《Hunter's Blind [Working Title]》 Journey Down the River Edward emerged from the Avon and vomited what felt like a half gallon of water. Fora veteranin the art of getting too drunk, this was not a new experience.This particular event was uniquely unpleasant; escaping the city guard was no simple task but Ed now regretted diving into the Avon River that ran close to the town. Kingsvalle used the Avon as a makeshift sewer when the river was not frozen over and Ed winced at the rancid taste and smell it left lingering on him. "This is not how I expected to end last night''s little binge. Well nothing for it." Edward felt a littlecrazytalking to himself, but nearly drowning in the shit and stink of the Avon was enough to make any man a little crazy, or so he figured. Ed conducted a quick survey of his clothes and gear.
Linen Tunic Common + 1 Armor, +2 Protection
Leather Boots Common + 2 Protection
Dandy Gloves Poor +1 Charm
Dandy Cap Poor +1 Charm
Dagger Poor (Steel) 1-2 Damage
Describing the knife he had as a dagger was perhaps a bit generous. In reality it was little more than a pen knife or maybe one of those semi-sharp cheese knives. "Well, at least I have something to kill myself with if I run into any Nightmares" he sighed. There was a good reason most sane people avoided the Forest of Nightmares. Besides the presence of the eponymous nightmares, the Devil''s own damnable carnivorous horses, there were any number of other dangers that lived in the forest. His mother, may the saints bless her, was a wise woman and herbalist before she died, so Edward was familiar with woodscraft. But now he was stranded without the supplies to survive and there was no way he would return to Kingsvalle. Ed did some quick checking and decided he was about 3 miles south of town. There were rumors of a crone that lived somewhere to the southwest of the City. He was not happy about trusting a diablerist, but Ed decided he didn¡¯t have many better options. Diablerie or ¡°The Dark Magearts¡± was not evil per say, but its focus on domination and blood ritual made it unpopular with civilized mages. Crones were female shamanistic diablerists and were generally deceitful and always dangerous. But the local crone presumably honored the rules of hospitality, and would hopefully point him towards an outlying village to lay low for a year or two. This wouldn¡¯t be the first time Ed fled Kingsvalle and after some groaning and gnashing of teeth, he set his jaw and began to move West.
Ed approached a small thatch-roofed hut of simple brick construction. It was a true mousehouse, looking barely fitting for a single resident. ¡°Hello! Anyone home!¡± Ed shouted from perhaps 30 strides from the house. He continued to approach, resting his hand on the knife he kept. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Why hello¡±. A voice said from his near left. Ed jumped into the air like a startled cat, and hissed at the intruder, also like a startled cat. He gripped his knife tightly and spun to face the voice. ¡°That is quite amusing¡± a surprisingly feminine voice, belonging to a surprisingly beautiful woman said. She was athletic with well proportioned hips and a narrow waist. She had a small bust and a heart-shaped face perched atop a slender neck. The 6 inch pointed ears gave her away as a forest-folk. ¡°I am quite sure you will not require that butter knife of yours. I offer my hospitality¡±. She said with a chiming chuckle. Ed slowly lowered his guard and let out a sigh. ¡°Thank you. I think¡± he responded, a bit too slowly to be polite. ¡°I guess the story books failed to mention the crones of such...fair appearance. I am Edward Hunter the Bastard, first of my name¡± Ed said with a flourish of his silly hat. There was the sound of a branch cracking and the crones ears moved towards the sound. They continued to move about like a wind vane caught in a storm for a few seconds. ¡°I am Nuala the Kuruni, third of my name and daughter of the forest¡± Nuala responded. ¡°Why announce yourself as the unwanted?¡± ¡°I am not ashamed of myself or my mother¡± Ed responded a bit harshly, then he softened ¡°But thank you for the hospitality. I have been walking since sunrise¡±. It was now late afternoon and Ed had spent much of the day wandering about the forest and avoiding its less accommodating inhabitants.
Nuala made the best tea Ed had ever tasted. It was some combination of leaves and fruit that smelled like fine perfume and tasted like ambrosia. Hard elven honey cakes sat on a silver tray between them, uneaten. The tea pot was a sterling silver and besides the plate looked to be the most expensive thing in the home. Everything else was rustic, like the entire house was built from only what the forest could provide. Two large windows, with only a thick wooden shutter, provided light to the kitchen. A small table with a quartet of chairs was placed a few paces from the kitchen and the fireplace was opposite the windows. The whole house was perhaps 100 square feet. It appeared that there was a single room, besides a small partition that presumably separated the sleeping area from the rest of the home. Ed, having finished his survey of the house proceeded to observe his host. Her eyes were closed and she was perfectly still aside from the small sips of tea and the overly mobile ears. Ed was lost in his observations until Nuala gently cleared her throat and looked at him. ¡°I have provided hospitality as best as I am able¡± she said simply. ¡°Is there anything else, Edward? Or are you prepared to leave?¡± Ed stared into her pupil-less eyes. They were a disturbing shade of forest green and appeared to swirl and move with an inner light. He was prepared to leave, Nuala was the perfect host, providing a heated bath and fresh clothes for the weary Ed. With the few days of rations he negoitated for some work and pointed in the right direction, he could be at Westpoint, a town of a thousand souls, within 3 days. He should be on his way. Something keptEd rooted in the chair. He was sure that if he left this small shelter, he would never seeNualaagain, and something about that made his chest ache. It didn''t hurt that she was easy on the eyes, and was the first person to show any hospitality to Ed in some time. Just thinking of leaving felt painful, but he could not find a good excuse to continue to stay. He cleared his throat, ¡°You can call me Ed. And if I can repay your kindness¡­¡± he trailed off. Nuala ears stopped moving, and her eyes narrowed a fraction. ¡°There are always things to be done, but I am unused to¡± she gestured to Ed ¡°folk being polite. Are you trying to take advantage of me? Your heartbeat has increased.¡± Ed felt his cheeks flush. ¡°Well, you are quite a comely woman. Is it so odd that a dashing young man find you appealing?