《Elderpyre: Exiled to Another World [VR-to-Isekai Progression LitRPG]》 Book One - Transient - Prologue ¡°There¡¯s something wrong here,¡± said Reiner. ¡°There¡¯s plenty wrong here,¡± said the man with the hart headdress. He was the leader. The others nodded in agreement, their totem headdresses hiding their faces. It had seemed a clever notion to team up with them. The Brethren, they called themselves, a handful of locals that acted as guardians of this ancient place. Reiner would be delving into these Halls with or without them; the former had seemed the more prudent choice. They¡¯d found him taking shelter in the entrance of one of the tombs that littered the vale. They¡¯d made their ask, as folk always do. One of their number had succumbed to insanity and cooped herself up in the Halls, doing gods-know-what. Brethren did not shed Brethren blood, so they¡¯d asked him to do it. ¡°Can you make it painless?¡± the girl with the falcon headdress had asked. He¡¯d promised he¡¯d try. Taking a life was never pleasant, but he¡¯d had to draw his sabers often enough to know that sometimes, the end did justify the means. There was a chance that these Halls held the Annals of the Lodge, thought to be lost to time. Fawkes, the woman who had taken him off the streets and taught him all he knew, had devoted her life to searching for the Annals. If there was a chance to get his hands on them, he¡¯d gladly put down a hundred deranged Brethren ¨C not just one. Fawkes. She¡¯d look down on this whole endeavor, were she with him. That¡¯s why he hadn¡¯t waited for her and struck out on his own. They were equals now, not master and apprentice, but her tongue was still as sharp and her mood as rotten as always. The Halls had proven to be much more than what he¡¯d hoped. He¡¯d expected a half-ruined sepulcher. He¡¯d found a complex of underground halls and enchanted vaults massive enough to rival the fabled fortresses of the elves. There were treasures stored down there, dangerous ones. If the Annals proved to be among them, it would be worth Fawkes¡¯s ire. That was the long and short of how he¡¯d found himself in front of a set of double doors deep underground, accompanied by a half-dozen of shamanistic locals. ¡°Can you hear the whispering?¡± mumbled one of them. She was no more than sixteen, seventeen maybe, and her headdress was shaped like a raccoon. ¡°Silence,¡± Brother Hart hushed her. Reiner could hear it too, now. Others had warned him of it, asked him to look into it, even. He¡¯d dismissed it as superstitious nonsense. He¡¯d been wrong. Fawkes would have clocked him for that. ¡°Keep your wits about you,¡± the man warned. ¡°Evil nests behind these doors.¡± He pushed the double doors open, and Reiner¡¯s senses were immediately overwhelmed by a peculiar smell of rot and decay¨Cone he¡¯d smelled a time too many. ¡°Low-dwellers.¡± ¡°Yes, the Misbegotten.¡± Reiner shot a glare at Brother Hart. ¡°You never said our mark practiced fleshwarping.¡± ¡°She did not,¡± the man grunted, brooding. ¡°Well, someone does.¡± He had hardly finished his sentence when he was proven right. A band of low-dwellers came out snarling from the dark, flesh-hungry fiends created with heathen magic.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. The Brethren braced themselves and shouted warnings. Reiner drew his sabers and met the closest low-dweller with a flash of deadly steel. A clawed limb flew in the dank air, severed. Dark blood stained the stone floor. The fiend screamed in fury and agony, but it was brutally cut short as Reiner struck again, taking its head at the shoulders. Someone shouted a warning. The Brethren behind him leveled their spears just in time for the storm of fangs and claws and hunger that were the low-dwellers. Reiner whirled and slashed left and right, trying to keep the snarling fiends at arm¡¯s length. One of them dove at his feet, clawed fingers looking to grab him by the ankles and trip him. ¡°Shit,¡± said Reiner. He threw himself to the side, slipped and hit the stone floor, and rolled away thrashing, expecting one of the low-dwellers to bite his face off at any moment. He scrambled to his feet, panting, raising his sabers just in time to meet swiping claws. He parried and dodged to the side at the last second, pivoted, and stabbed the fiend in the eye, driving his blade through its primitive brain. He pivoted again and put the now-dead thing between him and the rest of the hissing fiends, stealing a moment to catch his breath. He hadn¡¯t been injured, but he¡¯d been cut off from the Brethren. They were only a few dozen feet away, holding their own against the low-dwellers. Between them and himself, however, there were enough of the fiends to tear him limb from limb in a quick second. The dim light from the Brethren¡¯s torches barely reached him. He might as well be on his own. ¡°Shit,¡± he muttered again. He¡¯d been in some tight spots before. He¡¯d fast-talked his way out of some of them, cut his way out of the rest, and lived to tell the tale. He¡¯d somehow make it out of this one, too, but it got him thinking about his life. Maybe Fawkes was right. Perhaps it was time to start erring on the side of caution. Maybe- A low-dweller barrelled past his makeshift corpse shield, a damn big one, and his moment of respite was over. He drew his saber free of the dead low-dweller, raising the other to block the swiping claws of his new opponent. More followed behind the big fiend, eager to strip his flesh from his bones. Reiner had seen enough. He might as well use his ace in the hole now, before the situation devolved into something even worse. He reached into his sleeve and pulled a few clay pellets the size of his thumbnail. He leaped backward to put some distance between him and the fiends, then threw the pellets to the floor with all his might. The result was spectacular; each one of the enchantments held by the pellets went off at once, exploding with a blinding light and a deafening bang. All the low-dwellers flinched and took a step back, their sharpened senses overwhelmed. He channeled as much essence as he could spare into a Wayfarer technique, shielding his eyes from the blast with a gloved hand. The Antestep, he called it, as it let him side-step out of the world and into the Antehalls ¨C a liminal realm existing in parallel. He only had enough for a single step, but it would be more than enough. One step, in and out, was usually sufficient to take him dozens of feet away and out of harm¡¯s way. The world dissolved and shimmered, like the reflection in a clean pool when the wind brushes the surface. The dark and the fiends and the stench became faint, ghostly afterimages, replaced by the dimly lit infinite corridors of the Antehalls. Time stretched and stretched, a single heartbeat becoming a small eternity. Distant bells rang in Reiner¡¯s ears, and the smell of ozone and camphor filled his nostrils. He basked in the solitude, the sense of stillness and timelessness, and¨C Something was wrong. Someone was there. Someone was watching. A dark form, tall and slender, its face hidden behind a visor of pure ice-blue crystal. A single eye burned behind it, red like freshly shed blood. It was fixed on him, radiating sinister curiosity. Whatever that was, it wasn¡¯t supposed to be there. Nothing was. Acting on pure primal instinct, Reiner cut short his jaunt through the Antehalls and stepped back into the world. He stumbled in the dark, missing his initial destination by who-knew-how-many feet. Where was he? He couldn¡¯t see anything in the pitch-black darkness. In some vault, probably, or in a side passage. He counted his lucky stars that he hadn¡¯t ended up lodged in a stone wall. Now, where were¨C Ancient steel pierced his back and crushed his ribcage, big as a plow and sharp as a razor. Giant arms lifted him from the ground, raising him to the ceiling like an insect pinned to a needle. As life left his body, his thoughts went to his teacher. He¡¯d been a fool not to wait for her; He¡¯d been a fool to come in here alone. He didn¡¯t mind that he was dying. His had been the choice; his should be the consequence. It was time to pay the piper. It was only fair. He only wished she wouldn¡¯t come to look for him. He should have wished for something else. He should have known better. Then the silence took him, and that was that. Book One - Transient - Chapter 1 ¡°You know what? I¡¯m gonna say it,¡± said Aries. ¡°You¡¯ve had a lot of crazy ideas, but this one takes the cake.¡± ¡°Why does it always have to be harebrained schemes with you, man?¡± Packman grunted. ¡°Why can¡¯t we just do the sane thing?¡± Alex smiled and said nothing. They were right, of course, both of them ¨C which made it all the better. He didn¡¯t mind one bit. As far as he was concerned, he was in heaven. It was Friday night, he had enough money for takeout, the whole gang was online, and they were about to attempt to raid an epic-level dungeon all by themselves. Life was finally good. He quaffed a Potion of Rejuvenation to top off his health bar, checked his cooldowns, and assumed his position by the gate. This was their fifth attempt at the Attack on Greystone Keep final quest, and everybody had their game face on. All they had to do was to make it through this wave without losing any party members. If they managed that, the boss that followed would be smooth sailing ¨C or so Alex had promised the others. According to his latest harebrained scheme, they¡¯d simply lure the towering Raider Warchief boss to a side chamber they¡¯d previously trapped with all the explosives they could get their hands on. Then Aries would throw a delayed-blast fireball in there, close the door behind the boss, and wait for the big boom. That, of course, was easier said than done. They¡¯d practiced and finetuned their strategy a thousand times, but it still felt like something could go wrong at any time. ¡°Incoming!¡± came Packman¡¯s warning, and the game was on again.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Aries let fly a fireball at the first line of charging raiders, blasting a good handful of them to kingdom come and setting another dozen or so aflame. Alex heard her cackle through his headset and couldn¡¯t help but smirk. The sheer panache with which she played her Pyromancer class was something to behold. Not that it had made much difference. Compared to the oncoming horde of raiders, she¡¯d barely made a dent. Still, he had to give it to her. When it came to blowing things up, she was a pro. Packman used one of his bolstering auras to give the rest of the group some much-needed oomph, then rushed to meet the raiders face to face, shield held up. He was the group¡¯s tank, which most of the time meant he was the only thing that stood between them and a total party kill. When push came to shove, there was nobody else Alex would rather have watching his back. As for Alex himself, he was a kind of a wildcard, both as a player and as a party member. Admittedly, he didn¡¯t have Packman¡¯s head for tactics or Aries¡¯s fiery temperament. What he did have, however, was a gift for thinking outside the box, a +3 Black Knight Greatsword, and a full intent to stick it to the raiders where the sun didn¡¯t shine. As the first fireball-scorched raider got close enough for Packman to slam him with his shield, Alex had already downed two and was about to cut a third in half. He swung his heavy blade and pop went the raider, dropping a tidy little pile of loot. Alex gave it a greedy glance. Picking it up was out of the question for the moment. He didn¡¯t have a single second to spare. Two raiders rushed to take the place of their fallen comrade, and hundreds more were coming. ¡°Nice one, Alex!¡± Packman shouted as he shoved another of the assailants away from Aries. ¡°At this rate, we may even have a chance to-¡± Whatever Packman said next, Alex didn¡¯t hear. Someone ¨C a very heavy-handed someone ¨C started shouting and pounding at his apartment door, startling him so bad he almost dropped his gamepad. ¡°Alexander Rulin!¡± roared a man on the other side of the door. ¡°Police! Open up!¡± Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. ¡°Uh, guys?¡± said Alex, numb. ¡°I think I¡¯m screwed.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 2 Everything in the jail cell smelled like bleach, dust, and old piss¨Cincluding the painfully thin mattress Alex was trying to get some sleep on. Sleep was the only thing that helped him pass the time and forget how royally fucked he was. Given how busy and noisy the place was, however, even sleep was a luxury. ¡°Hey, Rulin!¡± a voice called from the other side of the bars. A guard. ¡°Wake up. You¡¯ve got a visitor. Your lawyer¡¯s here to see you.¡± ¡°Tell him it¡¯s my day off¡± said Alex, still groggy. The guard rolled his eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll just pretend I didn''t hear that. Come on, Rulin. I ain¡¯t got all day.¡± Alex was no mama¡¯s boy, but jail definitely did not agree with him. The cells were bad, the food worse, and as for the company¡­ Well, it wasn¡¯t exactly the kind of people you¡¯d expect to find at an Ivy League gala. What annoyed Alex the most, however, was the boredom. The sense that he was just sitting around with nothing to do but piss his days away, wishing he hadn¡¯t been stupid enough to end up in there in the first place. Well, if wishes were horses. His legal representation wasn¡¯t much of a ray of hope either. Alex didn¡¯t have two cents to his name to rub together, so he had been assigned a public defender, a sweaty, over-anxious muppet. Alex knew he was screwed the moment he first saw him stumble through the door of the visitors¡¯ room a couple of days earlier. The guard took Alex to that same room ¨C a depressing affair with worn carpeting, fluorescent lamps, an old table, and a couple of mismatched chairs. ¡°Your visitor¡¯s already waiting inside, Rulin. I¡¯m going to be right outside this door, so no shenanigans. Don¡¯t make me come in here. Okay?¡± ¡°Yeah, sure¡± said Alex, walked through the door, and took a look at the man sitting across the table. He wasn¡¯t the same guy as last time. No. The man sitting across the table was something else entirely. He must have been somewhere in his sixties, but still looking surprisingly strong and fit. He had iron-grey hair and a short, well-trimmed beard, and smelled of a rich, woody scent ¨C aromatic pipe smoke. Alex couldn''t help but notice the suit he was wearing. He didn¡¯t know jack about suits, but that one looked expensive. Dignified. Certainly nothing like the off-the-rack kind of monkey suit you¡¯d expect a public lawyer to wear. The other thing Alex noticed was his sharp eyes, and how the man¡¯s polite half-smile didn¡¯t reach all the way up there. There was something predatory in the way he looked at Alex. Not hostile, not necessarily; it was the look a bored, not-really-hungry-right-now old lion would give a deer at a watering hole. ¡°Hello, Mr. Rulin.¡± ¡°Uh, hi. I¡­ I thought you were someone else.¡± ¡°I am someone else,¡± the man said, and his smile widened to show perfect teeth. Under normal circumstances, Alex might have laughed. He might even have some wisecrack answer. Under normal circumstances. ¡°Do I know you?¡± he asked. ¡°I¡¯m afraid not. But I know you, and you¡¯re not someone who should be spending his time here paying for an imprudent lapse in judgment. My name is Grimm, Mr. Rulin. I want to represent your case in court.¡± Alex had no idea what was happening, and his first instinct was to act uninterested and bail out as fast as he could. Still, the man had a kind of magnetism he just couldn¡¯t off-handedly dismiss. He had an accent he couldn¡¯t quite place ¨C British-ish, probably? ¨C and the kind of rich, smooth voice of a professional voice actor or late-night FM radio host. ¡°Thanks, I guess, but I already have a lawyer.¡± ¡°That funny little man?¡± Grimm said, sounding amused. ¡°Yes, if you can call him that.¡± ¡°What is it exactly that you want, mister?¡± ¡°Let me cut through the proverbial crap, Mr. Rulin,¡± the man leaned in closer. ¡°Alex? May I call you Alex?¡± ¡°Sure.¡±The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Alex, I want you to listen. Really listen, because this is important.¡± ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡± He really was listening. Why not? It wasn¡¯t like he had anything to lose. As far as the law was concerned, he was already pretty much fucked six ways to Sunday. ¡°I want to make you an offer. It¡¯s the best one you¡¯ll get in here. In fact, it¡¯s the best one you probably will ever have. It will literally open you a door to a new life.¡± ¡°Look, if this is about money, let me stop you right there. I don¡¯t have any.¡± Grimm flashed him another amused half-smile. ¡°Remind me, Alex. Why are you here in the first place?¡± ¡°Credit card fraud,¡± Alex said, more than just a little embarrassed. ¡°I used a stolen credit card number to order a pizza.¡± It was sad, really. He¡¯d just lost his job that night, he was feeling blue, and just wanted to munch on some double cheese pepperoni and forget. There was this guy that occasionally gave him stolen credit card numbers in exchange for items and help with elite quests. Alex knew that using them was stupid, but he still occasionally did so anyway. Food and groceries, mostly, and only when he¡¯d run out of money ¨C small, infrequent charges he hoped nobody would notice. The pizza he got that night turned out to be the straw that finally broke the camel¡¯s back ¨C the charge that finally got him in hot water. ¡°I¡¯m well aware of the charges you¡¯re facing, Alex,¡± said Grimm, nodding. ¡°And well aware of the fact that you¡¯re, to put it mildly, flat broke. In fact, I know that that wasn¡¯t the only time you used a stolen credit card number, and I know you only ever used them to buy essentials. The whole thing has a desperate Jean Valjean kind of charm to it, if you ask me ¨C not that it will make any difference in the court of law.¡± Alex looked away, suddenly both uneasy and irritated. As if a man who could afford a suit like that would know the first thing about¨Chow had Grimm put it? ¨C the Jean Valjean kind of desperation. ¡°To return to your initial concern,¡± the man continued, ¡°no, my proposition won¡¯t cost you a dime. On the contrary, if you play your cards right, you may actually end up making some money. Real money ¨C and a hundred percent legal, too.¡± ¡°Go on, then.¡± ¡°Here¡¯s what¡¯s going to happen; you¡¯re going to plead guilty to all charges. The court will sentence you to a year or so of jail time ¨C an outrageous sentence, yes, but one you will be allowed to serve in a private penitentiary establishment owned by a party I represent. Minimum security, your own private room, better food, better everything. How does that sound?¡± Alex might be a college dropout, but he wasn¡¯t an idiot. His smarts were the one good thing his late father had left him. ¡°You gotta learn how to think, bub,¡± the old man used to say, and then emphasize that axiom by flicking his young son¡¯s nose. He never won any blue ribbons for parenting, the underachieving, Coors-Light-guzzling asshat, but at least he¡¯d gotten that right. The other axiom he had lived by was ¡°there¡¯s no such thing as a free lunch," and Alex had taken that one to heart, too. If something sounded too good to be true, it probably was, and Grimm¡¯s proposition so far had sounded like sweet music to his ears. Suspiciously sweet music. ¡°What did you say your name was again?¡± Alex asked, playing for time. ¡°You can call me Grimm.¡± ¡°Like the fairytale guys?¡± That made the man chuckle. ¡°Right¨Conly my offer is no fairytale, Alex. It¡¯s as real as they come.¡± ¡°So what¡¯s the catch?¡± Because of course there was going to be a catch. ¡°There¡¯s not much of one,¡± said Grimm. ¡°What you have to do in return is playtest Elderpyre, an immersive virtual reality experience. A game, if you will, though the marketing folks are strongly against calling it that.¡± ¡°And what will I have to do?¡± ¡°Experience it in whatever way you like,¡± Grimm shrugged and smiled, ¡°and let the party I represent collect data and use it to improve immersion. Anonymously, of course.¡± ¡°And if I decide to say no?¡± ¡°Then I¡¯ll shake your hand, clap you on the back, and wish you good luck.¡± ¡°Simple as that?¡± ¡°Simple as that.¡± Alex had to scoff. ¡°Come on, man. I¡¯m not stupid. Why me? Why don¡¯t you get some actual playtesters? Hell, you can even call it a beta or an early access version or some other crap and have people pay you for the privilege of testing your¨Cwhat did you say it was? Immersive virtual reality experience.¡± The man pursed his lips and stared at Alex, as if trying to make up his mind about something. Alex tried to keep his poker face up and stare back, but found that he couldn¡¯t¨Cnot at those piercing grey eyes, not for longer than a few seconds. ¡°Good point,¡± Grimm finally said. ¡°Let me be straight with you. This¡­ experience? It¡¯s special. Unlike anything you¡¯ve seen before. Every aspect of it is kept under wraps. Thing is, playtesters have an unfortunate tendency to blab to the wrong people, non-disclosure agreements notwithstanding. What can you do about it? You can¡¯t keep them under lock and key¡­ or can you?¡± Well, damn. It made a surprising amount of sense, Alex realized. Professional playtesters were paid shit, but they were still paid. And, if history was any indication, nothing spelled ¡°cheap labor, no questions asked¡± like the prison-industrial complex. ¡°Okay, I get it. Why me, though?¡± Grimm shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s not just you, Alex. It¡¯s a program.¡± ¡°Yeah, but still. Why me?¡± ¡°A variety of reasons. Trivial criminal offense, not much of a family, underachiever, college dropout, gaming background, and, to be frank, you¡¯re not going anywhere too fast. No offense.¡± ¡°None taken. I¡¯m used to people in fancy suits looking down on me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not looking down on you. Quite the opposite. Would I still be making you this offer if I didn¡¯t recognize your potential value?¡± Alex rolled his eyes and said nothing, still trying to act dispassionate. The fluorescent light flooding the depressing little room was making him feel like none of this was real. The smell of dust and old sweat permeated everything, assaulting his nostrils with every breath. There was no air conditioning, of course, and his own sweat was starting to make his jail uniform stick to his body. A couple of rooms down the corridor, someone, - a guard, probably, was shouting at someone else, though Alex couldn¡¯t make out the words. It was as if he was living inside the world¡¯s most depressing still life painting. ¡°I¡¯m afraid time is of the essence, Alex," said Grimm, not missing a chance to add a hint of scarcity and urgency to what he was peddling. ¡°You have to make up your mind fast. What will it be, in or out?¡± Alex let out a tired sigh and rubbed his eyes with his fists. ¡°It¡¯s not like I have much of a choice, is it?¡± Grimm smiled and leaned in a bit closer. ¡°Son," he said, and for the first time he sounded completely, totally honest. ¡°You always have a choice.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 3 Honest or not, Grimm had been right. Alex had a choice. It was a suspicious one, yes. The alternative, however, was to spend a year-or-so of his life in a cockroach-infested jail cell, probably along with a bunch of deadbeats, all because he was depressed and hungry and poor and stupid enough to use that stolen credit card number. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. In the end, Alex buckled. He shook hands with Grimm and everything from that moment on went as the man had promised; plea bargain, one year inside, minimum-security privately owned prison. He was to be transferred to his new place of residence immediately, by his very own personal chauffeuse, no less. A dead-eyed, vaguely Nordic-looking guard in her early thirties picked him up from jail. She introduced herself as Officer Carpenter and drove him upstate in an unmarked SUV that smelled like pine air freshener and disinfectant. She looked like a real cold fish, that Carpenter, like an extra in one of those Swedish crime dramas Alex¡¯s friend Aries liked so much. She didn¡¯t utter more than ten words during their drive, but Alex didn¡¯t mind. He wasn¡¯t exactly in a talkative mood himself. An hour or so had passed when Carpenter pulled up in the parking lot of what looked like a crummy old motel, just off a now-defunct stretch of interstate highway. Alex didn¡¯t know what a private penitentiary was supposed to look like, but this definitely wasn¡¯t it. There was nothing there to keep people in or out except a seven-foot chain link fence and a bored-looking security guard at the entrance. Apparently, the place didn¡¯t just look like a roadside motel; it was a roadside motel¨Cor, at least, it had initially been built with that purpose in mind. It was little more than an old blocky building given a fresh coat of paint; a collection of twenty-or-so boxy rooms, a few offices, and a cafeteria. There was also a small, overgrown garden, a few trees, a few benches, and some vending machines. It was far from the best hospitality establishments, but even further from the worst penitentiary ones¨Cand that¡¯s what really mattered. Still, the place was eerily empty. No prisoners, no guards, no nothing. ¡°Where¡¯s everyone?¡± Alex asked. ¡°It¡¯s off-season," Officer Carpenter told him with a straight face, as if that was the obvious answer to his question. Alex couldn¡¯t tell whether she was being sarcastic or not.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. She took Alex to the former motel manager¡¯s office¨Cor the Warden¡¯s Office, as Alex found out it was now called. There was nobody in there either. Carpenter sat behind the heavy oak desk, checked some kind of logbook, grabbed a key from a cabinet, and led Alex outside again. ¡°Okay, Rulin," she said in a flat, bored monotone. ¡°Welcome to the Happy Motel. Let me give you the tour. This is the yard. Those are the trees. Over there is the cafeteria. You can go eat there anytime you want. There¡¯s some gym equipment in the back, too, if you¡¯re into that. This is pretty much it. Tour¡¯s over.¡± ¡°Great tour,¡± Alex made an ill-fated attempt at humor. ¡°Where¡¯s the gift shop?¡± Carpenter stopped dead in her tracks, turned around, and got right into his face, all too eager to nip any signs of attitude in the bud. ¡°Okay, smartass. Let me tell you how it¡¯s going to be. Be nice, and it¡¯s all going to be alright. Be a pain in my ass, and I will make you regret it ¨C no matter how big or tough you think you are. We clear?¡± ¡°Uh¡­ we clear.¡± ¡°We clear, what?¡± ¡°We clear¡­ ma¡¯am?¡± ¡°That¡¯s more like it. Now let me show you to your room.¡± And just like that, she was back to her bored-looking, dead-eyed self. As it turned out, Alex would be spending the next dozen months of his life in Room 14, second floor, second door on the right. Carpenter unlocked the door and offered to give him another grand tour, for which he made sure to thank her. There wasn¡¯t much in there besides a bed, a wardrobe, an alarm clock, and a small desk. Still, he had a big window and his own bathroom ¨C a luxury he hadn¡¯t expected to be able to enjoy for quite some time. ¡°This is where you¡¯ll be staying. Keep it clean and tidy, and nobody will disturb you here. You can get out in the yard or go to the cafeteria whenever you want, just make sure you get permission first. There¡¯s a phone on the wall next to your bed. Just dial zero and you¡¯ll reach whoever is on duty. That door over there is the bathroom. I assume you already know how to use it. This leaves the casque.¡± ¡°The what now?¡± ¡°The casque. The VR gear you¡¯ll be using. Come over here and I¡¯ll show you.¡± She opened a small cupboard by the bed and pulled out what looked like a sleek, midnight-black helmet. Alex wasn¡¯t an expert on VR gear ¨C that stuff was way too expensive for him ¨C but he was certain he¡¯d seen nothing like that before. ¡°It¡¯s simple, really,¡± Carpenter explained. ¡°Just put it on, lay down, and press the button that¡¯s on the right temple. You¡¯ll figure out the rest yourself. If you need anything, just pick up the phone, dial zero. Just¡­ try not to, okay? Any questions?¡± Judging from her glare, Alex guessed the right answer was ¡°no¡±. ¡°Again,¡± she continued, ¡°it¡¯s off-season. If things get too lonely for you, you can always drop by the cafeteria and play a hand of cards with Bob there. You¡¯ll be doing him a favor, really. I don¡¯t expect you to be spending a lot of time on this side of things, though.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°You¡¯ll see soon enough,¡± she chuckled. Book One - Transient - Chapter 4 Alex had been living hand to mouth for pretty much his whole adult life. If he¡¯d known that committing credit card fraud would get him a free room and free food, he would have been tempted to do it a lot more, a lot earlier. His motel room¨Cslash¨Cprison¨Ccell wasn¡¯t much, but it was clean. The mattress had no broken springs and there was hot water in the bathroom. Alex found clean clothes, underwear, and towels in the wardrobe. They were his exact size, too. He had a long, hot shower, dried himself, jumped into clean sweatpants and a t-shirt, and lied in the bed with his eyes closed. For jail, it wasn¡¯t half-bad. Not by a long shot. The first thing he had planned to do was take a nap, enjoy the feeling of fresh, clean linens against his skin. God knew he needed it. After lying there and staring at the inside of his eyelids for the better part of an hour, however, he found that sleep wouldn¡¯t come. He was too curious about this unexpected turn of events, too excited. In the end, that curiosity won. He reached into the cupboard by his desk and pulled out the casque. To his surprise, it wasn¡¯t heavy at all. It had no markings or logos, no external cords or ports of any kind. It didn¡¯t even look like it had any seams, which Alex found to be the most suspicious thing of all. It only had a single big button on the right side, around the place where his temple would be. Suspicious or not, he¡¯d be lying if he said he wasn¡¯t itching to see what this game ¨C no, scratch that, this immersive virtual reality experience ¨C was all about. Taking in a deep breath for good measure, he put the casque on and pressed the button. At first, nothing happened. Just the pitch-black darkness of the inside of the casque. Then came a weird falling sensation, like the one Alex sometimes got when he was halfway to falling asleep after smoking a blunt. This was nothing like any VR experience he¡¯d tried in the past. Suddenly he wasn¡¯t in the room anymore. Hell, he wasn¡¯t himself anymore ¨C just a tangle of random thoughts and senses floating in a directionless void. ¡°NEW USER CALIBRATION," announced a vaguely feminine voice, resounding out of everywhere and nowhere at the same time. ¡°USER ID: PP-B-036. WELCOME TO ELDERPYRE, ALEXANDER RULIN. INITIALIZING SYNTHESIS MODULE CALIBRATION. PLEASE SPEAK YOUR FULL NAME OUT LOUD.