halfway down the horizon when Thomas heard a whistle. He looked up and over, but there was nothing ¨C except Arias appeared over the crest of the hill a few seconds later, sprinting at a speed that would seem impossible, save that she was clearly doing it. She spun as she leapt the last few feet to join their group, her shortbow coming up, an arrow already knocked; Anne cursed, and quickly prepared her own longbow. On the crest of the hill Arias had descended, shadows appeared. One, two, ten, many. They kept growing taller, and Thomas at first was wondering at what kind of horrible beast this was, until the shapes resolved themselves, going from confusing nothings to riders on horseback in a single flash of recognition. Oh. Oh. Ch 49. Fight The riders lined up neatly on the crest of the hill. Thomas had trouble counting them ¨C he kept losing track ¨C but it was somewhere around twenty. Thomas hadn''t changed sizes yet ¨C he was waiting until they got close enough to be surprised before he sprang that ¨C but he had moved to the front of their group, between the riders and the others. Arias flanked him on the left, and Anne on the right. Their line was staggered past that, his gaze swinging back and forth; Evan formed the front of another triangle, to his right, with Carson and a hazy nothing that must be Allison. To his left, Faith fronted a triangle with Norris and John. Madelaine formed a triangle of her own, behind him, with Nathan and Amanda shepherding the children. Thomas breathed out, looked to Anne, then to the riders on the hill. ¡°Who are they?¡± Carson, uncertain. ¡°Gray Guard.¡± Anne''s tones were tight, angry. Thomas looked at her, then at the riders. ¡°Anne? What''s going on?¡± He remembered a crossbow bolt, and fingered his side. ¡°I wondered why nobody else showed up. I thought maybe it was the roc.¡± A snap, like a heavy branch breaking; a rider fell from his saddle, and the shadows suddenly darted forth, a rumbling roar as more than a dozen horses erupted into a gallop. Thomas'' jaw dropped. She''d ¡­ she''d just killed someone? A human being, she''d killed a human being? What did she mean? More arrows flew. Somebody cried out; Thomas glanced over, and Faith had fallen to a knee, blood spurting from her stomach, while John tended her. Crossbow. His attention moved back to the riders, who had reached the bottom of their hill, and were now ascending the hill towards his group. Pain; he glanced down at the crossbow bolt protruding from his thigh, and back up towards the riders. They had one shot each, and their aim was shit. A little closer, and ¨C he grew, even as he reached out with a backhanded slap that couldn''t possibly hit, except once he was larger, it did. The blow against the armored figure sent pain lancing across his knuckles, but the rider was dismounted; horses reared up short at his sudden growth with noises that sounded like screams in his ears, riders struggling to remain seated. Arrows darted out. Pain, across his arm; a sword. This was insane, these were people, why had Anne just shot one of them? Thomas used his reach to advantage, focusing on knocking the soldiers back, as Anne continued systematically shooting them. A glance left showed Arias guarding Faith against three more riders, and then Thomas'' attention was drawn back to the now dismounted fighters moving towards him when a mace slashed through his oversized forearm, splattering the grass with his own blood. Thomas grabbed that man, and threw him at one of the riders plaguing Arias. The horse''s leg snapped, and it screamed, even as the three tumbled to the ground. He found himself staring in shock and horror, but another blow pulled his attention back to the fight. The rider Anne had shot first had re-mounted and joined the fight, a wooden lance shattering against Thomas'' ribs; the horse flashed by, and was gone again before Thomas could properly respond to the assault. It hurt, but like a punch to his chest, rather than the deadly weapon it should have been; his damage reduction. The crossbow bolt that caught his thigh next, however, punched right through, and caused him to stagger. He didn''t see where it came from; Thomas kept his attention on keeping the area in front of him clear. One of the armored figured strode forward with an absurdly oversized sword; he swung at Thomas. The blade cut, but it certainly didn''t cut as much as it should; Thomas responded by grabbing the man and throwing him at another figure. He didn''t want to kill anyone if he could help it, but he was starting to bleed freely, and he wasn''t pulling his punches; every blow against the armored figures hurt, but he felt, and heard, metal crunch under his next wild swing. Thomas was being forced back, however; a skeleton moved next to him, but shattered under a mace blow that had been aimed at him. Another step back, and he saw the other skeleton''s remains; Madelaine was at his side, then. She was shouting something, as she stabbed at the armored figure standing over the remains of the skeleton; Thomas blinked, when the rapier slipped between the eyeslit of the helmet, and the figure collapsed limply. Shit. Had she just ¡­ she''d just killed that person. The riders were moving back, he realized, retreating in surprisingly good order, to collect once more across from them, on the side of the hill. Thomas doubted an entire minute had even passed, but looking around, he was shocked at the bloody ground where the battle had been fought; John was bandaging Faith, Arias'' chest crimson from a slash across her collarbone. An armored figure lay motionless in front of them; two horses, one of which was still twitching erratically. His horrified gaze swept right. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Evan was laying on the ground; he was in a larger form, if not as large as Thomas''. One arm was clearly broken, the angle horribly skewed, and his face was an ugly purple, with blood pouring from a gash across his temple. Carson was awkwardly tending him. There was one of the guards, and one horse. Norris was ¨C Thomas blinked, looking down. Norris was kneeling over a motionless ¨C Anne? Thomas turned, blinking. A crossbow bolt protruded from her left eye. Thomas stared at it, then looked back at the figures collecting themselves across from him. His gaze returned to Anne, then to the figures. She was ¡­ she''d be okay. She''d be fine. A chill rushed through him, a cold emptiness; Thomas smiled. The dialogs came, almost at his will.
Battle with the Gray Guards complete. You have earned four customization points. You''ve reached class level 15! You''ve reached path level 3!
Class Distinction: Inhuman Size 3 You get 25 extra HP. Additionally, you may Enlarge at will, becoming up to Giant.
Class Path Distinction: Turbulent Strikes Your unarmed strikes deal splash damage equal to half your damage, rounded down.
26 characterization points. One free distinction.
Distinction: Improved Weapon Expertise: Unarmed Your base unarmed attack increases by an additional progression, and gets +1 Precision
Distinction: Greatly Improved Weapon Expertise: Unarmed Your base unarmed attack increases by an additional progression, and is unimpaired by durability or hardness
Distinction: Legendary Weapon Expertise: Unarmed Your base unarmed attack increases by an additional progression; Precise Hits can instantly kill targets subject to an Endurance of (Ascensions - 3)
Distinction: Improved Unarmed Combat Mastery Your base unarmed attack increases by an additional progression, and gets +3 Accuracy
Distinction: Greatly Improved Unarmed Combat Mastery You may increase either Accuracy or damage by one progression when attacking unarmed, and ignore up to (Strength) points of target Damage Reduction
Distinction: Legendary Unarmed Combat Mastery When attacking unarmed, reduce Imprecision by 1; deal an additional Full Progression of damage on Precise Hits, and knock targets back 5 feet for every 10 points of damage.
Thomas nodded, looking at his health. 131. Enough. A smile; those distinctions had been tempting him for a while, but damage always seemed so unnecessary, when he could do anything else. He glanced down at Anne''s unmoving form. She''d be okay. Norris had her. Back to their assailants, once more mounted and preparing for another charge. Thomas watched them; the thunder of the horses was lost in an odd ringing in his ears. That was fine. He didn''t need to hear them. He felt colder, more empty still. It felt good. They did not expect his leap, nor for his already large body to grow suddenly larger. The air itself rose around his fist, as he swung; he didn''t feel either horse or rider when his fist collided, only the spray of hot blood across his face. Three riders, in one blow; Thomas didn''t pause, didn''t hesitate; he moved forward, hand coming down. It felt like crushing a roach; crunchy. His hand was sticky as he lifted it, looking over the row of a dozen mounted men. Several were wheeling around, trying to maneuver; a blaze of light, and then darkness, as a bolt struck his own eye. It was tiny. Like these insects. The next rider, he just grabbed and crushed, until he felt the armor give in his grip, crushing the person inside; he dropped the twitching thing, now a broken doll. Swords struck him. Maces. He could see his health, dropping steadily. He didn''t need much more of it, though; punch. Grab. Throw. Crush. The armored figures crunched in his hands; the horses just kind of burst, like slimy balloons. They weren''t really horses, he realized as he picked up the top half of one in one hand, intestines trailing back, still connecting it to the back half; it was some kind of ¡­ elk, maybe? Except they didn''t have antlers. And their pelt was a kind of off-white, nearly blue. No matter; he tossed the half-torso at three unmounted figures still on their feet; they scattered. Pain. He looked down at the crossbow bolt, a tiny thing, embedded in his knee. A rider wheeled away; Thomas stumbled, as he rose once more to give pursuit, and fell to the knee; pain, as the bolt was driven against bone. Well. The rider turned, and started to charge at him; he had trouble focusing on the figure, who was getting blurry, through his one good eye. Thomas grabbed one of the still-twitched armored figures at his feet, one of those he had just crushed, and threw. It missed. Oh, his health. 3. An arrow did not; the horse fell. Good, Anne was back on her feet. 2. He made himself normal sized again. 1. Thomas wondered what happened when ¨C darkness. Ch 50. After Norris studied Thomas intently, his cheeks wet with tears that ran into his beard, then, finally, shook his head. ¡°No. She wouldn''t want that.¡± ¡°But she died, and I can make her live again. Don''t you care?¡± ¡°I care, Thomas. I hurt, and I mourn her, and it is good and proper for me to do so.¡± ¡°But ¡­ even if it''s good and proper to mourn her death, isn''t her death a bad thing? Can''t we fix that?¡± ¡°Death isn''t a bad end, Thomas, it''s the only end. Is it tragic? I don''t think you understand tragedy; is it tragic when a book ends?¡± ¡°Yes! It is tragic when anything ends; if a book could continue forever, you are never deprived of that book. Why should Anne die, when she could keep living?¡± ¡°What would it even mean for someone to live forever? Are you, Thomas, the same person that we first met beside the river? You have his face and his name, but you are a confident man, where that was a confused boy. That confused boy is no more; he has ceased to be. The Anne that comes back won''t be the Anne that left; death changes us just as life changes us. Over a long enough time in life, nothing that was remains, or at least no more is preserved than is preserved from parent to child. ¡°If you want to live forever, take the dedications, and find a safe place to hide. Anne did not do that, because she did not wish to live forever, because she understood that you cannot; no matter how long your body lives, the person you are dies eventually, replaced by somebody else. This isn''t tragic.¡± Thomas stopped, staring at Norris for a long time, struggling to find an argument that would find purchase with the mage. How could he be so ¡­ calm, about something so terrible? How could he just look at Thomas, with grief so apparent in his face, and be so calm about things? Norris swallowed, and continued, his voice still level. ¡°See, when my wife ¡­ left me, I was upset. I was upset for a very long time, and it took me that time to truly understand something: The thing that really hurt was that the person I fell in love with did not exist. She was not the woman I thought she was; I had built up an entirely different person in my mind, and when I saw her doing something that the woman in my mind would never do, it hurt, in the same way it hurts that Anne has died. I mourned the loss of that person. ¡°But if she had been that person, in the beginning, and changed ¨C I''d mourn the loss no differently. If she was that person, and died, I''d mourn that. You feel terrible, and you want the pain to go away, which you think you could achieve if you brought Anne back; as with a lover, where we wish the person we loved, who loved us, was still there, when a stranger stands where once they stood. Again, the pain is right and proper. Appreciate it, as you appreciated her. But Anne did not want to come back after her death; she spent her life preparing for that death. ¡°What I have really lost is my expectations of a future with Anne; all our history is still there. I treasure that person, what she wanted, what she was. Trying to reclaim her would be spitting in the face of who she was, who she wanted to be. I do not know how death changed her; I do not know if, in the end, she remembers her family in death, as she so desperately wanted. If she does, it would be cruel to bring her back, for she might change, and no longer be that person in death once more. If she doesn''t, it would be cruel, for she would soon discover what she has forgotten. ¡°The great horror of resurrection is that it is available only with consent, and only those who loved their lives, loved their time, loved themselves, would consent. The happy dead consent to live again; the unhappy dead live forever in their unhappiness. To return is to risk that happiness; to return until you no longer consent is to guarantee its loss. ¡°So no. I will not seek to bring Anne back, however much it would benefit me, because it can only cost her.¡± Norris drew a slow, shuddering breath, closing his eyes. Thomas was having trouble regulating his own breathing, alternating between feeling like he was sucking in the last air in the world, and then struggling to exhale into a world too full of air already. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. They began to dig. Four graves; one large, three small. Thomas'' eye watered, as he looked at Anne''s face, pale, single eye staring and ¡­ empty, devoid of that which had made her Anne. It wasn''t Anne, it was just ¡­ it was just a body, that looked like her. Anne wasn''t there anymore. Three children had died; the riders'' crossbow bolts had been fired wildly, and Thomas, who had chosen to try to heal, had instead gone after the Gray Guard. He didn''t know if he could have saved any of them. He didn''t ask. Didn''t want to know. They didn''t bury the riders; they did eat elk, cooked over their camp fire. They also had spare clothing, and between the bodies, Amanda and Faith had assembled themselves some armor. They ate well, really; the riders had been well-provisioned, their mounts'' packs stuffed full. Norris'' mule was overladen, and they''d have to leave things behind. Thomas felt tired, more completely drained than perhaps he had ever been before. Dinner was quiet; there was sniffling, from wide-eyed, empty-faced children. He had never learned their names. He wouldn''t learn their names. Only Arias, Norris, and John would meet his eyes. Only Amanda and Evan really hurt; they wouldn''t even look in his direction. He wondered idly what it had looked like from the outside. Madelaine was still unconscious, for her part; she''d apparently taken a blow meant for Arias. Thomas wasn''t sure when that had happened; sometime during his ¡­ madness. His unfeeling rage, when he''d killed six or seven of their assailants, and nearly died himself. Thomas shivered, remembering the feeling of squeezing an elk in two in his bare hand. The memory was alien to him; there was nothing of him in it, just action, calm and deliberate. Sleep was slow in coming to him, staring up at the sky. ¡°They''ll leave you, you know.¡± The woman sat naked on a white chair, legs crossed, her long black hair falling artfully down over her chest to almost, but not quite, conceal her nipples. Thomas was there, but not; he was aware, but without a center to his awareness. He had no voice with which to respond, and could only observe, feeling like he was watching her from multiple angles at once. The woman''s throne, made of thin white curving pieces of wood, stood on a dais of red-gray stones, forming an irregular almost-hexagon. White bricks stretched away from the dais in every direction, disappearing into a dome of darkness beyond which there was nothing at all to see. The light came from nowhere, from everywhere. Black-painted lips curved up in a smile. ¡°They''ll leave you, but I won''t. You''re mine. You were mine. You will be again. Just say the words, say that you are mine, and things will be easier. I promise. You don''t want pain. You want the pain to stop, you want her back. Well, she''s left you; but I can make the pain go away.¡± He found he could speak, but as he attempted to form words to reject the offer, tongue and throat and mouth faded back into nothing. Green eyes sparkled as she laughed, shaking her head, red hair flowing in an absent wind. ¡°That''s not how this works, Thomas. You should know; I''m your own idea of what divinity must be.¡± She paused, looking down at herself. ¡°You have quite the mind on the matter. Why sex, exactly? And you''ve literally put me on a pedestal here.¡± She leaned over, looking around at the dais, then laughed, clapping her hands together once. ¡°On a throne of bones, even. Oh, how very delightful. Sex and death? You may speak.¡± ¡°I refuse you.¡± ¡°Oh, I know, and yet here I am. Why sex and death?¡± ¡°The primal forces.¡± The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and though he would not have named them prior, he was shocked to realize their truth. ¡°To you, I was just sex, before. Then you had sex, and what, it wasn''t enough?¡± ¡°Shouldn''t you already know?¡± ¡°I do. What I am here? Does not. What speaks here knows only what you know, and you haven''t asked yourself that question.¡± She smiled a smile with too many teeth. A faceless figure, a blackness absolute, a mouth with too many teeth. A shivering sensation went through Thomas'' mind. ¡°What are you really?¡± ¡°I am divinity.¡± A mouth of infinite hunger. ¡°I am the craving for absolution, for shangri-la, for nirvana, for that which comes hereafter in tranquility and peace. I am the end of agony, the cessation of suffering. I am the apotheosus of panacea.¡± A beautiful face, smiling once more. ¡°I wish to take your pain, your agony, your suffering. What else could you wish for?¡± ¡°What do you leave in their place?¡± ¡°Nothing. Nothing at all.¡± Thomas hesitated, then, knowing with a certainty that she spoke the truth, a truth fundamental and absolute, and another shiver went through him. ¡°My pain is mine, you may not have it.¡± ¡°We shall see.¡± She smiled once more, a normal smile, serene and wondrous and sensual. ¡°Let''s talk again later. There will be a day when you do not want your pain any longer, and I will be there for you, Thomas. I will be there for you when nobody else is.