¡± ¡°Most people find my reputation more fear inducing that ador inspiring¡± Nuala chuckled. Ed¡¯s ears now adopted a hue of crimson. ¡°I am sure that there is something I can do to repay you¡­ I can hunt!¡± Ed announced enthusiastically. ¡°I also know of edible foods in the forest, and can chop firewood, or help extend the home or¡­¡± His ramblings petered off at Nuala¡¯s amused look and raised eyebrow. She gave him an appraising look, ¡°I am quite sure that is unnecessary. I have given you hospitality as is required, but there is nothingfor you to do¡± she said with a finger on her lips. Ed took a deep breath, then blurted out ¡°Then please make me your apprentice!¡± It was the best way to spend more time with her, and would keep Ed safely away from any of his half-brother¡¯s unwanted attention. A small smile came to her lips, ¡°I am quite positive we can work out a favorable arrangement, but are you sure you wish to learn the, oh what was that pompous title,¡± with a snap she continued ¡° Ah yes, the Dark Magearts.¡± ¡°I do, I wish to become your apprentice and learn the Dark Magearts¡± Ed said with a seriousness Nuala lacked. ¡°Oh my, the haruspex was quite accurate then¡± She continued to smile mysteriously ¡°I knew using a nightmare would provide better results.¡± At the mention of a nightmare, Edward blanched. ¡°I hope this is not one of my worse ideas¡± he muttered. Nuala just laughed. Big Game Hunter Ed¡¯s POV I crouched behind an old-growth tree and took a deep, slow breath, careful not to make any unnecessary noise. Waiting 10 ft. away was a nightmare, munching away on my most recent kill. The shot that took the deer in the heart was some of my most brilliant shooting, and this shithead was just eating my hard work. If I don¡¯t retrieve my kill, or replace it with this 22 hand horse, I am going without meat...again. Nuala eats like a rabbit, which I assumed was a forest-folk not eating meat thing, until she made me assist a haruspex ritual and the monthly consecration. I learned that the ritual involved butchering a living nightmare, and using its life energy to power a minor insight spell. The consecration uses the remaining energy to power a bane that persuades the more dangerous predators to stay away. Needless to say the whole ordeal was bloody and unsettling and explains some of the more inventive stories about diablerists. Worst of all, the spells appear to ruin the meat, so the past week¡¯s meals consisted of wild salads with mushrooms and unidentified nuts, as well as elven honey cakes and tea. I was desperate for red meat and this hunting expedition was to prove that I can be useful for more than menial tasks. Nuala, for all her beauty and mystery, is a harsh taskmistress and worse, she has me doing every chore and drudgery involved in the ritual spellcasting. I think she is trying to drive me away, but her forest abode is the safest place I have been since mum died. I am too close to reasonably escape this big bastard. If it sees me, I am going to be run down and killed. Besides, this nightmare has moved in and is eating MY deer. I am going to kill this fucker, butcher him, and enjoy myself some demon horsemeat. I produce my dagger and look at it.
Dagger Common Steel 2-4 Dam, Deadly
Although the damage it does is pathetic, I honed my dagger on a whetstone and have plenty of butchery experience. This is perhaps the most foolish thing I have done; this coming from the man who agreed to apprentice for a witch because she was pretty. As quickly and silently as possible, I approach the nightmare. It may seem silly to attack such a monster with a knife when a perfectly good bow is available but a nightmare¡¯s hide is tough enough to blunt most arrows, while a dagger naturally ignores armor. If I attack just so, it is possible to slash this monster¡¯s veins and inflict hemorrhage. I approach as quiet as a void-cat, prepared to strike, when the nightmare looks up from his meal and begins to turn his head. Well, he who dares, wins. I lunge forward and stab the beast''s neck. The creature fountains blood; I am showered in icor. Nightmare blood is more black than red and covered in the stuff I look like a tar monster or swamp creature. The nightmare is only momentarily stunned from the attack and bites me. It grinds its teeth into my shoulder and its razor-like teeth sink into me. For a brief moment, all I know is pain and I can feel my vitality ebb. Pain is a strange thing though, it can cripple a man but it is also an excellent motivator and right now I am motivated to kill this beast and feast on its flesh. I stab at the head this time; the knife sinks deep and I clearly get something important as the monster whinnys, rears back, and employs its hooves against me. I am fortunate enough that I am already falling under the creature because this causes its hooves to miss my head. I land prone beneath the monster that begins to lose its balance. The nightmare decides to fall on top of me, dropping its 1 ton bulk on top of me. This is about as shitty as being drowned in the Avon. I groan, in pain from both the horse and the unintentional pun. My legs are trapped beneath this beast, probably broken; I am losing consciousness. I can feel my lifeblood drain away and I pray that when I meet mum, she isn¡¯t too disappointed in all my bad decisions. Just as I am getting comfortable with my self-loathing and impending death, a familiar pair of forest green eyes peer at me from above. ¡°Hi¡± I manage to croak out. ¡°Hello, Edward. I would say it is a good job, bringing down a nightmare during your first forest hunt, but we usually try to avoid bringing them down on top of us.¡± She is smiling at me. This evil bitch is smiling at me, a dying man. The nerve of her. Sure she is breathtaking, but I am literally breathing my last¡­ In the middle of my mental rant, I notice that the pain slowly receding. I am breathing easier, and my legs feel less broken. The horse is no longer on top of my legs and has been moved onto a sled, that Nuala proceeds to drag with no small effort.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. ¡°Well,¡± she says breathlessly ¡°are you going to help haul your kill?¡± I stand and do a quick examination.
Head Minor Concussion
Left Arm Minor Bleeding, Shoulder Wound
Right Arm Minor Elbow Dislocation
Torso Broken Rib (2)
Left Leg Hairline Shin Fracture
Right Leg Minor Foot Dislocation, Thigh Bone Fracture
Well, I am not in good shape, but considering the fight, Nuala must have done some healing, otherwise I would be in the ground and not up and about. ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s move this meat¡± I take up position next to her and begin to slowly drag the carcass back to the house. It will provide meat for days, weeks even, and it needs to be prepared. I feel so tired.