¡± ¡°Alexander Rulin," Alex said, and it felt like his own voice came from deep underground. Not that there was a ground in that void, or even a direction of up and down, but the sensation was very clear in his mind. ¡°PLEASE REPEAT AFTER ME: ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE.¡± ¡°One, two, three, four, five.¡± ¡°SPEECH SYNTHESIS MODULE CALIBRATION CONCLUDED. SENSORY MODULE CALIBRATION INITIATED. TRY TO CONJURE THE IMAGE OR SENSATION ASSOCIATED WITH THE WORDS YOU HEAR.¡± ¡°Ready when you are," said Alex in his new, artificially synthesized voice. It wasn¡¯t perfect, but it was very, very close to his real world one.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°HOT.¡± Alex imagined holding a fresh cup of scalding coffee in his hands. ¡°COLD.¡± Waiting for the bus at seven in the morning, smack-dab in the middle of a snowstorm, chilled to the bone. The voice went through a series of words: sweet, salty, sour, bitter, stiff, too hot, too cold, painful, too painful, hungry, thirsty, and about two dozen more. ¡°SENSORY MODULE CALIBRATION CONCLUDED. INITIATING FULL BODY MOTION MODULE CALIBRATION. TOUCH THE FINGERTIPS OF YOUR LEFT HAND WITH THE RESPECTIVE FINGERTIPS OF YOUR RIGHT HAND.¡± Alex did. ¡°TOUCH THE TOP OF YOUR HEAD.¡± He did that, too. ¡°TOUCH YOUR SHOULDERS.¡± A couple of minutes went by like that. Alex followed the voice¡¯s instructions and touched his elbows, hips, knees, ankles, toes, and other body parts. As far as character creation went, this was the weirdest game he¡¯d ever played¨Cand he¡¯d played a lot of obscure stuff. ¡°FULL BODY MOTION MODULE CALIBRATION CONCLUDED,¡± said the voice. ¡°THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION. INITIATING AVATAR IMAGING MODULE CALIBRATION.¡± A male mannequin about the same height and build as he was popped into existence somewhere in front of him, making the void feel somewhat like actual space again. It was smooth-skinned, wore only a nondescript pair of briefs, and had no facial or other discerning characteristics. Then, as if an invisible someone had pressed a button, the avatar started to morph into an almost exact copy of Alex. It was a hair¡¯s breadth below six feet, just like him, and somewhat muscled¨Ca remnant of Alex¡¯s days as a not very talented teenage wrestler and kickboxer. It also had a tiny bit of extra blubber¨Ca much more recent addition, the result of being a mid-twenties slacker. Dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, thrice-broken nose, sturdy jaw covered in the shadow of a patchy beard¨Cyes, it looked like Alex alright. ¡°IS THIS AVATAR SATISFACTORY?¡± ¡°Can I make changes?¡± ¡°YES, AVATAR IMAGING MODULE CUSTOMIZATION IS ACCESSIBLE AT ALL TIMES FROM YOUR PERSONAL SHARD.¡± ¡°Okay, un-break my nose.¡± The avatar¡¯s nose popped back into place, straight as the day before some asshole called Bobby Lutz had sucker-punched Alex after practice and broken it for the first time. Much better. Beyond that, he didn¡¯t want to change much. Character customization in games was a rabbit hole that ran pretty deep, and some people would spend hours upon hours trying to create the perfect avatar. Not Alex. Alex would always half-ass the whole thing and move on to more interesting things as soon as possible. Then again, in most games he¡¯d played, looks were just that; looks. In-game explanations usually stated in no uncertain terms that how his character looks ¡°only affects appearance¡± and ¡°has no bearing on ability,¡± but Alex had a gut feeling that this might not be the case this time. Maybe he¡¯d make changes later, he thought. Maybe a thicker beard. Or some tattoos. Maybe. ¡°Alright, looking good.¡± ¡°AVATAR IMAGING MODULE CALIBRATION CONCLUDED. YOU MAY NOW CHOOSE YOUR ELDERPYRE IN-GAME USERNAME, ALEXANDER RULIN.¡± ¡°Hunter," Alex said¨Cthe same username he¡¯d used in pretty much everything since he¡¯d rolled a hunter-class character is some Korean MMORPG back in third grade. Not the most creative, as usernames went, but it was now as much part of his identity as his actual given name. Well, the original username had actually been xXx_HuNTeR_xXx ¨C a big thank you to the original username unavailability and the atrocious naming conventions of that era. He felt his skin crawl with a kind of primal shame even thinking about it. ¡°H-U-N-T-E-R?¡± asked the voice, slowly and deliberately spelling his nom-de-joueur one letter at a time. ¡°HUNTER?¡± ¡°You got that right.¡± ¡°ALEXANDER RULIN, YOU WILL HEREBY BE KNOWN AS HUNTER. NEW USER CALIBRATION CONCLUDED. THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.¡± And, before Alex even had the chance to say anything, he felt the nothingness around him convulse. Book One - Transient - Chapter 5 Alex¨Cor rather, Hunter, found himself in what looked like an old-timey bar, complete with a player piano, a cloud of smoke hanging in the air, and a prohibition era, solemn-looking bartender. Everything looked incredibly realistic, and still¡­ just a tiny bit off. Like a left shoe on a right foot. The way his body felt and moved was off, the smells were off, the shapes and lines and textures of the objects were a little bit too clean and perfect to be real. Even the clothes he had on ¨C the same sweatpants and t-shirt he was currently wearing back in the real world, weirdly enough ¨C felt weird. Clinical, somehow. ¡°Still feels a bit wonky, doesn¡¯t it?¡± he heard a smooth, familiar voice ask. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll get used to it pretty quickly.¡± Hunter turned his head towards the bar, startled. There was a man there, perched on a stool and holding a glass filled with a rich brown liquid in his hand. Iron-gray hair, well-trimmed beard, tailored suit, smug smile. He looked less rigid than when Alex had met him back in that visitors¡¯ room. A good deal friendlier, too. ¡°Mr. Grimm," said Hunter. ¡°Fancy meeting you here.¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ll have to disappoint you a little. I¡¯m not the genuine article. I¡¯m just Mr. Grimm¡¯s engram, a more-or-less faithful representation. Come, have a seat. May I offer you a drink before we get down to business? Anything you like. It¡¯s on the house.¡± A drink? Not sure what to make of that, Hunter took a seat next to the man. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll have a beer. Whatever lager you got on tap.¡± ¡°A beer, he says!¡± scoffed faux-Grimm, apparently talking to the mustachioed bartender. ¡°Can you believe this one, Mort? I offer him anything he likes, anything in the world, and he orders a beer!¡± If the faux-Grimm¡¯s goal was to make Hunter feel silly, he had done a great job. ¡°I thought taste was a matter of taste," he snapped, but Grimm ignored him. ¡°See, that¡¯s what I like about you, Hunter. You¡¯re a straight shooter. Salt of the earth. Call me Walter, by the way. All my friends call me Walter. Mortimer, get the man his beer!¡± The bartender nodded and poured a pint of lager, which Hunter hesitantly went on to try. As it turned out, ordering something familiar was an excellent idea, faux-Grimm be damned. That way he had some well-established real-life experience to compare to the feeling of drinking beer in VR. It wasn¡¯t bad, either. Good old lager ¨C nothing more, nothing less. Just as it should be. ¡°You said we have business.¡± ¡°Yeah, well, it¡¯s mostly some legalese gobbledygook we have to go over. I¡¯ll just need a few minutes of your time, and then you¡¯re free to ask me anything you like ¨C though I can¡¯t promise I¡¯ll be able to give you all the answers you like. Does that sound good to you?¡± ¡°I guess.¡± ¡°So, Hunter," faux-Grimm ¨C Walter ¨C said. ¡°You¡¯ll be granted a free stay in the Happy Motel, our illustrious real-world establishment, as well as full access to the virtual environment of Elderpyre and a plethora of other perks. All that is required of you is to agree to the following: one, the software will be gathering data about your in-game behavior. That data will be anonymous, of course, and will be used as the developers see fit. Which mostly means it¡¯s going to improve verisimilitude ¨C how realistic and true-to-life the experience feels.¡± ¡°I know what verisimilitude means," Hunter said coolly. ¡°I might have dropped out of college, Mr. Grimm, but I¡¯m not stupid.¡± It was true. What Alex lacked in standard college education, he more than made up for with the tons of trivia, knowledge, and assorted skills that often come with practically living online. As Mark Twain had once put it, he never had let his schooling interfere with his education. If it was good enough for Mark Twain, it should be good enough, period. ¡°Of course, of course," said the man. ¡°Forgive me. As I was saying, improving verisimilitude is one of the main goals of this whole project. Do you explicitly allow Elderpyre to anonymously gather and utilize your behavioral data?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Hunter agreed. He didn¡¯t have to pore over the fine print ¨C he already knew the whole thing would be all kinds of sketchy, just as he already knew he would agree to it anyway. In for a penny, in for a pound ¨C another pearl of wisdom he¡¯d inherited from his old man. ¡°¡­and two,¡± faux-Grimm went on, ¡°there¡¯s also a non-disclosure agreement you¡¯ll have to abide by. Standard boilerplate stuff. This means that you may not share any specific details or information about Elderpyre, either publicly or privately. Share anything you¡¯re not supposed to, and a horde of lawyers will come knocking at your door. How does that sound?¡± ¡°Not worth the trouble,¡± Hunter said. ¡°That¡¯s the idea. What happens in the Happy Motel, stays in the Happy Motel ¨C even after your stay with us is concluded. Do you agree?¡± ¡°Sounds good to me.¡± ¡°Perfect¡± faux-Grimm said, satisfied. ¡°Now that we got all that out of the way, let¡¯s get down to brass tacks; the game, the experience itself.¡± ¡°Yeah, about that,¡± said Hunter. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of anything called Elderpyre, which is kind of weird, to be honest. I usually have my ear on the ground for stuff like that. Is there a trailer or something I could watch, or a FAQ I could read, a tutorial, or anything of the sort?¡± Faux-Grimm shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m afraid jumping in at the deep end is part of the deal, Hunter. There¡¯s literally nothing more valuable than the way players deal with unknown and unexpected circumstances, data-wise.¡± Hunter didn¡¯t like that, and faux-Grimm saw it. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll do just fine. All you need to remember is that you interface with the game¡¯s systems by willing things. Most of it will come naturally to you, but there are quite a few surprises to find, too ¨C so don¡¯t be afraid to try different things and experiment.¡± ¡°Uh¡­like what?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to spoil the joy of discovery for you," Grimm said with a smile and a wink. ¡°You¡¯ll see for yourself.¡± Hunter frowned, but didn¡¯t press the subject further. He had another question to ask, instead ¨C a much more important one. ¡°So, what¡¯s the goal of the game? I mean, the experience?¡± Faux-Grimm¡¯s smile became even wider. ¡°That¡¯s the beauty of it. Your goal is whatever you make it to be. Aernor ¨C that¡¯s what Elderpyre¡¯s world is properly called ¨C is a vast place full of possibility, kind of like a big sandbox. There¡¯s no main quest, no shoehorning, no railroading. Nobody¡¯s forcing you into anything you don¡¯t want to do. It¡¯s up to you to create meaning, in a way. Much like real life.¡± ¡°Much like real life. I¡­ see.¡± ¡°You probably don¡¯t, but that¡¯s alright. It¡¯s to be expected. There¡¯s a couple of other things we should go over before I send you off in the wild, so to speak. The first one is this place,¡± faux-Grimm said and gestured at the old-timey bar around them. ¡°This room is your personal Shard. Your home away from home, if you will, or your mind palace. If you bump into any trouble, you can come back here anytime and ask Mortimer for advice or help. In fact, there¡¯s a lot he can help you with, especially when it comes to managing your Shard and its functionalities.¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Hunter glanced towards the burly bartender. He looked as stoic and silent as any standard vendor NPC in any run-of-the-mill MMO he had ever played. ¡°Noted. And what about the other thing?¡± ¡°You still have to choose your starting class,¡± faux-Grimm said. ¡°Normally you¡¯d do that right after the new user calibration process, but there was the matter of the non-disclosure agreement that had to be dealt with before letting you see any content.¡± The man made a gesture, and a semi-transparent screen popped up before them, seemingly out of thin air. It was a menu of some sort, offering a choice among a dozen-or-so different classes. Some of them were role-playing game staples he¡¯d seen a thousand times, like Warrior or Sorcerer. Others were more exotic-sounding, like Lithomancer or Armiger. ¡°Go on, pick whichever catches your eye.¡± Despite his chosen nom-de-joueur, Hunter had quickly found that frontline bruiser characters were more his speed. He enjoyed getting creative with different builds and playstyles, yes, but there was something reassuring about knowing you could always rely on some good, old-fashioned sword and shield action. Still, he didn¡¯t want to constrain himself to anything¨Cnot before he¡¯d even had a chance to see what Elderpyre was even about. ¡°Can I change classes later, or is this a one-and-done kind of a deal?¡± Hunter asked. ¡°Excellent question,¡± said faux-Grimm, ¡°and one of the few I can actually answer in earnest. Yes and no. You won¡¯t have another chance to pick your class ¨¤ la carte like this, no. But you should also keep in mind that these are not distinct, rigid choices. Elderpyre¡¯s character system is infinitely deeper and more complex than that. These classes are more like¡­ origins. Starting conditions, if you like. They are the set of skills and options that are available to you from the get-go. They don¡¯t exclude you from a great many more to discover later.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Hunter said. He was glad to hear that. He¡¯d seen systems like that before. When done right, they offered an amazing degree of flexibility. He hoped this one was one of those. He liked the idea of starting with something he was familiar with, just to test the waters, and then move to more interesting options if he wanted to. ¡°Is there anything you can tell me about the Warrior?¡± Faux-Grimm gestured again, and the screen focused on the image of a man ¨C himself, Hunter realized ¨C wearing leather armor and wielding a broadsword. There was a short description of the class, too: ¡°A blade-wielding warrior that relies on brawn, skill, and steel. His innate grasp of the flow of combat is unparalleled.¡± That was it ¨C no stats or numbers or anything, just an image and a couple of lines of text. There was a certain degree of intertextuality here, Hunter assumed ¨C another Ivy-League word he knew despite his distinct lack of higher education. He¡¯d played a warrior in dozens of other games. He knew what it felt like, knew what to expect of it. ¡°What about the Armiger?¡± he said, picking another class name that had caught his eye. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s an interesting one,¡± said faux-Grimm and gestured again. ¡°Not for the faint of heart.¡± The image of the Warrior was replaced by one of the Armiger, a heavily armored knight wielding a greatsword. He wore a set of antique-looking full plate armor and a feathered helmet, both singed and marred by countless nicks and dents. Again, there was no additional information save for a short description: ¡°A follower of a long-lost order set on an endless pilgrimage. His ancestral armaments and martial technique are only matched by his unbreakable resolve.¡± That sounded like a variation of another familiar trope Hunter had seen time and time again. Whether they were called Armigers, Paladins, Crusaders, or something else, he¡¯d seen enough heavily armored knights with big swords to last him a lifetime. Characters like that usually sacrificed some flexibility in favor of raw power. Historically, they were Packman¡¯s first choice, not Alex¡¯s. Packman was all about reliability, after all, and these knight-type classes were usually nothing if not reliable. ¡°Can I see the class selection screen again?¡± Faux-Grimm obliged, and Hunter went through the class names again, unsure of what to even inspect, much less commit to. ¡°Analysis paralysis, bane of the thinking man,¡± faux-Grimm said and took a sip from his drink. ¡°Might I suggest something?¡± ¡°Uh, sure.¡± The man started to say something, but then pursed his lips and frowned. ¡°On second thought, I really shouldn¡¯t.¡± Hunter raised an eyebrow. Faux-Grimm pulled out a bag of aromatic tobacco and started packing his pipe, clearly dragging out the moment to create a sense of suspense, vexing Hunter. ¡°Seriously now? Either say it or don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Alright, I suppose giving you a light nudge towards the right direction won¡¯t hurt. Well, not that there is a right direction, per se, given the little speech I gave you a bit earlier. But this is certainly an interesting one.¡± He gestured towards the screen again and picked something called a ¡°Mystic¡±. Hunter the Armiger was replaced by Hunter the Mystic, a much more unassuming image of a man wearing traveling clothes. He had no weapons of any sort. The only unusual thing about him was a kind of sigil etched on the back of his hand, barely visible beneath the shadow of his sleeve. ¡°Seeker of secrets, striker of accords, keeper of forbidden knowledge,¡± Faux-Grimm read out loud. ¡°Living proof that insight begets power ¨C especially the inhuman kind.¡± ¡°Spooky,¡± Hunter said. ¡°What about it?¡± ¡°Depending on some of your choices, Elderpyre¡¯s system is designed to dynamically provide you with interesting opportunities at interesting times,¡± the other man said and lit his pipe with a long match. ¡°Much like real life does. Pick Mystic as your starting class and I guarantee you your stay in Aernor will be gripping.¡± ¡°I was considering something else, actually,¡± Hunter said. ¡°I-¡± ¡°Alex,¡± faux-Grimm interrupted him, staring at him with his washed-out blue eyes. ¡°Hunter. Come on, now. How many times are you going to opt for the same kind of character, the same class? Why not step outside your comfort zone a bit? Why not try something new?¡± For some reason, that struck a chord. Feeling like he was being talked down to always did. You could take a kid out of the bad suburbs, as it turned out, but you couldn¡¯t take the bad suburbs out of a kid. ¡°So you know what classes I pick in games, now?¡± Hunter snapped. ¡°Son,¡± the man said in a flat voice, ¡°I know what size underwear you wear. Of course I know what classes you pick in games.¡± He took a long pause and let out a small cloud of pipe smoke. It smelled like earthy tobacco and rum. A rich people smell. Hunter liked it. He hated that he liked it. ¡°In any case,¡± the man went on, ¡°pick what you will. I shouldn¡¯t have said anything in the first place. Pick Warrior. That¡¯s what you were going to pick anyway.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know that.¡± ¡°Oh, yes, yes, you¡¯re right, I don¡¯t,¡± Faux-Grimm said dismissively, drained the last drops of his drink, and climbed off his barstool. ¡°My bad. I don¡¯t want to influence you, so I¡¯ll be on my way. When you¡¯re done picking, go through that door over there. You¡¯ll figure the rest out yourself. I wish you nothing but the best!¡± Before Hunter could protest, faux-Grimm¡¯s form dissolved and faded out. Specks of luminescent dust danced around where his form stood for a moment, before they too vanished. Not five seconds later, Hunter was alone in the room, save from Mortimer the bartender. ¡°What an asshat," Hunter mumbled. ¡°He is an acquired taste indeed, sir¡± Mortimer said with a voice as rich and as smooth as velvet, startling Hunter. ¡°Don¡¯t be too quick to discredit his words, though. There might be wisdom in them yet.¡± ¡°First he says there¡¯s nothing more valuable than the way players deal with unknown and unexpected circumstances,¡± Hunter continued and turned to the screen that was still floating in mid-air, ¡°then he tells me what class to play and what not to. Asshat.¡± He went through the rest of the available classes more out of spite than anything else, but deep down he knew the damage was done. As much as he hated to admit it, Faux-Grimm had gotten in his head. After ten minutes of flipping back and forth between Warrior and Mystic and grumbling, he bit the bullet and chose the latter. A semi-transparent confirmation window popped up before him and he poked his finger at it as angrily as if it was faux-Grimm¡¯s faded blue eye. ¡°If you¡¯re done with choosing, sir,¡± Mortimer told him, ¡°I can give you your starting items. You¡¯ll need them before you venture out into the world.¡± The big man ducked somewhere behind the bar for a moment, then came up with an armful of gear. He handed Hunter a backpack full of traveling clothes, identical in fact to those worn by the Mystic class menu illustration. There were brownish-colored wool trousers, a matching tunic, and a shirt that felt like rough-hewn cotton. There was also a pair of leather boots and a traveling cloak the non-color of dust. Aernor was all about medieval fabrics and earth tones, it looked like. ¡°Do I have to put these on?¡± he asked the bartender. ¡°You do, unless you intend to run through the Weald naked and barefoot,¡± Mortimer told him matter-of-factly. Whatever that Weald was, Hunter didn¡¯t find the idea enticing. He jumped into his new outfit, which he found surprisingly comfortable, then took the rest of his starting gear from the bar¡¯s countertop. There was a tinderbox there, a mess kit, a bedroll, a small pouch that held a few days¡¯ worth of rations, and a few other odds and ends. ¡°Uh, Mortimer?¡± Hunter asked as he was packing his gear in his backpack. There were a million questions he wished he¡¯d asked faux-Grimm before he up and vanished. ¡°Yes, sir?¡± ¡°So, what do I do now? I just go through the door?¡± ¡°That is correct, sir.¡± ¡°What¡¯s on the other side?¡± ¡°The Weald, sir. I realize you might be getting tired of hearing it, but don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll see for yourself.¡± Mort was right about that. ¡°What happens if I want to get back here?¡± ¡°As Mr. Grimm said, sir, all you need to remember is that you interface with the game¡¯s systems by willing things. Maybe you should try that.¡± ¡°I see. Can I ask you one other thing?¡± ¡°Of course, sir. I¡¯m at your disposal.¡± ¡°What happens if I¡­ if I, you know, die out there? And for the love of God, please don¡¯t tell me I¡¯ll see for myself.¡± ¡°You will be transported back here, sir. It will not be pleasant, as it is to be expected, but you will find out that death does not function the same way it does on your side of things. Well, not for you, at least.¡± ¡°What does that mean?¡± ¡°Beg your pardon for saying that again, sir, but it will probably be better if you see for yourself. Though I sincerely hope you won¡¯t have to.¡± ¡°Uh, thank you, Mortimer. That makes two of us.¡± ¡°My pleasure, sir.¡± Hunter made a note of all that, although nothing made much sense to him, not yet. Yes, he got the gist of it; he¡¯d have to see for himself. A little anxious and more than a little curious, he got up and walked over to the exit. There was a whole new world out there for him to explore. Book One - Transient - Chapter 6 The door was just that; a door. It was made of polished heavy wood and looked kind of fancy, but other than that, there was nothing really special about it. Just an ordinary door. He grabbed the bronze doorknob and pulled it open, and¡­ Ah, shitsnacks. On the other side there was nothing but a wall of semi-opaque fog, churning and shimmering. Whatever illusion of verisimilitude the whole experience had held thus far evaporated real fast. Unsure of what he was supposed to do, Hunter simply held his breath, stepped through the fog, and hoped for the best. He instantly found himself falling through a void, once again just a handful of disembodied, jumbled senses. He thought he saw impossible colors ¨C colors he later found out he had no way of recalling or describing. He thought he heard bells tolling somewhere in the distance, their timbre rich and powerful. He thought he smelled ozone and camphor, their scent surreal and overpowering. Then he was underwater, with no way to tell which way was up or down. And then he was Hunter again, body and all. His face broke the surface of dark waters and he took a deep breath of cool, stale air. A notification window popped up right in the middle of his field of view, giving him a startle. Hunter had no idea what that meant. He simply willed it away. Faux-Grimm had been right about that part. It did come natural to him. It took him a moment to find his bearings. He was standing in a waist-deep pool of water somewhere underground. He blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the pitch-black darkness around him. The only light in the cave was coming from a vertical opening somewhere above, a crevasse that hopefully led outside. Hunter hated the dark. He wasn¡¯t afraid of it or anything, not in a supernatural kind of way, but he still found it a huge pain in the behind. People took light as a given, never thinking about it twice ¨C until they found themselves without it. Hunter had learned that the hard way back when he was in primary school. City-wide blackouts had been common for a year or two back then, and they¡¯d brought with them a wave of crime and looting that had people locking doors and boarding up windows from dusk to dawn. Whether it was the deeply rooted memories of those summers, or simply a matter of practicality, Hunter always picked races and classes that could see in the dark. He only had picked something else once, back in the day when he played Dungeons & Dragons with his school buddies. His human paladin had ended up being the only character in the party without Darkvision. He never made that mistake again. Ideally, he¡¯d find a way to see in the dark here, too. Judging from the class options earlier and his decidedly medieval attire, Aernor was a fantasy setting. Maybe he¡¯d be able to find a spell for that, or some kind of magic item. Or maybe¡­ Hunter opened his eyes as wide as he could, willed them to adjust to the dark, and¡­ Nothing. Nada. Everything around him remained as black as a stack of black cats. He was just about ready to feel real silly for taking Faux-Grimm¡¯s advice so literally when another notification popped up before him. Improvised. Low-Light Vision allows you to see better in dim- and low-light conditions, but not total darkness. Higher ranks increase vision distance and clarity. ¡°Now we¡¯re talking,¡± Hunter said to himself with an eager smile. He willed himself to learn this Low-Light Vision ability and the notification was replaced by a dialogue window. Do you wish to spend one Inspiration to learn Low-Light Vision? Your current Inspiration quality is 3. Warning ¨C Improvised abilities may have reduced effectiveness. Hunter didn¡¯t have the slightest idea what this Inspiration quality was, but in his current situation Low-Light Vision sounded too good to pass up, reduced effectiveness be damned. He willed ¡°yes¡±. Your Low-Light Vision has increased to 1. Your Inspiration quality is now 2. As it quickly turned out, a single rank in Low-Light vision didn¡¯t mean one hell of a lot. Everything still looked almost pitch black. The only difference was that he could now also see the faint outlines of the objects around him. Everything was framed in almost imperceptible lines of silvery starlight. For now, that was enough. He took another look at the place. This was no cave ¨C this was man-made alright. There were too many straight lines, too many perfect circles. He could make out a flight of stairs leading up and onto a circular platform a few feet above him, but that was all. The crevice was at least a few dozens of feet above him, and he couldn¡¯t see a way to reach it.