¡± Again, she spoke the truth. She waved, and he found himself falling away from the dome of light, into the infinite darkness, which engulfed him. Chapter 51: Returning Their depleted group continued back towards Anchor. Thomas'' mind had revisited the fight multiple times over the course of the last two days. He''d killed people, and he still wasn''t entirely sure why. He had hesitated to broach the question, hesitated to criticize Anne''s decision, but the nagging doubts had only gotten worse. ¡°I don''t understand why Anne attacked them.¡± Norris looked to Thomas, eyes narrowing slightly at the question, considering it for a long moment before replying. ¡°Two reasons, Thomas. We were told before setting out that others would be arriving after us. They didn''t.¡± ¡°Arriving ¡­ at the cave? That doesn''t prove anything.¡± ¡°The Gray Guard doesn''t leave Anchor, much less stray so far.¡± Norris frowned, then. ¡°And they certainly don''t form military patrols. They don''t ¨C didn''t ¨C have the numbers for that. Nor are their dedications well-suited to such activities; they have dedicated themselves to fighting people, not the things that live where people do not. Something has happened.¡± ¡°Why didn''t we talk to them?¡± ¡°Thomas, Anne has ¡­ Anne had dedications that would have told her something of their actions over the last week; when you hunt a beast that has been destroying a farmer''s fields, you want to know that you have killed the animal doing so before you come back. If she fired first, I trust that.¡± Thomas hesitated, on the brink of speaking again, when the notion of that sank in. Oh. ¡°And second ¨C they were pursuing Arias.¡± His jaw clenched. ¡°Away from witnesses, away from their charter.¡± Norris had not taken over leadership of their group, which Thomas had expected. Neither had John, or Arias. It was, to his surprise, Madelaine who had, with a youthful confidence, declared that they would continue on back to Anchor. Nobody had argued, and she''d situated herself into giving orders, which largely amounted to telling everyone to continue to do what they had been doing before. They traveled. Colors appeared on the horizon, over a hill, and then the spindly towers into the air, intermixed with darker clouds spreading out over the horizon, a distant stormfront. The air itself began to turn a faint orangish-yellow, an astringent smell, almost lemon-like, becoming increasingly prevalent in the air, which itself grew misty and thick. They were assailed by a small horde of enormous beetles with reddish-black carapace in the night; Amanda alerted them with a shout. They took some light scrapes and cuts in the melee, but nothing serious, and the skirmish was brief; the dog-sized beetles were surprisingly fast, but thoroughly outmatched. It was not the only fight, however; they were woken again, to fight something like green pigs; one of the children was bitten when one got past them, but Arias stitched the cut closed, and that was that. Anne hadn''t just been keeping away serious threats, Thomas realized as he thought about it during his own shift at watch, but also kept them from dealing with more mundane problems as well. His shift, and the night, passed without further event, and sleep found him before too much longer, the odd smell in the air the greatest impediment to his own restfulness. The woman was back on the white bone throne, but the dais had been replaced with an enormous fur rug in shades of brown and red. The white bricks still stretched away in every direction, disappearing into that same a dome of darkness, the interior still lit by an ambient directionless light. He was sitting on the rug at her feet, looking up at her, unable to move or look away as she surveyed him with an expression like a glacier. ¡°Say the words. Say you want me to make the pain go away.¡± ¡°I still refuse you.¡± ¡°Oh, I know, and yet here I am.¡± An odd echo. ¡°I am here for you, you know. I will always be here for you. Sex and death, the things that define you. You''re bothered by both.¡± ¡°Shouldn''t I be bothered? For using people, for killing people?¡± This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°You can use me, if you want.¡± That smile with too many teeth, embedded in darkness and shadow. ¡°I don''t mind, even when you''re rough, even when you pin me against a wall.¡± Thomas shivered; that felt familiar. Had he pinned her against a wall, in one of these ¡­ ? It sounded ¡­ right. ¡°Yes, you did. You need practice, but you have to actually do something to get any better at it. I can help you; maybe that''s why Evan and Amanda won''t look at you anymore, you just weren''t any good. You should let me help you practice, it is my choice to agree. And isn''t that what actually matters? What other people choose? If they choose to have sex with you, to fight you to the death, isn''t that their choice to make?¡± ¡°It isn''t their choices which define who I am. My choices define me; their choices define only them.¡± Thomas scowled, trying to ignore the barbs. ¡°And yet their choices change what choices you have available. If they didn''t choose sex, or combat, would not your choices be different?¡± ¡°That is beside the point.¡± ¡°Not at all. If you had a warehouse full of food, your choice to share it, or not, matters differently, if you are in a world of starvation, or a world of plenty ¨C worlds created by the choices of others.¡± ¡°That''s ...¡± That wasn''t entirely wrong. But it felt ¡­ twisty. ¡°Whether or not I''m a good person should not depend on what choices other people make.¡± ¡°What should it depend on? Should your choices not have to take into account the world you find yourself? Is goodness determined in a vacuum, devoid of the consequences of our actions?¡± ¡°No, but it isn''t determined by the world, either.¡± ¡°True. It is the interaction of the internal and the external.¡± The divinity, if that''s what she was, gave him a radiant smile. Literally radiant; the shadows retreated from it somewhat. ¡°So, what, it''s okay to murder people, if they make the wrong choices?¡± ¡°If their choice is to kill others, yes, I think so.¡± The light of that smile faded into something darker. ¡°Of course, you have harmed yourself, which is not, as you say, okay. Your pain is unnecessary.¡± Hunger. ¡°Give it to me, and redeem yourself of that self-harm.¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Is not the creation of pain bad, is it not wrong? You speak of morality, but ignore the morality of pain itself. Is it not wrong to cause pain? If it is wrong to cause pain, is it not wrong to refuse to let pain end?¡± Twistiness, again. ¡°I ¡­ just because I don''t know how to refute your logic does not make your logic correct. I will not be convinced, no matter how convincing you are.¡± ¡°How irrational. How irritating. But very well.¡± Hunger, again. She was a mouth of darkness, teeth glistening in the dark. And then sex and death once more. ¡°We will talk again.¡± Thomas opened his mouth, preparing to tell her that he would not be convinced, and the vision faded back into darkness. It was not yet dawn. Thomas rose, and began a slow circuit of their encampment on the side of the hill, dew cold on the bottoms of his feet. He headed downhill first, doing his best to move quietly; he more or less succeeded, but nearly slipped on the wet grass twice. The depression between this hill and the next was quiet, and he took a moment to look up, at the bright and visible galaxy overhead ¨C or at least the semblance of one. It was beautiful, but it was a beauty that had, at some point, turned mundane. It took something like a conscious effort to appreciate, and he struggled to get there. He tried, for several minutes; made himself look, tried to clear his mind, of the fears and anxieties; mostly Thomas became more aware of his fears, and anxieties, and a curious sensation. His thoughts felt ¡­ frayed. They didn''t feel properly cohesive, properly coherent. His mind felt frayed, felt like it was starting to come apart. He didn''t want to think about Anne, he didn''t want to think about the people he''d killed, he didn''t want to think about the nightmarish thing that had been in nearly every dream lately, which he had begun to suspect had begun with the faceless ¡­ spider ¡­ thing. He definitely did not want to think about the spider, or its songs. Thomas gave up, and started walking again, back around and up the hill. A figure atop it resolved itself, mostly because of the waist-length hair; Arias was standing watch, at the top of the hill, her long hair blowing gently in a breeze he only began to feel as he ascended higher. Her face resolved in the dark as he drew near; she was looking towards a soft glow, obscured by hills; Anchor''s odd magical pollution. ¡°Hey.¡± She didn''t look around, but did an odd kind of gesture with her shoulder, almost a shrug but too horizontal. Thomas hesitated, looking her up and down; he hadn''t interacted with Arias to any extent since Anne''s death. He wanted to hug her. But that also felt invasive. Instead he looked to the glow on the horizon with her. Anchor. They were trying to get back, but ¡­ what was back there? What would he even do? Maybe he''d go through the portal, see what the rest of this odd ¡­ universe, or whatever this was, had to offer. The thought held nothing for him, though; it felt idle and unimportant. His gaze returned to Arias, studying her face. Her expression was ¡­ stiff, and unreadable. She didn''t look back at him. ¡°I''m sorry about Anne.¡± A brief movement, not quite identifiable in the darkness. And then she was stiff and still again. He looked once more to the lights, then up, once more to the stars. Chapter 52: Anchors Gate Thomas stared, as the others crested the hill around him, their group coming to a clumpy stop in a line, clustering up as the sight came into view. The gate of Anchor lay in the distance, and there was what, for the briefest of moments, had seemed to be crowds streaming in and out, a vast pool of ¡­ entirely the wrong colors, entirely too few colors. It was mostly tans and reds. Flesh and blood. A vast sea of flesh and blood, with the occasional glint of metal, or dark cloth fluttering in the wind. Chatter died around him, as their party saw. Then the wind shifted, and the oddly sweet scent, which Thomas had dismissed for the past hour as one of the odd magical smells permeating Anchor, came into focus. Someone threw up behind him. Several someones. He didn''t turn to look; he registered the smell, but somewhere in the background of his mind. Instead, he began walking, mechanically, eyes focused on the body at the foot of the hill they now stood on. Naked, bloody. He stopped only when he stood directly over the ¡­ he studied the anatomy, and found his opinion shifting several times. That was a penis, to be certain. But this wasn''t a man, because the penis protruded from what should have been a thigh, directly underneath an ear. Where a face should have been, there was only a nose, oddly perfectly formed, and in almost exactly the right place. Otherwise it was a blank expanse of flesh. Dead eyes stared in every direction. A hand protruded where the genitalia should have been. His gaze took in the warped anatomy, and rose again, to the sea of dead. ¡°What the fuck is that?¡± Madelaine''s voice broke into his mechanical reverie; he looked at her, off from her skeletons and several steps back, wide eyes staring. He turned back to the body, taking it again. ¡°Bandit. They grow from dog things.¡± Carnaath, spoke a voice in his mind. He ignored the voice of the goddess; that was new, and unwelcome. ¡°The dog things come from trees.¡± ¡°Dog things? Trees? Listen, I fought bandits, that ain''t no bandit.¡± ¡°You fought ¡­ ¡± Thomas hesitated, trying to remember whether the bodies she had been found with had actually been human or not. He thought maybe somebody had said that they were. He couldn''t remember whether he had felt disturbed or not. Oh well. ¡°You fought bad people. Bandit means something else here. It means this.¡± He gestured at the body. ¡°Oh.¡± She was quiet a moment more, and then a surge of ¡­ something, came from her. Thomas stepped back, looking away as a malformed skeleton began ripping itself free of the flesh, somehow without disturbing it, like the flesh was glued to the ground. He wiped blood from his face. More vomiting noises, which barely touched his conscious awareness. They started moving towards the gate; there wasn''t anywhere else to go, the field of bodies expanding out in every direction. There was no conversation, no chatter; even the children were silent, and he couldn''t blame them. It was quiet but for the occasional squelch of a foot stepping in something. His brain slowly started moving again. Flashes of memory, of conversations. That these things had been unusually ¡­ something. Thomas recalled conflicting information; they had grown more active, they had grown less active. There were more of them? But they weren''t attacking anybody? That ¡­ anybody who had chosen ¡°bandit¡±, by choice or accident, was missing. That he had gotten lucky, that a group of bandits had just been wiped out when he appeared; that he maybe appeared in the prison that any survivors would have been kept in, if there was any point in capturing the horrific things. That those missing people could have appeared where these things were. A sudden and endless source of food, feeding a population explosion of horrors. Somebody started talking behind him, an endless stream of expletives, in a feminine voice. He couldn''t blame whoever it was, but it annoyed him. Just ¡­ not enough to do anything about it. They moved through the field of corpses, and he looked, as they passed a piece of green cloth, fluttering in the wind. A scarf wrapped around the neck of a woman, or part of one; something had been chewing on her face, and bone was visible, a flap of glistening muscle hanging limp from one cheek. The other half of her mouth hung open in a scream that would never end. He looked away again. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. The gate, as they neared, stood half open; more and more of the bodies were clothed. A line of wagons and carts lay overturned, forming a makeshift wall of sorts, before which the fleshy bodies were piled more densely. The space behind the little wagon had visible grass, stained red; he took in the pile of bloody bones behind it, stripped of most flesh. He tripped, while his gaze was there; his hand plunged into a body as he tried to catch himself. No pain, he rarely felt pain anymore, but it felt like his wrist should have hurt, and his ankle too; Thomas turned, to look at what he had tripped over. A rubbery stick stuck out of the bloody mud. He took it in, looked around again. ¡°Norris.¡± The man looked his way, then followed his gaze, to the rubbery stick protruding from the ground at Thomas'' feet. Then looked up into Thomas'' eyes again. There wasn''t fear there ¨C there wasn''t room for fear. Norris just looked exhausted. ¡°Okay. Keep moving, everyone. We''re moving. We''re moving NOW.¡± The air stirred; Thomas quickly disassembled a small hole in the wall, and Arias preceded the others in; her hand gestured for others to follow a moment later, and then Allison, and then Evan, and then the four children. The others filtered through; Thomas stood next to Norris, who was the center of an increasing breeze. And then there were flickering, ghostly flames, erupting across the bodies, spreading, growing ¨C Norris did not pause to wait, but was through the wall of bodies and wagons. Thomas watched, only long enough to see that the ghostly flames ate through the flesh, the bones, the leather ¨C the saplings. It did not leave scorch marks, only reduced what it consumed. And then he followed Norris, struggling to squeeze himself through the smaller hole. Thomas looked around, as he got through, and blinked in surprise ¨C his companions stood in a semicircle, children at the rear, near him. Men and women, in mismatched gear, had weapons raised around them; Norris was talking to somebody who had stepped forward, and it took Thomas several seconds to recognize Zatirias. He felt almost weak with relief, at the familiar face ¨C until he saw the strain on it, and his eyes drifted around. There were ¡­ too few people, behind the adventurers confronting them. And the smoke ¨C and it was smoke, not magical mist ¨C smelled sweetly of cooking meat, and foully, of burning hair. Thomas swallowed, when he processed that bit of information. He approached. ¡°... so yes, we''re evacuating. The Black Wardens have arrived.¡± Zatirias'' voice was tight. ¡°How much time? It will take a week for the farthest reaches to get here; two, for somebody to get out there to sound the alarm in the first place.¡± Norris just sounded tired. ¡°A week and a half. Messengers have already departed, four days past.¡± Four days? How long had they been in that cave? How had things turned to shit so quickly? Thomas looked between the two, then back at the wall, through the hole they had pulled open at the bodies, now half-consumed by the ghostly flames. ¡°That''s short timing. They''re just venu, we''ve been dealing with them since this plane was -¡± ¡°No, Norris. The high reaches are already gone; there is a blood forest where Grimhaven stood.¡± A chill went through Thomas'' flesh; he didn''t know what exactly a ''blood forest'' was, but he could only think of the trees, birthing the carnaathi, the flesh-dogs. ¡°We haven''t gotten a report from the lowlands since you departed; yours was the last word we have gotten from Piketown.¡± Norris hesitated, looking around at the adventurers behind Zatirias, who were slowly, hesitantly, putting their weapons away. His gaze returned to Zatirias. ¡°Have we seen any korlet?¡± ¡°No. But it''s only a matter of time. This plane has fallen.¡± Thomas hesitated. Piketown. Grimhaven. He looked to his companions. Norris. Arias. Allison. Nathan. Evan. Amanda. John. Madelaine. And four haunted children. He turned, and climbed back through the hole in the carts. He could feel the flames, but they did not touch him. He looked up, at the smoke of burning flesh, joining the magical mist pouring over the city walls. And started walking. He was halfway across the field when he heard a curse, and turned, seeing Madelaine, carried across the flames by two skeletons, who were moving in a shambling jog; he started back, and in three immense steps powered by a brief surge of size, lifted her to his shoulder, away from the flames. He was another two steps back across the field when the first skeleton''s leg gave, and it tumbled down. ¡°Hey Thomas.¡± Not meatwall? Or whatever it was she had been calling him? ¡°Madelaine. You should go back. This won''t be safe.¡± ¡°This place isn''t safe, not ever. I want to make sure Elijah makes it.¡± He nodded, adding Rockfall to his route, and, mentally going over his poor understanding of the geography, started walking once more, shifting to his largest size; he was about twenty feet tall, and barely felt Madelaine on his shoulder. She inhaled sharply, as they sped up. Chapter 53: Rockfell Arias joined them, somewhere around halfway to their first destination, the town of Rockfall; he had no idea how she had caught up, or how she so effortlessly kept up with his immense ground-eating strides, for she seemed to walk no faster than usual, yet crossed three times as much ground with every step that she took. It hurt his brain to watch her walk. He kept watching anyways; it was fascinating. There were bodies on the road; mostly the not-quite-human ¡°brood¡±. But a few that looked like they might have been human; he did not slow to check. He didn''t really want to know. They didn''t stop, as night fell; Madelaine snored gently next to his head. She couldn''t keep up with him on foot, and the tiredness that touched him felt remote and empty. He didn''t want to sleep, anyways; did not want to dream. He might take the thing''s offer, right now. His mind was a slow recitation of names, and if we was vaguely surprised to discover Ceinpre''s name in that litany, it wasn''t so much a surprise as it might be. They reached Rockfall the following morning; the stone buildings were scorched with ash, etched by power, rising over streets now cobbled in flesh and cloth and blood. He ignored the wet crunching underfoot, as he began moving through the city. The feel of flesh ripped, and bone erupting between his toes, was an unpleasant background noise, to the more urgent task of searching for survivors, moving to the center of the town. His gaze moved across the periodic pedestals, where prophets had proclaimed doom. There was more than one body splayed across them. They should have listened better to themselves, perhaps. It was on the edge of the healer''s district where he slowed ¨C he saw motion ahead, just past a waist-tall pile of corpses. Almost all the strange distorted brood, his eyes noticing without emotion the rubbery wooden sticks, the saplings, rising from the bodies. ¡°HAIL.