Nuala POV I followed Ed on his hunt, to ensure he would be safe. When the nightmare began to feast on his kill, I figured he would do the smart thing and retreat, using the trees for cover. It appears I overestimated him, or perhaps I underestimated Ed because he managed to bring down the creature. I watched him work himself into a furor and charge the nightmare like a steelhead boar; he managed to stab the creature in the throatlatch. I am not sure if the strike was deliberate but the hell-horse panics and bites his left shoulder, hard. Well, my apprentice is not one to take dying lying down, and jabs the knife into the beast¡¯s eye, effectively dooming the steed. It releases Ed, rears back in pain, then proceeds to die on top of my novice. So the good news for me is I haven¡¯t lost my companion. The bad news is he is beneath a 1 ton monstrosity in a growing pool of blood, both his and the horse¡¯s. I use some of the blood to perform a quick ritual of might and shift the nightmare off Ed¡¯s hips and legs and onto a hastily prepared travois. The thing is simply two sturdy poles lashed together with a rope net to carry the kill and was a part of Ed''s hunting supplies. He is going in and out of consciousness, mumbling about his mother and giving the kind of crazed oratory only the dying can. The damage is significant; both legs are shattered, there is a grievous, bleeding wound on his left shoulder from the bite, a rib is poking out from his chest, his right arm, from the elbow on, is bent at an odd angle still clutching the butter knife, and he appears to have some head trauma from the fall. I have healed people nearer to death, but it will be a close thing. To make matters worse, my apprentice is going into shock; without healing, he will be dead within minutes. I begin some minor ritual work to help stabilize him, and using some of my more precious healing herbs, begin the healing process. To start I inscribe a healing circle using the spilled blood, then I crush the herbs into the blood and begin the process of restoring vitality. He will still be broken but I think the best I can do is keep him from dying for now. I work from the most important injuries first, his legs are in terrible shape, and the spellwork to properly set bones is painfully slow. He should be unable to move on his own for a few months. As I finish the work on the spell, something very unusual happens, his body immediately begins to absorb the spell. The spellwork imprints itself on his skin and I watch as his protruding rib visibly begins to slide back into position. I feel myself smile. He is a warlock. Ed, my apprentice, is a natural warlock. He does not need to perform any binding or inscribing rituals. My smile grows wider, first he hunts a stag with a single arrow, then he slays a nightmare with a glorified butter knife and now he is a warlock. I couldn¡¯t be more proud. I frown for a moment, I can¡¯t possibly tell Ed lest it go to his head. Then my smile returns as a sacrifice the remaining blood on the ground to expedite Ed¡¯s healing. He won¡¯t be in perfect shape for a few weeks, and he will likely be a bruise for the next few days. But that is a much better than bed and fever ridden for two or three months. After an hour of my ministrations, my novice''s eyes flutter open and stay that way. His incoherent mumblings have stopped and he rasps out a ¡°Hi¡±. Quite an informal address from apprentice to master, but I will forgive him. ¡°Hello, Edward. I would say it is a good job, bringing down a nightmare during your first forest hunt, but we usually try to avoid bringing them down on top of us.¡± I say sweetly. It is quite high praise, if I do say so myself. Bringing down a nightmare is a worthy hunt for any forestkin, not to mention a heavyfoot like Ed. The healing took its toll on me, so hauling this corpse will not be easy if he cannot help. "Well, are you going to help haul your kill?¡± I question him. He grumbles back ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s move this meat¡±. And takes position beside me. I frown, I should really enforce decorum with my apprentice, but his desperate efforts at pleasing me are too cute. It would feel like chastising an enthusiastic hellion puppy. As we slowly make our way back to my home, I consider the best way to train my novice. Reborn I keep my head mere inches from my plate, both arms protecting my horse-steak from the intruder. Nuala gives me a disapproving stare, but I refuse to do anything until I have eaten a proper amount of food. ¡°Ed, you have eaten 3 pounds of meat already. Do you plan on consuming all 450 pounds today?¡± She says with no small amount of disgust. It really isn¡¯t my fault, I passed out after we hauled the nightmare to the house and slept all through the following day. Now I am starving and fully intend to enjoy the fruits of my labor. It is strange though, that I hurt so little. Sure, I am sore and ache all over, but it feels more like I was tuned up by the city watch than like I fought a monster to the death. I keep chewing absentmindedly as I do a quick check of myself. My broken bones are fully healed, courtesy of Nuala I am sure, and my head is no longer fuzzy. I feel pretty good in fact, strange thing that. The sound of a book hitting the table brings me back to reality. I start and stare at where my plate once was. In its place rests a tome easily 4 inches thick, filled with browning vellum. ¡°This,¡± Nuala says haughtily, ¡°is your new grimoire and study material. The back third or so is unused, the rest is apprentice material for you to study.¡± I finish swallowing my steak and give her an embarrassed look, ¡°I actually don¡¯t know how to read.¡± It shouldn¡¯t be a surprise, most people don¡¯t know how to read. ¡°And besides,¡± I continue ¡°only wizards and summoners need to learn to read. I just need to learn how to do those crazy rituals.¡± Nuala gives me a look of pure terror; I guess I really offended her sensibilities with that last comment. Oh she is ranting at me, I should look like I am paying attention. ¡°Yeah, un huh, yep, ok, of course¡± I continue to pretend to listen until I get slammed with a jolt of power. Arcane energy courses through my muscles and I lock up and fall out of the seat. Nuala stares with murder in her eyes. ¡°If you ever patronize me like that again, I will sacrifice your still beating heart to Gah-Zul so you may spend eternity in the Planes of Terror. Am I understood?¡± ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am¡± I say with some difficulty. Today I learned Nuala is not someone to piss off lightly. I should write this down in my grimoire when I learn how to write. Nuala, still giving me a petulant glare, continues. ¡°I suppose we will need to work on literacy, as well as ritual work and spell inscription. You are correct that you do not need to be educated, strictly speaking, to be a Ritualist, but all good spellcasters have some basic education.¡± She taps a finger to her lips and scrunches up her face. Nuala is probably a couple hundred years old, but her thinking face is adorable. ¡°Edward, are you aware you are a natural warlock?¡± She finally asks. I explain that I have no idea what a warlock is, let alone a natural warlock. Apparently a warlock inscribes spell formations directly on their skin, acting as a catalyst for a spell, like a well prepared spell staff or ritual circle. This means they can get strong personal magic effects if they use themself as a ritual focus. All this is to say that my master now wants to inscribe an intricate comprehension spell on my skin to help assist my learning.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°Great, if this makes the book learning easier, that means we can move on to spell casting earlier.¡± I exclaim.