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. He half-swam, half waded to the base of the stairs and climbed out of the water. His clothes and boots were soaked. Whoever had decided this would be a good first impression of this whole new experience had to be a total tool. Soaked or not, Hunter wasn¡¯t too eager to simply stand around in the dark. He climbed the steps towards the platform at the top. The floor under his feet felt like solid stone. Just as soon as he stepped out of the water, he felt it; a kind of vibration resonating through his bones, making him uncomfortably aware of the fillings in his teeth. It felt like the low hum of colossal engines running deep underground. What the hell was this place? Fortunately, the steps¡¯ silvery outlines made navigating the dark easier than he¡¯d expected. The Low-Light Vision had been a good idea after all. He was halfway up to the platform when another notification popped up. Your Low-Light Vision has increased to 2. Cool. That probably meant his abilities gained ranks the more he used them. Hunter loved games that worked like that. Raising his abilities felt more natural that way, more organic. Plus, there was nothing like a random little skill bump here and there to keep his spirits up when he grinded his life away to get that next level or that rare item drop. The outlines around him became easier to see, and he found out he could now see more of them, further away than before. There was a narrow, spiral stairwell that crept upwards, the slabs of stone that made up its steps jutting from the wall like teeth. They didn¡¯t prove hard to climb, either, and it wasn¡¯t long before Hunter had almost made it to the top. He stood just below the crevice and squinted to look at the opening above him. There wasn¡¯t much he could see from down there; just a shard of the brightest, bluest sky he¡¯d ever seen. Kind of hesitant to step out into a new, strange world half-blind, Hunter decided to spend a couple of minutes waiting for his vision to adjust to the daylight. It was also a pretty good opportunity to inspect his new self, he realized. His body still felt just a tiny bit off, but he was quickly getting accustomed to it. He was wearing his Mystic¡¯s traveling clothes and carrying the rest of his starting equipment. He went through his backpack to see whether his involuntary dive in that underwater pool had ruined his supplies. The good news was that it hadn¡¯t. Miraculously, not a single drop of water had made it to the inside of the backpack. In fact, it looked like it was considerably bigger on the inside, more like a big car¡¯s trunk. The bad news was that he was otherwise still soaking wet, and the crisp, cold breeze that blew in from the opening was quickly turning him into a Hunter-flavored popsicle. Half-blind or not, he needed to get out in the sun, and fast. He squinted a bit more, put up a hand to shield his eyes from the glare, and stepped through the opening. Just as he did, another notification greeted him. The view was so breathtaking Hunter barely noticed the message. The vista before him had left him speechless. As a big city kid, born and bred, the closest to nature he¡¯d ever been growing up was a park a few blocks down from his house. He¡¯d never seen such natural splendor before, save in old National Geographic documentaries. He was standing by a rocky outcropping on the side of a crag and his high vantage point was giving him a bird¡¯s-eye view of the surrounding land. There were rolling hills and thick woodlands as far as the eye could see, a sea of pines and birches and firs, of greens and browns veiled in thin mist and contrasted only by the vibrant blue of the sky above. There was something wild about this place, something untamed. And it felt so¡­ real. Even the air was different, crisper, purer, untainted. Hunter could hardly believe it all was nothing but a simulation, a stream of ones and zeroes projected to his brain. He sat down on a flat rock, took in the view, and waited for his clothes to dry in the sun. The crevice that led underground was all but invisible from the outside, even as he was standing next to it. Even the hum of engines, so ever-present a few feet below, had given its place to nothing but the sounds of nature. Hunter took note of the crevice¡¯s position, just in case he ever needed to get back down there, and looked at the sky. If Aernor in-game time was the same as the time in the real world, it should be nearing midday. It sure looked that way, too, judging from how high the sun was. ¡°So, if the sun¡¯s there,¡± he muttered to himself, ¡°that means east is that way. West, south¡­ and north must be that way.¡± Another notification popped up, seemingly out of nowhere. Your Survival has increased to 1. A new skill, simply from figuring out which way was which? Hunter was starting to like his stay in Aernor more with each passing moment. If it was a survival-type game, then the first order of business would be to find shelter. If it was already chilly outside this time of day, Hunter didn¡¯t particularly like the idea of spending the night out in the open and without a campfire. Fortunately, he was already on a high place. Getting a feel for the lay of the land shouldn¡¯t be too difficult. He scanned the rolling woodlands for points of interest, and three stood immediately out; a standing stone in the middle of a clearing near the base of the crag, a log cabin near a creek a few miles away, and what looked like a smattering of small buildings just beyond the edge of the forest, somewhere far away in the distance. He made a mental note to check all three, which immediately triggered a new notification. Investigate points of interest around the Brennai Weald. (0/3) Well, damn. Maybe that was what Faux-Grimm meant when he said that the player¡¯s goal was whatever they decided it to be. An automated, self-tracking to-do list? Hunter approved. Making lists of goals and milestones was pretty much the only way he could focus his motivation and get stuff done. When it came to slacking, he really put the pro in procrastination. Would there also be some kind of reward upon completing this task, like a quest of sorts? There was only one way to find out. The closest of the three points of interest was the clearing, so that¡¯s what he¡¯d go and check out first. Then he¡¯d head out to the log cabin. Maybe its inhabitants would be friendly and give him a brief what¡¯s what of this new place, or even offer him shelter. Maybe they wouldn¡¯t. It couldn¡¯t be a coincidence that the developers made sure it would be one of the first things he saw when he came out of that crevice. In any case, he should check it out. Nobody was rushing him, though, he thought as he stretched his limbs in the sun and stifled a yawn. He might as well take the scenic route, enjoy himself a bit. After his stint counting the cracks in the ceiling of a dusty cell, however brief it had turned out to be, he could really use it. Book One - Transient - Chapter 7 Climbing down the face of the crag proved to be far easier than it had looked from above. It was as if someone had sprinkled it with well-placed handholds and footholds ¨C which was probably the case indeed, Hunter suspected. By the time he reached the ground, he had barely broken a sweat. The view from down there was strikingly different. There were no sunny skies and rejuvenating warmth beneath the thicket of the pines and firs ¨C just cool shadows, only now and then cut by solitary rays of sunlight. Still, the place was teeming with life. From crickets to birdsong to the occasional rustle in the undergrowth, the sounds of the forest¡¯s tenants were everywhere around Hunter. Finding his way among the trees proved to be tricky, but he still managed to orient himself. That got him another two ranks in Survival, taking him to a grand total of 3. Not bad for a few minutes¡¯ work. Hunter suspected that improving his skills would get progressively harder fast, of course, but this did not detract from the satisfaction he felt every time he got a Skill Progression notification. He¡¯d been wandering in the woods for the better part of an hour when he stumbled on something peculiar. Just as he moved closer, he got another notification: You¡¯ve stumbled across an unusual place or occurrence. Your Serendipity quality is now 0. At first, Hunter mistook the tall mound for a misshapen tree of some sort and almost passed it by. Then the glimmer of steel caught his eye and he decided to get a closer look. It was a¡­ thing, for a lack of a better word. It stood in the center of a small clearing, a thick and overgrown mass of old bones and antlers almost eight feet tall. It looked as if an elk and a human had died wrestling each other and a column of briars had grown around their remains to preserve their mortal struggle for eternity. Lodged throughout the mass and still held tight in the skeletal remains of the man¡¯s hand was a long polearm, most likely the weapon with which he¡¯d slain the great beast as its raised hooves were cracking his own skull. Weirder still was the polearm itself. The bones of both the man and the elk looked weathered, almost ancient. The weapon, however ¨C a long single-edged blade on the end of a pole ¨C looked unmarred, as if it hadn¡¯t spent a single day out in the open. Now, Alex had spent the vast majority of his life consuming pop culture by the truckload; books, movies, games, you name it. To any genre-savvy person, the whole scene screamed ¡°cursed¡±. What¡¯s more, any sane genre-savvy person would retrace their steps and get the hell out of Dodge. Alex, however¡­ Alex was a special kind of foolhardy, always taking all the wrong risks for all the wrong reasons. They had a running joke back at his raiding party, one about what his gravestone would read one day: ¡°My dumb ass knew better, but my dumb ass did it anyway.¡± Case in point, his dumb ass did know better. There was no way in hell something bad wouldn¡¯t happen if he decided to disturb those remains and pull the weapon free. And still, to prove that silly witticism right yet again, he did just that; he grabbed it by the shaft, near the base of the blade, and pulled. In all honesty, he didn¡¯t expect to be able to free the weapon from the mass of bones and branches. Not so easily, at least. The moment he touched the shaft, however, it was as if the whole mound came alive and shifted its gnarly parts to let the polearm go. It wasn¡¯t so much a matter of strength, rather than of pure will. Hunter willed the weapon free, and the mound barely resisted. Acquired Huntsman¡¯s Glaive x 1. He¡¯d never held anything more menacing than a baseball bat before, but Hunter could immediately tell this was a fine weapon, sturdy and perfectly balanced despite its huge size. Its pole was a seven-foot staff made of polished dark wood, and the single-edged steel blade on its end was another foot and a half. In short, it was big. He had hardly held the glaive for a moment when a chill ran up his spine. It was a good thing that it did, too; he was so absorbed by the weapon, he almost missed the towering mound of briars, vines, and bones that was about to bash his head in. More out of pure luck than any semblance of skill, Hunter managed to dodge just out of the thing¡¯s reach at the last possible moment, tripping and falling flat on his butt in the process. Your Evasion has increased to 1. With a cacophony of creaks and cracks, the shambler started shifting into a vaguely humanoid form. It tore its roots out of the ground and braided them into makeshift legs, which made it stand over ten feet tall. The skeletons of the man and the elk twisted and shifted, too, forming long, briar-covered arms. The two skulls, now somehow melded into one, formed the shambler¡¯s antlered head. In its empty eye sockets Hunter could swear he could see two pinpoints of cold, primal rage. He rose back to his feet and picked up the glaive, which he¡¯d unceremoniously dropped to the ground. His first instinct was to get the hell away from the shambler as fast as possible. Other games had tutorials filled with rats and slimes to ease the player into the experience, but Elderpyre? No siree, no rats for you, fight this huge bramble-skeleton-nature-golem-hulk and be glad it¡¯s not a goddamn dragon. How was he supposed to fight this thing? He hardly even knew how to hold his weapon. Not willing to get smashed to jelly, Hunter bolted for the treeline. Hopefully the trees and undergrowth would slow the creature down. He¡¯d barely managed to cover thirty feet, however, when he realized that running through the woods with a nine-foot pole in his hands would be pretty much impossible. Still, he wasn¡¯t about to give up the first piece of loot he¡¯d gotten his hands on ¨C and his only weapon, at that. Dodging behind a tree trunk, he hazarded a glance at the shambler. The thing was closing in on him, a towering mass of briars, roots, and bone ready to smash him to bits. A fairly slow towering mass of briars, roots, and bone ready to smash him to bits. Hunter knew it was his ignorance of the risks involved talking, but just looking at it made him wonder¡­ could he take it, if he really tried?Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. His mouth twisted in a lopsided, impish smile. In for a penny, in for a pound. He was about to have another of his dumbass moments. The glaive had a fairly long reach; he could probably attack the thing from a safe distance, more or less, if he had enough room to maneuver. That meant he had to circle back to the clearing where the shambler had stood in the first place. Careful not to get his new and oversized weapon caught in some shrub or low-hanging branch, Hunter moved from tree to tree, always trying to keep at least one thick trunk between him and his pursuer. The shambler itself followed as best as its hulking mass and low mobility allowed, which was not exactly breakneck speed. So far, so good. Hunter stepped out in the open and the massive thing followed. It moved with a slow and steady pace, predictably going around obstacles. For a moment, Hunter thought he had the thing all but figured out. Then it cleared the treeline and things took a turn for the worse real fast. With no more tree trunks between them to impede it, the shambler charged straight at Hunter. Its sudden burst of speed took him completely by surprise. Hy managed to jump to the side and let it barrel past him, but it was close. Too close. Still, its now unprotected back ¨C if it could be called that ¨C presented an opportunity Hunter wasn¡¯t about to miss. He hefted the glaive and stabbed at the thing with all his might, putting his weight behind the blow. You attack the Ancient Shambler for 0 piercing damage. Your Close Combat has increased to 1. Your Polearm Mastery has increased to 1. Shit. New skills or no new skills, his attack didn¡¯t even make the thing flinch. That was¡­ disquieting. He pulled his glaive free from the thing¡¯s back ¨C he should be more careful not to get the blade lodged or stuck in all the vines and bones ¨C and took a few steps back. The shambler turned around, covered the distance between them in a couple of gigantic strides, and swung a massive limb aimed straight at Hunter¡¯s head. Testing the thing¡¯s reach, he scampered backwards and evaded the attack completely. Your Evasion has increased to 2. Seeing another opening, Hunter took advantage of his glaive¡¯s long reach and stabbed the shambler again, this time in its exposed flank. You attack the Ancient Shambler for 0 piercing damage. Your Close Combat has increased to 2. Your Polearm Mastery has increased to 2. Again, no luck. Maybe the thing had a high defense stat, or a damage immunity passive ability, or something of the like. He couldn¡¯t tell ¨C he had not the slightest idea about how combat and damage calculation worked in Elderpyre. Then it hit him; he was being dumb. Hunter had been trying to stab a mass of briars and old bones. How effective could he expect piercing damage to be against such a creature? Or any kind of physical damage, really? He backstepped even further, risking another charge attack from the shambler in exchange for a bit more time to study it and try to find a weak spot. Quite predictably, the hulk bull-rushed him again, aiming to crush him with the pure force of its mass times its speed. Hunter¡¯s brain worked furiously. It almost felt like time had slowed down. What could he do, besides futilely sticking the pointy end of his glaive into the damn thing? He could trip it with the shaft ¨C except he couldn¡¯t, the shambler was too large and heavy for that. He could aim for some vital part, like the eyes or the brain ¨C except, again, he couldn¡¯t. The shambler had none of those. He could at least try to hamstring it ¨C but it didn¡¯t have any tendons or muscles either. Or did it? Bones didn¡¯t move by themselves. Maybe the plant matter that held the whole thing together was what helped the shambler move, too, like a vegan-friendly equivalent of a muscular system. Still, what could he do? Try to spear each vine and briar and root, one by one? No, not spear, you numbnuts, Hunter scolded himself as the solution suddenly became obvious. You don¡¯t spear plants ¨C you cut them. And this glaive he was holding? It had a blade as long as his goddamn forearm! Ready to try something new, he dodged to the side again and let the shambler hurtle past him. Another notification popped up, informing him that his Evasion skill had gained another rank, but he barely paid it any attention. He hefted his glaive, aimed at the roots that held the shambler¡¯s knee together, and slashed at them with everything he had. Critical hit! You attack the Ancient Shambler for 33 slashing damage. You stagger the Ancient Shambler. Your Close Combat has increased to 3. Your Polearm Mastery has increased to 3. Tiffany¡¯s tits! That¡¯s more like it! A low, rumbling moan echoed from somewhere within the mound of bones and briars that formed its torso as the shambler flinched and lurched to keep its balance. It turned around to face Hunter again, but its injured leg almost collapsed under its weight. Already feeling bolder after the successful attack, Hunter didn¡¯t waste any time. He followed through with another slash, this time aimed at the vines that lined the shambler¡¯s elbow. Critical hit! You attack the Ancient Shambler for 31 slashing damage. You stagger the Ancient Shambler. Your Close Combat has increased to 4. Your Polearm Mastery has increased to 4. Judging from how the whole arm went limp ¨C and the quite obvious ¡°critical hit!¡± part of the combat log¡¯s message ¨C the attack was another success. The shambler let out another moan, took a big step back, then tried to charge Hunter again. With half its limbs more or less out of commission, though, the most it could do was a slow, awkward shuffle. Hunter almost felt bad about it. Almost. Even so, downing the shambler ended up taking Hunter a couple more minutes of hitting it with one debilitating strike after the other. The thing could really take a lot of punishment. It was a good thing it was so slow, or he could have been in serious trouble. In the end, it was a powerful slash to the tangle of vines that formed the shambler¡¯s spine that finally put it down for good. Hunter poked it a couple more times, just to be sure, and turned his attention to the notifications that had been flooding his vision during the fight. His Close Combat and Polearm Mastery skills had both increased to 8. Not bad at all. Come to think of it, handling the glaive had gotten progressively less awkward the more he used it, though he still had a long way to go before he could feel proficient with it. Gaining skill ranks was all well and good, but getting distracting notifications during fights and the like could prove to be dangerous. Wasn¡¯t there some kind of option menu, or at least a way to turn them off? Falling back on Faux-Grimm¡¯s advice, he simply willed the notifications to not appear before him anymore. Instead, he just wanted a small, subtle exclamation point icon somewhere near the edge of his vision. Or maybe a news ticker kind of thing. In any case, something decidedly less intrusive than billboard-sized pop-up windows cluttering up half his field of vision. He had barely completed his thought when the same icon and ticker he¡¯d envisioned popped up in the upper right corner of his sight. Intrigued, he willed his newly configured notification window visible. Notification text will now only appear on the upper right taskbar of the Heads-Up Display. Perfect. Hunter could really get used to this kind of intuitive controls. Winded and sweating like a pig, Hunter sat down to take a breather and try to reorient himself. The sun was already making its way past its zenith point, and roughing it in a cold and dark forest wasn¡¯t exactly how he envisioned his first night in Aernor. If he wanted to be anywhere near that log cabin by nightfall, he had a lot of ground to cover. Book One - Transient - Chapter 8 It took Hunter a solid hour of wandering around to finally admit he was utterly and totally lost. He was supposed to be moving towards that large clearing he¡¯d spied from his perch on the crag ¨C hell, he probably was supposed to have reached it already. Instead, he was no longer even certain which way was north. To make things worse, willing some kind of map to appear did nothing but make him feel like a fool. He was getting both impatient and frustrated. He needed a break, something to take his mind off things for a while. Tired, he almost considered calling it a day and logging out. Then he remembered he¡¯d been meaning to take a look at his skills and attributes and whatnot, and decided to stick around a bit longer. Most games had some kind of character sheet or status screen where all the relevant information could be found, and Hunter expected Elderpyre to be not much different. He tried to will some kind of character sheet in existence and a semi-transparent window full of neatly organized words and numbers popped up before him. Well, at least that worked.
Character Information:
Name: Hunter
Race: Transient (Human)
Class: Mystic
Qualities:
Aether 0
¨¦lan 10
Insight 0
Inspiration 2
Serendipity 0
The developers had really taken obscure stat names to a new level of crazy. There were absolutely no explanations available about anything, either. Hunter tried to will additional information to appear and failed spectacularly. Great. The devs had never heard that old UI/UX saying, he supposed. A user interface is like a joke; if you have to explain it, it¡¯s not very good. He¡¯d have to figure it all out on his own at some point. For now, a cursory glance was enough. He willed the sheet to scroll further down, and read the next section.
Attributes:
Health 100
Essence 100
Stamina 100
Strength 10
Dexterity 10
Intellect 10
Willpower 10
Presence 10
Unlike the Qualities on the previous section of the screen, Attributes were straightforward. To a veteran gamer like himself, they were more or less self-explanatory. Judging from the perfectly decimal values, he suspected he was average at everything ¨C the very definition of a baseline human being. There was still more to the character sheet, so he scrolled even further down.
Skills:
Close Combat 8
Evasion 3
Polearm Mastery 8
Survival 3
Abilities:
Low-Light Vision 2
Traits:
Incandescent Soul
Improvise, Adapt, Overcome
Perfectly Average
Mystic Sigil
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Skills, Abilities, and Traits were straightforward, too, although he wasn¡¯t sure what the difference between them was. He should ask someone about them if he got the chance ¨C Mortimer, maybe. So that was that, a snapshot of the man known as Hunter. With no additional descriptions and explanations, there wasn¡¯t much of a point in poring over the hovering screens trying to figure out what did what. Content for the time being, he decided it was time to log out. How long had he even been in Aernor? He¡¯d totally lost track of time. Too long, if his growling stomach was any indication. Alex woke up in his room in the Happy Motel, his body feeling stiff from hours of lying in bed. He went to the bathroom, took a leak, splashed some water on his face. He picked up the telephone on the wall and a bored-sounding someone gave him permission to leave his room and go get some fresh air and grab a bite. It was a bit weird, the whole call-to-get-permission thing. Did real prison work that way? Hunter didn¡¯t think so. When in Rome, he should do as the Romans did, he supposed, and left it at that. It was late afternoon already, and he was famished. The cafeteria, much like anything else in the place, screamed ¡°old roadside motel¡±. It was mostly empty, save from two men sitting at a table and playing backgammon. One was dressed like Alex was ¨C a convict, then ¨C and the other was dressed as a guard. ¡°Oh!¡± the convict lit up when he saw Alex walk into the room. ¡°Bob, look! It¡¯s the new guy! Come join us, new guy!¡± He sprang to his feet and pulled a third chair next to the table as the guard turned around and gave Alex a sheepish smile. ¡°Come, come sit with us, don¡¯t be a shy Sheila!¡± A bit awkwardly, Alex sat with the two men and tried to look friendly. The one dressed like a guard ¨C Bob ¨C was a big chubby guy with a bad haircut and a slightly confused expression permanently slapped on his round, honest-looking face. The other one was a pale, lanky fellow with no hair or eyebrows and the widest smile Alex had seen in a while. ¡°I¡¯m Humbug Hank!¡± said the guy and grabbed Alex¡¯s hand to give it a vigorous shake. His jolly voice had a trace of eastern European accent. ¡°You can call me Buggy, everybody does. This is Bob, Bob the Nob.¡± ¡°Hello!¡± said Bob. ¡°Alex. Uh¡­ nice to meet you both. I just got here.¡± ¡°Yes, yes, we¡¯ve been expecting you. Carpenter told us we would be having a new tenant at the motel. Not much of a welcoming committee, good old Carps, but don¡¯t hold it against her. Don¡¯t tell her I said it, but she¡¯s a good apple, that one. Not as good as Bob here, though ¨C Bob¡¯s the best. Just don¡¯t play backgammon with him, he¡¯ll straight-up destroy you.¡± Buggy went on about this and that, jumping from one subject to the next. Alex wasn¡¯t prepared for that kind of verbal diarrhea, but he didn¡¯t find it unpleasant. Bob the guard, on the other hand, barely said a word. He showed Alex the kitchen and where to get food, smiling and gesturing with polite excitement. Alex wondered if he was slow in the head, then immediately felt bad for it. The food was nothing to write home about. In line with the Happy Motel¡¯s general theme, it was cheap motel food. Tasty and filling, yes, but not exactly top of the shelf. Alex reheated some macaroni and cheese in an ancient-looking microwave oven, grabbed an apple, and went back to join his new acquaintances. ¡°So¡­?¡± asked Buggy as Alex was finishing up. ¡°Tell us about yourself. What are you in for? Don¡¯t worry, we don¡¯t judge around here. We¡¯re all friends. Parking tickets? No, no, not that. Jaywalking? Shoplifting? It is shoplifting, is it not? It must be. You don¡¯t look like the violent crime type ¨C not that we have violent crime types here. Carps wouldn¡¯t have any of that, no sir.¡± Was it okay to talk about stuff like that in prison? Did this place even count as a prison? Alex didn¡¯t have the slightest idea. He turned to Bob the guard, who instantly responded with a bright friendly smile and not much else. ¡°I was caught using other peoples¡¯ credit card numbers on the internet.¡± ¡°What? Really? They busted you for that?¡± Buggy¡¯s eyes went wide. The guy¡¯s mannerisms were so theatrical that Alex briefly wondered whether he was mocking him, but decided that wasn¡¯t the case. Buggy was simply a walking, talking caricature. ¡°They¡¯ll bust people for anything these days, I swear. At least I got it coming. I¡¯m in a gang, myself. Real shady shit, true gangster style, as we say. Well, I¡¯m not in the violence department, though. Carps would fry my gonads if I was and had lied about it and she found out. No, I¡¯m more of a support guy myself. Cooking the books and such. Street-level accounting. Real shady shit.¡± ¡°That¡¯s¡­ cool?¡± ¡°You bet it is! But hey, don¡¯t feel bad!¡± Buggy flashed Alex another smile and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. ¡°Yours is wicked cool too, just¡­ in another way, yes?¡± Friendly or not, that excited chatterbox of a man was starting to get annoying. He didn¡¯t want to be rude or standoffish and start on the wrong foot with these people, but if Buggy kept yapping like that he¡¯d have to perforate his own eardrums with his spork. ¡°Have you seen Aernor yet?¡± Bob finally said, changing the subject and looking both shy and hopeful at the same time. ¡°Just earlier today¡± said Alex, hesitating. ¡°It¡¯s a beautiful place. Enjoy your time there.¡± ¡°Bob used to be like us,¡± Buggy piped in. ¡°He did his time in Aernor. In fact, he liked it so much he decided to get a job and stick around the Happy Motel. Really helped me get my mind wrapped around the number-crunchy part. A real savant when it comes to the System, that¡¯s our Bob.¡± ¡°The System?¡± ¡°That¡¯s what we call it. All those Attributes and Skills and whatnot. Have you seen that monster of a character sheet yet? It¡¯s mind-boggling.¡± ¡°It is a bit convoluted, yes.¡± Buggy looked at Alex as if he expected to hear something more than that. Alex didn¡¯t know what. He didn¡¯t know if he was even supposed to be talking about these things, non-disclosure agreement and all. ¡°Oh, come on!¡± Buggy burst into motion after a few seconds of awkward silence. ¡°If you¡¯re too shy to ask, I will. Bob! Why don¡¯t you give our new friend here the old what¡¯s what, too?¡± Alex started to say that no, it wasn¡¯t necessary, but then he saw how Bob¡¯s face lit up at the idea. The guard ran off to the kitchen, then returned with a handful of chalk and a small blackboard, the kind restaurants and pubs use to advertise the day¡¯s special. He propped it up on a tripod, then started to scrawl. Bob¡¯s handwriting was the neatest Alex had ever seen, perfectly balanced between readability and calligraphy, each letter flowing perfectly from the previous one. Compared to his own chicken scratch, it was art. There was a sharpness and a focus to the man that hadn¡¯t been there earlier, too. After a minute or so, Bob had perfectly recreated the character sheet he¡¯d been studying earlier, minus the details and numerical values. ¡°Impressive, isn¡¯t it?¡± Buggy said. ¡°It¡¯s been more than a year since Bob here last set foot on Aernor, but still he remembers it all perfectly. He probably has a photographic memory or something.¡± ¡°Character information,¡± Bob read aloud, as if he was reciting a poem. ¡°Name: this is what you call yourself and others call you. There is power in names, so choose yours with care. Race: the sapient species you belong to, or the people you come from.¡± ¡°Yours probably is Transient (Human),¡± Buggy said, suddenly a bit more serious. ¡°The Human part is self-evident. Transient means that you¡¯re like a visitor to Aernor, not a native. You can log in and out and stuff.¡± ¡°Class: the character framework and template for the abilities and aptitudes you can obtain. Class is not necessarily restrictive, just the starting point for your character¡¯s growth.¡± ¡°What did you pick?¡± Buggy asked. ¡°Mystic. Walter told me it would be an interesting choice.¡± ¡°Who?¡± ¡°Mr. Grimm,¡± Alex explained. ¡°He told me his friends call him Walter.¡± ¡°Nobody calls him that,¡± Bob said, suddenly frowning. ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°His name is not Walter and he has no friends.¡± ¡°Oh, nonsense!¡± Buggy said. ¡°We¡¯re great pals, me and old Walt. He¡¯s one of the good ones if you get to know him a bit better.¡± Bob ignored him and turned to the blackboard again. ¡°A Mystic¡¯s main focus is their Insight,¡± he said. ¡°It reflects the amount of eldritch secrets and inhuman knowledge they have obtained.¡± That sounded right. There had been something about Insight in Mystic¡¯s class description. ¡°Seeker of secrets, striker of accords, keeper of forbidden knowledge. Living proof that insight begets power ¨C especially the inhuman kind,¡± Bob recited, confirming what Alex recalled. ¡°It is an interesting choice, friend. May it serve you well.¡± ¡°Uh, thanks.