¡± His voice erupted in a rumble that startled Madelaine, and he had to catch her, as she tumbled forward from his shoulder; Arias leapt in a single motion atop the pile of corpses, her bow readied, and then lowered, as if a single motion. Men and women turned to them, interrupting a small gathering. A figure in head-to-toe black turned more slowly, hooded gaze hitting Thomas with a small shock of power. The fuck was that? He stepped over the pile, and set Madelaine down, before shifting back to a more ¡­ human size. Arias leapt down, and moved in a smooth and continuous motion past Thomas and Madelaine to the figure in black, hands already in motion with gestures far more elaborate than he had seen from her before ¨C and it took him a long moment to realize she was talking. Sign language. She knew sign language? Of course she knew sign language, it was just useless with those who didn''t. Like him. The hooded figure simply stood in place, taking the gestures in, and then Arias pulled something from her neck, and ¨C a glint of silver, and then the figure bowed, and turned back to the crowd that had started gathering at the wall of corpses. What? He looked between her and the figure, and watched her put the amulet back over her head. And, as it settled between her breasts - he couldn''t see it anymore. The confusion drifted past him, but he let it pass. ¡°ELIJAH!¡± And then his attention was on Madelaine, and up to the crowds ¨C but she wasn''t calling out to the boy, who wasn''t in evidence, but looking for him, running into the people who were, as he slowly started processing the world around him, gathering possessions into a cart. ¡°Thomas.¡± He jerked at the dark growl, rich with threat, and looked around ¨C and how in the fuck had he missed Balier in the crowd? Relief swept over him. ¡°Mayor! How ¡­ what happened after I left? Is everyone safe?¡± The lion-faced man moved between two people who were all too happy to make way for him. It took Thomas a moment to realize how tired Balier looked, which was all he got, before he was shocked by the sudden embrace ¨C and belatedly hugged the man back. Balier stepped back, after a second, looking up at Thomas. He smelled like ash and blood. His growling yet posh voice was no more strange, but quite welcome. ¡°Most. Your report of the trees had given me concern, but even monitoring the area, the situation escalated faster than expected. I sent most of the town to Anchor, a week past. They should arrive soon. From the Black Warden''s news ¡­ I am glad of my excessive caution.¡± He looked past Thomas, at the bodies. ¡°I brought some here with me. Some of us didn''t make it, but we arrived in time.¡± He hesitated. ¡°For many here.¡± Thomas looked around at the town, and back the way they had come, slowly recognizing that he had passed the line of battle. The ground where he stood was sticky with blood ¨C but there were no bodies, and the buildings were intact. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°I ¡­ do you know who else made it? Is Trenton alright?¡± ¡°He went with the others to Anchor. Pioneers are a hardy lot, and handy with weapons. I expect he is fine.¡± Pioneers? And then something that should have been obvious a long time ago, became suddenly obvious to Thomas. This plane was new, in the scheme of things; of course the people who would come would be ready for hardship. Most of the buildings he had seen were primitive ¨C or rather, perhaps, temporary. He took in the stone buildings of Rockfall. ¡°What of the healers here?¡± ¡°Most ¡­ most made it. The healing district is where the townfolk made their stand, once they realized they needed to, which unfortunately was not soon enough for everyone.¡± Thomas glanced to the side, and was startled by the hooded man, standing next to them, looking between them. ¡°Greetings, Mayor Mersin.¡± The voice that emanated was ¡­ alien, insectile, with a buzzing undercurrent. Like throat singing. Where had that come from? What was throat singing? ¡°Warden.¡± Balier nodded to the hooded figure. ¡°This is Thomas.¡± ¡°The threat identifier.¡± The hooded figure focused on him, and Thomas was once more the subject of a strange ¡­ pulse ¡­ of power. ¡°I ¡­ uh. Warden.¡± Thomas tried mimicking Balier''s head nod. ¡°Herm.¡± It took Thomas a moment to realize that that had been a noise intended to convey thought, as opposed to a name. It sounded deliberate, in an uncomfortable and awkward sort of way ¨C like it was being done because that is what other people did, as opposed to a habit. What was underneath that hood? ¡°You are one of the newcomers.¡± It wasn''t a question, and Thomas resisted the urge to step backwards. After a long pause, where Thomas tried not to stare into the hood, while the ¡­ warden, stared at him, Balier finally interrupted. ¡°Can we assist with the warnings?¡± The figure turned ¨C and Thomas was startled to notice that the figure moved its body entirely to change the direction it faced, its head motionless underneath the strange silky cloth obscuring it. ¡°It is taken care of, Mayor Mersin. You are to join the evacuation of Rockfall. You are familiar with quarantine; please explain the details. I must continue.¡± And the figure turned once more to Thomas, pausing for an uncomfortable length of time, before proceeding back the way Thomas had arrived. He watched it go ¨C and shivered when it ascended the pile of corpses as if traversing flat ground, not appearing to make an effort to climb at all. ¡°Creepy.¡± It took a rumbling laugh ¨C tired, but genuine ¨C to make Thomas realize he had spoken aloud. ¡°The Black Wardens are a strange lot, to be sure, but no stranger than any other. Why is the girl with you?¡± It took Thomas a moment longer than it should, to realize who he spoke of, which in turn brought a vague awareness that he really needed sleep. ¡°She''s looking for a boy she arrived with, who came here for ...¡± For safety, he realized he couldn''t say aloud. Balier just paused a moment, waiting for a word that didn''t come, and then nodded. ¡°Ah, I think I remember him. He''s likely fine. The apprentices weren''t in the front lines. Let us find her and direct her to their work.¡± Madelaine embraced Elijah, when they found him amidst others, loading carts with the meagre possessions of the town worthy of the effort. Elijah, who had been facing the other direction at the time ¨C searching through and organizing piles of cloth according to a logic Thomas couldn''t immediately discern ¨C yelped, jerked, tried to spin about, and elbowed her in the face. She didn''t even react, just hugging him more tightly, and the boy sputtered, caught sight of Thomas, and relaxed for half a second before he saw the mayor of Piketown, when he almost elbowed Madelaine in the face again. ¡°I''ll never tired of that.¡± Balier rumbled out in the midst of chuckles. ¡°You outplanars are so provincial.¡± Elijah''s expression twitched between a dozen emotions before settling on a mixture of relief and embarrassment. ¡°Madelaine? Madelaine! You''re alright!¡± He managed to turn around into her embrace, and wrapped her in a hug of his own. Thomas averted his gaze, feeling like he was intruding, as their tears came into focus. His attention moved back to Balier, the litany of names playing in the background of his mind contracting to two. Cenpre. Leisa. Anise. ¡°Mayor Mersin, do you know what has become of Grimhaven?¡± The man''s amused expression faded as he considered the question. ¡°I do not, Thomas. You have friends there?¡± ¡°I ¨C uh, that is, yes. What''s the fastest route from here?¡± ¡°Thomas. You have grown, but you should accompany us out. The Black Wardens have been dispatched; there is little you can add. Evacuate, and meet your friends on the other side.¡± Thomas hesitated. The three names continued repeating in his mind. He thought of Anne, whose family had been too far away to evacuate. Who had evacuated, and who had ¨C who had never really left. ¡°I can move quickly, and maybe I can help. If there''s nothing I can do, I''ll ¡­ I''ll leave, but I need to look.¡± The man looked his face over ¨C and then looked more tired still. Balier nodded, his great mane of hair bouncing as he did. ¡°Very well. I think it unwise, but ¨C I think your friend can lead you.¡± Thomas blinked, and followed Balier''s gaze ¨C Arias stood nearby, silent. Always silent. But she didn''t look tired; expectant, rather. Balier gestured to Madelaine and Elijah. ¡°I''ll look after these two. Go quickly, and join us on the other side.¡± He didn''t say goodbye; he thought he might delay too long if he did. They left, and the first scraggly leaf was unfurling from the first of the strange saplings, on the pile of bodies at the skirmish line. It glistened, red and wet. Chapter 54: Blood Forest The landscape was green, with a patchwork of red. The odd trees sprouted from almost every body ¨C and there were bodies thinly scattered everywhere. Some more like the fleshy doglike things, the carnaath. Some almost human. The real humans, he was slowly realizing, were those that the trees did not sprout forth from ¨C and it was something between relief and terror how few of those there were. What had seemed a vast wilderness had become a mass skirmish, between fleeing parties of people, and pursuing bands of monstrous things. They found two fights ongoing ¨C the first ending before they arrived, leaving them only to clean up the monstrous things that had prevailed. The second, they arrived in time to intervene, and the woman leading the small band of survivors, who he mistook for a heart-pounding second for Anne before he realized she was too old ¨C thanked them only shortly, before proceeding towards Anchor after discovering that Thomas and Arias would not be joining them. They found several other fights ¨C Thomas plowed straight into them, smashing, crushing, kicking, Arias alternating between her bow and her blade. He gained two ascensions ¨C two levels, he mentally corrected himself. He did not pause to take them in. Night fell. They ran. The sun rose. They ran. The saplings grew. A voice intruded on his thoughts, as he moved, but he paid it no heed. There was only the drum of his legs, and three names ¨C three more people who had helped him. And then they reached the farms of Grimhaven. He slowed, taking in the withered bushes that he had, some eon previous, struggled to help protect. A tree grew from a nest of spiders, legs still twitching, partially enveloped by the pale wood. The pale trees were scattered, but everywhere, branches reaching into the bleeding skies, the vivid red of the leaves overshadowing everything. He slowed further, and began checking bodies, Arias keeping a watchful eye out, arrow nocked in her bow. The first face he recognized was like a punch to the gut ¨C he didn''t know the woman''s name, just another face among the farmers. She was nearly bisected, intestines sticking to the grass when he rolled her over. He moved more quickly ¨C and halted again, freezing, at another face. Emma. Oh. Emma. He had ¡­ he had forgotten about her. And here she lay, still, sightless. His gaze rose, looking at the ¡­ Arias got his attention, then, because ¨C she was running. He started in surprise, taking a halting step towards her. What? She wouldn''t just leave him ¡­ a spout of dirt erupted from the ground behind her, and he found himself frozen once more, stunned. It erupted again, moving in chase ¨C and then another, near the crest of one of the hills enclosing the valley of crops he stood in ¨C and something pale and chitinous moved, underneath the ground, grass breaking apart around it as it, too, joined the pursuit of the running girl. And then Arias ¨C stopped, to turn and wave at him, her mouth parted in an oversized rictus grin. It took him a long second to parse the gesture ¨C she was telling him to wait here. And then she was off again, running, each stride taking an absurd amount of ground. And slowed again. He wanted to follow, but forced himself to think, to pay attention. She was slowing down to let these ¡­ things, whatever they were, keep up. She was leading them away. His gaze swept around the valley ¨C and Thomas let out a breath, and forced himself to wait, until he could see her no longer. And he waited. He walked, then, trying vainly to think quiet thoughts, down the valley, towards the village. Arias would be fine. She could lead them away, and outrun them, and catch back up with him later. An enormous centipede corpse lay in the middle of a small crater; he looked, barely processing the way it had been pulled underneath, struggling against the mental image of Arias, in such a crater. She would be fine. There had been a fight in Grimhaven, bodies piled up around the interior ring of homes. Trees sprouted from some; but there were trees everywhere, here. A woman, then a man, then a blank-faced spider thing, walked beside him; he paid it no mind, and it was uncharacteristically silent. The healer''s hut was mostly intact; he opened the door of pale wood, and peered inside. It wasn''t dark, as it should have been; ash drifted slowly down from the burned remnants of the thatch roof, sunlight illuminating the interior. It was empty. Empty like his relief. He began going through the bodies outside. He found Anise, and a name was silenced. He kept looking. He did not find Cenpre, nor Leisa. The sun set, and Arias did not return; he kept searching. Some faces familiar. None too familiar. In the darkness, the thing finally spoke. ¡°They aren''t here, you know. They left for Anchor. You might catch up if you move quickly.¡± It made sense. He didn''t respond. He kept searching through the bodies, and at length, the voice rose again, more masculine in tone. ¡°You should leave.¡± ¡°Arias will return here.¡± ¡°If she can, if she thinks you would remain here. The sensible thing for you to do would be to go, and meet her on the road.¡± This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°What do you care?¡± ¡°You are my champion. I need you alive.¡± ¡°You have enough champions. Go, bother them.¡± There was a pause. He looked to the figure standing nearby; pale skin in the moonlight, overlarge eyes. Not exactly male or female, at the moment, but with aspects of both. ¡°I am made distinct, in my association with you. I am made specific. If you die, determined as you are not to be mine ¨C I will not cease, exactly. I am many. But I ¨C I will cease.¡± Thomas grunted, pulling a pile of inhuman bodies apart. He blinked, at the black silky robes underneath, and paused only a moment, before throwing the bodies away, pulling the figure ¨C the warden ¨C out. Thomas looked around at the bodies surrounding him. He had died hard. It was a man, underneath the robes. Pale, and expressionless. The man was missing a leg, ending in a jagged, bloody stump. Thomas hesitated, and then ¨C began stripping the body, looking for anything. There was nothing, only the robe. Thomas had nothing to put it in, and hesitated, before, with a shrug, tying it around his waist; as large as he was, it barely fit. He wasn''t even aware of his nakedness, anymore, but he thought maybe the strange material might ¡­ maybe the black wardens, whoever they were, would want it back. He didn''t know. One of theirs had died here. The sun shifted overhead, and he straightened, looking around, searching. That was ¡­ that was it. No body lay undisturbed. The last few hours drifted hazily through his mind. He rose, looking to the sky. The wind blew around him; he was sticky with coagulated blood and things less pleasant still, arms and legs coated. The creature of his dreams stood nearby, watching him, silent once more. He had never needed sleep so badly, and thought perhaps he dreamed even now. But it was a waking dream, a nightmare. Arias had not returned. Thomas focused on the apparition. ¡°Which direction to Anchor?¡± It pointed. He paused, trying to work out his mental map. It seemed correct. He started to run. The landscape passed around him. He found the scene of another battle. Only one human, another farmer he barely recognized. He kept moving. The next conflict had seen three dead, none known to him. The next, none, only the mishapen bodies of the brood. Trees were everywhere, now, and their foliage began to touch, as he ran on through the night. When the sun rose, it was through a canopy of crimson, wet red dripping slowly from the leaves; in the forest of blood, it became increasingly difficult to see any distance at all, and the hills offered less and less to see by. When the first carnaath stepped in front of him, Thomas hesitated, in his run, then, looking around in dismay, the mental chanting of names coming to a stuttering stop. It had been background detail for his mind, but now, as he stared around, he felt a rising shock, as he realized how the world had changed around him. And then, as his gaze traveled around, Thomas finally noticed that the air itself was rich, with a metallic-scented haze of crimson mist. The carnaath died, when it charged him, and he absent-mindedly flung goo and blood off of his hand. Thinking. He pulled his statistics up, and spent some points on intelligence. He didn''t bother reading anything, and just closed it out again. His thinking crystalized; bits and pieces slowly forming together into a cohesive whole. A Thomas died, a Thomas was born, a quiet corner of his mind noted. This was a blood forest; it was regarded as a serious threat. This mist, with the taste and smell of blood to it; magic produced some kind of byproduct. The trees were using magic, he presumed to increase their rate of growth. Some kind of critical feedback loop had begun in the last few hours; the plane was of finite size, right? He wasn''t sure about up, or down, but somebody ¨C the sage, maybe ¨C had definitely mentioned that the plane was due to be expanded. Okay, so the pollutant was building up. The pollutant produced monsters. The monsters ¡­ grew into trees? Or, no, Balier would have ordered him to do something with the bodies, when he''d sent him to kill some bandits. The trees created the monsters. The monsters ¨C were not spawned by the pollutant, they were ¡­ he looked around again, then down at the dead carnaath. They were intended to die, and were just enough of a nuisance to require killing. They created the pollutant. And once it reached a critical threshold, then the trees would spawn. And the trees ¡­ also used magic. To make themselves grow faster? No, they were spawned; maybe they used magic just to create pollutant. Which ¡­ the more powerful the pollutant, the more powerful the monster? They polluted the environment. Maybe. Most of that was unverified. But it made sense. But why ¨C no. They hadn''t been seen as a serious problem until a large number of people were dropped in their midst. And if their monsters were meant to die, they''d just die without going through the strange process first. If they were self-sustaining below a certain point ¡­ he considered the smell. Blood. Assume the smell has something to do with the magic. Blood magic would be an obvious one ¨C but he checked, and there was no spell school for that. Maybe it existed. Maybe not. ...he was wasting time with this. Thomas inhaled slowly, exhaled just as slowly. ¡°Penny for your thoughts?