I am a fool and should never agree to do anything ever for any reason. When someone says they need to inscribe something onto your skin, that is code for paralyzing you and using a ritual knife, which looks a lot like a filleting knife, to carve runes of understanding into your skin. Now I may not have been able to feel the cutting when it happened, but I felt it once the paralytic herbs stopped working. If you have ever had your foot fall asleep, imagine that feeling all over, plus feeling like someone drove a nail into your forehead and you approach the discomfort that the comprehension spell induced. The worst part is it appears the comprehension spell is a part of me, after a fashion. I can force the magic in my body to remember the spell and after the magic digs a fresh set of trenches for the spellwork, I can gain that understanding again. It is really useful to be able to memorize words and runes and their meaning at a glance. It¡¯s kinda like having a royal scribe in my skull. Much less useful is the excruciating pain needed to use that information for anything more sophisticated than basic spelling or reading. Nuala says that the spell will slowly integrate and become a part of me, making it easier to use. I am sure she is telling the truth, but I suspect it is not the whole truth. The day after my reading lessons, it is story time. Or rather, Nuala agreed to lecture me on magic. Apparently magic is broken into two major branches, Light Magearts and Dark Magearts. Light Magearts are the typical warrior fare, and are all about cultivating internal power. Magic is used to nourish and strengthen the body, muscles, mind, reflexes, senses, etc. Obviously every magic uses does this to some extent, but light mages specialize in it. Apparently it gets its name from an ancient warrior god of the sun or some such. Dark Magearts are the storybook wizards and is all about the projection of magic. This can be a simple magic attack spell or a sophisticated ritual. Again, light mages can do this to a certain extent like when they project a slashing attack, but it is the dark mage¡¯s specialty. The name is from some ancient god of wisdom and the moon. The most interesting thing about my physiology is apparently warlocks are considered ¡°dusk mages¡±, I use my body in both Light Magearts and Dark Magearts, and can do both with some proficiency. There is a whole school of spellcraft for just warlocks, but Nuala says that is for when I understand the basics of both schools. With the lecture over, I grab my hunting bow and check my hunting knife, to make sure its edge is still razor sharp. My body thrums at the promise of the hunt, and I stalk into the woods. I move swiftly and silently but quickly find myself moving faster and faster through the forest. Intellectually, I know something is wrong, I am too excited, too eager to kill. I have almost 450 pounds of meat curing at home, but I can only think about drinking the lifeblood of a freshly killed beast. My stomach knots in hunger as I charge through the underbrush and before I know it I am chasing down a deer. I abandoned using the bow or knife at some point, although I cannot say why. The stag runs but I am gaining on it, ready to feast, to gnash and tear and eat until all is dyed crimson. I leap at my prey and grab its antlers, ready to snap the startled animal''s neck when my muscles lock up, my teeth snap shut, and I fall to the ground losing my prey in the process. I feel like I was hit by a lightning bolt, every muscle spasming and blood runs from my nose and eyes. What is happening to me? As I Lay Dying I came upon my apprentice in the woods, jaw locked and eyes wild like a hard-ridden horse. In a sense he was a horse, the hunting ritual imparting a good deal of a nightmare¡¯s impressive speed and stamina. But something is wrong; Ed is paralyzed, muscles twitching and breath coming in shallow gasps. I feel like I may not be cut out for teaching the esoteric arts. Ed is my fifth apprentice and most are dead. Only my third apprentice, a flighty woodsfolk who never completed her training still lives, apparently communing with nature somewhere in the sacred forests to the West. Unless I figure out what is happening to Ed, I am going to add to my unimpressive record of former apprentices. And something is very wrong with Ed. At first I thought he must have used all his magic and collapsed. It isn¡¯t particularly uncommon for apprentices to push themselves with their first spells and run out of energy. With enough rest and food, this is rarely an issue. But Ed is positively overflowing with energy. I can feel it from a yard away and the power is putting my hair on end and my teeth on edge. I have heard of apprentice alchemist''s over imbibing distillations to increase mana capacity having similar problems. But I have never heard of something like this. The excess mana is poisoning his blood causing his body to fail. If I am going to help my apprentice, I will have to get him back to my ritual hut so I can begin to heal him. I use a minor talisman of strength, and pick up Ed.
The jog home took half an hour and preparing the ritual room took another 15 minutes. In that time the magic in Ed¡¯s blood became dangerously volatile. He is a hair¡¯s breadth away from a mana failure that will rupture everything, turning my troublesome apprentice into a pool of gore. I begin to syphon off the excess mana, and fortunately the amount of mana in Ed¡¯s body is no longer increasing, but it isn¡¯t decreasing either. This apparently is too much strain, because Ed passes out, but his body is still cooking itself with excess power. As much as I am displeased by this, I am going to have to force Ed to stabilize himself. If he can use his magic, he can begin to get this mana problem under control.