¡± The three of them sat there for a moment, Bob lost in thought. ¡°So, about that System¡­¡± Alex cleared his throat. He knew he wasn¡¯t supposed to ask, NDA and the joy of exploration and discovery and all, but he wasn¡¯t about to waste the opportunity to make sense of the basics, at least. ¡°Yes, yes,¡± Buggy piped in, ¡°tell him about the differences between Qualities and Attributes and Skills and Traits. That¡¯s, like, eighty percent of the confusion.¡± Bob nodded to himself and stabbed a meaty, chalk-stained finger at the blackboard. ¡°Skills, Abilities, and Traits,¡± he recited, ¡°are more specialized and personalized aspects of your character. The important thing is to learn to differentiate them. Skills reflect your aptitude when performing general actions, like fencing, or cooking, or spellcasting. In most cases, you don¡¯t have to pay any attention to them; they mostly work in the background. You learn and advance Skills automatically as you perform related tasks and actions.¡± Alex had already seen how Skills worked. Just grabbing a weapon and fighting the Ancient Shambler had granted him the Close Combat and Evasion Skills, and the more he fought, the more they gained ranks. ¡°Abilities, on the other hand,¡± Bob continued, ¡°are more specific. Spellcasting would be a Skill; a specific spell, Magic Bolt, for example, would be an Ability. You have to spend Inspiration to learn new Abilities, and they advance in rank with use.¡± As far as he remembered, Alex had one ability so far ¨C Low-Light Vision ¨C and it functioned exactly as Bob had said. It had taken him a point of Inspiration to initially learn it, but after that he became better at it simply by using it. ¡°As for Traits,¡± Bob concluded, ¡°Traits are like passive characteristics and descriptors of your character. Buggy, for example, would have the Alopecia Areata Trait.¡± ¡°And would be proud of it!¡± Buggy flashed his pearly white smile. ¡°Eyebrows are overrated anyway.¡± Bob went on explaining this and that and Hunter struggled to keep up and memorize the inner workings of which stat did what, but gave up after a while. He¡¯d always been the type of guy who learned by doing, anyway. ¡°¡­and this is it, I¡¯m afraid,¡± Bob concluded. ¡°Anything else, you will have to figure out on your own accord. It really is for the best.¡± ¡°Thanks for the explanation, Bob," Alex said and gave him the friendliest of his smiles. ¡°It really helped get some things straight.¡± Bob nodded and said nothing. The moment he finished his lecture, he slipped back to his shy and quiet demeanor. Alex was beginning to like this strange, well-meaning man. He liked Buggy too, despite the fact that he was loud and kind of obnoxious at times. The Happy Motel would be his home for the next year or so. It would serve him well to have someone to shoot the breeze with. ¡°Hey! What the hell is going on here?¡± Officer Carpenter burst into the cafeteria, furious. ¡°Bob, is this what I think it is? Clear that goddamn blackboard before you get us all in trouble again!¡± ¡°Hey there, Officer!¡± Buggy gave her a confusingly cheerful greeting. ¡°Shut up, Hank, you idiot. I¡¯ve told you a thousand times, no Elderpyre talk with Bob! With anyone! We have NDAs, for fuck¡¯s sake!¡± Bob rushed to haphazardly splash some water on the blackboard and erase the chalk marks with his bare hands and Carpenter turned to Alex. ¡°And you. You¡¯ve been here for less than a day, so I¡¯ll let you off with just a warning. You don¡¯t discuss anything Elderpyre-related with anyone. Not Hank, not Bob, not me, not your goddamn mother.¡± ¡°Alright, noted.¡± ¡°Alright, noted, what?¡± ¡°Alright, noted, ma¡¯am.¡± Alex didn¡¯t like to be pushed around, but in Carpenter¡¯s case, he suspected she barked so that she wouldn¡¯t have to bite. Like his mom used to do back in the day. She was technically right, too ¨C he shouldn¡¯t have been talking about Elderpyre. Not so openly, at least. Buggy and Bob seemed like okay guys, but it would be silly to think he could trust them right out of the box. He said goodbye, pocketed a few apples in case he would go hungry later on, and headed back to his room, eager to log back in. With his newfound cursory grasp of the contents of his character sheet, there were a million different things he wanted to try and experiment with Book One - Transient - Chapter 9 To his credit, Alex managed to resist the urge to jump right back in as soon as he returned to his room. He¡¯d have to be an adult about Elderpyre, for the first few days at least, until he had figured out how his time online affected his physical, flesh-and-bone body. He did some squats and push-ups, took a shower, star-gazed a bit, was shocked at how different the night sky looked without the city¡¯s light pollution, and turned in for the night. He slept like a baby. Still, by the time the sun shone its first rays through his window¡¯s blinds, he was already half-awake and itching to get back to Elderpyre, back to Aernor. He found himself in the exact same place he¡¯d been when he¡¯d logged out, which was¡­ fuck if he knew. According to his HUD and system notifications, he was somewhere in the Brennai Weald. That didn¡¯t say much. Judging from what he¡¯d seen from atop that crag the previous day, the woodland was vast. Looking for the crag to reorient himself was the best course of action, he decided. He couldn¡¯t have gotten that far away from it, though the canopy above was too thick to let him be sure. He had just managed to figure out which way was north¨Cno Survival skill bump this time¨Cwhen he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. He didn¡¯t have to look hard to spot what it was; among the greens and browns and greys of the forest, the snow-white owl was almost glowing. It was huge, as far as owls went. Alex had once seen a bald eagle, and he could swear this owl was at least as big as that. Its feathers were the purest white and its face was shaped like a heart. Its talons were huge, too, but it didn¡¯t look like it intended to use them anytime soon. It just sat there and studied Hunter with eyes like black pearls. ¡°Uh¡­ hello there.¡± Not unexpectedly, the owl offered no reply, save for a tilt of its round head. ¡°No need to get alarmed. I¡¯m just passing through, okay?¡± Again, no response. His friend Packman would have made fun of him for talking to a bird, but then again Packman wasn¡¯t here to see said bird with his own eyes. It wasn¡¯t even about the thing¡¯s size. In Hunter¡¯s book, anything that mystical-looking warranted good manners and a wide berth. He was just about to turn around and go on his way when the owl let out a hoot, its timbre deep and rich. Certain that it had Hunter¡¯s attention, it took to the air and flew to another branch a few dozen feet away. It made no sound whatsoever; if Hunter wasn¡¯t looking at it, he¡¯d never know it was even there. Then it let out another hoot, staring Hunter right in the eyes. ¡°Do you want me to follow you?¡± Silence. ¡°Okay then, lead the way.¡± As it turned out, that was exactly what the owl wanted. It glided from one tree branch to the next like a ghost, occasionally waiting for Hunter to catch up. Hunter, in turn, trampled through the tree trunks and the brush, anxious to keep the majestic bird in sight. He was simply too curious not to. Half an hour later, the owl led him to the edge of a clearing, then promptly proceeded to fly off in the distance. ¡°Hey, wait!¡± Hunter shouted, but it was already gone. Great. He took a look around him, trying to figure out why the bird had led him there. The first thing he noted was that there was something off. There wasn¡¯t an obvious natural reason for the clearing to be where it was; the pines and firs just refused to grow anywhere closer than thirty feet to the standing stone. As he crossed the tree line, a notification confirmed his suspicions. There was a palpable change in the air, strong enough to make Hunter take a step back. This was some kind of special location. No, special wasn¡¯t the right word. The right word was otherworldly. Investigate points of interest in the Brennai Weald. (1/3) Whatever this place was, Hunter got the distinct feeling he wasn¡¯t supposed to be there. The sounds of the forest suddenly felt distant and muted. No birds flew above the clearing. A thin layer of mist covered the barren ground. Each crunching footstep in the bed of dry leaves and pine needles seemed to echo out between the trees for miles in all directions. Hunter had never had such a bad case of the goosebumps before in his life, and it wasn¡¯t just from the sudden chill of the forest air. There were no weeds on the ground, no flowers, just a thin layer of mist. The border between the clearing and the rest of the Weald was clearly marked by a circle of animal bones¨Cor at least what Hunter hoped were animal bones. Some were ancient-looking and sun-bleached, like the ones that had made up the Shambler he¡¯d fought the previous day. Others were suspiciously fresh-looking. Hunter tried not to look at those too much. At the center of it all stood the standing stone, eerily dampening the colors themselves around it to drab monochromes. Hunter, of course, being Hunter, walked right up to it. The stone itself looked like a giant shard of dark rock jammed straight into the ground by some primeval titan¡¯s hand. There were lines upon lines of writing etched everywhere on it, letters and symbols and runes and sigils. It looked so heavily eroded, though, that Hunter doubted he¡¯d be able to make heads or tails of any of it.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°APPROACH.¡± Hunter felt the voice resound in his bones more than heard it with his ears. Its timbre¨Cif he could call it that, as the voice was more like a powerful notion than an actual sound¨Cwas ageless. Sepulchral. The single, massive word was permission and invitation and command all rolled into one. Hunter was transfixed. Without even giving it conscious thought, he raised his hand and touched the stone¡¯s rough surface. He didn¡¯t have time to even think. The moment his fingertips came in contact with the stone, he found himself thrown into a realm of spirits, a somber, dreamlike reflection of the clearing. A wall of mist rose where the circle of bones lay. Ghostly figures moved behind it, blurred but not concealed. And where the stone had been, there now stood a gigantic armored form, shrouded in gloom and seated on a great throne of vines, roots, old bones, and briars. ¡°KNEEL.¡± Hunter did not have to be told twice. He fell to his knees so fast he heard them creak, bowed his head in prostration, and didn¡¯t dare raise his eyes. It was not a conscious choice. It was barely an instinctive one. When one stood before a being like that, one fell to one¡¯s knees. It was how things always had been, how things always would be. You have become aware of murky realms beyond the ken of normal men. Your Insight quality is now 1. ¡°FACE ME.¡± He did. An inky duskiness clung to the spirit¡¯s huge form, mercifully dimming his umbral radiance somehow. He looked like a giant of a man clad in layers of fur, leather, and chainmail. A great bushy beard the color of cold steel cascaded from his face all the way to an ornate girdle. Behind the visor of his moose-antlered helmet burned two pinpricks of cold, calculating intelligence. ¡°TRANSIENT,¡± the voice boomed. ¡°YOU DARE COME HERE? INTRIGUING. YOU SHALL BE GRANTED YOUR AUDIENCE.¡± If Hunter was expected to say something, he did not. For the first time in his life, he truly understood the meaning of the word ¡®awe¡¯, that impossible, merciless mixture of dread and reverence. ¡°OH?¡± Hunter felt his glaive being torn from his grasp, pulled by an unseen hand and raised to the being¡¯s eye level. ¡°YOU HAVE BEEN ON THE HUNT, I SEE. A GOOD HUNT. VERY WELL, THEN. I OFFER YOU AN ACCORD. IT IS ONLY FITTING, SEEMING AS ONE OF YOUR KIND HAS DEPRIVED ME OF ONE OF MY MOST SKILLED HUNTERS. YOU SHALL SERVE IN HIS PLACE.¡± ¡°Wh-what?¡± Hunter managed to stutter. ¡°HUNT IN MY NAME. BRING ME THE TROPHIES FROM YOUR PREY, STEEPED IN THEIR BLOOD, AND YOU WILL BE REWARDED. FAIL TO DO SO, AND I WILL HAVE YOUR OWN. DO YOU ACCEPT? MY WORD IS MY BOND.¡± Every fiber of his being was telling him to turn to flee, but he could not. Hunter caught himself wanting to say yes. When one stood before a being like that, one did not say no. It was how things always had been, how things always would be. Hunter understood that. Hunter felt that. ¡°DO YOU ACCEPT, TRANSIENT?¡± That word, accord¡­ He recalled the description of the mystic class: seeker of secrets, striker of accords, keeper of forbidden knowledge. Was this one of those so-called interesting opportunities Faux-Grimm had mentioned? Was he supposed to say yes? Why not? What did he have to lose? ¡°Alright,¡± he said, and the accord was struck. ¡°I accept.¡± The words had barely left his mouth when he felt something shift within him, like the resonant rumble of tectonic plates moving deep underground. The back of his right hand burned with eldritch power and a notification popped up before him. You have struck an accord with a Great Spirit. Your Mystic powers grow to reflect its essence. ¡°YOU OF THE HUNT, BEAR WITNESS!¡± the voice boomed. ¡°THE ACCORD HOLDS! THE TRANSIENT RIDES WITH US!¡± The phantasmal forms on the other side of the mist wall exploded in blood-curdling cheers. Like hypnotized, Hunter rose to his feet, grabbed the shaft of the glaive that had been suspended in the air, and lifted it to the sky. The edge of his field of vision came alive with a cascade of additional notifications, but he barely noticed them. The presence had him completely transfixed. ¡°PRESENT YOUR PREY¡¯S TROPHY, THEN.¡± The cheers went on louder and wilder, but Hunter froze. Trophy? What trophy? He¡¯d taken no trophy! ¡°YOU HAVE BEEN ON THE HUNT. WHERE IS YOUR TROPHY, HUNTSMAN?¡± ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t have one,¡± Hunter finally found his voice. ¡°I didn¡¯t take any.¡± Hunter felt rather than saw the wicked smile that bloomed behind the presence¡¯s visor. He felt rather than saw its razor-sharp shark teeth, the gleeful malevolence it radiated. ¡°TROPHY OR NOT TROPHY, A HUNT IS A HUNT. A PREY FELLED IS A PREY FELLED. AND,¡± the voice said, ¡°AN ACCORD IS AN ACCORD.¡± Hunter took a step back and threw a panicked glance around him. Every hair on his body was standing at its end, every instinct he had was screaming at him to run. There was nowhere to go. The misty forms around him crowded the invisible barrier around him, cutting off all his escape routes. ¡°BRING ME THE TROPHIES FROM YOUR PREY, STEEPED IN THEIR BLOOD, AND YOU WILL BE REWARDED. FAIL TO DO SO, AND I WILL HAVE YOUR OWN,¡± the presence recited. ¡°MY WORD IS MY BOND.¡± The mist that clung to the ground rose around Hunter, thicker and more real than before. The phantasmal forms crossed the circle of bones and crept closer, a throng of ethereal apparitions, featureless men and women. They fixed their milky white eyes on him, opened their mouths as if to whisper something, reached for him with their twisted, translucent limbs and appendages. The antlered, armored presence rose to its full height, towering over Hunter, and fixed him with a gaze that pierced him to his soul. You have failed a contest of will against [???? ?????]. He tried to scream, crawl away, close his eyes, do something. He couldn¡¯t. All he could do was stare at the semi-translucent forms that gathered around him, frozen and numb. Spectral claws dug in his chest like hooks, tearing his flesh, stretching it like the world¡¯s most morbid saltwater taffy. A Mist Stalker attacks you for 14 psychic damage. A Mist Stalker uses Withering Touch. You are now afflicted with Paralyzing Fear. A Mist Stalker attacks you for 11 psychic damage. Hunter tried to scream again, but nothing came out of his throat except a bloody gurgle. The ghost-things tore deeper in his body with fevered hunger, ripping him apart, freezing his blood and lungs and heart with their icy touch. Above him, the great antlered presence oversaw the slaughter with eyes burning with cold satisfaction. There was another word Hunter truly understood the meaning of for the first time in his life, now: ¡®agony¡¯. Real, visceral, soul-breaking agony. There was no escaping these things; the only thing he could do was stand there stunned and scream in his head as they maimed and mutilated him, all under the watchful, merciless eye of their lord. Critical hit! A Mist Stalker attacks you for 39 psychic damage. A Mist Stalker attacks you for 12 psychic damage. Critical hit! A Mist Stalker attacks you for 35 psychic damage. You lost 0 Aether. You died. Book One - Transient - Chapter 10 Alex pulled the casque off his head and threw it away like it was made of snakes. Every nerve in his body was going haywire. His fight-or-flight response had kicked in at full throttle and now he was running on pure, primal instinct. The memory of the horror and the pain was quickly fading, but his heart was still beating like mad. It was so real! How could it be so real? He had to run. He had to get away. Alex bolted out of his room, startling Officer Carpenter who happened to be doing her rounds nearby. For a moment, they locked eyes. Then, quick as a cat, the grim-faced woman drew her gun and aimed it straight at his chest. ¡°Hey! Slow down there! Don¡¯t make me shoot.¡± Miraculously, Alex found the presence of mind to stop dead in his tracks and raise his hands in the air. Getting torn to shreds by ghosts was bad enough as it was. He¡¯d rather not get shot at, too. Carpenter got close, turned him around, slammed him in the wall face-first a bit harder than it was strictly necessary, and cuffed his hands behind his back. Alex didn¡¯t resist. ¡°Wanna tell me what the fuck is wrong with you?¡± she asked as she dragged him back to his room. ¡°Were you trying to make a run for it or something?¡± Alex forced himself to breathe. He needed to calm down. How was he going to explain that? ¡°I died,¡± he finally managed to say. ¡°I mean, in Elderpyre.¡± Carpenter rolled her icy blue eyes and visibly relaxed. ¡°Jesus Christ, already? Shit, Rulin, you must be even dumber than you look.¡± Her giving him shit while he was still in shock was the last thing Alex needed. Trying to calm down was just about all he could do right now. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Happy thoughts, beaches and sunsets. ¡°I¡¯ll remove these, but you better behave, alright?¡± He nodded. She uncuffed him and he collapsed on his bed like a sack of potatoes. They sat there for a while, he on the bed wheezing, her hovering over him and looking very concerned and uncertain of what she was supposed to say or do. A few minutes later, he was finally calm enough to speak. ¡°It was¡­ so real, you know? I mean, even the pain.¡± ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s a bitch,¡± Carpenter said and looked away. ¡°You¡¯ll get used to it.¡± Get used to it? His heart still hammered in his chest. His breathing was quick and shallow. He felt exhausted, and it was all he could do to keep himself from vomiting. Get used to it? Get used to what, being murdered? Carpenter checked her watch and frowned. ¡°Hey. You¡¯ll be alright. Look, I gotta move. I¡¯ll drop by later to check in on you. If you need anything, pick up the phone and dial zero. Just don¡¯t go all apeshit on me again, because I will shoot you.¡± He nodded yes. Going apeshit would require a level of energy he simply didn¡¯t have, anyway. He was dead tired, pun intended. She gave him one last look ¨C half concern, half indignation ¨C and left, pulling the door behind her and leaving Alex alone. For a while, Alex simply lay there and stared at the ceiling, processing what he¡¯d been through, trying to empty his mind. The thought of getting hurt in Elderpyre had crossed his mind. Mortimer the bartender had told him it would be unpleasant. Well, ¡®unpleasant¡¯ was definitely an understatement. He¡¯d never been disemboweled in real life, but he had a suspicion that it wouldn¡¯t feel too different from what he¡¯d experienced at the spectral hands of those apparitions. Who¡¯d have thought that the people who¡¯d made Elderpyre would take the whole verisimilitude thing to such extremes? Not Alex, that¡¯s who. By the time he finally mustered the courage to get up, it was already late in the evening. He was really thirsty, he realized. He couldn¡¯t remember the last time he had a glass of water, grabbed a bite, or used a toilet. He¡¯d have to keep these things in mind, log out of the game and take breaks.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. That thought gave him pause. Did he really want to log back in there¨Cback where he¡¯d just been killed? All the feelings, all the pain, all the fright was real. The shock was real. The trauma was real. He took a leak, drank three glasses of water, brushed his teeth, and went back to bed. He was getting tired. He needed some sleep. Sleep was good. Sleep was nice. A chance to shut his head down and do a soft reset after all¡­ that. As long as he didn¡¯t have any dreams, of course. *** Mercifully, Alex slept through the night like a log. He woke up at six in the morning, got permission from some sleepy guard on the other end of the telephone line, and went to the cafeteria to grab something to eat. He was starving. The cafeteria was empty this early in the morning, save from Bob the guard, who was hunched over a sudoku puzzle. He paid him no attention apart from a curt nod, so Alex went straight to the kitchen. He filled a plate with toast and hard-boiled eggs, grabbed a cup of hot black coffee, and started wolfing down his breakfast. Now that the whole death-by-mist-stalker incident was in his rear-view mirror and already starting to grow distant, he found out he was no longer shocked or terrified by the experience. No, his feelings were starting to change. Alex was starting to get pissed. How could anyone greenlight this kind of virtual reality experience? It was traumatic, sadistic even. Was it even legal? Wasn¡¯t there some kind of human rights legislation in place that prevented this kind of thing? No wonder they were testing it on inmates and had them sign waivers, those bastards ¨C whoever they were. This was some MK-Ultra level of fuckery. Fuck Grimm and his infuriating smile, Alex thought. He wished he could take a hammer to it, leave the rich asshole bloody and toothless. See how smooth and charming and persuasive he¡¯d be then. He was still there, hovering over his third cup of spectacularly bad coffee and getting angrier by the minute, when Officer Carpenter walked in. ¡°Penny," said the other guard, greeting her with a nod. ¡°Bob.¡± She grabbed some toast and coffee, walked over to Alex¡¯s table, and sat across him. ¡°Seat¡¯s taken," he grumbled, worked up by all his ruminating and kind of itching for a fight. ¡°Good morning to you too, Rulin," she said and took a big sip from her cup, not taking the bait. ¡°I see you¡¯re feeling better.¡± ¡°I wanna talk to Grimm.¡± She scoffed. ¡°Yeah, and I want a French croissant and some joe that¡¯s actually worth drinking, but you can bet your ass neither of us is going to get what we want.¡± ¡°This is bullshit. I didn¡¯t sign up for this.¡± Carpenter threw him an icy glance. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you signed up for. I don¡¯t really care, either. It¡¯s not my job. I came over to see how you¡¯re doing out of politeness. Seeing how you¡¯re being an ass about it, though, I¡¯m already regretting it.¡± Alex got ready to spit out a heated response, but decided to bite it back. Despite her tough-nosed act, Carpenter had been decent to him ¨C more so than she strictly had to. He had to give her that. ¡°Look,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry. That thing¡­ it did a number on me. There was this strange owl and this big stone monument in the middle of a forest clearing¨C¡± ¡°Christ on a cracker, Rulin,¡± Carpenter cut him short, rolling her eyes. ¡°I told you! No Elderpyre talk. You may not care about your NDA, but I care about mine.¡± ¡°Uh¡­ how¡¯s your NDA a problem if I¡¯m the one doing the talking?¡± ¡°Not the point! Anyway, look, I get it. It must have been pretty bad. You startled the shit out of me, you know, bursting out of your room like a bat out of hell.¡± ¡°Sorry about that," said Alex. ¡°Nah, it¡¯s alright,¡± she smirked. ¡°Looking back at it, it was pretty funny.¡± ¡®Funny¡¯ wasn¡¯t exactly the word Alex would use. ¡°Say, were you really going to shoot me?¡± he asked. Carpenter let out a short, amused chortle. ¡°They¡¯re only rubber bullets. They¡¯re very unlikely to kill you, but they still hurt like a motherfucker. Boss man won¡¯t let me use the real deal, no matter how much I nag.¡± Alex didn¡¯t know whether the woman was serious or just joking, but he made a note to actively try and avoid pissing her off in the future. He appreciated the fact that she was taking the time to check up on him, and she also seemed the wrong kind of person to get on the wrong side of. ¡°So, uh¡­ ma¡¯am? What happens if I don¡¯t log back in? Like, ever?¡± ¡°Nothing,¡± Carpenter shrugged. She gulped down the rest of her coffee and stood up. ¡°But what would you do, Rulin? Spend the day sitting around in an empty room? Playing backgammon with Bob over there? Knock yourself out, it¡¯s no skin off my teeth. But really, is that what you want to do?¡± Alex wondered, too. He left the cafeteria, took a walk around the grounds of the Happy Motel to clear his head, then headed back to his room and slumped on his bed. The memory of his recent death in Elderpyre was still vivid in his mind. Too vivid. He spent some time staring at the ceiling, the events that led to his death replaying in his mind. Could he have avoided it, had he been more cautious? Probably. He had entered into an accord with that antlered spirit, trusting that their agreement would be honored. Instead, he had been outwitted and killed. It stung¡ªnot just the death itself, but the way it had been orchestrated. Flimsy as the reasoning behind the whole thing had been, the spirit had followed their accord to the letter, twisting its terms to ensnare him. He had learned something valuable, even if it had come at a high cost. In Elderpyre, deals were only as trustworthy as the entities making them. He¡¯d have to be more cautious, more skeptical from now on. Just as he was about to drift into a fitful sleep, he heard faint footsteps echoing in the hallway outside his motel room door. Alex sat up, alert. The steps were slow and deliberate, stopping right in front of his door. ¡°Uh¡­ officer?¡± Nobody replied. Instead, he watched as a small piece of paper was slipped under the door, the motion careful and precise. Alex stood up, every muscle tense, and approached the door. He hesitated for a moment, then bent down to pick up the note. The handwriting was impeccable¡ªalmost too perfect, like a calligraphy typeface. The message was brief and clear: "This is not a game." Alex''s stomach dropped. He looked around his room, half expecting to see someone lurking in the shadows. He rushed to the door, yanked it open, and peered outside. The courtyard was empty as usual. Whoever had slipped that piece of paper under his door was gone. He retreated back into his room and sat on the edge of his bed, holding the note and reading it again and again. Unsure of what to make of it, he got up and cut a slit in the underside of his mattress with a flimsy pair of nail clippers he found in the bathroom cabinet. He carefully folded the note and slid it in there, ensuring it remained hidden but accessible. This was not a game? Yeah. No kidding. Book One - Transient - Chapter 11a Half a day ¨C that¡¯s how much it took him to pick the casque up from the floor and log into Elderpyre again, note or no note. It was like the room itself was designed to be boring. There was nothing to do in there but stare at the ceiling, nothing to watch, nothing to read. For someone who¡¯d spent pretty much every day of his life staring at one screen or another and consuming media, sitting around and doing nothing was torture. He could hardly believe it himself, but he¡¯d rather take his chances with the mist stalkers than spend another hour twiddling his thumbs. Logging back in the game, Alex ¨C well, Hunter ¨C found himself back in that old-timey bar he¡¯d met with Faux-Grimm the previous day. Everything was just as he remembered it; the player piano was playing some chipper tune from the Roaring ¡®20s, the air was filled with smoke, and Mortimer the bartender was behind his bar, wiping glasses squeaky clean. Faux-Grimm, however, was nowhere to be seen. ¡°Hey there, Mortimer.¡± ¡°Welcome back, Mr. Hunter," said the man in the solemn, slightly dissociated tone you¡¯d expect from a high-end bartender. Or an NPC. ¡°How about another pint of that lager?¡± ¡°No, not today, thanks.¡± ¡°Trouble, sir?¡± ¡°You could say that. It seems I managed to get myself killed.¡± ¡°Ah, I see. Maybe something stiffer, then?¡± ¡°No, thank you. It would be great if I could ask you a few things, though.¡± ¡°I¡¯m always happy to help to the best of my ability, sir.¡± Hunter climbed on a barstool, leaned against the bar¡¯s polished wood, and started massaging his temples. He had no idea where to begin ¨C so he began at the obvious. ¡°Why did I end up back here again?¡± Mortimer seemed genuinely surprised by the question ¨C something that actually managed to put a dent in his air of immaculate, impassionate professionalism. ¡°Why, this is your private Shard, sir. Your very own mind palace, as Master Grimm likes to refer to it. You can always return here whenever you wish to take a breather from your travels.¡± That actually made sense, now that Hunter thought about it. Many games had a hub, a place for the player to use as a base of operations. This old-timey bar was his own, apparently. Not his first choice, as style went, but he had to admit it had character. ¡°Mortimer?¡± ¡°Yes, sir?¡± ¡°Can I ask you something?¡± ¡°Of course, sir.¡± ¡°Is this a game?¡± The bartender paused, giving Hunter a measured look. ¡°It''s definitely not a game, sir. Not a such. It''s a very realistic, immersive experience.¡± Hunter frowned. ¡°You know, someone slipped me a piece of paper saying that¡ªthis is not a game.¡± ¡°Any suspicions, sir?¡± ¡°No idea. What does it mean, this is not a game?¡± ¡°It could be some interested party trying to tell you to be mindful of the consequences of your actions, sir,¡± the barman said as he put a tall glass of cold water before Hunter, ¡°without risking getting caught violating their non-disclosure agreement.