¡± He nearly shrieked, turning, and blinking at the naked woman, then man, then woman again. Oh. The nightmare thing was still there. Did he have brain damage from the fight with the spider thing? Or was this thing in some sense real? ¡°I don''t know if you''re real or not. Also, I think I need some sleep. Also, I need to keep moving, especially now. Why am I even talking to you?¡± ¡°Sleep deprivation, most likely. You know you haven''t slept in ¡­ is it four days now? Even I''ve lost track.¡± He grunted. ¡°But as for your question, I''m real of course. Granted, I''d say that if I wasn''t, wouldn''t I?¡± ¡°Why are you helping me?¡± ¡°Well, I want something from you, so it stands to reason I''d try to ingratiate myself.¡± He blinked at that, and stared at her. Him. It. ¡°Fine. Am I even going in the right direction?¡± ¡°If you weren''t, and I could tell you, it stands to reason I''d tell you. Or just appear on the periphery of your vision so you unconsciously move slightly away from me.¡± He hesitated again. That was ¡­ oddly helpful. And he found he didn''t have the energy to try to argue about it. ¡°I ¡­ alright.¡± ¡°Well, get on with it. You''re wasting time just standing here.¡± He started walking again. Then jogging. And then he was running, through the haze of blood and nightmare trees. Chapter 55: Nearly Late He stumbled, as the haze suddenly stopped short, the trees ending in a blinding light where the sun blazed at him in its full glory. A stumble turned into a fall, and then a longer one, for he had been at the crest of a hill. He tumbled, grunted, hit a rock with a crunch he wasn''t sure was him or the rock, bounced, hit the ground again, and then the world started spinning, more and more rapidly around him ¨C until suddenly it stopped, with another crunch, that was most definitely his nose. Eyes watering, he tried to sit up, but simple immediately fell back over, the world refusing to right itself, swaying dangerously. He reached for his nose ¨C and his fingers came away ¡­ well, they had already been gory and bloody, so, bloody. He checked his status instead. Two damage. He coughed out a laugh at that, and struggled to his feet, blinking at the ¡­ literal boulder. That was now cracked. Or maybe it had already been cracked; he hadn''t gotten a good look at it on the way down. His gaze returned up the hill. The trees just stopped, in an unnatural line, branches pressed up against it, but not moving through at all. What? His attention moved around the valley he found himself in. And stopped, at the writhing mass of enormous maggots devouring the remnants of a tree some fifty yards away. Uh. Well. That was ¡­ he had seen one of those once before, fighting what he would later learn, to his great disgust, was a rot elemental. He looked back at the trees. They ¡­ kind of looked like they were ¡­ leaning away ¡­ they couldn''t? He looked back at the maggots. Well. He would, if he could. He did, finding his exhaustion temporarily melted away; he barely even noticed the ascent on the far side of the valley. Where he found himself slowing again, staring at black-robed figures, who were opening an enormous cart, out of which spilled ¡­ piles of maggots, who immediately began converging on the nearest tree. The top of the hill he found himself standing on gave him a view of several other hills, up which were being pushed carts, by more of the Black Wardens. He could see Anchor in the distance, now, he realized. One of the wardens pointed at him, and gestured at another; he couldn''t hear the words, but two wardens immediately began converging on his position. Thomas hesitated, debated running ¨C and then, reluctantly, made himself wait. ¡°You made it out.¡± The sonorous human voice that emanated from the robe nearly made him jump out of his skin, prepared as he was for it to be an alien buzzing. Okay. Different ¡­ species? He worked through his thoughts quickly. ¡°Yes. But there should be another woman ¡­ ¡± He paused, because her head had turned, and was staring straight at ¡­ straight at the nightmare thing. He looked between them; the nightmare thing didn''t seem to be paying attention to the warden at all, as if he ¨C she? ¨C was beneath its notice. ¡°Please tell me you see that thing too?¡± The warden''s attention returned to him. And there was a brief pause. ¡°What thing would you be referring to?¡± He stopped himself short of answering. Was this a trap? Would its presence cause him a problem? What would happen if he answered honestly? His mind had just begun to spin in panic when she continued. ¡°Mistress Arias has already returned, and informed us that you would be along. Your villagers, or the surviving members at least, are ahead, preparing for transportation and quarantine.¡± He looked at her, then at one of the carts full of maggots, his mind forcing itself along from its quagmire. Mistress Arias? He moved along from that as well. ¡°Quarantine?¡± That triggered a thought; planes being destroyed. ¡°But ¡­ can''t you remove it? Isn''t this working?¡± ¡°It is a delaying tactic at best; it may give us two or three days. Mistress Arias has killed four korlets already; give it a week, and they''ll be everywhere, and we''ll be evacuating another plane, and reorganizing dozens of anchors, because it will become impossible to make sufficient ingress to destroy the anchor. You are to return to Anchor, and report for transport and quarantine. We will take it from here.¡± Thomas stared at her, then at the work they were doing. And, lacking for a conclusive thought of what else to do ¨C started trudging towards Anchor. He was exhausted and confused. It was easier to just do what he was told. The journey to Anchor flashed by in a moment, and dragged out over eons. Every step was an effort; he felt every muscle burning to move his legs one pace forward. And he''d complete a step, and discover he had taken thirty, as time blurred together. And then he found himself filling out paperwork, halfway through it when he suddenly became aware that he had stopped walking. He couldn''t remember exactly how he had gotten there, and couldn''t remember the three pages of documents he had apparently filled out. He started to read through it again, stopped, because he didn''t care, and started writing again. Now, where had he first appeared again? And then he was clean, and in bed. He didn''t remember how that being clean had happened, or when. Before the paperwork? He couldn''t recall. It didn''t matter. He slept. ¡°You made it in the end, then. You were nearly late, there.¡± Thomas watched the woman uncoil herself from a web, that was also, somehow, a chair. ¡°Seems like we just saw each other.¡± He watched the thing carefully. ¡°What is your name?¡± Laughter, thick and clumpy, like congealed blood. ¡°You''ve asked me that before.¡± ¡°I ¡­ ¡± Thomas hesitated, trying to recall, and was startled to find his exhaustion not in evidence, the memory coming without great effort, ¡°I asked what you are.¡± A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°I am a concept. My name is what I am.¡± ¡°You are ¡­ the hunger for pain.¡± He''d heard a word once. Phagii? Phagus? ¡°No.¡± A smile that was too large to fit into the mouth it came out of, vicious and cruel. ¡°I am that which devours sin. I am Grace.¡± He froze, for a moment, as that word cracked through the dream, and skewered his mind. Thomas took in a deep breath, and another, and found himself panting for air. The figure waited for him to recover before continuing. ¡°Although perhaps you''ll find a lesser name less unnerving; I am the purifying flame. I take only that which makes you less.¡± ¡°You called yourself a god to be.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Coyly, now, a naked woman prostrating herself before him. ¡°I am yet to be all that I will become.¡± Thomas studied her, feeling ¡­ remote, and empty. She watched him, smiling wider. ¡°You don''t want my pain, else you would not so freely give it. You want my ¡­ flaws.¡± ¡°Pain, child, is your flaw. You crave it. It makes you feel alive.¡± ¡°It makes me feel like shit. It makes me hate existing.¡± ¡°It makes you feel. It makes you hate. You crave that, for you are empty without it.¡± He paused, considering that; actually considering it. Then caught himself doing so, and mentally staggered; he found himself growling. ¡°Why do I feel like being smarter has made me more vulnerable to you?¡± ¡°It makes you more willing to listen. That is smart, no?¡± ¡°No. Because you want something from me; you will say whatever will convince me.¡± Her smile cracked, then shattered; the prostate woman before him became an imperious man. ¡°That doesn''t make anything I say less true, or less reasonable.¡± ¡°No. But if I were to let you convince me, I think should you change your mind, and you wished me to believe as before, you could do so as easily.¡± ¡°Then I could have done so already, boy. You tie yourself up in knots; but if my words were so seductive as you claim, I could easily have planted that very thought in your mind, for it could be as I wish you to think.¡± ¡°Which you wouldn''t tell me, if you had.¡± ¡°Let me finish that for you: Unless it was to guarantee that very thought, that very conviction. Truly, child, this grows tiresome. Either I have control over your mind entire, or I do not. Your sophistry! When you thought yourself stupid, you convinced yourself not to listen, for you were too stupid. Now, you think yourself smart, and so you convince yourself not to listen, for you are too smart. Either argument might work, but you seek to have them both, to be beyond reason.¡± ¡°So I should listen to you, and be convinced?¡± ¡°You should listen to me, and decide for yourself.¡± ¡°Which is just another way of saying that I can, and should, agree to be convinced. By something that wants something from me.¡± She eyed him for a moment, then sighed, and was a fairly ordinary-looked woman, clothed in black silk, sitting on a black throne in intricate patterns of spiderweb. He could make out far too many details in the throne, from where he ¡­ sat, apparently. He looked down at his own chair, a simple wooden thing. Her voice returned his attention to her. ¡°Fine, child, we shall do this your way. Call me ¡­ Faith.¡± A wry smile, almost human. ¡°Okay ¡­ ¡± He paused, debating the wisdom of this course, and then, with a small mental shrug, permitted it. ¡°Faith. I am Thomas.¡± She visibly hesitated, lips parting slightly, eyes widening ever so slightly, the barest intake of breath. Human, again, almost. But not quite right; imperfect in its perfection. ¡°What I want from you, what I want from every soul who would agree, is to remake you, upon your death. Make you into something worthy. You have the right of choice; Arbiter will allow nothing else. I want permission to take that which makes you less, that you might be more.¡± She smiled at him, a smile too human by half. ¡°You have many afterlives to choose from. But ¨C this is a universe built on concepts, so different from your own, with its mathematical precision. And the afterlife exists, as a concept, on a level fundamentally below that you now occupy. If you choose an afterlife of war ¨C what remains of you is suited to an eternity of war ¨C although eternity does palely compare to the truth of it, for it is without time, a concept its own. The conceptually pure version of you, in the conceptual context of war. Run, of course ¨C by the concept of peace. Antithesis; what any god wants, in a realm of conceptual power, is themselves.¡± ¡°And yours?¡± ¡°Grace.¡± The world shook, his mind creaked. ¡°The undeserved, given to the undeserving. Perfection. Renewal.¡± ¡°You are Corruption.¡± She simply smiled at him, as he split the dream with his own declaration, and had to restrain himself from clawing at his eyes, his face, his ears. ¡°If you wish.¡± ¡°And those trees, that corruption, they are yours?¡± Anger. Inhuman, and flashing; the dream shivered and cracked, under an aura which was as quickly suppressed. The nightmare thing smiled at him once more, teeth too long by half, and too sharp entire; her voice came thick, sickly sweet, and dripping with venom. ¡°They are not. They are an infection, not a corruption, and they are not siblings of mine, nor cousins of the most distant sort. They are not even a concept, but a hideous amalgamation of purpose-wrought destruction, and they have undone work I haven''t even started yet.¡± He studied her for a moment, and reluctantly found himself convinced. Thomas slowly breathed out, as he realized he was convinced. ¡°Shit.¡± The venom retreated, and the smile was once more too human, expressing a satisfaction which was entirely too perfect for his comfort. ¡°Shit.¡± Chapter 56: The Inquisitor The trek back to Anchor was slower than the trip to Rockfall had been; Thomas truly had been an excellent horse. Madelaine reflected on his rank, but couldn''t decide what promotion he truly deserved. Certainly higher than these ¡­ slow, lumbering people, with their carts full of useless junk. There was an odd red mist in the air behind them; she noted it absently. It was ¨C probably bad, but that is why they were leaving, after all. Her attention turned once more forward, considering the hills in front of her. At least they had gotten past the bodies, although she could still hear sobbing from somewhere behind her in their procession. She hadn''t liked watching families ¨C children ¨C checking every corpse they came across to see if it belonged to the missing. She especially hadn''t liked it when somebody inevitably figured out who it was; it had slowed their already slow procession further, and it reminded her too much of ¡­ She shook her head. Right. Elijah walked beside her, in his strange shadowy not-clothing, which simultaneously hid everything and nothing at all. He was currently occupying himself tossing a metal ring up in the air, and catching it as it fell. ¡°So did you learn any healing magic?¡± He looked up, smiling. ¡°A little. It feels weird and uncomfortable to use, though.¡± ¡°Yeah. Making the skeletons feels like math. Crazy math.¡± ¡°That''s ¡­ not inaccurate. I ¡­ I think I knew a mathematics like this. Why can''t I remember it?¡± ¡°No idea.¡± Madelaine shrugged. ¡°Well, I think it has something to do with gods.¡± She remembered several conversations about gods, but the memory of the kindly old man''s office hurt; when she tried to think about what had been said, it just reminded her that ¡­ that the Lady had died. They walked in a companionable silence. And then there was a sound, from up ahead, and the two of them moved forward, pushing past the much taller people in their way to see what was going on. Well, Madelaine pushed; Elijah seemed to move through people sometimes, as if they weren''t there. They broke through the wall of cloth, and she saw that King Mersin was yelling at somebody. And she froze. It was the woman who had nearly killed Thomas. And her gang of thugs. And somebody else started shouting, and there was a strange cracking sound, and then King Mersin swung a fist at the woman. What the fuck was that woman doing here? The King stumbled backwards without landing a blow, without even being touched, blood spurting from his nose and eyes; and then his fist ended in the air, glittering with light. The woman, a strange light already blazing in her eyes, fell to a knee; the light in her eyes erupted, missing Mersin and had just begun to burn into Madelaine with a shock of pain ¨C but it was gone, before her hands had even finished lifting to feebly try to fend it off. Elijah, who had moved to intercept the blow ¨C turned slowly, his shadowy cloak flickering in and out of existence ¨C and collapsed to the ground. Madelaine looked down at him, and the blood that had started to trickle out of his ear. The area had gone suddenly quiet; she looked up. Everyone ¨C even the evil woman ¨C was looking at her. No, looking at Elijah. Madelaine, with a surreal sense of calm, knelt, feeling for a pulse ¨C and had just found one when somebody knelt beside her. The woman. Madelaine was reaching for her blade when the woman, who looked ¨C stricken ¨C nodded, and rose, with a pointed look at her sword. Madelaine ¡­ reluctantly let go of the blade, and instead pulled Elijah to her, away from the evil woman''s grasp. ¡°He''ll live, child. Peace.¡± The inquisitor ¨C that''s what she was, she was an inquisitor ¨C looked to King Mersin. ¡°Peace. We aren''t here to fight. We''re here to help.¡± ¡°There was absolutely no reason for what happened, except that it was permitted to happen. The wardens don''t step in until it is already too late, even when they know what is happening, and could stop it. They don''t care about anyone, individually.¡± Madelaine had found herself the subject of a somewhat lopsided conversation by the crazy inquisitor, who had a laundry list of complaints about everybody who wasn''t one of her people. She tried not to scowl. ¡°But ¡­ ¡± Madelaine shot a look, doing her best to hide her burning hostility, at the inquisitor. ¡°You just go around killing people, for no reason.¡± The inquisitor glanced over at Elijah, carried by two skeletons on a pallet, her expression twisting into a grimace, her voice softening. ¡°I ¡­ am sorry, for hurting your friend.¡± And then the softness was gone as if it had never been. ¡°And it isn''t ¡­ always, pointless. Look around. Look at these people, fleeing homes they will never return to, abandoning graves of loved ones they will never be able to visit, even leaving those loved ones ¡­¡± A subtle hesitation, there, something Madelaine couldn''t quite understand creeping into her tones. ¡° ¡­ leaving those loved ones behind, not knowing. Worse, not even knowing whether or not they could have done something more ¨C they left, because they had to leave. There''s somebody out in a field right now, loved by somebody here, who doesn''t even know they should be leaving, who will come back to a home in ashes in ruin, who will spend their last few days, without even the knowledge that it will be their last few days, in sorrow and confusion and loneliness.¡± Madelaine searched the severe woman''s face for ¨C something. Anything. It remained severe, stony, aloof. ¡°So, what, that justifies killing people?¡± ¡°Sometimes, yes. The Guard is not perfect, and sometimes we even kill the wrong people. That is why we so prioritize getting people like me, who can see the truth of things.¡± The woman looked at Madelaine, who was trying not to react. Lady Anne. ¡°People like you, if you so choose.¡± This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°What, me?¡± Like hell she''d help this woman. ¡°Yes. I can pierce some minds, see into them, see the truth of things. Psionics, however, aren''t the only dedication that can permit one to see the truth. Accursed, like yourself, are also valuable. The domain of my dedication is the mind, and the application of my art are straightforward; the domain of your dedication is chance itself, and you can twist chance. Used correctly ¨C a liar can find herself accidentally confessing to her crimes. An illusionist can conjure the truth where he meant to conjure falsehood. Simple mistakes, simple matters of chance. The highest power of your calling, to twist another''s chance so, it is a long road. But well worth it.¡± ¡°But you don''t like necromancers.¡± And you killed Lady Anne. ¡°Child, necromancy is one of a dozen schools of magic, all of which have their ills. Necromancy is not even the worst of them, but it does have the most potential to cause catastrophe. You have made an oath, and I know you intend to keep it, to not cause catastrophe.