I am relieved to see that Ed is in here. For a moment I was convinced that Ed passed on before I got a chance to help, but he is here so there is still hope that he can recover. A quick investigation earlier showed me that Ed has a patron, like all warlocks. Ed¡¯s patron, however, does not appear to know restraint and unless Ed can put this power to use, it is going to kill him. ¡°I expected death to be a bit more peaceful, fewer lessons and no wicked witches¡± Ed says with a smile. I see that Ed is still as cheeky as ever.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°You look good for one cooking himself alive¡± I deadpan a response. ¡°Well, it wasn¡¯t my plan to do so, but magic has a mind all its own¡± I scoff at this explanation. ¡°You need to regulate your power tap. You are drawing magic from your patron at a prodigious rate, and will burn yourself out.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know any spells or rituals! How on earth am I supposed to fix this!¡± ¡°You do have a comprehension spell you can use the mana to power. Try doing that¡± I reply, a touch shortly. I watch as Ed begins to power the comprehension spell carved into his body. I watch as the relatively simple spellform add more and more complexity. The simple carvings expanding into a terrifying full body tattoo that moves and writhes across his skin leaving furrows in his flesh. I have seen warlock¡¯s ritual binding of spellforms and it is nothing this elegant. That is like hammering the body into the proper shape like metal on an anvil, this is like watching a painter expertly apply pigments to the skin. Ed opens his eyes and looks at me, the muddy blue of his eyes transforming into a radiant turquoise. It is unsettling. ¡°Ed, did that work?¡± I ask tentatively. His gaze is penetrating, like I am a particularly interesting bug to be studied, and perhaps squashed. ¡°Nuala,¡± he says, his voice oddly melodious, too smooth and with too much tenor to be natural ¡°it is good that you came to speak to me. The magic was almost too much to handle, but now I know how to. Ramrar has given me a spell to cast¡± At the mention of the dragon god¡¯s name, I freeze. Ramrar does not choose a champion unless the world is going to get very interesting. That is a dark omen, and a good indication of why Edward got such a bounty of magic. Ramrar is not known for restraint and his blessings of might produce unparalleled warriors for an age. I have never heard of one he blessed with magic. More spellforms appeared in this dark space. More sophisticated than I have ever seen. They were forms for might, understanding, insight and more. All linked to create a single spell that would enhance Ed. It was scary looking at the construction of it. It was like watching a toddler sculpt a masterpiece. I watched as the magic flowed out of Ed in a rush, eager to do his bidding and build this complex spell. I tried to help as best I could, supporting the spell and hanging it upon Ed, but the spellform was too delicate. The construction too intricate and the purpose too grand to be easily affixed to the warlock. There is real tragedy in watching something so beautiful fall apart. The spell was too demanding and lost cohesion as it began to dig itself into Ed¡¯s skin. The scream confirmed that it was as painful as it appeared, and after all was said and done, a more simple version of the masterpiece was carved across his skin, integrating the pre-existing lines that once made up the comprehension spell. When the whole ordeal was done, I released the spell that allowed me to access Ed¡¯s mind. Warlock鈥檚 Mark Dying is odd. You can feel it happening, the body tearing itself apart. The failing. Everything. I got to know what it feels like to burn out the brain and what cooking insides feel like. So I probably died. But I got better. Don''t ask me how I did that. There is a lot that is still fuzzy and warped. Like I watched my semi-miraculous rebirth through a swampy pool. I do know that I missed a real opportunity; if Ramrar, God of the Dragons, Lord of Might (both physical and magical), Granter of Insights and a bunch of other silly titles for the god that generally does nothing but grant some poor fool too much power, had decided to explain what to do with his blessing of magical might, I would have had a real awe inspiring amount of power right now. As it is, I have a warlock''s bond that lets me feast on the magical residue of dying creature to empower the spellform on my chest. The thing is a Dragon''s Eye symbol, a triangle with a line at each edge that meets in the middle, which grows in sophistication and power the more magic is added to the rune. Nuala tells me it is a rare spellform that can grow with the addition of more magic, as opposed to blowing up. I also learned from Nuala that all warlock''s eventually get a patron. A patron provides most of the strength for a warlock''s spells, usually in return for something. Sometimes that is souls, sometimes it¡¯s a body, and in the case of Ramrar, it was devotion. So now I am a devoted follower of a god only dragons and the truly mad worship. On the bright side, I now have a better understanding of my abilities and statistics.