¡± Hunter gave it some thought. That was a plausible explanation. Maybe the most plausible. ¡°In regard to your recent and unfortunate downfall," Mort went on, ¡°may I suggest you not get disheartened? Take a closer look at your character sheet instead. Figure out your strengths and weaknesses. You will find that persevering and improving oneself is almost always the key to overcoming adversity.¡± ¡°You know what? That¡¯s not a bad idea. And maybe I¡¯ll have that beer, too. It¡¯s five o¡¯clock somewhere.¡± Hunter pulled up his character sheet and took a closer look, this time armed with Bob¡¯s explanation of what was what. As far as he could tell, the most direct way to improve himself was to upgrade his Attributes. Those upgrades, however, started at one hundred Aether a pop, and only increased from there. As things were, he had exactly zero of that. His other choice would be to learn some new Skills, just as he¡¯d learned Low-Light Vision. Learning new Skills cost Inspiration, of which he still had two of the three points he¡¯d started the game with. When it came to resources in games ¨C stat points, skill points, healing items, consumables, you name it ¨C there were two types of players. The first type was the hoarders ¨C players who¡¯d hold on to everything and not spend a single skill point for fear of making the wrong choice. Hunter had always been the second type ¨C the ¡°upgrade now, ask questions later¡± kind of player. In most games, after all, there usually was a way to reset his character and revisit his choices. Holding on to unallocated upgrade points and unspent resources was not only boring ¨C it was actively suboptimal. In Elderpyre, however, he had no way to know whether he¡¯d get a chance to respect and reallocate his upgrades and whatnot. ¡°Hey, Mortimer. Do I get a do-over once I spend Aether and Inspiration and the like? Do I get the chance to redistribute them later if I change my mind?¡± The bartender frowned for a second. ¡°There are ways, but they are rare and difficult to come by, and come at a great cost. So no, generally you do not.¡± Well, that sucked. Hunter briefly considered holding on to his Inspiration and waiting until he could learn more about his options. He didn¡¯t even know whether Inspiration was something he could routinely gain as he progressed through the game, or whether it was super rare and worth hoarding. In the end, however, he knew that kind of restraint wouldn¡¯t last long. He¡¯d already spent one point of Inspiration and hadn¡¯t regretted it. The other two he still had were burning a hole in his pocket. He¡¯d gotten a ton of system notifications during his brief but horrifying encounter at the standing stone, he remembered. He¡¯d been too busy getting murdered to death to pay any attention to them at the time. He¡¯d even gained a point of Insight, which supposedly was very important for Mystics. He grabbed the beer Mortimer had served him, took a generous gulp, and pulled up the log of notifications. Most of them were a grisly, beat-by-beat chronicle of his death at the specters¡¯ hands. Hunter scrolled past those as fast as he could and skipped to the notifications before that. As it turned out, gaining that point of Insight and striking an accord with the antlered spirit really had its upsides, too. Make Contact allows you to tap into your Insight quality and commune with a spiritual being or place of power. Higher ranks increase the chance of success and reduce risks. Mystic¡¯s Eye allows you to tap into your Insight quality and glean information about an item, a creature, your surroundings, or even a piece of lore. Higher ranks reveal obscure knowledge with increased rates of success and less intense side effects. Using a Mystic¡¯s Lens further increases the effectiveness and decreases the side effects depending on the lens¡¯s quality. Conjure Familiar allows you tap into your Insight quality and form a bond with a spirit of aether, which takes the form of an animal companion. Higher ranks strengthen the bond and allow the use of more advanced familiar abilities. Eldritch Power allows you to tap into your Insight quality and attack your foes with eldritch magic. Higher ranks grant access to additional forms of magical attacks.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. Now we¡¯re talking, Hunter thought, dazzled by the ton of new options splayed before him. He went through the descriptions one-by-one, exploring and weighing his options. Make Contact, the first one on the list, sounded really cool on paper. In practice, however, he had to learn more about the world around him to be able to make an informed decision. He didn¡¯t like to stockpile his ability points, yes, but he didn¡¯t want to end up with a marginally useless ability either. Plus, that ¡°reduce risks¡± part at the end of the description somehow gave him the impression that making contact with spiritual beings and the like was a bit more complicated than hitting them up and saying howdy. Mystic¡¯s Eye, on the other hand, sounded perfect for his situation. It was versatile, too; the description stated in no uncertain terms that it could be used to gain information about items, creatures, the users¡¯ surroundings, and more. Again, this sounded like a gamble. It could prove to be invaluable, or it could prove to be a glorified Inspect-type Ability. The description mentioned some kind of side effects, too, as well as something called a Mystic¡¯s Lens. Too many moving parts for Hunter¡¯s taste, but then again having a reliable source of information could prove invaluable. Moving on, Conjure Familiar sounded both like a safe choice and a gamble. There was no mention of risks or side effects there. Its usefulness probably depended on said familiar¡¯s kind and abilities, and the description didn¡¯t offer a whole lot of information on those. He¡¯d seen people do some very interesting stuff with familiars in Dungeons and Dragons, but in Elderpyre, his mileage might vary. As for Eldritch Power, well¡­ For many, Eldritch Power would be the obvious choice. Not for Hunter, though. In almost every game he had ever played, he had chosen the up-close-and-personal playstyle warrior classes offered. He wasn¡¯t above picking a magical ability or two to complement his build, but Eldritch Power sounded more of a full-time spellcaster thing ¨C which was to say, not something that Hunter usually enjoyed. In the end, Hunter went on and spent his remaining Inspiration on Mystic¡¯s Eye and Conjure Familiar. The first because, as the saying went, knowledge is power. Wasn¡¯t that the whole point of being a Mystic? The second because Hunter had grown up consuming a rich diet of Pok¨¦mon-related media. Having a magical pet follow him around sounded like too much fun to pass up. Your Mystic¡¯s Eye has increased to 1. Your Inspiration quality is now 1. Your Conjure Familiar has increased to 1. Your Inspiration quality is now 0. Much like when he¡¯d learned Low-Light Vision, Hunter instantly became aware of a newfound innate understanding of his new abilities. To his surprise, Mystic¡¯s Eye was even more useful than he had anticipated. Besides items, creatures, and the like, he could also focus its knowledge-revealing effect on game terms, general concepts, or even other skills and abilities. It felt like a search engine and knowledge base had a magical baby, and that baby had now taken up permanent residence in his head. Eager to try it, he used it on his other new skill, Conjure Familiar. Something came alive on the back of his right hand ¨C his Mystic Sigil, invisible up until then. It was a circle of black script, neatly forming the words ¡®Scientia Potentia Est¡¯, whatever that meant. Shivers ran up his spine as a coldness seeped into him and tugged at something behind his eyeballs. His essence, he realized. Knowledge flooded his mind out of nowhere, hitting him like a sudden slap in the face. It was unpleasant, painful, like saltwater and copper burning his sinuses from the inside. ¡°Motherf-!¡± he groaned, too numb to ever finish the word. Moments later, a string of notifications popped up before his eyes. Your Mystic¡¯s Eye has increased to 2. Your Occultism has increased to 1. A pact as powerful as it is simple, this Ability has roots as old as the world itself. The conjurer acts as a medium for a primal spirit of the aether, offering it the chance to manifest in their native world. In turn, the spirit proves to be a loyal and steadfast companion. A familiar and its conjurer share a telepathic bond, as well as many of its animal form¡¯s unique abilities. The description went on to list a couple dozen animal forms the familiar could assume, as well as their advantages and abilities. Most of them were small critters, no larger than a housecat. Some of them were birds. Hunter ended up choosing the Twin Ravens. According to the Mystic¡¯s Eye, they could become the conjurer¡¯s eyes and ears, proving to be excellent scouts and spies. Plus, they were two-for-one ¨C and, as hundreds of funny animal videos he¡¯d watched on YouTube over the years, corvids were among the smartest animals on the planet. Unlike using his Mystic¡¯s Eye ability, conjuring a familiar was by no means instantaneous. It required a ritual that, despite not being complicated, would take Hunter some time. He¡¯d have to leave his Shard to cast it and considered focusing his efforts on finding his bearings in the forest instead, but quickly changed his mind. If two pairs of eyes in the sky couldn¡¯t help him figure out where the hell he was, nothing could. First things first, though, he had other immediate priorities ¨C like getting back to Aernor. Would he reappear at the same spot? He sure as hell hoped not. The idea of getting spawn-camped by those wraiths was enough to instantly make his butt clench. ¡°Mortimer? How can I get back to¡­ well, back to where I was?¡± ¡°That is simple, sir. Simply use the exit over there, and it will take you back to your last position. Or, in your current situation, back to the Place of Power you¡¯re anchored to.¡± ¡°Uh¡­ I did not understand any of that.¡± ¡°Your existence in this world is anchored to Places of Power¡± Mortimer explained. ¡°Right now it is anchored to a Place of Power in a location called Kiln PP-B-036. Since you recently met your temporary demise, stepping through the door will take you there instead of your last position. This may be mildly inconvenient, but it is a necessary safety precaution.¡± ¡°I see.¡± Most games Hunter had played had similar mechanics. Save points, check points, spawn points ¨C points of reference, in general. This Place of Power he was anchored to was, simply put, one such point. ¡°Thanks again, Mortimer,¡± he said, and started for the door. ¡°For the beer, too. I¡¯ll see you around, I guess.¡± ¡°My pleasure, sir. I literally have nowhere else to be,¡± said the bartender and returned to polishing his already immaculate glasses. ¡°Godspeed.¡± Hunter crossed the threshold and walked through the fog wall. Being briefly deconstructed into a collection of disembodied senses was just as jarring as the first time around, but fortunately didn¡¯t last long. Starbursts of impossible colors, tolling bells, and the smell of ozone and camphor overtook his being for a moment, but then it was all over just as abruptly as it had begun. A few seconds later he was back in one piece, waist-deep in the water at the bottom of that cave. <¨¦lan> You successfully make your way back to the realm of the living, albeit losing a small fraction of yourself in the process. Your ¨¦lan quality is now 9. Shit. He¡¯d forgotten all about the pool. Who the hell would place a spawn point smack dab in the middle of a pool? And what the hell did that notification about him losing a fraction of himself mean, anyway? There was so damn much to figure out, and so little hand holding. Wet to the bone again, he waded out of the water and inspected himself. He was feeling okay, no wounds or pain or anything. Moreover, he still had his backpack, all of his items, and his glaive. Good. At least he didn¡¯t drop his items on death. It was some kind of consolation. With his Low-Light Vision showing him the way, he made his way to the exit at the top of the cave. It only took him a minute, but it was enough for him to get a notification informing him he¡¯d gained another Skill rank. Your Low-Light Vision has increased to 3. Just like he¡¯d done the first time around, Hunter sat down in the sun and waited for his clothes to dry a bit before making his way into the forest. This time around, he¡¯d follow a different path; he¡¯d avoid the clearing and the standing stone altogether, and he¡¯d try to make it straight to the log cabin. From his vantage point up there on the crag, it didn¡¯t look too difficult. If he found his way to the creek, all he had to do was follow it downstream. The base of the crag was as good a spot as any, so Hunter decided to get started on that Conjure Familiar ritual. As if following instructions streamed directly in the back of his mind, Hunter found a flat and bare patch of ground, picked up a stick, and went on to etch a conjuration circle in the dirt. He¡¯d never even seen one before, but he could almost see it etched into his brain every time he closed his eyes and thought about it: runes and sigils, occult symbols with triangles around them and curlicues over them, special circles to hold the whole thing together¡­ two or three of those, overlapping for extra strength. In the beginning, Hunter was unsure of what he was doing. A couple of minutes in, however, he just stopped thinking and let the coldness seeping into him take over completely. He braced himself for another shock of copper and saltwater, but this time it never came. Maybe that was the side-effect mentioned in the description for Mystic¡¯s Eye, and not something that happened with every Ability. He certainly hoped it was, because it really, really sucked. For the better part of five minutes, Hunter drew and carved and etched as if his life depended on it, relying on pure, primal instinct. It had to be just right. No ¨C more than just right; it had to be perfect. He knew his work was almost done when he felt an invisible energy ¨C his essence ¨C pour out of him and slowly fill the lines and shapes and curves of the conjuration circle, bringing it to life. When it was finally complete, he touched it with his mind and sent out some kind of wordless message, infinitely short and infinitely complex and infinitely inhuman. Someone ¨C something ¨C responded. A deal was struck. A pact was sealed. Power washed over him, and the tension that had been building up inside him reached critical mass and burst. A ghostly shape materialized out of the circle like steam seeping out of a manhole in winter, and Hunter watched it take the form of two identical ravens, big and plump and black as tar. Your Conjure Familiar has increased to 2. Your familiar has learned the Summon/Unsummon ability. Your familiar has learned the Mental Link ability. Your Occultism has increased to 2. Your Occultism has increased to 3. Your Occultism has increased to 4. Your Occultism has increased to 5. Your Essence is dangerously low. All around him, the forest ¨C which he¡¯d just realized had fallen silent as he was performing the ritual ¨C was once again buzzing with the sounds of nature. A few feet away, the ravens were watching him with solemn interest, tilting their black heads to the side. Exhausted from the effort, Hunter simply sat down on the ground and rubbed at his eyes. He felt empty and dizzy and his head was throbbing, the way it did after a long and difficult raiding session, or when he concentrated on something far too hard for far too long. He felt like he was going to be sick, but he still also felt exhilarated. Feeling all that power funnel through him felt¡­ right, in a way. Whatever that feeling was, he wanted more of it. Book One - Transient - Chapter 11b It didn¡¯t take long for Hunter to realize the new Abilities he¡¯d picked up were indeed a solid choice. Granted, neither Mystic¡¯s Eye nor the raven familiars would be much of use in a fight, but for the time being that was beyond the point. For a man lost in what essentially was a new and strange land, a reliable way to get knowledge and information was invaluable. On the other hand, Hunter also found out that having familiars could be¡­ disconcerting, at least in the beginning. Biggs and Wedge ¨C that¡¯s what he¡¯d decided to call the ravens, an homage to his nerdy upbringing ¨C were like two excitable little voices he could hear in his head all the time, chattering non-stop. He couldn¡¯t make out what they were saying, not exactly, but he got the gist of it. They were thrilled to be in this new world. He asked Biggs and Wedge to scout ahead into the forest and keep an eye out for anything out of place, though he couldn¡¯t be sure if they understood what he wanted them to do. The two windbags didn¡¯t seem to understand the concept of speech. They had apparently just figured out how to caw and squeak and generally do bird noises, however, and wouldn¡¯t shut up. If there was anything or anyone out there, they would probably hear Hunter and his noisy entourage coming from a mile away. He wasn¡¯t exactly in love with that idea. In the end, he just projected his thoughts to their cheeky presences in his head, and hoped for the best. After a long moment of silence, they gave him the mental link equivalent of ¡®Roger roger! and took wing. Your Conjure Familiar has increased to 3. As the two feathery forms disappeared beyond the tree canopy, he felt their voices and presences fade away. There was a limit to the range of the mental bond, he presumed. He wasn¡¯t sure whether they¡¯d be able to track his location or something, so he sat tight until they returned. It turned out he was half-right; a quarter-hour or so later he felt the mental bond strengthen again and was pelted with a stream of excited ¡®???¡¯ notions ¨C the ravens¡¯ way of asking him where the hell he was. He responded with the telepathic version of ¡®I¡¯m right here, you feathery assholes,¡¯ and the two black birds landed on the ground right beside him. It wasn¡¯t like he could hold a proper conversation with them, not even in his head, but the flashes of images and ideas they projected to him were good enough. ¡°Many trees, clear path, running water, THAT way!¡± That sounded like a creek alright. ¡°Lead the way, o winged windbags," he projected, and was hit with another wave of mental ¡®Roger roger!¡¯. Hunter followed them as they hopped from branch to branch chattering to each other. He kept an eye out for anything unusual ¨C he still didn¡¯t know what kind of beasts made their home in the woods, after all ¨C but didn¡¯t spot anything bigger or more menacing than a squirrel. Back on familiar ground, he made a point to retrace his steps and make it back to where the remains of the Ancient Shambler lay. He picked through the weathered bones and torn brambles and gathered everything and anything that seemed interesting in a little pile on the ground beside him. He didn¡¯t plan to return to Lormenheere anytime soon, but he figured he¡¯d better have some kind of hunting trophy on him in case he needed it. Better to be safe than sorry. Acquired Ancient Bone x 7. Acquired Ancient Antler x 2. Acquired Blackbriar x 9. Acquired Essence of an Ancient Shambler x 1. The bones, antlers, and even the briar plants were self-explanatory; they were parts of the creature¡¯s body, and if Hunter knew anything about video game items ¨C which he was pretty confident he did ¨C they were probably crafting materials of some sort. The essence, though¡­ that was something else entirely. For starters, Hunter wouldn¡¯t have the slightest idea what it was supposed to be, had he not read the item¡¯s name in the notification text. It looked like a brown-colored wisp of cotton candy, lighter than air, barely even solid. As for what it actually did, that would have to remain a mystery for the time being. He took everything, although trying to fit the two Ancient Antlers through his bigger-on-the-inside backpack¡¯s opening proved hard, and went on his way. His pace was a bit too slow for his new companions¡¯ liking, so getting them to remain focused and not chatter about every single twig and leaf that caught their eye proved to be an issue.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. In any case, Hunter made it to the creek in less than half an hour with no incident, and it only took him another half hour to get to the log cabin. Noisy as they were, his winged scouts were effective. As he went to take a look up close, a notification popped up on the ticker of his HUD. Investigate points of interest in the Brennai Weald. (2/3) Two down, one more to go. As for the cabin, it wasn¡¯t exactly a wonder of architecture; just four walls made of rough-hewn logs, a stone hearth, and a thatched roof. It was probably meant to be some kind of temporary shelter for local woodsmen and hunters to set up camp ¨C not really a place for someone to settle down in and call home. ¡°Hello?¡± called Hunter, doing his best to sound friendly and non-threatening. ¡°Anybody here?¡± No response. Good. He told Biggs and Wedge to keep an eye on the surroundings ¨C they finally seemed to have gotten the hang of understanding words ¨C and circled around the place to make sure there weren¡¯t any nasty surprises around. As it turned out, he did find something worth checking out; there was a small shrine behind the cabin. It was a headstone with some unintelligible writing on it and a smattering of offerings, small trinkets, and charms neatly placed around it. It didn¡¯t look particularly dangerous or menacing, but his traumatic experience with the standing stone was still painfully fresh in Hunter¡¯s mind. It would be a while before he was going to be running around and randomly touching mystical-looking stuff again. He summoned his essence, let it flood his mind, and went through the mental steps of the Mystic¡¯s Eye invocation. That same disturbing essence of saltwater and copper rushed in and flooded him, eating at the empty space behind his nose and eyes like battery acid. He gagged, reeled, and leaned on his glaive to steady himself. Knowledge came at a price, it looked like, and that price really sucked balls. Your Mystic¡¯s Eye has increased to 3. A small shrine built by travelers to honor Ronnom, patron saint of wanderers and expatriates. Signifies the presence of a Place of Power. Pay your respects to anchor yourself to this shrine and to receive a blessing. Alright, that sounded a lot less murdery than the standing stone. The extra information he got was mostly fluff and filler, but the accompanying Ability increase was a welcome bonus. Gaining some more ranks in Mystic¡¯s Eye and trying again would probably reveal more. Since Mortimer had mentioned it earlier, Hunter had actually been wondering when he¡¯d stumble upon a Place of Power to anchor himself to. Checkpoints were always nice. Scenic as the forest route might be, he was already getting sick of spawning all the way back to the cave under the crag. Not to mention the damn pool. He had no idea how he was supposed to pay his respects, so he simply played it by ear. He took a knee before the shrine, lowered his head, and let his hand rest on the headstone¡¯s weather-beaten surface. It worked well enough, apparently, because a prompt popped up before him. Do you wish to anchor yourself to this Place of Power? ¡°Hell yes,¡± he willed and felt something tug at his core and shift inside him. Hunter instantly and instinctively knew he no longer had a connection to the Place of Power in the cave. Instead, he felt the little wayshrine embrace him with a warm feeling of welcome. You are now anchored to this Place of Power. You receive the blessing of Ronnom, patron saint of wanderers and expatriates. Your Serendipity quality is now 1. While he was at it, Hunter was tempted to cast Mystic¡¯s Eye again, though he didn¡¯t feel like getting smacked in the brain with all those side effects any more often than it was strictly necessary. Maybe gaining ranks would lessen the effect of the feedback. Envisioning this Serendipity game term, he went through the motions and conjured the ability once again ¨C and regretted almost instantly. Saltwater, the taste of pennies, and the tang of acid hit him like a ton of bricks, stronger than ever. It hurt like hell, even more than before. He spat a string of the four-letter words that would make an orphanage nun blanch, and wondered why the hell he continued to do this to himself. A character quality that describes the measure of good or bad luck a character has accumulated. Triggers special encounters. What goes around, comes around. Interesting. If his memory served, it was a special encounter that had scored him his glaive and had pitted him against the Ancient Shambler ¨C indirectly giving him the chance to win a handful of other loot, as well as Skill ranks and new Abilities. Now that his Serendipity was again above zero, he could sooner or later expect to stumble upon another such bountiful encounter ¨C couldn¡¯t he? For the time being, however, he¡¯d had enough excitement to last him for a good, long while. It wasn¡¯t just the standing stone incident and the mental and emotional toll it had taken on him. Even before getting arrested, Alex had been living under constant pressure and uncertainty. Now that he had a chance to take a break of all that, he would gladly take it. The log cabin was a nice spot to kick back and relax. He had shelter, the scenery was pretty, and his two new windbag besties weren¡¯t so bad as far as company went. Even if things went sideways in one way or another, he still had the choice of logging out of Elderpyre and spending some quiet time in the Happy Motel. The prospect brought a slight smile to his face. For the first time since those cops first banged at his door, Hunter caught himself feeling optimistic. Aernor had proven to be a strange, dangerous place, but there was beauty to it, too. There was excitement, wonder, the kind of which the life of a poor neighborhood kid like Alex had always been lacking. He¡¯d stick around, he decided, try and make the best out of these few months. Murderous specters and horrible trauma notwithstanding, he was beginning to really like this new, simple life. Book One - Transient - Chapter 12 The next week or so was like an Eagle Scout¡¯s wet dream. Hunter would wake up in the morning, grab a nice breakfast at the cafeteria, shoot the shit with Bob, head back up to his room, and log in Elderpyre. Then he¡¯d spend the day lounging around the cabin, swimming in the nearby creek, fooling around with Biggs and Wedge, and teaching himself to fish. He¡¯d often log out for an hour or so during the afternoon to eat and get some sun and exercise in the Happy Motel yard, then log back in until it was time to go to bed. During this virtual wilderness vacation, Hunter figured out a few interesting things about Elderpyre; for starters, logging out and re-logging didn¡¯t send him back to the place of power he was anchored to. He simply spawned back in the exact spot he¡¯d been when he¡¯d logged out. He¡¯d also found out that the day and night cycle mirrored the real world one perfectly. To his surprise, he could actually sleep while in the game and wake up more-or-less as well-rested, just as if he¡¯d slept in the real world. He still had to log out for food, bathroom breaks, sun, and exercise, though. Another thing he¡¯d found out was that food tasted and felt very real, though it did little to curb any actual feelings of hunger, which was a good thing. He didn¡¯t want to get completely sucked in Elderpyre and neglect his physical body, fun as his little camping vacation had proven to be. Another thing Hunter had kept busy with was slowly but steadily improving his Skills. With all the foraging for roots and berries, fishing, building campfires, and cooking he¡¯d been doing, Hunter had gained a hefty increase in his Survival skill, which now stood at a lofty 16. A couple of nighttime forays in the surrounding woods also got him a few ranks in Low-Light Vision, raising it up to 8. He¡¯d planned to train his Mystic¡¯s Eye, too, but that proved to be a bit of a pain. The shock and lingering taste of pennies and battery acid that came with it weren¡¯t exactly helping. Still, he pushed through all that unpleasantness and used the ability enough to give him a cursory understanding of most the terminology on his character sheet. Most of the information he got from it was either fluff and filler or just stating the obvious and repeated uses gave him a nosebleed, but at least he increased the rank of Mystic¡¯s Eye up to 8 and of Occultism up to 10. To increase Mystic¡¯s Eye any further, he¡¯d probably have to use it on more interesting targets. He did try to use it to find out more about his so-called Traits, but all he got was stronger nosebleeds and migraines. Those were currently beyond his ability, so he decided to put them out of mind for the time being and enjoy the rest of his outdoor adventure vacation. As for potential threats¡­ Apart from deer and the occasional family of boars that came to the creek to drink, there hadn¡¯t been any. Well, there was a particularly angry swarm of wasps that made their nest near the wayshrine, but Hunter had learned to avoid them pretty quickly. All in all, not a bad week. Not a bad week at all. When trouble came a-knocking a few days later, however ¨C because of course it did ¨C it caught Hunter with his pants down. All that rest and relaxation had made him careless. He paid for it with the cold barrel of a gun being stuck to the back of his head. Biggs and Wedge were chattering excitedly that morning, nagging at Hunter through their mental link to go down to the creek and see what they¡¯d just found. Dozens, hundreds of reddish fish had suddenly shown up from God knows where and were furiously trying to make their way upstream, sometimes even leaping out of the water. Hunter could do nothing but sit by the water and marvel at the spectacle slack-jawed. At times like these, it was almost too hard for him to believe that all of this beauty and splendor was just a simulation. And then he felt the touch of cold steel at the scruff of his neck, along with the dry, telltale sound of a gun cocking just behind his ear. It took a whole couple of seconds for the feathery windbags to even notice and give him a useless overdue warning; the damn things were too busy trying to catch fish to actually keep an eye out. Shit. ¡°Easy now, lad¡± said a dry, vaguely British-sounding woman¡¯s voice. ¡°No sudden moves, do you hear?¡± ¡°Okay, okay!¡± ¡°Put your head between your knees and raise your hands in the air.¡± ¡°Is that really necessary?