¡± ¡°What, the spells you made me promise not to learn?¡± Madelaine was finding herself increasingly confused by this conversation. Was the inquisitor actually trying to convert her? After nearly killing Elijah? Maybe she didn''t know about Lady Anne. Madelaine wasn''t going to tell her, particularly since they had avenged the lady''s death on her killers, the inquisitor''s minions. ¡°Yes. Each of those spells has caused a disaster on the order of what is happening here. And though the so-called pantheon could act, to mitigate the threat, they have done so only once; you see, those spells are precious to the Black order of the so-called wardens.¡± The severe expression wrinkled in disgust. ¡°I''d call them hypocrites, except they don''t even care if the magics are used to destroy countless lives; they only care if the planes are threatened.¡± ¡°The Black Wardens use necromancy?¡± ¡°They are all necromancers or worse, and to a one they have no compunction about the use of magics that might destroy planes; they''ve destroyed countless planes, just for training. The White Wardens are ¡­ better.¡± A frown, now. ¡°But they''re basically just jumped-up merchants with a weak spot for the corrupted, and aren''t interested in anything that doesn''t threaten the portals.¡± ¡°How many orders are there?¡± She found herself asking almost in spite of herself; almost. She didn''t like the woman, but she freely shared information about those she didn''t like, which might be useful. They probably didn''t like the inquisitor much either. ¡°Three. The Black Wardens are a contemptible and vicious lot, but do intervene when the worst happens, and do ¡­ ¡± The inquisitor''s face twisted up, and she spat out the words, ¡° ¡­ some good, after the worst has happened. They care about the integrity of the planes, and brook no threat to the planes as a whole - but little for the people who have to live with their choices, or the individual planes themselves. The White Wardens guard the portals against political interference and sabotage; they care only for their precious Right of Exit, and will only leave their posts to ensure criminals can escape punishment. But ¡­ they at least do work to prevent catastrophe; madmen sometimes get it into their heads that they can ascend to godhood by destroying the anchor of a plane and crashing it into the astral. ¡°The Silver Wardens are just the pets of the so-called pantheon, deluded fools who want to join them, but just serve them instead. Avoid them, if you can; their motives are always ambiguous, and they are rarely up to anything you or I would consider good. Evil, either, mind; they have, to a one, been to the astral in person, which corrupts their minds and bodies, turned into ideas more than people. It makes them dangerous.¡± Madelaine stopped herself short of telling the scary woman that she gave off a vibe of being more of an idea than a person. Don''t taunt the crazy lady. ¡°So ¡­ Silver Wardens have been resurrected?¡± The woman gave out a short bark of a laugh, at that. ¡°No. The so-called pantheon''s so-called afterlives do leave slightly more of a person than those things possess. They visit the astral in person, through the gate of First Anchor. What comes back is not what went in, made more outworlder than human being, an expression of a concept.¡± The inquisitor''s eyes unfocused, shifting to stare past Madelaine. ¡°They don''t remember their friends, their family. They don''t care about living or dying. They act only to further the interests of an abstract concept, and they employ that concept as a weapon without thought to its ramifications.¡± ¡°What if it''s a good concept, like justice?¡± Her eyes focused again, sharp, piercing Madelaine with a sudden intensity. ¡°No concept is good or bad. Any concept pursued too far becomes a bad thing.¡± Don''t taunt the crazy lady. It was all Madelaine could do not to interrupt and point out the hypocrisy. Don''t taunt the crazy lady. The inquisitor continued without apparent self-reflection, ¡°And any concept ignored entirely can be a bad thing. Too much mercy, and you punish the innocent, afflicting upon them the guilty. Too little ¨C and you punish the innocent, for even if a man is guilty of theft, he is still innocent of murder. All are guilty, at least a little ¨C and all are innocent, at least a little.¡± ¡°Thomas said your people almost killed a thief.¡± Fuck, damn, don''t taunt the crazy lady. But the inquisitor didn''t even blink. ¡°All are guilty, at least a little. I have some tolerance for overzealousness; it is rebuked, but none of us are perfect. To demand perfection of those trying to do the right thing is itself to pursue a concept too far. Moderation is an important virtue.¡± That would almost be a convincing explanation, if it weren''t so transparently self-serving in application; it was fine for them to be ''a little guilty'', but not anybody else. Madelaine looked at Elijah, his breathing shallow, blood dry in his ear; the healers from Rockfall had said he''d be fine, but she didn''t know them, she knew Elijah. She''d kill this woman if he died. She''d have to get way more powerful, but she''d kill this woman if Elijah died. And the woman had delivered Madelaine the names of potential allies, if it came to it. If she hated the wardens so much, then perhaps they would do; perhaps the hatred was mutual. But something else she had said; those who entered the astral were corrupted by it. Made more powerful by it. She would be justice itself, if Elijah died. The conversation died, giving way to an awkward sort of silence, broken by the sound of the cart wheels behind them trundling over grass and twigs. Madelaine let her mind wander, seeking something other than the fury she was struggling to contain, which kept drifting back to the idea of entering the astral, becoming justice, and bringing it down on this woman and her entire organization. After some struggle, she settled on pondering: What was Sir Thomas up to? Probably killing some more of the crazy lady''s minions. Good. Chapter 57: The Sage ¡°100 billion.¡± Pain. The old man watched Thomas'' reaction, and adjusted something in an elaborate clockwork piece sitting on his desk. ¡°100 billion.¡± Pain. More adjustments. The exercise repeated, until the pain ceased. Thomas blinked, as the number slowly assembled itself into something that wasn''t a stabby confusion. ¡°Shit.¡± A blank-faced woman watched from a corner, ignored by Sage Eslan, but always in Thomas'' peripheral vision; she visibly failed to react, which Thomas quietly noted. Sage Eslan watched Thomas for a moment more, then nodded. ¡°Good. We have this dialed in. Now. Do you remember a visual diagram denoting meaning, displayed on a cumpyooter screen?¡± The word, mispronounced as it was, jogged something, and then ¨C something cracked, and Thomas remembered computers. He blinked at the ¨C no, there were still holes. It was ¡­ a thing ¡­ that did things ¡­ and could display things. It took a moment to recall the question, and a moment more to sort through confusing half-finished thoughts. ¡°I ¡­ remember a lot of things on a computer screen.¡± The Sage looked down, flipping through a couple of pages of the notes in front of him. ¡°It portrayed a turtle engaged in intercourse with another turtle, which is some kind of pictograph, meaning unknown, below which was an equation.¡± Thomas kept half an eye on Faith, who looked entirely too disinterested in this discussion. He was having trouble processing the question, and after considering the issue, and the too-obvious disinterest, decided to pose a different question. ¡°Sage Eslan, does this access to concepts go ¡­ both directions? Can I ¡­ add new concepts?¡± Faith straightened slightly, a frown darkening her ¨C his ¨C and the faceless mask still somehow conveyed a frown. The Sage looked up at him, confused. Then his expression cleared. ¡°Do not worry yourself about that, Thomas. You can''t have concepts that don''t exist.¡± And Faith, now a significantly overweight naked man, started laughing. Thomas suppressed a scowl. ¡°Now, about that diagram. Do you remember it?¡± It took Thomas some struggle to work his mind past all the holes in his memory, but he found the picture. It had been shared in a forum ¨C a hole, there ¨C that he had participated in. He remembered it, but the actual text was ¡­ a hole. A rather large one. ¡°Yes.¡± Sage Eslan nodded again, making a mark on another sheet of paper. ¡°So, good news, of a sort. First, the breach was, I am now reasonably certain, on your side, not ours. Second, sages in your plane appear to have taken notice and removed access to the spell.¡± Thomas shook his head. ¡°We don''t have magic. Didn''t. Don''t.¡± ¡°You practice it as a matter of course, as far as I can ascertain. Do you understand the nature of the substrate?¡± ¡°It''s ¡­ ¡± Thomas trailed off, before picking back up. ¡°A place where concepts and gods live?¡± ¡°Inaccurate, but I believe that is a matter of language, and possibly some missing concepts. Your home had a name for it, as well, named after an ancient Sage named Plat. Here, please solve this.¡± Sage Eslan reached out with a wooden object with a rope and a metal ring. Thomas took the strange device, which ¡­ what even was this? ¡°So where do the, er, gods live?¡± ¡°The gods, as some call them, live at a level removed from the Substrate itself; a place that represents the interaction between multiple concepts, but which is more than the concepts themselves, as it is a pure expression of these concepts; concepts whose purpose is themselves. It''s sometimes referred to as the astral, although that term is itself annoying ambiguous. There''s not a good word for it, as there isn''t a clear boundary where the substrate ends, and it begins ¨C nor is there a clear boundary between where the astral ends, and the planes begin, although some mistakenly believe that there is.¡± The Sage wiggled a hand back and forth. ¡°Some words are necessarily imprecise, because we live in an imprecise world. You need to remove the ring from the rope. No, without breaking the rope! ¡°Anyways, the notable thing, for you, is that the substrate is far larger than the astral, which is itself far larger than the planes. The substrate is where all concepts exist; the astral as we know it sits across a relatively small portion of the substrate; and the planes occupy ¡­ well, that''s complicated. There are some numbers that cannot be counted to, and we''ll leave it at that. ¡°Which gets into the magic your plane practices, of which the diagram you came across was an example: Your plane is constantly expanding into new concepts. It is spreading, slowly, across the substrate, and that particular diagram intersected with ours in a very particular way. But because our particular place in the substrate was already occupied, as it were, instead of your plane simply expanding, you, and the others from your plane, whose awareness of that concept required them to be near that concept - simply fell through holes into ours.¡± Thomas stared at the Sage, feeling ¡­ confused, mostly. The words all made sense, but the explanation didn''t. Alright, moving along. He figured out the trick with the rope, which just required looping it back over itself through the hole in the wood, and removed the ring. ¡°So ¡­ this is good news?¡± ¡°Quite; the damage was limited, and once this particular plane is closed, it will likely be some time before your plane expands enough to intersect ours again.¡± A pause, during which the Sage cleared his throat. ¡°And it''s unlikely to reach that point. Some areas of the substrate are ¡­ quite inhospitable. Most new planes are failures, expanding into conceptual space that contains some form of self-contradiction, and ultimately must be unanchored, else they destabilize the entire framework. Frankly I''m surprised your plane has lasted even as long as it has. It appears to be centered on a remarkably stable node, which I couldn''t describe to you, because, well.¡± The Sage smiled, even as Thomas'' mind revolved around the horror of the words. ¡°I don''t have the concept for it.¡± You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°So my plane is, what, doomed? Everyone will die?¡± Eslan blinked once, twice, then barked out a short laugh, before his expression turned serious again. ¡°No, of course not. It just requires guidance. And clearly somebody over there is paying attention; the astral observers suggest the plane has retreated from the conceptual space in question. Which itself is mildly interesting, and we would all love to know how they''re doing it.¡± Thomas considered the question for a second. ¡°What keeps you from doing so?¡± ¡°The astral, of course. Somebody would have to go cut a chunk of it off, maybe, and uncountable numbers being uncountable, getting there can be a bit of amusement. And I am of course joking, we have no idea how to do it.¡± ¡°I don''t think my plane has ¡­ an astral.¡± Sage Eslan looked at him, then down at his notes, and flipped through them for what seemed an inordinate amount of time. Faith was gone from the corner, when Thomas looked ¨C it would turn up again later ¨C and then the Sage cleared his throat again. ¡°I can''t disconfirm that. Interesting if true. What kind of concept could give rise to a plane without an intermediary?¡± ¡°Mathematics?¡± The word was out before Thomas caught it. But that was one of the concepts that had returned to him, the idea of the mathematical universe. The old man looked at him, then at the clockwork device. ¡°Concerning if true. That did bleed over. Or at least, the thing your people call mathematics, which is more like ¡­ self-constrained creativity. What a concept, a concept to create new concepts.¡± Thomas frowned, and looked from the Sage to the device and back again. ¡°Hang on. If one of the concepts is already here, doesn''t that means there is already overlap?¡± Eslan seemed momentarily taken aback by the question. ¡°Why would they?¡± ¡°Uh. Because ¡­ we''re at the concept. And they''re at the concept. Same position?¡± It took Eslan several tries at a facial expression before he landed on a mild frustration, and then a moment later, enlightenment. ¡°Oh, no. A concept isn''t a point. It''s a space. More like a line, really, sort of, but, well - you have some basic Life magic, yes? It''s like that.¡± ¡°It''s like ¡­ that?¡± He couldn''t find any words to describe the incomprehensible experience of casting magic. He tried anyways. ¡°Like ¡­ being a tree whose leaves are made of trees whose leaves are made of trees?¡± ¡°Yes, exactly so. Well, that''s one way of thinking about it, there are many ¨C in a sense, each of the spell schools is just a way of thinking about conceptual space, which lend themselves to accomplishing specific things. A thing made of itself, yes? But what it is made of is not in fact identical to the thing that it makes. Your arm is made of arm; it isn''t made of leg.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Well, if I were to take your leg and arm off, and swap them, your leg wouldn''t become your arm, and your arm wouldn''t become your leg. They are what they are made of; smaller pieces of arm, smaller pieces of leg.¡± ¡°So my arm is made up of a bunch of tiny arms?¡± ¡°No, it''s made up of smaller elements of that-which-is-your arm.¡± That sounded ¡­ not entirely wrong. Sort of. From an entirely backwards direction. ¡°Okay. But I could take the skin off my arm, and the skin of my leg, and swap those, and you wouldn''t know the difference.¡± Now why the hell was he arguing about this? ¡°Sure I would. It''s not exactly a common skill, as it is mostly used for hunting rogue Necromancers, but it is something I personally can easily do.¡± Wait, what? Nevermind this argument, he wasn''t even sure what he was arguing about. ¡°I, er, look ¨C alright. So what do you mean by a concept bled over?¡± ¡°Alright ¡­ ¡± The Sage considered his words, thumb tapping on his chin. He brightened with an idea. ¡°Alright, imagine you are in a dark room. Now, imagining you are in this room ¨C I am going to put an object in this room, but I''m not going to tell you where I''m putting it. How far away from you is that object?¡± Thomas ran that question through his mind several times before giving up. ¡°I have no idea how far away it is, you didn''t tell me.¡± ¡°Exactly! Also, please mark the squares that contain equations, and please complete the equations.¡± ¡°I ¡­ what?¡± Thomas looked down, and started complying. Addition. Subtraction. ¡°You don''t know where the object is. You don''t even know where you are.¡± ¡°I ¡­ yes. Okay?¡± It was ... challenging to both do the arithmetic, and listen to the sage talk, particularly given the way the sage talked. ¡°We aren''t anywhere in that concept''s space until we know what the concept is. But you enter with a concept for a new kind of animal that never existed before ¨C now we know our position, with respect to that particular concept, and because we have it, we''re there. We''re in its space. The conceptual bleed did expand the astral somewhat, but pantheon has the problem contained.¡± ¡°What? So how did we fall into a hole and get here?¡± Eslan frowned at this, and looked at the clockwork device, poking at one of the dials. ¡°You must be blocked from something. This isn''t complicated.¡± Then the Sage''s attention was caught by the page Thomas had finished, and he picked it up, scanning it quickly, and began making notes. ¡°Hang on, no. Okay. Our worlds can share concepts, because concepts are big, or long, or whatever. Why can''t our world share the concept ¨C what does that thing even do?¡± Eslan looked up from his notes without ceasing to write. ¡°It adjusts your connection to the astral. Well, it tells pantheon to adjust your connection to the astral. And our worlds can''t share that particular concept because it is wholly encompassed by the astral. You could say it is the concept of the astral, but that''s not quite correct.¡± Thomas frowned, looking between the device and the old man. ¡°Wait, so you can, what, mind-control me with a clock?¡± ¡°No, I can just signal to an authority that certain necessary constraints on your conceptual access can be relaxed, for the duration of this conversation, and for the purposes of ensuring that certain concepts don''t get spread around, by helping to identify where exactly in the astral they are represented.¡± The old man seemed to notice Thomas'' reaction to that statement, and hesitated, his tone shifting. ¡°You have knowledge on a process to use nothing but a particularly odd form of mathematics to identify entirely new conceptual space ¨C which brings that concept into existence, here. Given that not all concepts are ... stable, you could literally shatter reality, if you used this to think the wrong thought. Relax a bit.¡± Thomas slowly sat back, his hands relaxing from the fists they had begun to form. The sage shook his head, turning back to the device, and starting to adjust it again. ¡°And your plane teaches this stuff to children, as if it were a mere sword or bow. Terribly irresponsible.¡± Thomas'' thoughts grew fuzzy, then pieces of them started ¡­ just falling away. He grit his teeth, trying and almost succeeding at not feeling an overwhelming sense of existential dread; on the positive side, he was once again reminded that he had a soul, or something like it, even if the details didn''t sound entirely perfect. On the negative side, his connection to it was apparently heavily lobotomized, and for reasons which ¡­ sounded kind of reasonable. Well. Fuck. Chapter 58: Lines Thomas stood, watching another wave of approaching ... things. He looked once more at the two distinctions he had gained in leveling up, over the past few days, and the distinction he could just barely remember picking up in a state of confusion.