Edward Hunter Level: 5 Age: 19 Job: Warlock/Hunter
Physical Power 5 Physical Skill 8
Magical Might 7 Magical Expertise 3
Even this exceptionally basic table of statistics is more than most ever see. Usually, to see something like this, you would need a powerful investigation spell or something similar. Anyway, according to Nuala, the average human has a 3 in Physical attributes and a 1 in magical attributes. And the average mage has a 4 or 5 in magical attributes, so an 8 in Skill and Might is considered exceptional. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. That¡¯s me, exceptional. Except I have no ability to wield my magical power with any degree of fineness and I am weaker than a city guard. I feel a bit disappointed I didn¡¯t turn into a demi-god like figure from myth, given my blessing, but I should improve far faster than a normal man. On the significant downside. Nuala says I am thoroughly cursed by, and this is her words ¡°draconic bloodlust¡±. I don¡¯t know how she knows or what that means, except it is not good. Add to that my already short temper, and I am surprised that Nuala hasn¡¯t chained me to a wall like a rabid dog. Finished with my personal inspection, I pull myself off the stone altar that serves as serves as Nuala¡¯s ritual table. I feel like garbage, but that is nothing new. Shaking out and stretching my sore limbs I notice I am still covered in a sheen of sweat. After a quick bath and a few bowls of horsemeat stew, I enter Nuala¡¯s house to find her reading an impressively large book, bound in black leather. ¡°We need to discuss seriously training you, physically and magically so you can control that curse you were gifted by the dragon god. The blessed of Ramrar have a nasty habit of destroying towns or cities in fits of rage. Hell, the Placid Sea that sits between us and the cities of the East is said to be the result of one particularly spectacular temper tantrum of one of Ramrar¡¯s chosen.¡± It was too. According to legends, the Hero¡¯s family was abducted by the Tyrant King of the Middle Kingdom. After subjugating the insect horde, a nest of demonic insects that carved a bloody swath through the entire southern region of the continent, the Hero returned to find his family was hostage to the Tyrant King as collateral. The king planned to force the Hero to lead his army to conquest of the Wilds of the West and the Eastern Holy Expanse, the kingdom that held all the territories now called the Free Lands, of which Kingsvalle is a part. Seeing that he could not defeat the Tyrant King and save his family, the Hero lost all control of his blessing and left a smoking crater hundreds of miles long, deep and wide, where once the Middle Kingdom stood. This separated the continent into two, with only a long and treacherous land bridge connecting the once grand continent. The historians decided to scrub history of the names of the King and Hero to punish them for this, but the story of the danger of those bearing the dragon god¡¯s mark still remains. ¡°I can see the need for training magic, but why should I train my strength or skill? That has nothing to do with spell casting.¡± Nuala shakes her head and looks at me like I am a particularly dull child. ¡°All your abilities grow together. Without a powerful body, you cannot handle powerful magics, and with a sharp mind, you cannot effectively use a sharp body. You need both. I am going to train you like you are truly my apprentice, and not an errand boy. So prepare yourself for the unpleasantness of being my apprentice in the weeks, months, and hopefully years to come.¡± I shake a little at that. Nuala was a harsh taskmistress before, I can only imagine what the change in attitude will mean for our future together. Maybe if I seduce her, I can convince her to go easy on me. ¡°And you are going to have to stop giving me those lustful looks if you plan on staying my apprentice. I don¡¯t sleep with the boys I am training.¡± She continues. So much for that plan I think. Wait, she noticed me checking her out! Power Underwhelming It has been three months since my death and I have grown considerably more confident in my mana manipulation skills. Besides basic rituals to improve strength, dexterity, and senses, Nuala taught me my first offensive spell. Well, offensive is maybe a bit generous, I can now use my body to deliver an unpleasant shock to a target. Or I can create a severe thunderstorm¡¯s worth of lightning, that reaches out to destroy anything nearby. This is very cool to look at, but blowing up a tree a few feet away is an excellent example of why control is more desirable than power. Today, Nuala explained that we would be training by the expedient method of killing a whole bunch of stuff until I am comfortable casting in a high stress environment. Apparently we are doing pest control within the forest. And by we she means me. And if you heard pest control, and thought like me that this meant dire rodents, or giant spiders, or something equally squishy but unpleasant, you would be wrong. No according to Nuala, today I would be single handedly clearing out a goblin slum. Now maybe you hear goblin and think 3 foot tall monsters with mottled green and brown skin. This is a gremlin, not a goblin. A gremlin slum I could handle. A goblin slum is packed full with 4 and a half 5 foot tall monsters of such ferocity and prodigious breeding rate that they are treated like a plague. They sweep through lightly defended towns and leave ashes and blood in their wake. Goblin slums, when found, are always assigned a high priority extermination target by the local mercenary guilds and mercenary companies can cancel a contract without penalty to exterminate one. And I was supposed to march into one, and exterminate every goblin I can find. I suppose Nuala just wants to be rid of me then. I gather my approved gear: my ritual knife, a 31 in long arming sword and a 20 in long baselard. Despite the upgrade to my equipment in the form of the sword and long dagger, without my bow, I felt a lot less confident in my chances. Nuala did gift me a pair of fine leather boots and a set of elven armor: a brigandine, vambraces, tassets, and greaves to cover the chest, forearms, thighs, and shins. The set was a hardened leather, dyed green and lined with steel for extra protection and was light enough to move comfortably for hours without fatigue. A shame that Nuala neglected to include a helmet of any kind. When I asked, she gave me a strange look and said ¡°Don¡¯t get hit in the head then, not that it would make any difference considering how infrequently you use it.¡± That did sting my pride quite a bit. Prepared for my little jaunt through the forest, I followed Nuala towards the goblin slum. It took a few days of travel to reach the area now overrun by goblins. I knew it was overrun by goblins because they left vivisected animal corpses all over the place, and put strange shamanistic fetishes out to mark their territory. After Nuala wished me luck, said she wouldn¡¯t save me again, and departed, I planned my approach to goblin extermination. Considering the amount of territory claimed, the slum would have a shaman and warchief, and probably a hundred or more goblins. I figured I could find a choke point and exploit the natural aggressiveness of the monsters to thin their ranks before hunting for the two leaders. So I began trooping through the forest, ambushing the occasional single goblin patrol, and searching for a proper place to set up.