¡± In lieu of an answer, Hunter got lovingly pistol-whipped. ¡°Alright, alright, take it easy!¡± Hunter did as he¡¯d been told, cursing himself in the process. He¡¯d gotten too careless. He¡¯d relied on Biggs and Wedge to give him a heads up if anyone or anything suspicious showed up. He clearly shouldn¡¯t have. He could hear the two idiots in his head now, panicking and asking him what to do. ¡°Oh, now you¡¯re all gung-ho," he told them through their mental connection, making sure the message was laced with anger and frustration. ¡°Stay away. Don¡¯t draw attention.¡± They had one job, the goddamn bird brains, and they¡¯d managed to screw it up six ways to Sunday. He watched out of the corner of his eye as they reluctantly flew off to perch on the branches of a nearby tree.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. ¡°Stay still,¡± the woman prodded him with the barrel of her gun as she was searching him for any hidden weapons. ¡°Don¡¯t make any stupid moves.¡± It¡¯s not like he had much of a choice. His glaive was comfortable sitting where he¡¯d left it, which was inside the cabin, along with the rest of the few odds and ends he¡¯d gathered during his stay in Elderpyre. Even if he had it, though, it¡¯s not like it would make much of a difference. The woman had caught him with his proverbial pants down. ¡°Tie your hands together,¡± she dropped a length of hempen rope in front of him. The cold muzzle of the gun never left the back of his neck as he did. Hunter didn¡¯t try too hard, but he wouldn¡¯t have done a great job even if he did. Knots were definitely not his strong suit. ¡°Tighter!¡± ¡°I can¡¯t!¡± The woman whacked him with her gun in the back of his skull again, which proved ample motivation for Hunter to try and tie his hands together tighter. Your Survival has increased to 17. ¡°Oh, you have to be joking!¡± he groaned. ¡°Shut up. Turn around, nice and slow. Let me take a look at you. No silliness of any kind or I shoot.¡± The woman towering above him cut quite a striking figure; she was tall and slender and was dressed in pants, high boots, and a leather tunic covered in dozens of straps and buckles. Most of her face was hidden by her raised collar and the angular brim of her tricorne hat, and her long hair was ash-gray with age. If a lifetime of playing games and watching movies had taught Hunter anything, it was that this was the dress code for badass. More importantly, she was still holding a wood-and-brass flintlock pistol just a few inches away from his face, its long barrel all but daring him to do something stupid. Acting innocent was his best shot at not getting shot, Hunter figured, especially since he was innocent. Probably. ¡°Uh¡­ hello,¡± he said, forcing a grin he hoped looked more friendly than sheepish. ¡°Hello yourself. Who in Grimnir¡¯s name are you, and how did you end up this far out?¡± ¡°I¡¯m Hunter. I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m just a traveler.¡± The woman raised an arched eyebrow. ¡°Hunter, you say? Peculiar. No matter. You¡¯re traveling awfully far off the beaten path. Where are you off to?¡± Hunter opened his mouth, ready to try and bullshit his way out of the situation, then he drew a blank. He knew nothing about the area ¨C or the world at large, save from its name. ¡°South. I¡¯m going south.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t say.¡± ¡°Yes, I¡¯m off to¡­ Green... town? You know, that one town near the big river.¡± One look at the stony, unamused eyes of the woman was enough to tell him his weak bluff was not doing him any favors. ¡°¡­and what is the purpose of your trip? Does the town lack a village idiot?¡± ¡°Uh¡­¡± ¡°Save it, lad," the woman said with a sigh, lowering her weapon. ¡°I know what you are. I¡¯ve met your kind before.¡± ¡°Lady,¡± said Hunter, also dropping the charade, ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about.¡± The woman frowned and stared at him, as if trying to decide whether to believe him or not. ¡°Get up.," she said finally. ¡°Walk to the cabin ¨C slowly. It¡¯s not a good idea to be out in the open out here. The forest has eyes and ears everywhere. There, we will palaver.¡± *** The woman, pistol still in hand, led Hunter inside the cabin. Biggs and Wedge watched from their perch, silently asking him whether they should follow. Hunter signaled them not to. He was in hot enough water as it was, even without having to explain to the angry lady why there were two dorky, raven-shaped spirits following him around. Inside the cabin, the woman told him to sit down in a corner. Hunter obliged. He¡¯d just sit tight for the time being. His hands were tied, after all. Literally. Despite the pistol-waving, the woman didn¡¯t seem to be really hostile; just a bit too cautious. Given what he¡¯d come across himself in this forest, could he really blame her? Hunter watched his captor as she went around the cabin, making sure his glaive and other items were out of reach and making sure there were no surprises of any kind. Despite the silver in her hair she moved with a grace that was almost feline. He couldn¡¯t tell her age ¨C not if his life depended on it. Beneath her tunic and cloak her figure looked slender and athletic and taut, while still curvy enough to appear feminine. Her face, however, was that of a somewhat older woman, marked by crow¡¯s feet and even a couple of pale scars. She must have been pretty once. Beautiful, even. Big gray eyes, high cheekbones, a straight nose, well-defined lips. She reminded Hunter of those actresses that somehow managed to look youthful and dignified even when they were pushing seventy. Good bone structure had a tendency to do that. Was she an NPC ¨C a non-player character? Was she an actual person like himself? Hunter really couldn¡¯t say. She surely seemed real enough, judging from the way she talked and moved, and even from her facial expressions and mannerisms. ¡°So¡­ who are you again?¡± he asked. ¡°Call me Fawkes.¡± She sat down cross-legged with her back to the wall, her eye on the door, and her finger near the trigger of her pistol. ¡°We can talk now, transient, so talk. What¡¯s your business in the Weald?¡± ¡°I¡¯m just wandering around,¡± he told the woman, trying to sound as earnest as possible. ¡°I don¡¯t even know where I am, to be honest with you.¡± ¡°This cabin. Is there anyone else living here with you?¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s just me. It was empty when I found it. I¡¯ve only been here a few days.¡± ¡°You sure about that?¡± ¡°Yes! I was just passing through, stumbled on an abandoned cabin, and thought I¡¯d kick back and relax for a few days.¡± Fawkes studied him for a few moments. ¡°You mean to tell me your appearance here is simply a matter or coincidence? Spare me the lies, transient. I told you, I know of your kind. Wherever you go, trouble follows.¡± ¡°You keep calling me that,¡± Hunter argued back. ¡°Transient. I¡¯m not from around, that¡¯s for sure, but is that considered a bad thing?¡± ¡°Transients, outlanders, dreamwalkers, visitors from lands beyond, omens of storms to come¡± the woman scoffed, starting to lose her patience. ¡°You¡¯re one of them. Do not try to deny it. I smell it in your blood.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t deny anything,¡± Hunter raised his tied hands in a gesture of surrender. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything. I¡¯m new here. I just woke up in a cave a few days ago. Came to this cabin for shelter. I¡¯ve been here ever since.¡± He sounded pitiful, even to himself. That gave the woman pause. ¡°A transient with no hint of vainglory, then?¡± The woman¡¯s stiff lips cracked into a lopsided smile. ¡°Will wonders never cease? Alright then. I believe you. All the same, I have to detain you and take you to the Brennai. These are their lands, after all, and you¡¯re trespassing. From where I see it, you are their mess to sort out, but do not worry; they are fair people. Stern, but fair. If you¡¯re as clueless as you say, you have nothing to fear.¡± Fawkes rose to her feet and tugged at the rope that was tied around Hunter¡¯s hands. ¡°On your feet. It¡¯s a good few hours to the village, and I¡¯d get you there sooner rather than later. I bet even you will be in a talking mood when they get some ale and a hot meal in you.¡± Hunter gave it some thought. Really, he had no reason to say no. Granted, he didn¡¯t like being pushed around, but deep down he was more pragmatic than proud. Fun as his little camping vacation had been, he was bound to look for some other place sooner or later ¨C so why not do it now, and with a guide to boot? ¡°Does this have to stay on?¡± he asked, holding his tied hands up. ¡°Yes,¡± Fawkes told him, and her tone left no room for arguing. Book One - Transient - Chapter 13 From a distance, they made for quite the grim little procession, the four of them; A man with bound hands, a woman with a glaive on her shoulder and a pistol trained in his back, and two ravens trying ¨C and failing ¨C to follow them unseen. Up close, however, things were much more casual. Besides the fact that she was keeping Hunter at gunpoint, Fawkes was quite pleasant. ¡°¡­and that¡¯s how I ended up here,¡± Hunter concluded. ¡°You could say I spend half of the day in prison, and the other half exiled in your world.¡± ¡°What were your crimes, then?¡± Hunter gave it some thought, looking for a way to translate credit card fraud into something Fawkes would understand. ¡°I bought some food and tried to put it on a moneylender¡¯s tab¡± he said. Apparently, it was funny enough to make Fawkes chortle. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Big lad like you, I would expect something more¡­¡± ¡°Violent?¡± ¡°Drastic, at the very least.¡± ¡°Never judge a book by its cover¡± Hunter shrugged. ¡°Lad,¡± Fawkes said, still smiling, ¡°that¡¯s the stupidest thing I ever heard.¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯m very sorry if my gentle nature disappoints you.¡± ¡°¡­and that¡¯s the reason you were imprisoned and exiled?¡± she went on. ¡°A mighty strange place, your homeland must be, transient. In most civilized places, you¡¯d simply get a beating and be done with it.¡± ¡°It does sound more civilized, yes. Also feel free to call me Hunter. No need for that transient crap now that we¡¯re all buddied up, right?¡± ¡°There is power in names¡± Fawkes shook her head. ¡°Yours is a fine one. Too fine, if I¡¯m to be honest. You haven¡¯t earned it yet, not in my eyes.¡± ¡°I guess I should be getting used to ¡°lad¡± or ¡°transient," then.¡± ¡°Right so.¡± ¡°Anyway, enough about me," said Hunter, changing the subject. ¡°What¡¯s your deal?¡± ¡°My deal?¡± ¡°Yes. Why are you all the way out here? What do you do?¡± ¡°Oh. My deal. My business. I see.¡± Fawkes paused for a second. ¡°You could say I¡¯m a hunter of sorts myself, I would guess. I keep an eye on all things unnatural.¡± ¡°Is that why you¡¯re in the Weald? You¡¯re hunting something?¡± Fawkes threw Hunter a suspicious glance. ¡°Hey, it¡¯s fine if you don¡¯t want to say,¡± Hunter said. ¡°I¡¯m just trying to be polite here. Just making conversation.¡± ¡°No, it is alright. What brings me to the lands of the Brennai is something of a more personal nature. I¡¯m looking for a friend of mine. A man in his thirties, hair like straw, yay tall. Dresses like¡­ Well, like me. Likes to wield a blade in each hand. Fights like a demon. He goes by the name of Reiner. I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯ve met anyone like that, have you?¡± ¡°No, definitely not, sorry.¡± She eyed Hunter with suspicion again, as if trying to find a hint of recognition. Hunter did his best to not look guilty. It was something his face did whenever he was under scrutiny, ever since he was a kid. It didn¡¯t matter whether he had something to hide or not, especially when it came to cops; he always looked like he¡¯d been caught red-handed doing something he shouldn¡¯t have. ¡°Not to worry. I¡¯m sure he¡¯s doing fine, wherever he is. It¡¯s other things we should concern ourselves with right now. There¡¯s something on the loose in the Weald, prowling in the night. Something big and nasty. Clever, too. The village folk asked me to look for a missing group of woodsmen, and I have a bad hunch about them. They won¡¯t be the first to turn up dead or worse in these woods.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have Biggs and Wedge keep an eye out," Hunter said. ¡°That¡¯s what I call the birds.¡± Fawkes had easily spotted them not long after they¡¯d left the cabin, so there was no point in trying to hide their existence. ¡°I was meaning to ask you about them,¡± Fawkes said, eyeing the two feathery windbags that fluttered and hopped from branch to branch above them. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen ravens behave like this before.¡± ¡°Sure, I¡¯ll tell you all about them. Just let me out of these bonds.¡± ¡°Not going to happen, lad.¡± Fawkes smirked. ¡°You don¡¯t look like much, but it could be you that¡¯s hunting and killing all those poor people. For all I know, you could be a werebeast.¡± Hunter tried to tell whether she was being serious or not, but couldn¡¯t. ¡°A werebeast and a transient?¡± he joked. ¡°A bit of an overkill, don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°Stranger things have happened,¡± she shrugged. ¡°Stranger by a long shot.¡± *** Fawkes seemed to be able to find her way through the woodland much better than Hunter did. He¡¯d been trampling his way through the undergrowth like an elephant, too focused on finding his bearings. Now they were effortlessly moving from one forest path to the next, as if guided by an invisible compass. Finding paths had to do with the Survival Skill, probably ¨C and hers had to be off the charts. Hunter was tempted to use Mystic¡¯s Eye on Fawkes and see what information he¡¯d be able to get, but he suspected it would be rude ¨C if not outright an act of aggression. Instead, he decided to pay more attention to the path ahead. There were many tracks on the hard earth ¨C some animal, some human, some fresh, some old. To Hunter¡¯s untrained eye, nothing really stood out. Except¡­ Your Survival has increased to 18. There were some peculiar tracks he couldn¡¯t make sense of. They were fresh, and there were lots of them. They looked like they belonged to a barefoot human, but that¡¯s where the similarities ended. The more Hunter looked at them, the more certain he was that whatever had left them moved on all fours, like an ape. ¡°Fawkes? These tracks¨C¡± ¡°Good eye, lad,¡± she cut him short. All of a sudden, she was dead serious. ¡°Low-dwellers, or troglodytes, as some call them. They¡¯re necrophages, corpse-eaters. A whole pack of them, judging from the tracks. That¡¯s weird.¡± ¡°Why is it weird?¡± Again, Fawkes shot him a sideways glance and said nothing. They followed the tracks for about half a mile. Fawkes took point, Hunter followed, and Biggs and Wedge were circling above them, scouting around. Hunter felt a knot form in his stomach. If they were anything like the monsters in the games he was used to, corpse-eaters didn¡¯t sound very dangerous. Well, at least not compared to that Ancient Shambler thing ¨C and he¡¯d held his own well enough against that one. Still, the pain and horror of dying at the cold hands of the apparitions back at the standing stone clearing hadn¡¯t faded from his mind, and it was something Hunter wasn¡¯t exactly looking forward to experiencing again. Catching up to the things wasn¡¯t hard; Hunter smelled the metallic tang of blood in the air and heard their grisly sounds and growls way before he actually saw them. They were a dozen or so, scattered all over a clearing, feverishly feeding on torn and bloody body parts of what looked like a mule. In part, these low-dwellers resembled bald and malformed men. They had human-like arms and legs, human-like torsos, even human-like faces. And yet on the whole they were something else entirely. Their naked bodies were skewed out of proportion. Sinewy muscles rippled beneath their unnaturally tan, blotchy skin as they moved on all fours, like dogs or badgers. Worst of all were their eyes. Lifeless, big, eerily human-looking eyes, but devoid from all sentiment except a savage hunger. Fawkes crouched like a big hunting cat and raised a gloved hand, signaling Hunter to wait. He gestured at his bound hands, but the woman simply ignored him. Great. He gave Biggs and Wedge a mental command to make sure they remained quiet, then summoned his mana and cast Mystic¡¯s Eye on one of the low-dwellers, hoping it wouldn¡¯t alarm it to their presence. He was starting to hate that Ability with a passion, but a moment¡¯s worth of briny, rusty agony was something he could manage, given the situation. Getting clawed and bit to death by these mutant fucks, on the other hand, was something he would prefer to avoid. He needed as much info as he could get.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Your Mystic¡¯s Eye has increased to 9. Your Occultism has increased to 6. Scavengers and necrophages, Low-Dwellers are unnatural monsters that hunger for human flesh and the taste of fresh carcasses. According to folklore, they are the unfortunate result of unnatural mutations, a sorcerer¡¯s experiments gone horribly wrong. Individual low-dwellers are cowardly and of little threat, but packs of them have been known to ruthlessly hunt even the living. Fawkes drew an intricate saber from somewhere within the folds of her cape ¨C a blade Hunter hadn¡¯t noticed her carry. Saber in hand, she threw a glance at Hunter and held up three fingers. Three. Two. Just as Hunter was thinking ¡°one," she surprised him with a strong kick to his butt, shoving him out of his hiding place and right before the closest low-dweller. ¡°Hey! What the¨C¡± Hunter gasped, only drawing the thing¡¯s attention and making things worse. What the hell was that woman doing? Using him as monster bait? She could have cut the rope at his hands, at least, she could have given him a fighting chance. Images of bloodied spectral claws flashed before his eyes, of vacant eyes and of terror and pain and of his guts being spilled on the misty ground. No, no, no, he wasn¡¯t about to go through all that again. Never again. The low-dweller had forgotten all about its grisly lunch and was now moving closer to Hunter, prowling on all fours, studying him with its empty eyes. Yes, there was nothing natural about this thing alright. It was a pile of malformation and disfigurement given life ¨C life, and hunger. Hunter was about to turn and flee, Fawkes be damned, when two things happened almost simultaneously; first, the low-dweller finally pounced at Hunter, its long, misshapen arms reaching for his face. Then, only a split second later, Fawkes exploded in a blur of motion. She sprang out of her hiding place like greased lightning, so fast that the low-dweller didn¡¯t even have time to turn her way. She stabbed the thing in the eye, making its malformed body go instantly limp. Then, in a single fluid slash, she cut Hunter¡¯s bonds, splattering him with blood and brains. ¡°Grab your weapon,¡± she growled through gritted teeth. ¡°There¡¯s more coming.¡± Hunter didn¡¯t need to be told twice. He¡¯d rather avoid getting in a tangle with these things, or with anything else with claws and fangs, for that matter. He knew that was a luxury he¡¯d not always have, however; not on Aernor, not in Elderpyre. If he had to fight monsters, he¡¯d better get down to it. He picked up his glaive ¨C Fawkes had left it on the ground ¨C and assumed his best glaive-fighting stance, while the swordswoman lopped another low-dweller¡¯s arm cleanly off at the elbow. How sharp was that thing she was wielding? The rest of the low-dwellers were looking at Fawkes with vacant eyes, still numb from the surprise attack. Now was the chance to stack the deck in their own favor, Hunter thought and rushed in. You attack the Low-Dweller for 11 piercing damage. You attack the Low-Dweller for 8 piercing damage. You attack the Low-Dweller for 9 piercing damage. You stagger the Low-Dweller. Hunter drove the blade of his glaive through the chest of the closest low-dweller again and again, drawing gushes of dark, viscous blood. The thing was driven to the ground by the force of the strikes, and Hunter took the chance to deliver a final slash to its exposed neck. Critical hit! You attack the Low-Dweller for 34 slashing damage. Your Close Combat has increased to 9. Your Polearm Mastery has increased to 9. The Low-Dweller lies dead. The low-dweller let out a bloody gurgle and collapsed on the ground. Light-headed from the rush of adrenaline, Hunter couldn¡¯t hold back a savage smile. Was it wrong that he actually liked how this felt? Fawkes, in the meantime, continued her bloody waltz through the necrophages uninterrupted. She¡¯d already torn her way through another three when the things finally got over their initial surprise and started to fight back. ¡°Keep moving!¡± she shouted at Hunter. ¡°Don¡¯t let them surround you!¡± She must have fought low-dwellers before, because that¡¯s exactly what the things were already trying to do. They were snarling like a pack of wild dogs, shying away, circling around, waiting for the perfect moment to strike at their prey together and overpower them with their sheer numbers. Despite the force of their initial assault, said prey ¨C Hunter and Fawkes ¨C were outnumbered about four to one; they had to keep up, or the tide of the fight was quickly about to change. The biggest, meanest low-dweller of the lot was the first to lunge at Fawkes. In a fluid, elegant motion that reminded Hunter of a ballet dancer, she drew her pistol and shot at it point-blank, turning its head into mush and bloody confetti, then pivoted around it and repositioned herself just in time to slash at the next foe. Magnificent as it was, Hunter had no time to gawk at her bladework; he was about to be hard-pressed himself. Fortunately, the low-dwellers gave him a wide berth; the long reach of his polearm afforded him just a tiny bit more relative safety than Fawkes¡¯s shorter saber. Or at least that was what he thought; focused as he was on the three snarling low-dwellers in front of him, he almost missed the fourth one that skulked around him and leaped at his feet from the side. A Low-Dweller attacks you for 7 bludgeoning damage. A Low-Dweller attempts to trip you. You resist a Low-Dweller¡¯s attempt to trip you. That was a close one. The numb pain on Hunter''s leg wasn¡¯t too bad. Getting tripped and swarmed by the thing¡¯s buddies, though? That would be game over. Hunter kicked the low-dweller off and took a few steps back, slashing at the air with his glaive to make sure none of the other corpse-eaters got too cocky. For the first time after years and years of gaming, Hunter suddenly became painfully aware of what it really meant to fight against multiple opponents; with the sole exception of an ever-unforgiving meat grinder called Phantom Black, most video games he¡¯d played got it dead wrong. Judging from the low-dweller he¡¯d just offed, he could easily take any one of these things one-on-one, no problem. Taking on more than one, though, became exponentially more difficult. There was no room for error here. A tiny little mistake ¨C any tiny little mistake ¨C would probably mean another agonizing death for him. And that, of course, he¡¯d rather avoid. One particularly ugly low-dweller got bold enough to rush him, all but trampling the one on the ground. Hunter intercepted the attack with a quick jab to the torso. It was barely a glancing blow, but it was enough to keep the low-dweller at bay ¨C and prevent its buddies from getting any other cute ideas. The way Fawkes fought, on the other hand, was anything but conservative. She darted in and out of reach, carving bloody lines on the bodies of the low-dwellers with every single chance she got. She wasn¡¯t in it to survive; she was in it to kill. If the way she fought and moved wasn¡¯t proof enough of that, the dead bodies already lying at her feet were. So mesmerizing was her dance of death, Hunter found himself transfixed. He could hardly take his eyes off it, low-dwellers or no low-dwellers. Another of the things started charging him, but was stopped cold in its tracks by two dark, feathery silhouettes that dive-bombed straight into its face. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Hunter slashed at its midsection, cutting its belly open and spilling dark blood and guts all over the place. Biggs attacks the Low-Dweller for 2 bludgeoning damage. Wedge attacks the Low-Dweller for 1 bludgeoning damage. Your Conjure Familiar has increased to 4. Your familiar has learned the Dive Bomb ability. Critical hit! You attack the Low-Dweller for 37 slashing damage. Now that was a surprise. Hunter had no idea the familiars could be of any help in a fight. For a quick second there, he was worried about them, too. What were the damn things thinking, going all kamikaze on enemies fifty times larger than themselves? Then he saw Biggs and Wedge take off again, feathers more or less unruffled, and turned his attention back to the fight. He had a half-slain low-dweller to finish off. You attack the Low-Dweller for 10 piercing damage. Your Close Combat has increased to 10. Your Polearm Mastery has increased to 10. The Low-Dweller lies dead. Just like the notification on his HUD ticker informed him, the low-dweller lay dead on the ground, still clutching at his wounds. There was barely any time for Hunter to take a breather, though; two more of the mutants came swinging, and this time he knew he wouldn¡¯t be able to fend off them both. He landed a powerful jab on the first one, tearing flesh and bone ¨C a mistake, he realized. He stuck the low-dweller good between the ribs, but that gave the second one a clear shot at his exposed head. Critical hit! A Low-Dweller attacks you for 19 slashing damage. Son of a bitch! The pain almost blinded him and blood ran freely down the side of his neck. Grunting through it all, he managed to dislodge his glaive from the first low-dweller¡¯s ribcage, took a step back, and whacked the second over the head. You attack the Low-Dweller for 2 bludgeoning damage. There was not much force behind the blow, but it was enough of a shock to the monster to buy Hunter a couple of seconds to clear his head. ¡°You alright, lad?¡± Fawkes spat as she dodged a low-dweller¡¯s attack. ¡°I¡¯ll live.¡± ¡°Just keep your distance and stall them!¡± Seeing how Fawkes was dropping her own share of low-dwellers like it was nothing, that wasn¡¯t such a bad idea. He¡¯d just try to kite the monsters with his greater reach and mobility, and focus on keeping them busy and at a distance until Fawkes could get them from behind. He just had to survive in a three-versus-one. Piece of cake, right? As it turned out, it actually was easier than Hunter had anticipated. Low-dwellers were simple and cowardly by nature ¨C that much he knew for a fact. All he had to do to keep the trio of them away was keep a cool head, brandish his glaive in wide sweeps, and look confident. A few feet away Fawkes continued to tear through the monsters undeterred. She cut and dodged and slashed and stabbed, leaving nothing but gore and torn bodies behind. She was a twister of precise, mortal violence. Soon, the only low-dwellers left drawing breath were the ones trying to corner Hunter. ¡°Hey, dumb-dumbs!¡± he shouted, drawing the malformed creatures¡¯ attention to himself. ¡°Come and get me if you can!¡± Fawkes didn¡¯t miss a beat; she slashed at the hamstrings of the closest one, bringing the low-dweller to its knees, and nearly decapitated it with a horizontal slash to the back of its neck. That left two. Changing tactics, Hunter impaled one with his glaive, then used it as a fulcrum to move away and keep his distance from the other. You attack the Low-Dweller for 9 piercing damage. Your Close Combat has increased to 11. Your Polearm Mastery has increased to 11. Again, Fawkes swooped in for the kill; she hamstrung the low-dweller, kicked it to the ground, then ran her blade through its throat. Even as the last mutant squirmed and thrashed at the end of his glaive, Hunter couldn¡¯t stop himself from gawking at the woman¡¯s brutal efficiency. Not even in a rush anymore, she crept up behind the thing and plunged her blade behind its ear, bringing its thrashing to an abrupt end. With that, there was nothing left in the clearing but the two of them. The two of them, and death. Book One - Transient - Chapter 14 ¡°Okay, what the hell was that?¡± Hunter asked as the adrenaline high slowly faded. Fawkes was down on one knee examining the remains of the mule. ¡°Low-dwellers. They¡¯re horrid, are they not?¡± ¡°Not them! You! Did you just use me as monster bait?¡± ¡°No,¡± said the woman without taking her eyes from the carcass, ¡°though I¡¯ll keep that idea in mind in case we come across another pack. I had to see whether you are who you say you are.¡± ¡°By feeding me to the corpse-eaters?¡± Fawkes wiped her blade clean on one of the mule¡¯s haunches that was somehow not covered in blood and stood up. ¡°Low-dwellers are not natural creatures. They are not born and bred ¨C they are created with vile sorcery. They make good fodder, but they are feral and unstable. That¡¯s why the Skaarn ¨C the fleshwarper, the sorcerer that creates them ¨C places a seal on their primitive minds; no matter what, they cannot turn on their creator.¡± It was a test, then. It made sense, but that didn¡¯t help Hunter feel any better about it. ¡°Lady,¡± he said, trying to stay calm, ¡°do I look like the kind of person who can create roided-out flesh-eating monster-monkeys? I can barely find my butt with both hands in this damn forest.¡± ¡°I know,¡± she said with the tiniest of smirks. ¡°I just had to be sure. Who knows what tricks you transients have up your sleeve?¡± ¡°That thing could have eaten my face off.¡± ¡°Never mind that. Look at the carcass. What do you see?¡± Hunter took a hesitant peek at the carnage. He was too busy trying not to see anything. The smell was enough to make him gag without any visual aids. ¡°Uh¡­¡± ¡°Look at the ribs here, at these bitemarks.¡± ¡°Looks like they belong to low-dwellers,¡± said Hunter, glancing at the open maw of one of the dead necrophages that lay nearby. ¡°Right so. Still, these aren¡¯t the wounds that killed the animal. It was already long dead when the necrophages did their biting and chewing. At least half a day, I¡¯d say. What was the killing blow?¡± ¡°Seeing how its head is over there by that bush¡­ I¡¯d say, decapitation?¡± Fawkes walked over to the bloody head and poked it with the end of her saber. ¡°It was torn clean off,¡± she said. ¡°No low-dweller has that kind of strength.