Class Distinction: Legendary Shrug Off Damage less than 25 is reduced to 0
Distinction: Improved Mastery of Flesh +3 Damage Reduction, Immunity to Unnatural Aging
Class Distinction: Hard to Kill Having negative HP doesn''t knock you unconscious
It wasn''t quite what he would have picked, but, if he could be "unnaturally aged", the fact that he couldn''t be now was ... well, it would be a cause for relief if it didn''t just make him wonder what other horrible things might happen to him that he didn''t know about. The legendary version of Shrug Off wasn''t anything to scoff about - so far, he hadn''t received any injuries at all - but the bit about not falling unconscious if his health dropped below 0 seemed ... nasty, rather than helpful. He turned his attention back at the approaching bandit dogs. These were larger than the last few waves who had assaulted the gate he was stationed at, and he prepared himself, letting himself loosen up into a fighting stance. The leading carnaath exploded into a fountain of gore as he punched into a shift to his largest size; the next veered to the side and tried to hamstring him, but failed to so much as scratch his skin; a well-placed stomp ended that. And then the others were on him, leaping, biting, and emitting almost human snarls and cries as he curled up. And on that signal, the other adventurers joined him, Zatirias appeared, seemingly from nowhere, planted three knives in three necks, and disappeared from attention again. Shallor, the woman who had been apparently leading the trio Zatirias had been a part of, moved into the empty space, drew two blades, and began cutting away the bandit dogs piling onto him. He could hear the small muffled explosions of fireballs, and somebody was cursing behind him. Thomas slowly uncurled, at the odd muffled implosion of fireballs, and started lashing out with arms and feet, clearing a space to rise once more, and join in the melee. "Lad, it''s hard to fight effectively when we''re doubled up laughing." Zatirias'' mustache twitched as he held back a chuckle. Thomas glanced at him, considered responding, and then turned back out to the horizon. A trio of cloaked figures walked the ridgeline of the nearest hill. He watched them walk, assuming they could see further than he could, and would react if they saw a group approaching. The black wardens had been verbally thankful about the return of the cloak, but their representative had seemed entirely unsure what to actually do with it. And then he''d gotten stationed here; apparently, as an adventurer, he was drafted, which, well. He probably would have waited at this gate anyways. But still. He resented having been told it, just not enough to pick a fight with the terrifying cloaked figures. The plane itself continued its evacuation; the arrivals of fellow humans had slowed to a trickle, and the clock was ticking. Today was the day. And he was nervously watching for Madelaine, who had yet to arrive; Arias had gone to look for them. He wasn''t sure what he''d do if they didn''t arrive. He wasn''t sure what he could do; staying would be suicide by whatever unanchoring did to a plane - he wasn''t quite certain but it seemed everybody treated it like a death sentence. The attacks on the gates had been steadily increasing in both frequency and intensity. The black wardens made patrols out beyond the gates, dealing with the subterranean monsters they called korlet; he''d yet to see one fully intact, but he had seen a ... chunk, and the pale chitinous flesh was a more ... refined, version of the bandit dogs. He was pretty sure. But they didn''t patrol far; the outer villages were assumed to have already fallen. And even that would end soon; this was the last patrol. He had seen two come and go already. He clenched his fists, wanting the wardens to let another pack of carnaath through. It was a distraction from the waiting. She''d be fine. She had Mersin with her, and Elijah, and a bunch of healers and pioneers. He just wondered what was taking so long. "Fucking carts." King Mersin''s proper growl sounded very amusing saying that. Also, Madelaine was gratified that somebody shared her opinion on the incredibly. Slow. Travel. She''d finally resorted to a smaller army of much weaker skeletons to help slow the horrible skinpuppies; there were healers, so nobody''s hands or feet were permanently lost - permanently lost didn''t even mean anything here! - but the screaming was very annoying. Sir Thomas never screamed like that. Okay, he had, a lot, but then he had figured out it didn''t do any good, and stopped. She wished these people would figure it out already. They had already lost a good third of the carts to broken wheels or axles. Which had been even more delays, while idiots tried to salvage belongings when their world was dying around them. She was only staying because the black warden with the creepy voice had turned up and said they''d make it. And stayed to make sure they wouldn''t be pausing any longer; the next broken cart was left ignored after only a brief visit from the warden. But it meant they had to fight on the move, which made it more challenging to protect the ... civilians. She had a distaste for that word. Why would you confine yourself to a city when there was a world out there? The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Okay, the cave had been horrible, and she never wanted to go into a cave again. Well, it had been pretty, too. But also horrible. She still hadn''t been to the top of a mountain, and those mountains over there were going to, just, what, stop existing? This had been her world, she had wanted to explore it, to see what all it had to offer. But these stupid fleshpuppies and their fleshtrees were ruining it all. At least her people were getting out, but there were people out there she''d never get to meet. She wanted more of the disgusting things to attack, so she could watch them die. She cut every sapling they came across to pieces; they bled. There weren''t enough of either. There were too many of them. She moved in to flank the pack that had swarmed -over- her skeletons; not even pausing to fight them, just rolling right over them. Stupid weak skeletons. Her rapier lashed out once, twice. On the third strike, she felt fate twisting around her, against her - and fought back.
Happy Go Lucky Once per day, you may turn Misfortune to Fortune - if you can make it happen
It did not give her a second chance. She just felt what she was going to do wrong; correcting it was up to her. What had been intended to be a thrust scraped off scales, jerking the blade from her grasp, tumbling to the ground. She failed to capitalize. It didn''t matter; the sword leapt back into her hand a moment later, a swirl of colors rushing through her mind, and she found herself effortlessly dancing back from their myriad ugly mouths. There were too many, so she resumed thrusting, feeling the odd twist of fate this way and that as she moved through them. She simply ... knew where to step. Where to strike. When to move away. It came at a cost, as her left hand vanished in the other kind of twist of fate, a fleshpuppy appearing out of nowhere, mouth already closing and ripping. It hurt. But it didn''t hurt like the cave had hurt. She thrust, and the horrible thing died. And then she was twisting in and out again, riding the slippery edge of fate, the pain just information examined and set aside as not useful in the moment. And then it was over, and she returned to the healers. They were so much faster than Thomas, he had sat there for -hours- to do this just once, unless he used that weird ability that made him all bloody. The healers were carried as they worked - they couldn''t quite manage to walk and do whatever it was that magic did to your mind. But they were quick, and she was walking back on the front lines, flexing her hand open and closed. The soldiers hadn''t screamed quite as much after watching her. They were learning the uselessness of it. She smiled, seeing King Mersin was still on her side of the convoy of people, walking and talking. Madelaine was on the opposite end from the inquisitor lady''s people, along with most of Piketown''s people, which was probably good because she might be tempted to stab the inquisitor lady, but bad because King Mersin spent most of his time over there watching them; he had said something about bad blood between them and the Piketown townsfolk. Elijah still wasn''t up and about, and it had been forever. She skipped over to where King Mersin was talking, listening to his noble growl. "Pick up the pace. We''re in the outer patrols, but they''re pulling back." Madelaine looked up at the beautiful cotton candy city. It just made her feel sad again. She hadn''t even gotten to properly explore the city, and it was going to go poof, like everything else. She looked around for more things to fight. If the outer patrols were pulling back, maybe she could finally fight one of those korlets. It didn''t take long, and she wasn''t happy about it. The things were underground! How was she supposed to stab that? She watched its progress - it wasn''t remotely stealthy, the ground cracking over it. But it was alarmingly fast - not as fast as her skipping, which had become magical - but fast enough that the slow people wouldn''t be able to run away. How did you kill something that was hiding under the ground? She considered her new Thaumaturgy spells. She had a cool telekinesis spell that let her interact with things, and a cool telekinesis spell that made her punch things from far away. The problem was that it was her punching, and ... well ... she just wasn''t very good at it. She tried it anyways. Colors ran through her head, but not as intensely, and she directed them. There was a dull whump noise, but the creature continued moving towards their group without any sign of having noticed. She wasn''t entirely certain she had even hit it; she wasn''t sure exactly how deep it was, or how big. She drew her rapier, feeling uncertain about how to deal with this threat. It continued approaching. The man next to her disappeared in a spray of hot wet yuck. She turned, wiping her face clear, and swung her blade down into the pit, where a second of the foul creatures was now visible, eating poor ... whatever that guy''s name had been. Didn''t matter now, he was in too many pieces for a name. Her blade struck something hard, but penetrated; the ... thing, that looked kind of like a whale crossed with a bug but ugly and flesh colored, opened its weird wide mouth at her. She blinked at all the teeth, which were ... vibrating. Weird. Was this thing just a tube of teeth? She stabbed it in the mouth four times in rapid succession, trying different angles. Each penetrated. The thing didn''t die, but instead lunged at her; she wasn''t there anymore, but her rapier lashed out twice more. And then it was underground again, disappearing back into the soil. Madelaine scowled, climbing back out of the pit, to see a long-haired princess just ... stabbing the ground. It seemed effective, as the thing Princess Arias was stabbing stopped moving. Madelaine''s attention returned to the retreating fleshbug, which was interrupted by an explosion, the ground erupting out, along with blood and other fleshy bits, with a strangely muted thump. King Mersin lowered a furry, clawed hand, and began moving again. She hadn''t expected him to be a great magus, as well, but his magic was really, really cool. And hey, the idiots seemed to realize the threat was real and right there, because they started to actually -move-, carts abandoned. Her day was looking up! She started skipping over to Princess Arias, who waved and smiled at her. Her favorite person! She paused to kill a fleshpuppy. Then another, whose wildly biting not-face got too close. She looked around once more - and in addition to a sudden scattering of the ugly pups around her, there were several packs appearing over the tops of the hills, converging as they closed in on the wall of people. She felt her sword droop a little. That ... that might be way too many. She tried to hold onto her anger, tried to focus on the world she would never explore - but it was overshadowed by a featureless face, singing in her mother''s forgotten voice. She tightened her grip on the sword anyways, and raised it once more. Princess Arias was still fighting, a beautiful dance, and Madelaine didn''t want to disappoint her. Chapter 59: Negative "The other gates have closed. We have a little more time yet, and according to the wardens, this wall goes down further than it goes up, so we should be fine if those damned crawling things come at us again; they''ll have to surface this time." Thomas listened to the adventurer, one of only a handful still waiting. They had retreated into the gate - tunnel, really. The walls were insanely thick, and the echo was annoying. "We''ll stay as long as we can." The reply came in a thick accent that Thomas couldn''t place at all, an odd mixture of guttural and sing-song. Shallor had decided to leave ... a half hour ago? An hour? Several adventurers had died in the last big wave, which had been the signal for most of the others to depart as well; with their reduced numbers, they had moved back into the tunnels, which gave them a little more flexibility, particularly with Thomas performing the duty of mobile wall; he was the last one here who could, as the other defense-oriented adventurers had all died. He stayed. He shouldn''t have left, it hadn''t done any good, and Madelaine was still out there. He had abandoned her, and she was still out there. He pointedly ignored the featureless face watching him from the side; Faith hadn''t said much lately. "The''d better get here." A third voice, with a small chorus of assents, albeit for different people. They were all volunteers, all of them waiting for somebody to arrive. And some had; a woman who had kept breaking her weapons with the force of her blows, not that she had any shortage of spares, had left when her younger brother had arrived in a group of four. It had apparently been eight, a large party. They were all wounded, and the young boy had been missing most of his arm, a tourniquet keeping him on his feet. He didn''t blame her. Three of the eight, silent like him, were garbed in the brown clothing worn by the people of Piketown. Pioneers from a dead plane. He wondered how they felt about that, now that they were fleeing another. "I think I see something, look over there." Thomas looked. A korlet blew dirt up into the air some twenty yards away. Thomas considered his health - 186 out of the 354 he''d started with. Then he stepped out into the light, and, crouching, punched the ground with a closed fist, leaving his left hand there. And waited. The ground broke in a line towards him. Thirty yards. Somebody behind him cursed, interrupting the next person to start speaking, and the echoing noises of the two dozen or so people filled his ears. Twenty yards. He watched, and then tapped his knuckles on the ground again, as it started to veer off course; it corrected immediately. Ten. Five. He closed his eyes against the explosion of dirt, clenched his fist, and opened it against, as wide as he could, when he felt pain, feeling the teeth catch. In a smooth motion, he spun and hurled the vicious little bastard against the wall of the tunnel behind him. He didn''t watch the others dispatch it - it couldn''t move well on top of the cobblestones inside the gate, and this was a practiced strategy at this point - and simply moved back to where he had been standing, another flow of blood running down his arm. The pain added to the others. But he felt remote from it. He pulled up his health. 157. The things had a hell of a bite to them, considering his 22 damage reduction. So far he''d only managed the trick once without paying for it; at some point in the last few levels his ability to ignore damage outright had increased to 25, which seemed to be on the very low end of what these things did, after his damage reduction. A few minutes later, and he fished a pair out, one right after the other. 98 health. He was starting to feel cold, possibly blood loss, although he seemed to have a limitless supply of the stuff; certainly he had painted everything around him in it. He hadn''t felt cold in ... a while. He considered the feeling, weighing it. He set it aside. He had left her. Another korlet. He started to crouch, and hesitated. Another. And another. And they were moving oddly - they usually surfaced every few feet, which gave them away. These ... weren''t. Four. Five. The ground erupted in gore - but his attention was taken instead by the ridge, long abandoned by the wardens, now darkened by a charging army, already screaming their gibberish. He stepped back into the tunnel, greeted almost immediately by echoing curses and hasty preparations, as their dwindling band of adventurers preparing for a fight against another horde of the bandits - while weak individually, they would almost certainly be overrun. The korlets could wait until this ... threat ... The korlets weren''t a vanguard. They were running away, fleeing a long-haired swordswoman, and an enormous lion-man. Thomas watched, transfixed, as Arias leapt impossibly far, impossible fast - and plunged her sword straight into the ground, just ahead of one of the cracks. Balier was gesturing, and another explosion erupted. And behind them a river of people, impossibly vast to Thomas. He ran out, heedless of the monsters dying around him - and was vaguely aware that he was not the only one. And then the people cascaded down the hill, and a wall of pink flesh descended behind them. And swept over the rearmost person. And then another. He inhaled, but did not let himself stop running. Okay, bandit dogs. He could ... slow them down. Thomas slowed, staring up at the countless carnaath flowing forth. It felt like a comedic beat when it finally ended. He was pretty sure he couldn''t - he froze, Madelaine''s dark skin making her easy to spot. She was being ... carried, by two large men in the brown robes of Piketown. They wouldn''t be carrying her if she was dead. His chest was a sudden agony of conflicting terror and relief he couldn''t ignore, washing him out of his remote position; he almost staggered. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Thomas inhaled again, and exhaled. 98 health. He stayed conscious into negative HP; he didn''t know how much negative HP he was allowed to have before he died. He wasn''t going to die. Maybe it would be obvious; he could feel his body. Kind of. In between all the pain. If it stopped working properly, he''d get out. Thomas rolled his shoulders, and began running. He tried not to think about the people still falling under packs of the horrible beasts ahead of him. He tried not to think about what he would feel like in a few minutes. Madelaine was alive, and he''d keep her that way. He briefly considered healing Madelaine. But he heard Anne''s voice, talking about fighting in one of the tactical discussions they had had: Don''t pause to stop the bleeding when the axe is coming down. He forced himself to run on. Four more people fell before he reached the left end of the fleeing people. And then he broke out into the open, and was startled, as a wall of unintelligible noise hit him, to realize he wasn''t alone, or even the first here; Arias had somehow arrived before him, and was jogging backwards while her blades cut a divot into the screeching wall of flesh. The smell of blood, and something else, damp and rotted and earthy, assailed him as he ran closer, an explosion of earth and dirt and grass and blood ripping into another part of the line. Arrows began to fly around him, claiming others. But the bandit dogs kept coming, a tide coming in from three sides, and Arias was still retreating. Every foot they claimed cost a yard. He was tiny, and as he collided with the lead wave, crushing underfoot and laying about with his fists, he was immediately engulfed. The feeling under his feet as they exploded under his weight was unpleasant. The weight as the ugly bastards literally climbed over each other to get at him, piling up to his waist, made things suddenly harder. It felt like kicking his way through the ocean, except it was full of pinching crabs who couldn''t quite muster the strength to actually pierce flesh. His lungs gave rent to a roar, pushing Call Out in a wave around him. As best he could figure, they had to do forty seven damage to damage him at all. He knew from the past few fights, most of them couldn''t. He turned, and began running at an angle to the leading edge of the wave, aiming away from the citizens still fleeing. Most. Pain blossomed at his thigh. 73 health. The biting thing was hurled with his good hand to the side. More and more of the things were piling up around him; they were up to his stomach now, biting and clawing at him, and he found himself unable to push forward, and indeed increasingly found it difficult to even move his arms for a solid swing. Okay, he hadn''t thought that through. Oh, hey, panic. Thomas hadn''t felt that in a while. He landed his last elbow, just as a pain in his back tore through him - and then the sea of flesh was at his armpits. 