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. After six hours of sneaking about and searching, I came upon a dried creek bed that seemed perfect. It was relatively sheltered from both banks by thick underbrush and a 3 ft fall from the bank to the creek bed. The creek bed was a perfect place to conceal some footfall traps to slow pursuit, and if I play my cards right, I should be able to ambush 10 or 12 goblins, kill them, then escape using the high banks as cover. This all planned, I baited my trap by dragging a body into the middle of the creek, and mutilating it with my ritual knife. Eventually a group of seven goblins came to investigate the corpse, only the one in the middle was armed. The other goblins mulled about, unarmed but packed with wiry muscles and clawed hands as dangerous as knives. I silently charged the two closest goblins who were mere feet away from hiding place along the bank. I opened their necks before they could cry in alarm, but the others heard the commotion. One spun, only to meet the point of my arming sword. I left the blade embedded into my foes neck and used my left hand weapon, the baselard, to slice open the spine of the apparent leader, the goblin armed with a short, rusted sword, who was too slow to turn and face me. I dove past the remaining 3 goblins as they turned to face me, and left my baselard quivering in the eye socket of another goblin as he came about. I produced my ritual knife as I confronted the final two goblins. Both charged me, frothing in a fur; I danced between them and earned a glancing blow from one for my effort. I opened the other¡¯s neck with my ritual knife, but unfortunately, fumbled my knife and was left facing an unarmed but savage animal with my bare hands. As it charged, I slipped pasts the clawing hands and slammed an open palm into the creature¡¯s neck. This crushed its neck, and the monster when to the ground choking and sputtering. For some reason, seeing the goblin suffering put me in a cheery mood. I watched the monster die and felt a swell of satisfaction. After I collected my weapons, I removed the hearts of the armed goblin and dedicated his death to Ramrar. I noticed a small rush of power breathed in deep; my magic crackled in me, begging to be unleashed and I decided that I would use magic to dispatch the next bunch of goblins. I made no effort to hide the last group, instead moving further down the creek bed, away from goblin country. This time, I decided to hide up on the bank, and so I scrambled up there to prepare for my next victims. The group that approached my first ambush site numbered 20 goblins that I could see. I already killed 10 goblins by this point, so a 20 goblin detachment was a significant percentage of the remaining grunts by my estimate. Of the 20, 5 had weapons other than the claws; only 1 goblin had a weapon that was not rusted to near uselessness. I took a steadying breath and allowed my dragon eye to change from the minor physical boost, to the more magically oriented pattern. It turns out that I can change the focus of the spellform imprinted on my flesh, but doing so takes a few seconds and during that time I am useless. The change from physical prowess to magical might is painful enough to rob me of my sense for a few seconds, but I maintain my silence and begin to push power through the marks on my hands and arms that generate lightning. After a few seconds of concentration, I release a lightning bolt at the most well armed goblin. I felt really good about myself for about 5 seconds. Then I noticed that my powerful lightning spell was only marginally more powerful than before. The spell had temporarily immobilized the goblin warrior, but it also alerted every goblin to my presence. Having failed my ambush spectacularly, I decided to run and try and pick off the goblins one by one. I would not be able to keep ahead of the goblins if I stayed on the bank so I dropped to the creek bed and took off at full tilt. Besides, I had a dozen or so footfall traps sprinkled throughout the creek bed; hopefully that would give me the advantage I needed to survive this brawl. Old Sparky My apprentice is sprinting about like a distressed hunting hound. The ambush against the smaller group of goblins went well. He successfully killed all seven before significant reinforcements arrived. The attempt to kill the goblin warband leadership was equally clever. Unfortunately, instead of releasing a bolt of magical lightning at his enemy, he delivered a super charged carpet shock to the leader. I really should consider rescuing Ed at this point. Of the 22 goblins that entered the riverbed looking for Ed, 19 remain. That is pretty impressive given the odds and although I don¡¯t approve of these traps and dirty fighting tricks he uses, I cannot deny they are effective, if uncouth. Unfortunately for Edward, he is surrounded. From my perch, I can see another group approaching from the South of his position, maybe another dozen goblins. In all likelihood, I will need to intervene soon. I told my thickheaded apprentice that the shock spell was a minor spell for incapacitating a foe, but he seems to think he should be throwing true lightning around like an experienced mage. It is true he has the power to do so, but he has no control. I did not expect Ed to imbue his weapon with electricity. That is quite a trick, but in the heat of battle, surrounded by the vanguard of the group to the south, 5 goblins with rusty swords and moldy leather armor, Ed started using shock on his weapon to incapacitate foes. That is quite clever and very difficult, as you need to keep concentration to hold the spell on the blade. Granted, without the blessing of skill that his mark gives him, he uses his arming sword more like a club that an actual sword, but it is still something. Within a minute, he has stunned all 5 and delivered a coup-de-grace to 3 before the 5 rear guard goblins could make it to the spot, along with the rest of his pursuers. The 5 to the south are all elite goblin warriors, in reasonable leather armor and with sharpened, unrusted swords. The group of 19 from the rear are all grunts, except the 2 remaining warriors and 1 elite. That number however is still too large for him to break free. Charging the 5 elites will bog him down enough for him to be overwhelmed, and there are simply too many goblins to make his escape to the north. I unlimber my bow and prepare to offer some assistance to my apprentice, when the mana in the air shifts. Mana is like a living thing in the wild. It has desires. One of wild mana¡¯s greatest desires is to be claimed. It fights the process, but congregates around something strong enough to claim it. This is how we get monsters. A creature is able to claim ambient mana, so more mana gathers around it, the process is very slow, but all monsters are capable of becoming terrifyingly powerful, if they live long enough and claim enough mana.Stolen novel; please report. All things do this to a certain extent, even mundane humans gather mana to strengthen themselves. Only monsters and mages, both Light and Dark, are capable of gathering ambient mana in any great amount. When enough mana is gained, both monsters and mages must undergo a growth period to stabilize the mana and begin to claim more. For monsters, this means growing bigger, stronger, more intelligent and more skilled. For mages, this means developing catalysts, internal and external, that are invested with power. Few mages can hold any great amount of power internally, hence old mages carrying around hundreds of enchanted items. Warlocks are different in that they become their own enchanted object, using the body itself as the magic catalyst. And I am witnessing the famed Warlock ability of mana growth. Because Warlocks grow like monsters with more mana, they use spells inscribe into flesh like monsters use natural magic. The air around me grows thin, and the air around Ed thickens. Ed throws off a terrifying feeling, like a great beast is there and not the lanky human. Ed¡¯s skin takes on a blue tone, his hair stands on end, and electricity crackles about him, coming off him. He looks like a lightning construct gone wrong, throwing off sparks like a broken gnomish toy. Something is very, very wrong. I suck in a breath, and where Ed once stood, something very much not human is in its place. It is shaped like a human, but its entire body is covered in iridescent blue scales, to its neck. It roars at the stunned goblins and a bolt of energy lances from its mouth, striking one of the elites to the north and leaving him a smoking husk. Then, like a berserker from the tales, it charges in amongst the larger group of goblins. Blows and swords glance off the scales of the creature, and lightning arcs from its claws and feet. At one point, it grabs a goblin by the face and causes it to detonate from the coursing energy. The scene is one of chaos and carnage. The scaled monstrosity in Ed¡¯s armor weaves through the goblins leaving crackling ruins in his wake. Cooked goblins, in various states of dismemberment and disembowelment lie on the ground. Some still twitch and crackle with power, and the ashes of some of the more badly burned specimens wafts through the air. I gag on the stench and my eyes water from the smoke. I wipe my eyes and look to where the creature was, but it¡¯s gone. I hear the branch above me sway, and hear ¡°I will kill them all, do not interfere¡± in my ear and tremble. Ramrar¡¯s gift of madness and power seem to have taken hold of my apprentice. I nod my head in understanding and breath a sigh of relief when I cannot feel the-thing-that-inhabits-Ed¡¯s presence anymore. I wait a few minutes and move from my perch to close in on the camp, and observe how the creature handle the remaining 60 or so goblins. The Games of Gods Holding Ramrar¡¯s power is a heady experience. The group of goblins that threatened to overwhelm me are now smoking, twitching corpses and I leave crackling destruction in my wake. I am Power. I can feel something else in my mind as I wade through the remaining goblins. It feels good reducing the monsters to ash, and I am troubled by how good it feels. I could lose myself in this violence. Although I am not physically strong, the barest brush of my lightning is now enough to bake a monster alive. I casually stroll through the smoking ruins of the goblin slum. I do not even raise my hand against the goblins as any that approach are struck down by the crackling energy that surrounds me. Only the goblin warchief remains now. The thing within my mind tells me that unless the warchief is killed, he will spawn more monsters and within a few months the infestation will return. There is something odd about the warchief though. He sits upon a throne of bone and viscera and watches me as I slaughter my way through his camp. He seems unconcerned with my approach. Then he is wrapped in the sedate brown of earth magic, and he slowly stands. ¡°Hello Ramrar, how many years has it been since you last incarnated? A hundred at least I think.¡± The goblin spoke with tones of both slow melodious baritone and the rumbling growls and grunts that make up the goblin¡¯s natural tongue. ¡°It has been a while Zat. What brings you to the earthly plane? It has been at least a thousand years since we last spoke.¡± The thing that was me-but-not-me spoke. ¡°Ram, you know I hate it when you call me Zat. It is Zathishria, if you please. And it has been a while since I last awoke.¡± ¡°Is the world ending then? Does the cycle cease to begin anew in the age to come? Or are you here for another purpose?¡± the thing that is not me says. ¡°The age ends soon I think. My stirring has awoken the creatures of twilight and shadow, and the Court of Night rises from the fetid soil to reap a harvest of the living. The winds of magic die and our brother¡¯s flesh has finally begun to rot.¡± The goblin growls in that dual tone voice. ¡°And have you thrown in with the decaying things this time too? Or will you join me in fire and fury as we were those long ages ago?¡± ¡°I am tired brother, but I have yet to decide. Let us watch your mortal, and see how he does on his own. If he should amuse us, I will think on your offer. What say you, child, can you entertain us?¡± The question throws me from the fuge. I am in control of my body and completely disoriented. I can feel the magic in the air begin to slow and sink. The energetic power that courses through me slows and I lose my grip on my casting. I still feel that well of power, but I cannot grasp it.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. The magic that sustained my onslaught is gone, and the preternatural skill that infused my movements wanes. I am clumsy, with no magic, facing a goblin warchief with earth sorcery and savage ferocity. I¡¯m fucked. I stumble towards the warchief, who bellows a challenge at me and charges. I fumble the arming sword from the sheath and prepare myself. The earth shifts under my feet, becoming a soft sand, and I struggle to maintain my footing. The goblin is no great caster, but unless I manage to control my own magic, the goblin will kill me simply by ruining my balance. My blade clashes with his enchanted club. It is a construction of black stone, and obviously his first enchanted item. I sink half an inch into the sand with the blow as the soil continues to loosen. The goblin warchief is relentless, smashing into my arming sword with staggering overhead blows. I had to support the tip of the blade after the first strike to prevent the warchief from crushing my guard and my head in one blow, but finally after a dozen strikes, he slows to heave a breath. I lunge forward, but not supported by the skill of my Dragon¡¯s Eye, I bury my blade in his left shoulder as opposed to his neck, my intended target. The blade glances off bone and I lose my grip on the blade. I roll backwards and dodge a wild swipe of his club. Without his left hand he cannot support his relentless assault. I produce my baselard and begin to circle. He pivots to continue to face me, and I can see blood seeping out from the gash in his shoulder. If I was not so tired, I could wait for blood loss to give me an overwhelming advantage, but I am pouring buckets of sweat, and the goblin warchief has a focus, giving him a source of stamina and strength to draw on. If the standoff goes on much longer, I am going to get killed. I lower my body to charge the warchief and discreetly grab a handful of loose dirt. Not the most honorable, but anything to win this fight. I charge. The goblin brings the heavy stone club around, sweeping from right to left. I throw my baselard and dodge left, the club crashing into my right arm at the elbow. The sword throw was poor, but I struck the green beastie in the face with the flat of the blade. Seeing my chance, I throw the soil into his eyes and tackle the monster. The goblin may be stronger than me, but I have been in my fair share of bar fights. If there is anything a good brawl teaches you, it is the value of brutalizing a downed opponent. With his club hand clearing his eyes, he could not stop my tackle. Nor could he stop me from throwing a left clean into his throat. I proceeded to take this goblin warchief to pieces. With no leverage, the club was little danger, so I gouged his eyes, smashed his nose, and punched his throat. At one point the green fuck managed to bite my fist, but a knee to the groin stopped any further resistance. Once the monster was unable to resist, I stood up and stomped until I was sure he died. I panted and offered the soul of my departed foe to Ramrar. I felt his blessing upon me, and the power in my chest. My elbow cracked and ground back into place, at one point I blacked out. But when I came to, I heard snippets of a conversation. ¡°...won...onor...gain¡­¡± said a familiar baritone. ¡°...hate...tetion...rue...destroy...other¡± said a tenor. Then it was black again.