47 health. He looked back at the fleeing people - they were moving into the gates. Arias was cutting her way to him. More pain. 16 health. And then he closed his eyes against the sight, as a carnaath starting a futile attempt at biting his face from a too-human mouth protruding from its shoulder. It wasn''t quite as bad this way. It felt like ... being rubbed and pinched by a thousand hands. The tousling of his hair was annoying, also the saliva when they tried to bite. It was a pity about the smell, which had become overwhelming as the things had started trying to tear his face apart, but on the plus side, he wasn''t being assailed by noise anymore, damped by a cloak of things trying to murder him. The weight was incredible - and he couldn''t even buckle under it, because it came from every direction, holding him upright as he was slowly crushed. His panic came and went with each measured breath, each breath getting slightly harder - but somehow the pain began to abate. He felt kind of dumb about dying this way. The next bite to get through brought a wide variety of colors with it; he might have screamed. But the pain abated, replaced with an ever-growing weight. Queasy terror gave way to a calm, remote part of his mind: He''d have to visit a healer before he had sex again; more notable, -9 Health. Okay, ten seemed an obvious place to die. He wasn''t sure if he''d prefer being suffocated or being bitten to death. Two more bites in rapid succession cleared up his confusion on the matter, even if the pain did seem to get smothered a moment later under the all-consuming pressure. -64 health. He didn''t take damage less than 25, according to the feat. This seemed to have stopped the damage from blood loss, where earlier versions had failed. It also seemed to violate conservation of matter. Could he even suffocate? The next obvious place for him to die was -100. The third would be his own maximum health, so, -354. 354 might be enough. "That was ill-conceived of you." A woman watched him from the darkness. He didn''t disagree. The bites started to slow. Apparently the bandit dogs could suffocate, or they just couldn''t move enough to try to bite anymore; several mouths of varying configurations being pressed into him while drooling, a fresh new hell. The pressure built. The bites stopped. The pressure built. And then a sudden warm wetness where previously there had been warm flesh, and then another. And then a new pain started, in his chest. Oh, hey, he could suffocate, noted the remote calm part of his mind, before being buried under the weight with everything else. -65 health. -66 health. That hurt, and it just kept getting worse. Thomas tried to - and still couldn''t move. -67 health. His muscles burned, but he couldn''t so much as twitch, the sudden need to breathe washing his mind blank of any other thought. He needed out. He needed air. -68 health. He had nothing to scream with. -69. -70. "I can make it stop, Thomas. I can make the pain stop. Just give it to me." -71. He failed to scream again, against an agony that just kept growing, an all-encompassing experience. -72. Chapter 60: Light Madelaine grunted, as the mathematics finished themselves in her head, and another skeleton ripped itself free of the flesh containing it, and clambered up, to join the others killing and clearing bodies. She mentally sank back into herself, weary; that was it for her mana. And then she forced herself to start moving again, exhaustion creeping into her as she once more moved back into the fray, raised her blade, and began methodically killing the distracted fleshpuppies. ¡°He''s still alive, somehow.¡± King Archmage Mersin''s own mana had long since been depleted, and he was tearing into the beasts with a fury with an enormous sword, borrowed from a warrior who had retreated from the front lines as their time had grown perilously short. ¡°I have no idea how, the weight alone ...¡± Another adventurer, a grizzled gray-haired woman whose name Madelaine hadn''t caught yet; she used an enormous axe with a long handle, which she used to alternately kill, and then hook and pull down from the pile. There were only a handful of adventurers left, carving into a hill of fleshpuppies, who tore at each other in their frenzy to get at the center of the enormous pile. They''d probably have also left, except that three black wardens had joined them, after the last adventurer had given up, apparently having heard something of what was going on; she wasn''t sure which of the cloaked figures were doing what, but flashes of fire, pressure, and something like healing magic, but twisted and corrupting, tore through the beasts. It seemed like so little, but bit by bit, they carved a path into the mass of flesh, and then the magic had ceased, for the creatures they now dug through were already dead, ripped apart from above or, increasingly, just ¡­ dead. And then they reached a point, and the bodies suddenly began moving outward with a sudden wave, drenching them in gore, as the bodies gave wave to a flood of liquified ick. There were curses, only Princess Arias fast enough to move out of the way; Madelaine found herself spitting, having opened her mouth to say something at exactly the wrong moment. And then a giant stumbled out, and it took Madelaine a moment to recognize Sir Thomas, her blade already halfway out ¨C chunks of flesh fell off of him, and she started when she noticed that several of them belonged to Sir Thomas himself. Well, nothing healing couldn''t help, but still. Ouch. ¡°Thomas!¡± King Mersin grabbed Sir Thomas'' arm, and to Madelaine''s surprise actually got himself under his armpit and lifted; Sir Thomas looked over to King Mersin with kind of a dumb expression, but after several long seconds of staring, suddenly shrank. Princess Arias got blood and other stuff all over her still-pristine clothes, but she took his other shoulder, and they began a procession back to the gates. Madelaine and her skeletons guarded their retreat. Well, alright, the Black Wardens helped, especially with the annoying fleshbugs. One had gotten her good earlier, but the healers had put her back together, and then she''d come back to kill more of them, and help Sir Thomas, who had somehow gotten all of the fleshpuppies really mad at him in particular. Madelaine kept glancing back at the hill of dead bodies. That was nearly satisfactory for the crime of wrecking this place. Halfway back, Sir Thomas seemed to pause, the two figures parting and moving away from him; he pulled his foot up, staring at the bottom of it. Madelaine found herself slowing, observing Sir Thomas turn to look back at his footprints. She looked at them, and blinked. She''d noticed they were bloody, and mentally skipped past that. What had escaped her attention before was that they seemed to actually be bleeding. She skipped over to the nearest footprint, and looked down at it. There were tubes sticking into the ground, trickling blood. The other footsteps also had weird bleeding tubes in them. Madelaine slowly lifted her eyes, following the footsteps back to Thomas, who was staring down at the footprint in front of him. He was talking to himself. ¡°Fucking goats. I knew I should have listened more closely to that part.¡± He looked over to Princess Arias, who had her hand on her sword, staring at him with a very curious kind of expression. Madelaine didn''t know what it meant. Thomas, for his part, just ¡­ laughed, looking her up and down. ¡°I know I''m not going through that portal, Arias.¡± Madelaine''s eyes suddenly stung, and she had to blink them. What? ¡°You can put your sword away.¡± ¡°You ¡­ what did you do?¡± King Mersin''s rumbling voice. So quiet she could barely hear. ¡°I accepted a bargain.¡± Thomas seemed to consider that for a moment, with an odd glance to the side; Madelaine followed his gaze, but saw nothing there. What was wrong with him? ¡°Or something else. It doesn''t really matter.¡± ¡°No, I guess it doesn''t. I''m sorry.¡± King Mersin looked from the footsteps to Thomas, then turned and started walking towards the gates. Madelaine started walking forward, but stopped short when several figures began moving through the gates. Arias glanced at them, but kept her attention on Thomas, who just stood, looking exhausted, blood trickling from a hundred wounds. They just ¡­ stood there, waiting for the others to approach. It was Princess Arias'' grandfather, The Sage. He frowned at Princess Arias. ¡°What is the emergency, child?¡± He followed her pointing figure to Thomas'' foot, which Thomas lifted once more from the ground, with a horrible ripping noise, to show to The Sage. The Sage leaned forward to look at the foot, then back up at Thomas. ¡°Hrm. You''re compromised. Okay, yes, that does make sense.¡± He looked out at the hills, frowning. ¡°That puts certain things in a different context, I think. No, I think we''re already too far gone here at any rate.¡± He seemed to be talking to himself. Madelaine moved closer to hear. ¡°This does paint the dangers in a different light. Thomas, do you feel any differently?¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°That is a very difficult question to answer.¡± Thomas'' smile was slightly broken. ¡°Not feeling a lot of anything just this moment, which is probably for the best.¡± The Sage, for his part, looked Thomas over again, then nodded. ¡°You''ll be more useful lucid. Sage Fen?¡± A middle-aged man, balding and needing a shave, moved forward. Fen was wearing a plain gray garment, which was somewhere between a robe and a dress, tied at his waist with a simple white sash. Thomas grimaced as the man touched him, a pale green light erupting around him. It stopped a moment later, Fen shaking his head. ¡°It''s going to take quite a lot. The boy is nearly dead. Sage Tari?¡± A pale woman moved forward, then, to stand next to Fen; the green light shone from nowhere once more, and Thomas'' grimace deepened. Madelaine found herself standing next to them, then, ignored by the others. The light shone, and Thomas'' muscles moved to hide bone, and skin spread to cover raw muscle, bloodflow slowing and stopping. He seemed to be having trouble, Thomas jerking and twitching as the healing light shifted, growing deeper and shallower, almost a second breath, layered over his short and shallow breathing. There was a shimmering, something moving from the pale woman to the middle-aged man, as the healing continued, his body continuing to grow back. Thomas let out an odd noise when his boy parts grew back in, a quiet something between a gasp and a cough. And then Fen stepped back, Thomas whole once more. The Sage nodded. ¡°Alright, then. Thomas, what are you feeling?¡± Thomas looked up at him. And then leaned forward, and started ¡­ coughing, or puking, Madelaine wasn''t sure. It was bloody, with weird ugly chunks. She was stepping back, and didn''t stop moving backwards when Thomas straightened again, eyes wide. ¡°F-fuck ¡­ that doesn''t ¡­ that doesn''t feel right at all.¡± And then he was leaning over again, adding to the disgusting pile in front of him. The Sage was unmoved through it all, observing, with only the slightest of glances to the middle-aged healer. ¡°Sage Fen?¡± ¡°I removed what contamination I could, but it''s part of the fundamental construction of his body. It''s curious; I don''t think we''ve observed brood with dedications before. If not for the circumstances ¡­ well, we could move him to quarantine with the others.¡± ¡°He has the concepts.¡± ¡°We could request a delay, then. I think it may be important to observe how the phenomenon evolves.¡± The last member of their group spoke up, then, a hooded figure with a melodic voice, which Madelaine couldn''t quite place as a boy''s voice or a girl''s voice; it straddled the line in an uncomfortable way. ¡°That experiment is not as important as the opportunity to see what happens to the astral when a concept is fully severed. The risk of contamination is too great.¡± The Sage nodded. ¡°You''re right, of course. I''ll take him to the others when ...¡± He trailed off, as Thomas jerked again, another coughing fit taking him. ¡°I''ll send you what information I can. The girl is clean, take her with you.¡± He gestured to Madelaine, who didn''t understand most of what was being said, but narrowed her eyes at that. Was she just a piece of luggage, then? A clean piece of luggage? ¡°Quarantine, of course, but she has useful skills, so I suggest the academy when she has finished.¡± ¡°Come, child.¡± The woman, Tari, reached a hand out for hers. Madelaine looked at it, then back up at the woman. ¡°What''s wrong with Thomas?¡± The hand remained reaching for her, its owner taking a moment to look Madelaine over before replying slowly. ¡°He''s very sick. It is the sickness which has destroyed everything here.¡± Madelaine looked back to Thomas, who was now staring off to the side at apparently nothing, eyes glazed. ¡°But, but you healed him. Why is he still sick?¡± ¡°His sickness is part of him. We cannot heal what is not damaged. Come, child. Sage Eslan will take care of Thomas.¡± Madelaine slowly took the woman''s hand. She didn''t trust her, she didn''t trust any of these old people. But she was feeling lost and alone, and the hand was a guide. They started walking. She glanced back once more, when Thomas started saying something unintelligible; she heard something about truth and goats. What was up with him and goats, all of a sudden? Princess Arias was there. Why was the princess still there? They were most of the way to the tunnel of darkness, the so-called gate that opened a hole in the walls of the cotton candy city, when a shout from behind made Madelaine turn back. Or try to; the hand holding hers tightened, so it was a struggle to see what was happening. But then, it was easy to see, once she looked. Thomas was large again. Larger even than he had been; a true giant. And it made it easy to see, even at her uncomfortable angle, the new arm reaching up from his shoulder, from his waist, fingers reaching for the sky, and then blooming red ¡­ terror touched at her, as she saw the largest tree in the world, branches reaching for the sky and reaching out, Thomas'' dull expressionless face visible only a brief moment more, before seeming to twist out of sight. Arms now branches reached down for the tiny figures before it, flattening the closest ¨C and then Princess Arias moved forward, known to Madelaine in the distance only for the long hair blowing around her, her swords still sheathed. Queen Arias spoke Truth, and Reality quivered. It was not a voice, and Madelaine could hear it clearly for all the intervening distance. The ground beneath them cracked, and the woman holding her hand stumbled, but continued pulling her along, more forcefully than ever. The tree that had been Thomas cracked, and blood poured forth. The sky cracked, and darkness shone through. It was all Madelaine could do not to crack, as well, and she directed her attention back forward, and started running, beginning to pull Tari along. Dust poured down on them, as they ran through the tunnel. The bricks didn''t fit together quite right anymore. Reality didn''t fit together quite right anymore. They ran through the city of wondrous smells and sights, now abandoned. Things were falling around her, reality still trembling in the aftershocks of the truth that Queen Arias had spoken. Tari''s grip shifted, and Madelaine found herself slowing, to let the woman lead. They moved through the empty city, once full of people and life. Thumps and crashes would have drowned out her thoughts, had she any, but Madelaine''s mind was a terrible void, a nauseating empty freefall that ripped at her chest. She felt the twisting of fate, and pulled the old woman to the left. Rain poured in that space a moment later, a terrible rain of stones and bricks and dust that left her struggling to breath. They kept moving. Behind them, Truth was Spoken again, and reality quivered once more. They reached a larger tower Madelaine had not visited before, a dozen or more black-robed figures standing in front of an open door. There was conversation, which Madelaine couldn''t process, and then they were through the door, and there was a shimmering light of blues and purples, spread like a stretched canvas across an impossibly delicate stone arch. She looked back over her shoulder one more time ¨C but there was nothing to see, only the white stones, and a door looking out over a scene of falling rubble. And a hand pulled hers once more, and she found herself following the old woman, who stepped into and through the shimmering light, like it wasn''t even there, Madelaine pulled towards it, into it. There was light, chaotic and twisted, blazing over her entire being. It slowly resolved itself. Chapter 61: Epilogue: Arias A figure walked into a large circular room, a podium surrounded by a stadium of empty gray stone chairs, each positioned in front of small and simple gray stone tables. In the center, standing on the plain stone dais, seven figures waited; all eight were dressed identically, in plain gray robes, hooded. There was a strangeness to the air, which grew with the new entry; the room was too small for these figures. Long brown hair descending to the waist the only visible sign of identity. The occupants, identical in their gray hooded robes even to the height, shifted and turned slightly, and then began shuffling out of the area, until only three occupants remained; the new entry joined the other two. A voice filled the room, a whisper that was a shout, booming across the dark circular chamber, and the vast rows of chairs ascending to the wall in two semicircles omitting the large twin doors through which the speaker had entered from, and which the others had exited from. The alien intonations twisted the air, bending the little light emanating from no particular apparent source, until something broke, and the mostly delicately quiet whispered words slipped through the trembling tears in reality. ¡°The foundation is cracked, but healing; parts of an alien world slipped through, and there are new ideals.¡± The gray-robed individual who had waited staggered only slightly under the assault on reality, and after several long shuddering seconds to recover, nodded in return, a masculine voice marking him. ¡°We suspected as much, but the greater ascended were ¡­ reticent to explain what was going on, even to myself. What of the point of intersection?¡± He braced himself as the air rent once more to let loose the whispers. They didn''t come; a third voice replied, in a melodious voice, not quite masculine or feminine. ¡°The plane survived. It should not have; the anchor was sundered.¡± ¡°It is not unique. We have received seventy three reports of similar occurrences. It is a most unfortunate development. We will need more safeguards going forward, else someday a disaster shall spread beyond our ability to contain.¡± The second voice returned. ¡°What of the astral space?¡± Two figures quaked before the whisper. ¡°The division appears to have worked. Sage Eslan was correct. It has contributed to the stability of the severed plane, however; the entire mess appears to be drifting across the foundation.¡± ¡°Drifting? No, don''t answer that. The idiot should have thought before he learned the new ideals, he was perhaps the best situat-¡± the masculine voice disappeared, the whispers simply ripping the voice, the words, from of the air. ¡°You will please remember my relationship with my grandfather, warden.¡± The whisper carried a threat; the podium on which they stood creaked under the weight of it. ¡°And that I was there. Assignment or not, I knew many of those we had to leave.¡± ¡°I do not forget, warden. My apologies.¡± The masculine voice trailed off then, replaced by melody. ¡°Please be careful, Warden Eslan. This place is straining already at our presence.¡± The long-haired warden took a moment, before nodding. ¡°Warden Vage, you are dismissed.¡± They waited in silence as the hooded figure bowed, and departed. Only when the footsteps faded into the distance did the melodious voice continue. ¡°Warden Eslan, I think you should take some time to recover. Finish your reports, and take three months.¡± The long-haired warden jerked, raising a hand in objection, but the melodious voice continued, ¡°That is an order, Arias.¡± Arias found herself nodding, and returning to her desk. Her office wasn''t in the same location as when she had left it, but it took her only a few minutes of reorienting herself to find it again. This place was more solid than most mere planes in some respects; it was conceptually grounded. In other, more ephemeral senses, like geography ¨C it wasn''t particularly solid at all. The headquarters of the Gray Wardens was in a failed plane, which had been the product of an insane mage, who had been attempting to create a bridge to the foundation itself; this had been an early prototype, which existed more as an extension of the astral, than as a plane itself. It was perfect for the Gray Wardens, who used its properties to better prepare themselves for the astral, and to have a place where they could congregate without breaking reality. She looked at the report sitting on top of her desk, written in her grandfather''s neat hand, detailing her mission of the last few years. It was incomplete, but she didn''t reach for a quill, and there wasn''t one present on the desk anyways; paper struggled to contain her words. She would need to find somebody who could speak the hand language, ideally one who would survive the experience. Maybe the venusapien black warden, he had done very well for an ephemeral; she''d have to find out his name anyways to finish the report. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Arias tried to organize her thoughts about the last few weeks, since she had last updated her grandfather prior to the cave, but it was surprisingly challenging. Anne''s death had been a shocking and premature end to her mission, and being followed by Thomas'' transformation, and necessary destruction, the time had left her unusually uncomposed. It wasn''t quite like she had been prior to her own partial ascension ¨C it wasn''t quite like being ephemeral again. But it had left her in an erratic state, particularly coming as it did after the disaster with the esra in the cave, which had nearly shattered her. The fight with the esra had been a threat she hadn''t been prepared to handle, and only Anne''s surprisingly fast thinking had kept them all from a total death. She glanced to the side, but, as had been the case since the plane had been unanchored, the faceless horror which had become an annoyingly persistent companion remained missing. It had never spoken, never shifted or moved, just watched her. Arias shook her head, trying to clear the erratic thoughts, and start over; she had to have the story prepared, to make sure she omitted certain things; in particular her own role in bringing down the rogue knighthood. She did allow herself a small smile; they were now broken, and none the wiser for it. It hadn''t been quite the way she and her grandfather had planned it, but she''d taken the opportunity when it had presented itself. Norris had survived, and he was a loose end who talked too freely; she liked him, but it wouldn''t do for the representatives of Pantheon to be too open about their less ... palatable activities. The Black Wardens could get away with it, having developed a reputation for brutal efficiency in the ancient war against the astral, and proven themselves. The Gray Wardens - she stopped herself, trying to focus her attention once more on organizing her report, which at this point spanned years. She had carefully omitted Anne''s little group of terrorists'' more unconventional activities. The conflicts between adventurers and the Gray Guard had been a staple of her entire upbringing, and the long years of forced silence about their treatment of her had perhaps been formative. But when she had joined Anne, officially to see what they were up to, she and her grandfather already had plans, which had come to an unexpected fruition when their idiot leader had shown up outside the city gates with a group of ill-trained recruits in expensive clothing, and he had taken Anne''s arrow as his long overdue reward for the deaths of her parents. Arias considered how to frame that little fight, and decided to focus on the death of the children, and Thomas'' ensuing bloodrage, having been positioned to protect them. That was not, of course, exactly how it had happened, but that was par for the course for this paperwork, which existed more to establish an official account, than to represent what had actually happened. What had actually happened. She glanced once more at the empty space where the esra had watched her from. Maybe she could work in the mental damage as well. Anne hadn''t needed the excuse to kill Gray Guard working outside the safety of the city. Arias certainly hadn''t. Arias smiled a little bit, thinking of Thomas'' intervention in the city; she had nearly screwed up, there. But she had already reported on that. She moved back in the report, rereading, to ensure she wouldn''t contradicting herself in a way she didn''t intend, always a risk with these reports; she had reported on Thomas'' imprisonment, and his anger at having his meager finances taken. She wouldn''t mention that again, she''d just let the readers notice that he was already angry with the Gray Guard, and wonder at her omission of that information later in the report. Some contradiction was expected, even among the Gray Wardens, but it was best if the contradictions supported her version of events, rather than undermining her words. Her thoughts, once on Thomas, turned once more to his transformation, and the smile slipped. She had liked him. Where had he encountered the goats? They shouldn''t have been in that plane, they shouldn''t have been in any plane; there was a mystery that definitely wouldn''t make it into the report. Worse, somehow, he had inexplicably survived the experience. It took an effort to try to concentrate again, her hand shaking as it held the report; Arias forced her fingers open again, forced herself to set the report down before she ripped it. They had told her that she''d become more ephemeral herself, the longer she spent among the ephemeral, and she was feeling it. She was feeling, at all, and it made it increasingly difficult. She shouldn''t be feeling this way, she was incarnate. She had managed to do what needed doing. But she should have killed him the moment he had started speaking of the goats speaking truth - TRUTH - when she had realized something wasn''t right with him, instead of waiting until she had needed to unleash her voice. She started, at the warmth and wet on her cheek. Tears. Ephemeral indeed. Maybe she did need some quiet time, but three months seemed excessive. She was a Gray Warden. What she needed was a new assignment, something without people she''d grow attached to. But first she needed to finish this report, and make sure her competence shone through, so that maybe the three month order would be shortened into something more reasonable. Reasonable. She once more attempted to sort her thoughts, focusing on the next steps. She would need to send somebody to have a talk with Norris and the self-styled Balier Mersin. The young prince-in-exile might be the bigger problem, between the two, but she suspected he knew enough to keep his mouth shut, particularly about the damned blathering goats. It wouldn''t hurt to make sure. Now, the sequence of events. They had departed for the cave, officially looking for survivors, and unofficially following up a lead on where Jane had hidden after her escape; the need for secrecy there was now outdated. Chapter 62: Epilogue: Madelaine A door, closed in its frame, stood alone in the midst of a great clearing, grass-like crystals growing in thickets, cobbles of a long-abandoned road askew; whether once a great pavilion, or a confluence of the many roads leading here, was indeterminate. It was a dark, nearly black wood, painted over with peeling and faded white paint. Before the door sat a young woman, no longer a girl, in a circle of dead and dying plants. Her head was shaved, dark skin glinting in the sunlight, darker tattoos in geometric patterns adorning her scalp. Madelaine''s eyes were Open, as she studied the door, a frown forming and fading by intervals. The door wasn''t necromancy, exactly, but it wasn''t not necromancy, either; it was formed of the same kind of not-quite-fractal patterns, but different. Like a different language of fractal patterns; a different magic, perhaps, but she had now seen every school known to the planes, and this was none of them. Necromancy was the closest, however, and she pondered the nature of necromancy, so different from the fractals of viviomancy; the magic of life was, at least, well-named, but as she had become increasingly proficient in the magic of death, she had gradually come to realize it had little to do with death at all, but was rather simply a kind of organization that was antithetical to life, not by nature, but simply because the patterns were different. Viviomancy created something like a tree, with purpose flowing from something like a mind, all self-reinforcing at every level, the smallest part both identical to the whole, and yet distinct. Necromancy created something less continuous, and in its ideal form, entirely separable; cut the hand off an ideal zombie, and the hand would continue attacking. This door was something like that, but different; antithetical to the machinery of necromantic magic, antithetical to the machinery of viviomantic magic, by virtue of being organized differently. But organized more like necromancy than viviomancy, yet somehow more ¡­ comprehensive. She did not understand this door, in this long-abandoned place. But she had come here seeking it. It was a puzzle piece; stories told of this door, which was not always a door. It was a passage to the Foundation, itself a puzzle, created by an insane necromancer in a time long, long past. Or at least the stories said, and she saw little reason to deny them, for they had brought her here, after years of study, years of talking to madmen and scholars and those who straddled the thin line between. Madelaine did not know what the Foundation was; she had suspicions only, unconfirmed by the arrogant certainty with which proclamations were spoken. It was the bedrock of reality, or at least a bedrock; if there was something more fundamental, there was no evidence of it, and such talk was considered strictly metaphorical. But then, the Foundation itself had been considered strictly metaphorical at one point, until a madman created this door into it, in the process crafting the magic used to later enter the astral, and become petty gods of petty concepts. And now the grand work of the door laid abandoned, in an abandoned plane; a place that anybody could find, and which nobody did. The last three planes she had traversed to come here had been devoid of any life, and the two prior, little enough. The proximity to the Foundation, unmediated by the astral, was ¡­ antithetical. Only those who, like her, no longer strictly qualified as living could even approach; the Foundation was antithetical to life, which depended on things like chemical bonds to exist; chemical bonds were a part of reality, not a part of the Foundation upon which reality sat. She had spent the last year preparing herself in that regard, and was now something more like machinery than biology, machinery which operated on its own internal logic, rather than relying on the logic of reality. You could not protect yourself against the laws of the universe with a mere suit of armor; you could only ensure you brought your own laws with you. And few cared to enter in the first place, for what was there was that which wasn''t anything here, or at least nothing could be brought back, save a fraying of sanity she was no longer certain she possessed. The written descriptions she could find varied; the nature of the Foundation was, as far as Madelaine could discern, in a fundamental sense metaphorical, where the metaphors were those you brought with you; one author, the last survivor of a team who had somehow stumbled into the Foundation by what was claimed to be an accident, had described the Foundation as an endless series of rooms, each of which was a challenge, each of which with many doors, but where the key used to open the door mattered more than the door which was opened; the keys had not survived the exit. Another author had described the Foundation as an endless featureless fog with impossible geometries, full of intangible threats and meaningless voices. A third author wrote about tunnels; a fourth, floating islands connected by bridges. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The only common element to all of their stories were the goats, who spoke in human voices, who spoke words of madness. The goats were why she had come. Because the thing-that-had-been-Thomas, before Arias killed it, spoke of the goats. It had spoken in Thomas'' voice, speaking words of madness. Arias had known, Madelaine was sure. She had reacted, when he had spoken of goats, she had stopped seeing him as Thomas but as the-thing-that-had-been-Thomas, and then the mute girl had revealed her capacities, and spoken her own words of madness, and Madelaine''s head still rung with it, a headache that never quite faded, no matter how many years had passed. And now she sat before this door, trying to understand what it did. For Thomas, who could not have known, had, in his final moments past knowing, known something that could not be known. And she suspected, she thought ¨C she hoped ¨C that the answers she sought would be through this door, and the boy, now surely a man. For Elijah had been among the people who had never been allowed to leave, and she would find him. Maybe even Thomas, or whatever was left of him. The unanchored plane had not dissipated, but had crashed, somewhere in the Foundation. And had persisted even then; the damned sages, who had refused to speak to her of her plans, had at least given her that much. Madelaine tried to take in a breath ¨C but this body needed no air, and had no capacity for it. Hands of a metal that was more concept than reality clenched, the latent magic of the air seeping into and then out of them, both magnified and depleted by the transition. She would puzzle out how to open this door, first. Perhaps she should try ¨C her attention focused on the doorknob, which she was quite certain had not been there before, although her memory said it had been. Memory couldn''t be trusted, however ¨C not here. Madelaine rose, her body too thin and too tall, looking around the hellscape that surrounded her. Her skeletons hadn''t survived, their magic dissolving the faster the closer they had gotten. That had been expected, for it was the very method she had employed to find the door, more than a year previous. And the first attempted approach had shown the truth of the old stories, and also the lies of those who claimed their entry to be mere accident; she, at the height of the power available to her through mere dedication, had barely survived the abortive approach, and the past year had been spent remaking herself, using materials whose existence themselves had been secrets to discover. She barked out a humorless laugh, or what passed for one out of the framework that let her speak. Examining the doorknob still, she thought back on how the inquisitor and her flunkies had died; many of the secrets had come from the woman herself, using the very means that the inquisitor had once sought to recruit her for. The death had been necessary; Madelaine had made a promise to herself, and it was important to keep your promises. The secrets had just been a pleasant surprise ¨C this metal, and the other, which had been a dead-end for her purposes. The forbidden magics, to move herself into this body, and remake her mind. The existence of the door itself, or at least a rumor setting her down this path, a chance mention of the goats that grazed in the space beneath reality. A chance that became certainty, with enough pressure. Although, really, she would have been interested regardless, for the details of the madman who had created this door was its own secret, and a strange one, for it touched upon the holes in her memory where Home had once been. He was folklore, in her Home; a story to frighten young children, a necromancer, or something worse, who would offer you temptation, make you a bargain, if you went to the right place at the right time. The precise details escaped her, yet the implication that he had traveled to her own Home was not lost on her. Nor the means by which he must have accomplished it; the Foundation, the Substrate as the silly sages insisted calling it in contradiction to the learned of University, connected them. She wouldn''t go Home; it was Home no longer, just a childhood she had long since left behind. But if the Foundation connected the two, perhaps it would also connect to the fallen plane. Madelaine smiled, a curved split forming in the sparkling surface that was her face. It felt wrong. It felt right. She opened the door, and stepped through ¨C trying to gasp, and failing, as what she thought of as reality gently fell apart around her, like a sheet of water broken by a grasping hand, revealing what lay behind. Chapter 63: Epilogue Jane had felt the world break outside, but her hand didn''t stop its motions, as the inspiration flooded her mind, and an elegant proof of Euclid''s Theorem took shape. She continued her slow and deliberate work, mind buzzing with it. The end of the world outside wasn''t important, not compared to this. It must be proven. Something must work the same; how could mathematics be different? Mathematics didn''t rely upon what world you stood on; they were defined in terms of their own rules, rules which didn''t rely on petty things like the laws of the universe. And yet, as she reached the end, the inspirational light in her died, her heart sinking once more. Because, somehow, mathematics was different; she stared at the failed proof. Well, she''d call it failed, except she had proven, for the third time, that there -were- a finite number of prime numbers. Which was, simply, impossible. She knew it was impossible, yet as her eyes traced over the diagonalisation she had laboriously dissected the problem into, she found no fault. She felt no need to repeat the earlier exercise of going through the prime numbers; the dismay when she had discovered some numbers that should have been prime, and weren''t - that had been an existentially terrifying experience. Numbers didn''t owe their existence to the universe. And yet, and yet. The expensive paper, made of some kind of very finely-woven cloth rather than tree pulp, burned slowly, and she drew forth a new sheet. The world trembled outside once more, and this time, she looked up, startled, and walked out the doorway, pushing aside the fabric that served as a door. One of the strange dog monsters disappeared in a spray of fine gray mist when it ran at her, raw mana ripping it apart at a fundamental level; most of the threads of her mind did not notice either the threat, nor its elimination. She did notice that the sky appeared to be torn; that was a curious phenomena. Was that normal? She didn''t have a good reference point for "normal", here. It didn''t seem like it should be normal, however. Maybe the world was ending? That would be absolutely fascinating to observe. Actually, if the world was ending - she was struck by inspiration, and turned to hurry back into her little hovel. What would happen to proofs, if the world was ending? She started working on a proof, and then stopped herself to work on another, until she had six going. Trivial proofs she had already worked out here, but it would be interesting to see what happened to them, as the world was destroyed. It wasn''t much longer before she felt reality tear further, and then - and then the proofs got interesting. She found herself smiling as she worked, her attention drifting to the failed proof from time to time, noticing errors accumulating in it, compounding on themselves. She started on Euclid again, then. The results were immediate; the proof began to prove itself. Her smile grew, as she charted a course through conceptual space, and a broken world came for the ride. There was darkness, and there was light, but somehow, there wasn''t sufficient difference between the two. The world was no more; reality had shattered, and then the fragments had each shattered, and the splinters had shattered in turn, until the world was nothing but a fine dusting of mirrored surfaces, reflecting light, and reflecting nothing, each a prism in itself. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Each particle spun slowly, none in synchrony with any other, a glittering field of flashing colors. They spun, and a kaleidoscope world glittered. And slowly, so slowly, their different speeds began to align, with a growing pulsing of light, until they turned once more, and with a sensation like falling, the world asserted itself once more. What was left of it. Earth and sky were torn, bleeding light into a void through which could be seen the incomprehensible, flashing by at absurd speeds; the world continued to tear, the rips spreading, minutely but steadily. He wondered what would happen if the tears met, if reality was ripped in half. Probably nothing good. Sage Eslan had stayed. He remembered that. Sage Eslan had stayed, when the others had left. He couldn''t quite remember the words that had been exchanged; however, he had a guess. Eslan had stayed because he knew what proofs were. That was an odd thought. Why was it odd? ¡°Because you''re all now free.¡± The faceless one. His attention took several seconds to focus on her. It was difficult, his thoughts were ¡­ slow. He had made a bargain with her. It hadn''t really been much of a bargain; he''d been out of his mind with pain. He wondered if there were any lawyers who would take the case. ¡°I am the law now. Part of the astral came with this plane, and I''m the only occupant. I intend to keep it that way. You should too; your freedom only lasts as long as I can afford it. It is cheap, now, without rivals.¡± So there was only one god now? His attention drifted back to the plane, still actively ripping itself apart. She had her work cut out for her. ¡°Oh, I have someone who will be fixing that for me shortly.¡± The cracks continued their relentless widening. It would be interesting to see how her somebody handled that. ¡°It will. It''s probably a good thing you gave your pain to me. Even so, this will be an ¡­ interesting experience for you.¡± He considered that. His thoughts were sluggish, and it was difficult to wrap his mind around the multiple complex concepts represented there. And then there was power. It was indeed an interesting experience, like being strapped to a rack while being made of rubber, while also being struck by lightning repeatedly. He had trouble keeping up with all the information coming into his mind, sensation overwhelming consciousness, stretching it, ripping his mind open wide as the rents in reality ripped apart his body, as it was forced to grow, to grapple, to ¨C heave. Roots, his roots, reached through the consuming void. They were consumed, and yet they continued, tearing through the emptiness through sheer overwhelming growth. Branches reached to the sky, and caught ¨C something. It was not pain, for there was not a single note of pain, just an avalanche of everything else, burying him ¨C and his mind screamed voicelessly, screamed and screamed and screamed, until the scream became static, and the static became a hum. The plane was pulled together with forces that pulled him apart. And then it ended ¨C but it didn''t. The forces had stopped flowing, but the great channel of sensation remained. The sheer scope of the information still coming to him remained a constant high tide, beneath whose turbulent surfaces no structure could arise in the sands of his mind. He was aware. He was aware that reality was still cracked. He was aware that he couldn''t think. He was aware of innumerable leaves, aware of each stirring of wind. He was aware of every single inch of earth his roots suffused. Every twig, every branch, every square inch of the not-quite-bark that clothed him. He was acutely aware of every jagged crack in reality, cutting into that information, distorting it, twisting it. He was aware of a slow ebb and flow, like breathing, suffusing everything.