¡± ¡°May I ask a silly question?¡± said Hunter. ¡°What was a mule doing in the middle of the Weald, saddle and all?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not a silly question,¡± Fawkes nodded, ¡°though it does have an obvious answer. The Brennai use mules as pack animals. It probably belonged to the missing woodsmen.¡± ¡°If the mule¡¯s here, where are the woodsmen?¡± ¡°Where indeed¡­?¡± Hunter thought he could have Biggs and Wedge scout around a bit. Where had they flown off to? He hadn¡¯t seen them since their heroic maneuver during the fight with the low-dwellers. Hunter tried to feel their presence in his head. ¡°Uh, guys? Are you there?¡± he projected. They were, although they were uncharacteristically quiet. ¡°You okay?¡± They sent Hunter the telepathic equivalent of a shrug. Tired. Why? ¡°That dive bomb you pulled was quite a move. Thanks.¡± Happy bird noises filled his head. You¡¯re welcome! Despite all their fluttering and chattering, the feathery windbags weren¡¯t actual flesh-and-blood birds. They were aether spirits from who-knows-where, with whatever implications that carried. He¡¯d have to keep reminding himself that. ¡°Take a look at this,¡± Fawkes said and squatted near the path they¡¯d been following. ¡°Tracks, many. The woodsmen came this way.¡± ¡°Should we follow them?¡± Fawkes kept studying the tracks, her brow furrowed.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Fawkes?¡± ¡°It¡¯s strange.¡± ¡°What is?¡± ¡°They were walking. Dragging their feet, almost.¡± ¡°Maybe they were tired?¡± ¡°Tired or not, lad,¡± she said, looking up, ¡°if I¡¯d seen whatever took down that mule, you can bet your best hat I¡¯d be running as fast as I could.¡± *** They didn¡¯t have to follow the tracks too far before they found the woodsmen, though Hunter immediately wished they hadn¡¯t. ¡°What in God¡¯s name¡­?¡± ¡°Lad,¡± said Fawkes, grimmer than usual, ¡°no decent god had anything to do with this.¡± They were in a clearing. There was blood everywhere, of course; its metallic smell permeated the forest air. Then there were body parts. Arms, legs, feet, hands, heads ¨C human heads, still wearing expressions of terror and shock. Some were on the ground, half-chewed. Some were poking out of the weeds and the undergrowth. Some were impaled on tree branches. And some, Hunter realized with an ever-increasing sense of dread, were actually arranged in a neat, logical, almost ritualistic pattern. It was like someone had taken the time to leave a message, writing in blood and dead heads and arms and legs instead of ink and letters. ¡°Did the low-dwellers do this?¡± he muttered, more to himself than Fawkes. ¡°No," Fawkes shook her head. ¡°The smell of blood is what drew them in the area, whipped them up into a frenzy. But this¡­ someone else did this. Something else.¡± Hunter¡¯s mind refused to take in what he was seeing. It was like the world¡¯s most horrid jigsaw. All he could see was the pieces, tossed around all over. As for the whole image¡­ hell, he couldn¡¯t even begin to guess how many people the dismembered body parts had belonged to. Careful not to disturb any of the remains, Fawkes started examining the scene of the carnage up close, looking for who knows what. ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± she ordered. ¡°And don¡¯t touch anything.¡± That wouldn¡¯t be a problem. He was barely managing not to gag on the air that he breathed as it was ¨C he was certainly not going to touch anything he didn¡¯t absolutely have to. ¡°Take a look at this,¡± Fawkes said and squatted at the edge of the clearing. ¡°The tracks end here. These people straight up walked into the clearing. They came here of their own volition. Nobody panicked. Nobody ran. They simply stood over there and waited for their turn.¡± ¡°What do you mean, waited for their turn?¡± Fawkes stood up and gave a grim look at the trees around them. ¡°Do you know what a shrike is, lad? It¡¯s a kind of bird. The butcherbird, some call it. It¡¯s known for its habit to impale its prey on sharp thorns, so it can tear it apart into smaller bites more easily. Do you see where I¡¯m going with this?¡± Hunter didn¡¯t ¨C and then he suddenly did. The trees around them were littered with body parts. Torsos hung from branches. Limbs hung from thin strips of flesh and sinew. Intestines were stretched over the crowns of the trees like gossamer. The smell of blood wafted from everywhere, overpowering. ¡°Someone ¨C something ¨C grabbed these people one by one and strung them up on those branches like sweetmeats on a Yule tree,¡± Fawkes went on. ¡°And the rest simply stood there and watched.¡± ¡°This doesn¡¯t make any sense,¡± Hunter mumbled, still taken aback. ¡°It gets worse. Try to imagine what kind of strength it would take to pick a man or a woman off the ground and pin them on a tree branch until it runs them through. Then there¡¯s the question of how all these people were dismembered.¡± Fawkes picked up a mutilated arm and waved it at a horrified Hunter. ¡°See, there¡¯s no signs of cutting or sawing. These people were literally pulled apart limb from limb by means of brute strength.¡± ¡°Like the mule¡¯s head.¡± ¡°Right.¡± ¡°Something that strong would have to be really, really big, right?¡± ¡°Right.¡± ¡°And something that big would have left back tracks, footprints, something. Right?¡± Hunter started looking around for tracks, broken twigs, trampled underbrush ¨C anything to take his mind off the brutality above. A minute passed, then another. Then, finally, he spotted it. There it was, still clearly visible among the carnage and the dead; a somewhat humanoid-looking print, large as a goddamn flipper. Once Hunter knew what to look for, he saw more, too. They were everywhere on the ground around the clearing. Judging from how they were spread, Hunter guessed they belonged to a large bipedal humanoid creature ¨C a guess that must have been right, because it triggered a notification. Your Survival has increased to 19. ¡°So it¡¯s big, impossibly strong, stands on two legs, and it murders people,¡± said Hunter. ¡°What else?¡± Fawkes looked at the torn arms and legs around her, and her mouth became a thin line of worry. ¡°It¡¯s smart, too,¡± she said. ¡°Intelligent. These are no random killings. See how meticulously the limbs of the murdered were placed on the ground?¡± ¡°What kind of beast kills that way?¡± ¡°Beast?¡± Fawkes said. ¡°Only man is capable of such cruelty, lad. Man, or worse.¡± ¡°Is that why you mentioned I might be a werebeast earlier?¡± ¡°Yes," she grunted. ¡°Though I think you¡¯re more or less acquitted of suspicion now.¡± Hunter was about to offer a half-hearted ¡®I told you so¡¯ when an idea crossed his mind. ¡°Give me a moment,¡± he said. ¡°I think I might be able to learn more.¡± He summoned his essence once again, savoring the cold sensation that ran from the base of his spine all the way up to the center of his brain. Then he braced himself for the burning, briny shock that inevitably followed, spat a couple swear words for good measure, and cast Mystic¡¯s Eye. Footprints left behind by some unknown creature. Very large, very powerful, bipedal, and clearly intelligent, whatever left these tracks behind brings to mind nothing that¡¯s known to reside in the Brennai Weald. Or, at the very least, nothing natural. Hunter took a few breaths to steady himself and shake off the terrible feeling of saltwater and rust eating at the back of his nose and eyes, then read the tracks¡¯ description out loud. The woman stared at him, and her frown deepened into a scowl. ¡°That thing you did just know¡­ was it a spell? Some kind of transient¡¯s divination?¡± He shrugged, she scoffed. ¡°You¡¯re a crafty one, I¡¯ll give you that," she said. ¡°Full of surprises. At any rate, you are correct. I don¡¯t know of any beast or monster around these parts that fits the tracks and marks the killer left behind. And I noticed something else, too; there are no prints leading in or out of the clearing. It¡¯s as if the creature came out of thin air, did its killing, and then vanished again.¡± ¡°Maybe it climbed the trees," Hunter offered. ¡°Or maybe it flew.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± Fawkes said, ruminating. ¡°Unlikely, but maybe.¡± ¡°So, what now?¡± asked Hunter, mainly to fill the silence that was beginning to last a bit too long. ¡°Are we going to bury them, say a few words or¡­?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a soothsayer, lad¡± she drawled. ¡°Nor am I an undertaker. Let the Brennai sort this out and take care of their dead themselves. We¡¯ve done our part here. Let us be on our way. The day¡¯s a-wasting.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 15 It was getting late in the afternoon when Hunter realized that, well, it was getting late in the afternoon. They hadn¡¯t traded a word in a while, he and Fawkes. Hunter half-expected Fawkes to constantly keep an eye on him, or at least to take his weapon away. She did neither. Hunter preferred to think it was because she was starting to trust him, and not due to her monumentally bad mood. In any case, they covered ground fast ¨C so fast, in fact, that he sometimes found it hard to keep up. Still, there was no sight of the edge of the Weald. Elderpyre was so immersive he was beginning to forget he had an actual physical body lying on a bed somewhere a million miles away. He couldn¡¯t be one-hundred percent sure, but he had a nagging feeling he had to take a leak really bad. ¡°Uh¡­ Fawkes?¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°I have to stop. Eat, rest, take care of¡­ needs.¡± The woman frowned. ¡°Squat behind the bushes if you have to, but be quick about it. You¡¯ll rest plenty when we make it to the village.¡± ¡°No, I mean¡­ in my world. I have to wake up there, take care of some stuff. I¡¯ll need a few hours.¡± ¡°I see,¡± said Fawkes after a long pause. ¡°So how does that work, lad? You vanish here, wake up there, then return here again when you go back to sleep?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a kind of trance, actually. Other than that, yes, pretty much.¡± ¡°I take it you¡¯ll reappear on the same spot you left. Can you wait until we find a good spot to set up camp, at least?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have to wait for me,¡± Hunter said. ¡°I''ll find my own way to the village and meet you there.¡± Fawkes let out a humorless chuckle. ¡°Forget it, lad. I¡¯ve been civil and removed your bonds, yes, but make no mistake; I¡¯m still not done with you.¡± Finding a small clearing didn¡¯t take them more than ten or twenty minutes. Judging from the old remains of campfires near its mid, it was a common campsite for locals, too. ¡°Alright,¡± said Fawkes. ¡°This will do. How much time do you reckon you¡¯ll need?¡± Hunter squinted at the small piece of open sky above them the thick canopy didn¡¯t cover, trying to figure the time of day.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°I guess I can be back by nightfall.¡± ¡°No point in that,¡± she shook her head. ¡°Either stay there till dawn, or return and camp out over here. Regardless, we leave at first light. Oh, and don¡¯t try to do anything funny like sneaking away.¡± The woman¡¯s lips split in a predatory smile. ¡°I will track you down and make you wish you hadn¡¯t.¡± For some reason, Hunter didn¡¯t doubt it. He didn¡¯t doubt it at all. *** The very moment he disconnected, he realized he¡¯d have to keep better track of the time and his real-world needs. Not only was his mouth parched and his stomach rumbling, it was also a small miracle his bladder hadn¡¯t burst. He almost considered letting it all go right then and there on his bed. Almost. The only thing that made him find the strength to crawl to the bathroom was the mental image of having to tell Officer Carpenter he needed fresh linens because he wet the bed ¨C and subsequently, of course, getting mocked halfway to death. After what must have been the world¡¯s longest leak, he drank three cups of water, had a hot shower, and went down to the cafeteria for a quick bite. He was sore all over from spending hours upon hours lying in bed. He did some stretches, walked around in the yard a bit. He really had to figure out some kind of daily routine, including exercise, and stick to it. If he was planning to spend the next year more-or-less living in Aernor, he¡¯d have to find a way to make it sustainable. There was something else, too. His week-long cabin vacation had done wonders to help him get past the shock of getting shredded to death by Mist Stalkers, so much so that he was beginning to wonder whether it¡¯s normal to perk up this quickly. After the fight with the low-dwellers and the blood-curdling scene in the clearing, however, the dread was beginning to come back to him ¨C and so was the anger. Now that he was back to reality, he¡¯d suddenly gotten mighty irritable. Elderpyre was traumatic. It wasn¡¯t a game; it was the kind of thing that would give a man nightmares, severe anxiety, and expensive therapy bills. Pissed, tired, and grumpy, he picked up the phone and dialed zero. ¡°Yeah, what?¡± asked some guard at the other end of the line. Carpenter, judging from the voice and the attitude. ¡°It¡¯s Rulin. I wanna talk to Grimm, give him a piece of my mind. Submit a formal complaint or something.¡± The woman sighed, and Alex could almost picture her rolling her faded blue eyes. ¡°Why, what is it this time?¡± ¡°If this keeps up, I¡¯m gonna need a shrink, that¡¯s what it is this time. This thing is no game. It¡¯s a goddamn psychological experiment.¡± ¡°What, did you manage to kick the bucket again? No ¨C you know what, don¡¯t tell me. Complaint duly noted. I¡¯ll inform Mr. Grimm next time I speak to him.¡± ¡°Hey, no, I wanna speak to him¨C¡± ¡°Bye-bye, Rulin. Don¡¯t call again.¡± Alex had more to say, of course, but Carpenter hung up on his face. He tried to call again a few times, but the line had simply gone dead. ¡°Damn bureaucrats,¡± he grumbled to himself. Another reason to be mad at Grimm. Alex would try again the next day, and the day after, until he¡¯d busted Carpenter¡¯s balls enough to get her boss on the line ¨C or to come over to his room and shoot him, whichever happened first. At this point, he¡¯d be kind of fine with either. For now, however, all he wanted to do was sleep like the dead. Fighting against corpse-eating mutants took a much heavier toll on the brain than simply sitting around enjoying the Great Outdoors, even in virtual reality. Who would have thought, right? Book One - Transient - Chapter 16 The sun was already up when Hunter logged back in Elderpyre. He popped up in the same spot he¡¯d been when he exited the game the previous day, but Fawkes was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, he considered giving her the slip and running off, but quickly decided not to. He¡¯d seen some of the dangers of the Weald and he¡¯d seen how she fought. The woman was a force of nature. He¡¯d be far safer with her than alone. ¡°Uh¡­ Fawkes?¡± ¡°Up here. You¡¯re late.¡± She dropped from a tree branch a couple dozen feet away, landing with the agility of a hunting cat. ¡°The time of day works a bit differently in my world," Hunter made a harmless little excuse. It¡¯s not like she could ever find out, right? ¡°No matter. You returned and did not try to run. I was not certain whether you would.¡± ¡°After the slaughter we saw yesterday? Yeah, no, thanks. I¡¯d rather stick with you.¡± Fawkes chortled behind the raised collar of her tight-fitting jacket. ¡°Good thinking. Come now, we have a lot of ground to cover, and the day is already wasting.¡± Just like she did the day before, Fawkes led him from one forest path to the next with the efficiency and precision of GPS navigation. She moved like a she-wolf, making no noise, barely leaving tracks. Compared to her, Hunter looked like a stumbling idiot. Biggs and Wedge were flying above, following them, chattering over the mental connection they shared with Hunter. He considered piping in himself, but ultimately, he¡¯d rather keep his eye on Fawkes. He had a ton of things he wanted to ask her, but had the wisdom to keep his mouth shut. She clearly wasn¡¯t in the mood for chit-chat. When someone finally spoke, it was her. ¡°I was thinking about yesterday,¡± Fawkes said, startling Hunter out of his thoughts. ¡°You¡¯re a strange one, lad.¡± ¡°I am?¡± ¡°You are. You kept a cool head back there. So much gore and violence, and I didn¡¯t even see you flinch. Others, seasoned warriors even, would be heaving and retching, but you didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Uh, thanks, I guess¡­? ¡°Which begs the question,¡± Fawkes continued, not letting him interrupt. ¡°How the hell does one get so cool headed under mortal danger, and still handle weapons like a child?¡± She was right, Hunter thought, though she didn¡¯t have to make it sting so much. Like a child? His Close Combat and Polearm Mastery Skills were at 11. Was that so low? ¡°I haven¡¯t handled such a weapon before,¡± he admitted. ¡°In my world, not many people use them.¡± ¡°And what kind of weapons do you use?¡± ¡°Guns, mostly. Firearms, more or less like the one you have. Most people never have to use them, though¨Cnot unless they are policemen or soldiers or something.¡± ¡°Police-men?¡± ¡°Guards,¡± Hunter tried to explain. ¡°Lawmen. Constables.¡± ¡°I see. And you are none of those?¡± ¡°I¡¯m just a guy,¡± he shrugged. Fawkes frowned. ¡°Just-a-guys, as you say, gag when they see blood and smell viscera. They freeze when low-dwellers circle around them ready to pounce. They wet their breeches. Yet you did not. Why is that, lad? Have you seen such things before?¡± Hunter gave it some thought. ¡°Yes and no. Blood, monsters¡­ I¡¯ve seen plenty, but only in movies and games. You know, stories. Fairytales. Make-believe.¡± ¡°So you rarely even need to handle weapons, but your stories and games of blood and monsters are enough to give you a cast-iron stomach?¡± Fawkes shook her head with a mixture of disdain and disbelief. ¡°Such a strange land, this homeland of yours.¡± ¡°Well, when you put it like this¡­¡± ¡°No matter. Just make sure you say nothing of this to any of the Brennai. Act the fool, if you have to. This is important. Nobody can know you''re transient.¡± That gave Hunter pause. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Your kind¡­ they¡¯re not welcome here. Or anywhere, really.¡± ¡°¡­but why?¡± Fawkes started to explain, but then simply frowned and shrugged. ¡°They aren¡¯t, and that¡¯s that. You¡¯ll figure out why yourself soon enough, I reckon. For now, just keep your eyes and ears open, and your mouth shut. Do you understand, lad?¡± He didn¡¯t, but he¡¯d do so anyway. *** When they finally made it out of the woods, it was already past noon. One moment they were walking along the forest trail, the next the trees were gone, revealing green- and golden-hued flatland prairies as far as the eye could see. From there, the village was just a short walk further down the path. Village was not exactly the word he¡¯d use, though. It was more like a semi-permanent encampment, a few dozen tents pitched around a smattering of barn-like wooden structures. People were hustling and bustling around them, going about their everyday business. There was a definitely indigenous feel to both the village and its people, Hunter thought, a natural fit for the surrounding woodlands. Most of them were dressed almost completely in tanned animal skin garb¨Ctunics, leggings, moccasins, and the like. Some wore furs, quilt blanket coats, or hooded jackets. Earthen tones were prevalent here, too, although many of the locals had colorful beads and decorations woven into their garb.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Investigate points of interest in the Brennai Weald. (3/3) Task completed. You have gained 100 Aether. Your Aether quality is now 100. The notifications and the Aether were a nice surprise, but Hunter didn¡¯t have time to savor it. A couple of men dressed in thick hide overcoats and armed with bows spotted Fawkes and himself from afar, and left their post to meet them¨Clookouts, most likely. ¡°Hile, Fawkes,¡± one of them said, opening his arms in some kind of friendly gesture. ¡°We welcome you in peace.¡± ¡°Hile,¡± she answered, mirroring him. ¡°And may nothing but peace come with me. Though I¡¯m afraid I bear ill news.¡± The men scowled. ¡°The woodsmen? Did you find them, then?¡± ¡°Dead in the forest,¡± she nodded. ¡°Butchered.¡± For a moment, the silence was stony. Deafening. ¡°Get the alderman,¡± rasped one of the watchmen¨Cthe older-looking one¨Cto the other, his face a grim mask. ¡°Meet us in the longhouse. You two, you come with me.¡± Hunter and Fawkes followed the man through the buildings and tents, drawing the curious eyes of the people that were going about their day. The longhouse, as it turned out, was one of the barn-like wooden structures at the center of the village. It was something like a communal hall, a place for the village people to gather in special occasions, though at the moment it was empty. Hunter and Fawkes sat on one of the long, rough-made wooden benches that filled most of the space and waited for their eyes to adjust to the half-light. The man sent one of the village girls to get them bread and water. ¡°Remember,¡± Fawkes whispered. ¡°See everything, hear everything, say nothing.¡± Hunter had no problem with that. That¡¯s exactly what he planned to do. They didn¡¯t have to wait long; it didn¡¯t take the second watchman more than a few minutes to return along with an older man. Judging from his shrewd eyes, tight mouth, worried look, and the relative richness of his hide and wool garb, he probably was the village alderman. ¡°Hile, Vanchik,¡± Fawkes greeted him. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I bear bad news.¡± ¡°Talk, woman,¡± said the alderman. His tone was impatient bordering on haughty, the kind of tone big honchos used when addressing their underlings in B-movies. The kind of tone, Hunter was sure, the alderman himself would find disrespectful. Fawkes, on the other hand, simply shrugged it off. The woman was as slick as Teflon. Hunter couldn¡¯t help but admire that about her. ¡°I came upon your missing folk deep in the forest. Dead and butchered, like the other missing ones.¡± Vanchik spat a word Hunter hadn¡¯t heard before, but its meaning was clear as day. If there was a thing growing up in a run-down neighborhood had given him a knack for, that was cursing. That, and making the most out of cheap frozen TV dinners. ¡°Are you sure about that, sirrah?¡± ¡°I am. I found their bodies torn apart, necrophages feasting on them like they were common carrion.¡± ¡°Necrophages?¡± ¡°Low-dwellers. Fresh-made, too. There¡¯s a Skaarn on the loose in your lands, or so it would seem.¡± ¡°Mayhaps you were mistaken,¡± the older watchman butted in. ¡°Mayhaps it was direwolves that did them in. There¡¯s packs of them roaming in the north. Nasty beasts, they are.¡± ¡°And mayhaps pigs will sprout wings and fly south for the winter, friend,¡± Fawkes replied matter-of-factly, putting him in his place. ¡°I can tell you how to find the bodies, see for yourself. I know little about your laws and customs, so I left them undisturbed. Well, save the low-dwellers; those I did disturb a smidgen.¡± The alderman nodded, his heavy brow furrowed. ¡°And who might this be?¡± he asked, pointing at Hunter with a calloused, crooked finger. ¡°Your compatriot, is he? The one you were looking for?¡± ¡°Who, this?¡± Fawkes scoffed. ¡°Hardly. Hunter, he calls himself. He¡¯s but a stray that follows me around like a lost duckling. Good lad, but a bit slow in the head. I was considering making him my manservant.¡± Hunter, of course, had a few choice words to say about that, but he didn¡¯t. He just gave Vanchik a strained smile and tried to look as unassuming as possible. The alderman took a closer look at him, squinting and frowning. ¡°We shall welcome him as we did you, sirrah, but you shall be held responsible for any misdeeds of his. More importantly, we shall hold a gathering in the evening, right here in the longhouse. I expect you to be here, to tell your story to the folken.¡± ¡°Of course. I only ask you to excuse me and the lad, for now. We have been on the road all day, marching hard to deliver you the grim news, and our bellies are a-rumbling.¡± ¡°Be off, whatever,¡± Vanchik dismissed her and started to walk away, his attention already drifting to other matters, ¡°Just tell Daeran where to find the dead, and promise to attend the gathering at sundown.¡± While Fawkes gave Daeran¨Cthe older watchman¨Cdirections, the younger one approached Hunter. He was dressed in clothing hewn from rough hides, and couldn¡¯t be more than twenty-something. ¡°Don¡¯t let Vanchik¡¯s barking scare you, friend,¡± he said with an earnest smile. ¡°He¡¯s got a temper, the old man, but he¡¯s fair and good as aldermen go. They call me Inago, may your days be many and your nights serene.¡± ¡°I¡¯m Hunter. I¡­ I wish you the same,¡± Hunter said, painfully unsure of the proper greetings and customs of the local folk. ¡°Live long and prosper.¡± ¡°Is it true, what the lady said? Did you see them? The¡­ the dead?¡± ¡°I saw them,¡± Hunter said, unconsciously mirroring the young man¡¯s wonder and manner. ¡°It was the work of a monster, unlike anything I¡¯ve seen.¡± Inago¡¯s dark brown eyes went wild and Hunter saw there was a childlike quality there, a soft look about him. Was he simple? No, Hunter realized. Just the simpler product of a simpler life. A simpler, pre-industrial world. ¡°A monster, you say! There¡¯s talk of a monster prowling in the forest around the village, yes. The elders dismiss such whispers, may their years be long and their wisdom deep, but people are disappearing. The folken start to fear.¡± Inago drew closer, as if to whisper a secret. ¡°Tego says it might even be the curse of the Wendigo that plagues us.¡± ¡°Wendigo?¡± Hunter echoed. Now that was a word he was familiar with, thank the wonders of intertextuality in modern media. Not that he was happy to hear it. ¡°Inago!¡± Daeran snapped at the word. ¡°Stop your yapping, or, ancestors keep me, I will ring your bell. Back to your post, fool.¡± Inago gave Hunter a distressed half smile and rushed out of the longhouse. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to Inago¡¯s ramblings,¡± Daeran told Fawkes and Hunter, staring daggers at the younger man¡¯s back. ¡°I swear, the fool spends more time daydreaming about the ghost stories old men tell around the campfire to scare the children than looking for a wife.¡± ¡°Birds of a feather, then, him and this one,¡± Fawkes poked at Hunter with a gloved finger. ¡°Let them twit, I say. No matter. Will you be able to find the clearing on your own, or do you need me to come with?¡± ¡°We will find it just fine, outlander. We know the forest paths well. Go get your rest, you, and we¡¯ll see each other at the gathering.¡± When they were left alone in the cool and shady longhouse, Fawkes shook her silver-haired head in disbelief. ¡°See everything, hear everything, say nothing," she scolded Hunter. ¡°Was that not what you were supposed to do?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t say anything!¡± ¡°It was the work of a monster!¡± Fawkes mimicked him, her voice mocking. ¡°Unlike anything I¡¯ve seen! Get your act together, fool, before this lot boots us both out of their village, or worse. I told you, act dumb if you have to, but keep your trap shut.¡± Hunter felt his ears burn. ¡°What happened to let them twit?¡± he tried to snark back, which only earned him scowl and an angry glare. Maybe he should make a habit of keeping his trap shut, Hunter thought. Arguing with Fawkes was an exercise in futility. ¡°No quip?¡± she raised an arched eyebrow. ¡°Good. You may yet prove to be smarter than you look. Do you need to go back to your¡­ world, yet?¡± ¡°Not yet, but sooner or later I will have to.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s make it sooner, then. Follow me.¡± Fawkes led him through the small forest of hide teepees and to a lone canvas tent at the edge of the village. No village folk drew close to it, Hunter noticed. Even the children that were running around seemed to actively avoid it. ¡°Welcome to my humble home,¡± said Fawkes as she held the flap open for him. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to share it with me¨Cor at least to pretend to. We can¡¯t have you popping in and out of thin air out in the open. The Brennai folken don¡¯t exactly trust strangers¨Ceven less so in times like these.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Hunter said, taking a look around. ¡°I figured as much.¡± As far as humble homes went, Fawkes¡¯s tent was bordering on spartan. There wasn¡¯t much in the tent except a bedroll, a couple of wool blankets, and two saddlebags. ¡°I don¡¯t need to tell you you¡¯re not to touch those, do I?¡± she said, seeing how curiously he was eyeing the saddlebags. ¡°I¡¯ll keep my hands to myself, don¡¯t worry.¡± ¡°Good. Pop off to your world for a few hours now, take care of what needs to be taken care of.¡± That wasn¡¯t a bad idea, actually. ¡°Okay boss, whatever you say.¡± Hunter said, only half-joking. ¡°Anything else?¡± ¡°Yes. Be back by sundown. And don¡¯t be late this time¨CI might need you to be my eyes and ears at the gathering.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 17 Hunter logged out, took a leak, ate, shot the crap with Bob at the cafeteria, exercised in the yard, took a shower, and logged back in with time to spare. Fawkes was there in the tent, sitting on her bedroll with her legs folded under her, her back straight, and her eyes closed. ¡°What are you doing, meditating?¡± ¡°You should try it too,¡± she replied without even opening her eyes. ¡°It nourishes the mind and steels the will.¡± He opened his mouth to crack wise, then shut it again. After what he¡¯d seen her do to the low-dwellers, Hunter had to give it to her; Fawkes could even make yoga look formidable. ¡°I mean it, lad. Sit down and breathe. We still have some time before they sound the bells for the gathering.¡± Hunter sat down cross-legged, laid his hands on his lap, and closed his eyes. One of his exes had been into meditation and whatnot, and had tried to teach him ¨C emphasis on tried. Still, he more-or-less remembered the basics; be at ease, empty the mind, control the breathing. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. This is stupid. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in¡­ Minutes passed. Slowly but surely, his mind relaxed. He envisioned stray thoughts swimming before him like lazy goldfish, and he simply let them pass by. For the first time in a very long while, he emptied his mind almost completely. Somewhere far, far away, a notification popped up on the ticker of his HUD. Your Meditation has increased to 1. ¡°Good,¡± Fawkes said. ¡°Remember this feeling. A good breathing technique is the cornerstone of any Path. If you wish to sharpen your skills as a warrior, it is imperative that you learn one.¡± She didn¡¯t have to say it twice. Hunter immersed himself in that peaceful state of flow, savoring every second. More time went by. The out-of-tune tolling of a bell somewhere nearby broke his concentration and grabbed his attention away. Across from him, Fawkes opened her eyes and started to rise. It was time for the gathering. Outside their tent, the sun was almost lost behind a far-away mountain range, painting the sky in a myriad of pastel colors. Throngs of men and women were walking among the tents and teepees, making their way towards the longhouse near the center of the village. Word of the slaughter had spread, it seemed, because all Hunter could see on their faces was a mixture of fear and concern. ¡°See everything, hear everything, say nothing,¡± Fawkes reminded him. ¡°Repeat after me.¡± ¡°See everything, hear everything, say nothing. Got it.¡± ¡°I hope you did, this time.¡± They followed the sparse crowds to the longhouse, where most of the village folken were already assembled, sitting on neat rows of wooden benches. They were a good five hundred people. Torches lined the walls, flooding the large hall with flickering light and the acrid smell of burning oil. Hunter realized he could actually smell the crowd, too ¨C dozens of bodies, sweat, hair, sunburned skin, and the occasional waft of sweet, flowery perfume masking heavier, tangier odors. Fawkes led him to a shady corner in the back of the hall ¨C a nook from which they could see and hear much, and draw little attention. A few of the people near them gave them the stink eye. Some of them even made gestures at them, probably signs to ward off evil or something. Fawkes paid them no heed, so Hunter didn¡¯t either. At the far end of the hall, Vanchik the alderman had already taken his place atop a platform. He was holding a short staff decorated with feathers and was impatiently waiting for the still-gathering audience to settle. At this rate he¡¯d have to wait a long while, Hunter thought. The bad news had traveled fast, and every single of these people looked anxious and spooked. ¡°Friends, folken, clansmen,¡± he raised his voice in an attempt to silence the whispers and murmurs of the crowd. ¡°Lend me your ear, if you may, for there is much I have to tell you. Here speaks Vanchik of Clan Ashari, of the Hawk Nation, of the Brennai. May your days be many and your nights serene.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Hile, Vanchik. May the ancestors will it¡± answered the crowd in chorus. ¡°Let us not waste time and words, for we all know the reason for this gathering, and it¡¯s a grim one. The rumors you¡¯ve heard are true ¨C there have been yet more killings.¡± Another wave of whispers went through the gathered crowd, echoing off the longhouse¡¯s old timber, taking over the hall as if it had a life and a mind of its own. ¡°Quiet, now. I pass the staff to brother Daeran, so that he may speak of what he saw with his own eyes.¡± Daeran ¨C the gruff, older watchman from earlier ¨C rose from somewhere in the front rows, climbed on the platform, took the staff from Vanchik, and turned to address the folken. ¡°Here speaks Daeran of Clan Besk, of the Hawk Nation, of the Brennai. May your days be many and your nights serene.¡± ¡°Hile, Daeran. May the ancestors will it¡± answered the crowd again, this time with a definite hint of uncertainty and impatience. ¡°My heart bleeds for the families of the missing huntsmen and huntswomen, for they were murdered in the deep of the woods. I saw the carnage with my own eyes, a scene most vile and foul.¡± That drew gasps all around the crowd, followed by stony silence. Daeran looked at the alderman as if asking for permission, then went on. ¡°They were butchered and torn apart, and their bodies were left for necrophages to feast on. This was an act of ritual slaughter ¨C neither the work of muggers nor of mindless beasts. Their belongings were untouched, their flesh uneaten, save by scavengers.¡± ¡°Wait, does that mean he made it to that clearing and back?¡± Hunter whispered to Fawkes. ¡°It¡¯s only been half a day.¡± ¡°The folken have lived in these parts for many generations,¡± she explained without taking her eyes off the speaker. ¡°They know the Weald like the back of their hand.¡± ¡°Who could have been the perpetrator of such an atrocity, Daeran?¡± asked the alderman. Judging from his tone, he knew the answer already ¨C and so did the rest of the gathered crowd, probably. Or, well, he believed he did. ¡°It could have been no animal, alderman, and no man of sound mind.¡± Daeran paused for breath. When he spoke again, his voice came out changed, grim. ¡°As I see it, it could only be the Ghost Nation. The evil spirits of the mists are stirring, I can feel it.¡± A cacophony of whispers broke out among the crowd, spreading across the hall. A portly man in the front row roughly the same age as Daeran and Vanchik stood up, indignant. ¡°This again? More talk of the Ghost Nation? Shame!¡± ¡°Enough, Tego,¡± Vanchik was quick to reprimand him. ¡°Only one who holds the staff may address the folken.¡± ¡°Address us with lies and deceit?¡± the man shouted, full of vinegar. ¡°The ancestors turn in their resting places, yet all you do is lie, and scheme, and ask the folken to turn a blind eye! Shame on you, Vanchik, and shame on you, too, Daeran. Your fathers would turn their faces from you!¡± ¡°Shut your foundling mouth, Tego, before I shut it for you,¡± growled Daeran, his thick knuckles turning white around the ceremonial staff. Unfazed by the threat of violence, Tego spat some slur at the other man ¨C something Hunter didn¡¯t quite catch, but made Daeran¡¯s nostrils flare with fury. Other voices rose among the gathered crowd, arguments broke, tempers started running high. No matter how much Vanchik called for order, the gathering was starting to look alarmingly like an all-out brawl waiting to happen. An old woman dressed in white furs stood up, climbed on the platform, closed her eyes, and raised her hands in the air as if conjuring some unseen force. And that¡¯s exactly what she did, thought Hunter; a wave of muted stillness washed over the hall, quieting voices and lulling tempers. You have failed a contest of will against Hallara Besk. Hunter felt it all too clearly ¨C like a calm breeze blowing all his feelings away, leaving behind nothing but a peaceful kind of emptiness. It was almost pleasant, in a way. Whatever it was, however, Fawkes didn¡¯t seem to be affected by it. If anything, she found the whole thing amusing, judging from her crooked smirk. When everyone had fallen silent, the old woman gently took the ceremonial stuff from the hands of a stunned Daeran and turned to the folken. ¡°Here speaks Hallara of Clan Besk, of the Hawk Nation, of the Brennai. May your days be many and your nights serene.¡± There was no response from the crowd, save from a few absent-minded nods of acknowledgement here and there. Everyone was staring at her, transfixed. ¡°In the face of tragedy, we bicker like children,¡± she spoke in a voice that sounded unexpectedly melodic. ¡°Our fathers would turn their faces from all of us, should they be here to watch. Go back to your homes, mourn your dead, burn candles for their spirits to find their way in the dark. And do not despair, for our ancestors¡¯ wisdom lives strong in our hearts and minds. With their guidance, we shall weather this storm, much like we have any other. Go now, with my blessing.¡± Still half-stunned, the masses started rising and heading for the exit. Whoever this old lady was, she had gravitas, and not necessarily of the natural kind. Hunter wasn¡¯t exactly crazy about the way things had turned out. If there was something he hated above everything else, both in games and in real life, it was having his agency forcibly taken away. That¡¯s what this woman had done to her whole tribe. It was for their own good, probably, yes, but it still felt kind of wrong. He was about to give Fawkes a piece of his mind about the inner workings of Brennai politics when Inago, the younger watchman from earlier, walked up to them. ¡°Uh, hile, outlanders. The medicine woman has asked that you remain here, and that you join her to palaver.¡± Fawkes simply nodded, and the man walked away. ¡°Need I remind you your role?¡± she turned to Hunter once she made sure Inago was out of earshot. ¡°See everything, hear everything, say nothing,¡± he rolled his eyes. ¡°I should get a tattoo of it or something.¡± ¡°If it helps you remember it,¡± Fawkes said, her gaze fixed on the old woman in white, ¡°I¡¯ll give it to you myself.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 18 If all women were like this Hallara ¨C or Fawkes, for that matter ¨C patriarchy wouldn¡¯t have a snowball¡¯s chance in hell, Hunter thought. What the medicine woman lacked in stature, she more than made up for in presence. She was a tiny old thing clad in white fur garments, crowned with thick, equally white plaits that ran almost to her knees. Her wrinkled skin was tan and sunburnt, yet fine like vellum. She looked old and fragile; her jade green eyes, however, burned with an intensity that betrayed she was anything but that. Vanchik, Daeran, and a couple of other folken ¨C though not that angry guy Tego, Hunter noticed ¨C hovered around Hallara like children holding on to the hem of their mother¡¯s skirt. Gone was the alderman¡¯s self-importance, gone was the watchman¡¯s gruffness and bravado; in their place there was only respect. As Fawkes and Hunter joined the small huddle, they all fell silent and let the medicine woman do the speaking. ¡°Hile, Fawkes. May your days be many and your nights serene.¡± ¡°May the ancestors will it,¡± Fawkes answered. ¡°Yours and mine both. For those of you I have not yet met, they call me Fawkes of the Lodge, of the Foreign West.¡± The folken nodded, but remained silent. ¡°And you, young man?¡± the medicine woman turned to Hunter, her sharp eyes catching him by surprise. ¡°They call me Hunter,¡± he blurted. ¡°Of the, uh¡­ Lodge, too. Of the Foreign West.¡± Fawkes stared daggers at him, indignant. He probably shouldn¡¯t have added that last part. It must have been some kind of blunder, but it was too late to fix it. Fawkes went along with it and said nothing. She¡¯d probably have quite a lot to say later, when they would be alone and out of the folken¡¯s earshot. If Hallara got any of that underlying context, she didn¡¯t show it. She put her hand on Daeran¡¯s arm, as if to steady herself, and turned back to Fawkes. ¡°Daeran tells me he¡¯s seen the carnage for himself, but it was you who first stumbled upon it. Pray tell us, if you please, what do you make of it? Spare no detail, for this is a matter of grave importance.¡± Grave indeed, Hunter thought to himself, but said nothing. Apparently, he had put his foot in his mouth enough for one day. Fawkes started describing the grisly scene back at the clearing in all its blood-curdling glory, with Daeran occasionally piping in to agree or add some small detail. Vanchik was listening with a progressively deepening scowl. The rest of the folken looked shocked and speechless ¨C save for Hallara, of course. Hallara looked unshaken and calm, but the intensity in her stare told another story altogether. ¡°¡­ so I opted to let the bodies lay undisturbed,¡± Fawkes concluded. ¡°It was only right to let you see them with your own eyes, draw your own conclusions.¡± ¡°And you say neither man nor beast could have done the killing, correct?¡± asked Vanchik, whose thick gray brows were so furrowed Hunter could hardly see his eyes. Fawkes shook her head emphatically, and Daeran agreed. ¡°No natural beast I know of could have done such an evil thing,¡± the watchman said, ¡°and certainly no man.¡± ¡°And yet, there was¡­ intelligence behind its acts,¡± added Fawkes, as if pondering over every single one of the words she spoke, choosing them with care. ¡°Maliciousness. A propensity for mysticism and the eldritch mysteries, even.¡± ¡°I will say it again,¡± Vanchik said. ¡°As I see it, it could only be the Ghost Nation.¡± ¡°Skin-witches,¡± Daeran agreed. ¡°They cajole vile beings best left unnamed; they whisper dark secrets better left forgotten. I know it.¡± In any other case, Hunter would find all this doom and gloom a bit too on the nose. He had seen the slaughter for himself, however. He had smelled the tang of spilled blood wafting from the soil beneath his feet. He had felt his stomach clench and his heart skip a beat at the sight of torn limbs strewn around like discarded toys. Game or no game, Elderpyre felt real.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Sometimes too real. ¡°Maybe Tego is right,¡± said one of the folken quietly. ¡°Maybe the ancestors are angry at us. Maybe it¡¯s the¨C¡± ¡°Tego is a fool, and so are you for listening to him, sirrah¡± Vanchik exploded, shutting the other man up mid-sentence. ¡°Whatever the truth may be,¡± the medicine woman piped in, restoring order, ¡°the forest has become dangerous. Spread the word. Until we know more, no folken are to venture beyond the treeline.¡± Everyone nodded in agreement, but Hallara wasn¡¯t done yet. ¡°You, however, are not folken,¡± she turned to Fawkes. ¡°You are not bound by our rules. In fact, I considered your request, Fawkes of the Lodge, and I have decided to grant it. You may visit the Ghostbarrows. If you will, however, there is a service I would like you to perform.¡± For a moment, the two women stared at each other, Fawkes¡¯s iron-gray gaze clashing with Hallara¡¯s jade-green. There was some kind of unspoken exchange there, that much was obvious, though Hunter couldn¡¯t begin to guess what it was about. ¡°Very well,¡± Fawkes said finally. ¡°Make your ask.¡± ¡°You hear it too, do you?¡± said the old woman. ¡°The whispering.¡± ¡°Not always. But I have, yes.¡± ¡°There is something brewing over at the Ghostbarrows. What is it, I cannot say. But I do not believe in coincidences, Fawkes of the Lodge, of the Foreign West.¡± ¡°Make your ask, anointed one.¡± ¡°The whispering. Find out what it is. Silence it, if you can. It can be nothing good.¡± ¡°For the silencing, I make no promise,¡± said Fawkes. ¡°But for the first part, I do. I will come back and tell you all I may unearth. Is this acceptable, Hallara of Clan Besk, of the Hawk Nation, of the Brennai?¡± Hallara nodded, then beckoned at Daeran, who brought her a small case made of ornate wood and bone. She opened the lid and pulled out what looked like an old silk scarf. It was thin and threadbare, but its crimson color stood like a beacon among the muted browns and tans of the folken. ¡°An old offering of grace, given to us by those who have since departed,¡± Hallara said as she offered it to Fawkes. ¡°One of our holiest relics, passed down from one medicine woman to the next for generations. Show it to them, in case you meet them. They will remember its significance. It should earn you some good will.¡± Fawkes nodded, took the scarf, and hid it in the sleeve of her coat. ¡°Take care of it, woman,¡± said Vanchik, frowning. ¡°And bring it back to us once your business at the Ghostbarrows is concluded. It has no place in the hands of a foreigner.¡± Fawkes, her eyes still locked with the medicine woman¡¯s, paid no attention to him. ¡°May the ancestors light your path, then,¡± Daeran said, his own furrowed brow matching the alderman¡¯s. ¡°May you have their guidance and protection, outlander, because you will surely need it.¡± *** ¡°So, that went well¡± said Hunter as the two of them left the longhouse and headed for their tent. ¡°Well enough.¡± Fawkes said, ¡°save that indiscretion of yours.¡± ¡°What indiscretion? What did I do this time?¡± The swordswoman studied him for a moment. ¡°Claiming to be of the Lodge is no laughing matter, lad.¡± ¡°I just repeated what you said,¡± Hunter shrugged. ¡°To get them to believe I¡¯m with you. You know, add credibility to your story.¡± To that, Fawkes said nothing. Her sneer and sigh were answer enough. ¡°Always the same story,¡± she said, talking more to herself than to Hunter. ¡°First comes smiles, then comes lies. Last is gunfire.¡± ¡°What?¡± Hunter cocked his ears. ¡°Where did you hear that?¡± ¡°It¡¯s an old adage of the Lodge. Why?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure I¡¯ve heard it before.¡± Fawkes studied him for a moment. ¡°No,¡± she concluded. ¡°You must be mistaken.¡± They were somewhere near the center of the encampment when something caught Hunter¡¯s attention. It was something like a totem pole, carved and etched and decorated with animal motifs. ¡°Give me a moment,¡± he told Fawkes. ¡°I want to check something out.¡± She opened her mouth to say something, a fat lot of good that would do, but change her mind. Hunter was already halfway there anyway. He walked over to the pole, studied it for a moment, then reached out and touched its weathered surface with his fingertips. As he had suspected, a dialogue window popped up before him. Do you wish to anchor yourself to this Place of Power? ¡°Yes," he willed, and was filled with that familiar feeling of something tugging at his core and shifting inside him. The connection he had felt to the previous Place of Power he¡¯d found waned and was replaced with a link to the totem pole. You are now anchored to this place of power. You receive the blessing of the Hawk ancestral spirit, protector of the Hawk Tribe. Your Inspiration quality is now 1. Good, a checkpoint. He didn¡¯t plan to kick the bucket again. Once was one time too many. If he did, however, he¡¯d rather not have to walk all the way back from the previous place of power he¡¯d found, the one at the wayshrine behind the log cabin. Fawkes watched with a raised eyebrow, looking puzzled. For the umpteenth time, Hunter wondered how much she knew about Skills and Abilities and Attributes and notifications and all that jazz. Were these things common knowledge in Elderpyre, or did he have access to them because he was a transient? Hunter had a strong suspicion that the truth was closer to the latter. ¡°More of your transient craftiness?¡± Fawkes asked. ¡°Something like that, yes.¡± ¡°Tell me, lad¡± she shook her head, ¡°do you want the folken to take out all their fear and superstition on you? Because they will, if they find out.¡± ¡°Okay, okay, I¡¯ll be more careful.¡± ¡°I should hope so,¡± she grumbled as she started walking towards their tent again. ¡°Or we¡¯ll both end up on the wrong side of their hospitality.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 19 It was a strange time to be a foreigner among the Brennai, Hunter found out, a time of fear and distrust and xenophobia. Men looked at Fawkes and him and whispered as they walked by. Women pulled small children closer and made strange gestures at them, as if to ward off evil. As far as he knew, neither him nor Fawkes had done anything to provoke that kind of treatment, but superstition was still superstition. ¡°Ignore them,¡± Fawkes whispered. ¡°Don¡¯t even look at them.¡± ¡°Can they tell I¡¯m transient?¡± asked Hunter. ¡°Is that why they¡¯re so unfriendly?¡± ¡°Them? No. It¡¯s enough that we¡¯re foreigners, and I a¡­ a black-hearted witch, I think some call me. Gods forbid that a woman has knowledge and skill they don¡¯t, lad. She must be a witch, must she not?¡± The two of them headed straight back in the tent, away from the suspicious looks the night watchmen gave them. Fawkes was in no mood for chitchat ¨C even less than usual, that is ¨C so Hunter just disconnected, grabbed a bite at the cafeteria, and turned in early. When he logged in again the next morning, she was already up and about. ¡°Get this,¡± she told Hunter and handed him an old, weather-beaten leather backpack. ¡°You¡¯ll need it.¡± ¡°And a good morning to you too, Fawkes. Sleep well?¡± ¡°Like the dead. If you¡¯re done with the pointless pleasantries, grab the backpack and follow me.¡± ¡°Thanks, I got my own. Look, transient magic! It¡¯s bigger on the inside!¡± Fawkes scoffed, unimpressed. ¡°Suit yourself. Just make haste. We have supplies to purchase, and a long day ahead of us.¡± ¡°Uh¡­ doing what, exactly?¡± ¡°Getting to the Ghostbarrows.¡± Hunter didn¡¯t have the slightest idea what those were, but they didn¡¯t exactly sound like a place where he¡¯d be able to kick back and spend the day in peace. In fact, it sounded exactly like the kind of place ghost-things would probably hand him his ass on a platter ¨C an experience he wasn¡¯t keen on revisiting. ¡°I think I¡¯ll stay here, if you don¡¯t mind. I kind of like this place.¡± Fawkes raised an eyebrow. ¡°But this place does not kind-of-like you back, lad," she said. ¡°Have you not been paying attention? Not really big on foreigners, the Brennai ¨C and much less so on¡­ your kind. Or mine, for that matter. Save yourself the trouble of finding that out firsthand.¡± Hunter knew Fawkes was right. The cold shoulder they¡¯d been given the previous night was proof enough. And with all the mysterious killings going, well¡­ impromptu lynchings of strangers had happened for less, if history was any indication. ¡°Alright, so, Ghostbarrows it is,¡± he said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and following Fawkes out of the tent. ¡°What is a Ghostbarrow, anyway?¡± ¡°Ancestral tombs of the Ghost Nation.¡± ¡°Yeah, that explains a lot. And what¡¯s a Ghost Nation?¡± ¡°Some kind of Brennai tribe that supposedly up and vanished in the mist a couple centuries ago. They are the local boogeymen, or so I gather.¡± ¡°And why do we want to go to their tombs?¡± ¡°Cause that¡¯s where Reiner was headed last I heard from him.¡± ¡°And who did you say that was?¡± ¡°Grimnir¡¯s beard, lad, enough!¡± Fawkes snapped at him. ¡°If I wanted some clueless toddler clinging to my skirts and asking silly questions, I¡¯d have given birth to one myself.¡± ¡°Okay, okay!¡± Hunter moaned. ¡°Back to ¡®see everything, hear everything, say nothing.¡¯ Got it!¡± Fawkes was in an exceptionally foul mood, so he wisely opted to keep the rest of his questions to himself. They made their way through the other side of the encampment, to what seemed like a great tent made of stitched-together animal hides and surrounded by large and bulky ox carts. Outside it stood the man who had picked a fight with the alderman the previous night, Tego. He was talking to a couple other folken, probably making some kind of business deal. Furs, tools, and some kind of peculiar seafoam-green pearls changed hands, the men clasped each other¡¯s arms in a gesture of agreement, and the transaction was apparently complete. ¡°Friends!¡± Tego turned to Fawkes and Hunter as the other folken walked off. ¡°A good morn to you. How may this humble merchant serve you?¡± Not being treated like vagrants was a nice surprise, but Hunter couldn¡¯t decide whether all that warmth and smiles were genuine or a fa?ade. This was the same man that had shouted at the alderman before the gathering of their whole tribe, after all, all fire and brimstone. ¡°A good morn to you too, Tego,¡± Fawkes said. ¡°We¡¯re about to go on the road again, and the lad here is in need of some supplies. A whole list of them, in fact.¡± ¡°Splendid, splendid. Give me a moment to fetch my nephew, and we¡¯ll get right to it. Parit! Parit! Blazes, where has that boy vanished again? Parit!¡± He was a bulky man, Hunter noticed, but surprisingly light on his feet. His garments were new and rich-looking and adorned with numerous beads and trinkets, a far cry from the furs and hide breeches and simple tunics the other folken wore. He was clean-shaven, had heavy cheeks that would one day become jowls, and lines carving their courses from the sides of his nose down to his chin. ¡°I-want¡± lines, Hunter thought. He¡¯d read that term somewhere, though he couldn¡¯t remember where, not exactly. They were the telltale sign of a man who was used to getting his way. Parit finally showed up ¨C a teenage boy who, judging from his sleepy look, must have been napping in some corner or other ¨C and Fawkes started reading her shopping list to the merchant. ¡°One bedroll. One blanket. One poncho, the sturdy kind, no bright colors. One mess kit ¨C you know, a plate and a spoon and a fork, plus a mug or something. A tinderbox. A torch or three. Rations for a week. A waterskin. Oh, and rope, too. A good length, fifty feet or so.¡± ¡°What do we need so much rope for?¡± Hunter asked. ¡°In case I need to tie you to a tree and leave you for low-dweller bait. Shush now.¡± Parit started darting in and out of the tent, gathering the supplies. Tego did some elaborate calculations and announced to Fawkes she only owed him sixty-three Qiwunats, probably overcharging her by a respectable margin. She offered him an even sixty, to which he agreed all too eagerly, and handed him six strings of those same seafoam-green pearls Hunter had seen the folken use as currency earlier. ¡°Terrible tragedy, those deaths,¡± Fawkes commented in an artfully off-hand manner as she was stuffing the supplies in her saddlebags. The jolly merchant¡¯s face turned dark in an instant. She¡¯d obviously hit a nerve. ¡°Killings,¡± Tego corrected her. ¡°Murders. You saw the bodies yourself. There¡¯s something out there hunting us, butchering us.¡± ¡°The alderman says it¡¯s the Ghost Nation,¡± she added ¨C another poignant comment meant to stoke the fires of the merchant¡¯s ire. ¡°Raiders, maybe, or even a skin witch.¡± ¡°Ghost Nation, my foot," Tego grumbled. ¡°A ghost story to tell children around the campfire. The alderman has always been fond of using it as a scapegoat. It¡¯s his fault, this curse that¡¯s befallen us, I know it. He has lost sight of the ways of the ancestors, and we¡¯re all paying the price with the blood of our kin.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t presume to know about any of that, being just the humble foreigner that I am," Fawkes went on. ¡°The folken, though ¨C they don¡¯t seem to share your concerns.¡± ¡°Some do, some do. The rest¡­¡± Tego spat at the ground. ¡°The rest are either fools, or bought-and-paid-for by Vanchik.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. ¡°So who do you think lurks in the forest, if not the Ghost Nation?¡± ¡°What, not who.¡± ¡°What, then?¡± Tego¡¯s face grew even darker. His shrewd eyes were just pinpoints of worry now, and he turned away from Fawkes ¨C and, quite incidentally, towards the general direction of the forest. ¡°What¡¯s always been lurking there," he shrugged, and shook as if a chill ran down his spine. ¡°Hungering. Watching. Waiting for us to lose our way and stray away from the light of the ancestors, so it can prey on us. Feast on us. I won¡¯t say its name out loud, outlander. Only a fool would. It¡¯s bad luck.¡± Fawkes didn¡¯t push the subject further. Parit showed up with the last of the items, and Hunter started stuffing them in his backpack. ¡°So, you¡¯re leaving us?¡± Tego changed the subject, slowly getting back some of his usual, pleasant mirth and friendly demeanor. ¡°Not for long, one hopes. We¡¯ll venture into the forest again to look for my compatriot. The elders have allowed us entry to the Ghostbarrows, where I believe he was headed last he was seen.¡± ¡°May the ancestors be with you, then, friend," the merchant said with a frown. ¡°¡®Tis a dreary place, all but fraught with death and danger.¡± ¡°I thought you said the Ghost Nation was just a story,¡± said Hunter, promptly earning a glower from Fawkes. ¡°Story or not, there are things lurking in the ruins and the mists,¡± Tego shook his head. ¡°Bad things. I will pray for your safe return.¡± He pushed himself to smile and look jolly again, something he¡¯d obviously practiced a lot. ¡°It¡¯d be a shame for me to lose such a good customer, yes? A good friend too, if I may be so bold.¡± ¡°Thank you, Tego,¡± Fawkes said. ¡°If only the rest of the folken shared your sentiment.¡± Again, that hit a nerve. ¡°If only indeed. They¡¯d rather blame their trouble on anyone foreign or different than take a good hard look at themselves. I should now. Greedy, intolerant curs, the lot of them. One could only hope you don¡¯t judge us all by those standards, too.¡± There was an awkward silence for a moment or two, then the merchant spoke again, this time more composed. ¡°Pardon me, I¡¯ve said too much. Here, let me help you with those saddlebags.¡± Fawkes helped Hunter to pack, bid the merchant goodbye, then started back towards their tent. ¡°Interesting man, this Tego,¡± Hunter said, if only to break the silence. ¡°More than he lets on.¡± ¡°Why do you say that?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she shrugged. ¡°Not yet. Sometimes you have to just trust your gut, lad, and I¡¯ve found that mine¡¯s rarely wrong.¡± ¡°Well, what my gut¡¯s telling me is that-¡± ¡°Blazes, forgot the sausages!¡± Fawkes cut him off. ¡°Wait here. I¡¯ll only be a minute. Don¡¯t move a muscle!¡± She rushed back towards Tego¡¯s tent, leaving him with two saddlebags and a backpack full of supplies, all too conscious of the dozen pairs of Brennai eyes watching him from the surrounding tents. It didn¡¯t take long for one of the folken to approach him. He was a man roughly his own age, tall and broad and haughty-looking. He was dressed in rich furs and leathers and had hawk feathers braided in his long, dark hair. He carried a staff of polished wood in his hands, long as he was tall. He didn¡¯t have to say a single word; Hunter already knew what he wanted. He¡¯d seen that look a thousand times. A few of his friends, men his age, were watching from a nearby tent, curious to see how the scene would unfold. Trouble ¨C that was what the man was looking for, clear as day. Hunter tried to look away, ignore him, not give him no excuse to engage. No such luck. ¡°A rich haul, outlander,¡± the man said as he approached. ¡°Tego must have taken a liking to you. Where are you off to, carrying so many supplies?¡± ¡°Away,¡± Hunter said, trying to look busy. ¡°I¡¯m waiting for my friend to return any minute now. Then we¡¯ll be out of your hair.¡± The man¡¯s smile broadened, but his eyes hardened. ¡°Yes, of course, you must be very busy. I was just curious. That glaive of yours¡­ a fine-looking weapon, it is. I wonder where you might have gotten it. It¡¯s Brennai, you know. I recognize the craftsmanship.¡± ¡°Yes, it¡¯s nice,¡± said Hunter and slung Fawkes¡¯s saddlebags over his shoulder, along with his own two packs. ¡°Look, I¡¯m going to have to leave now, my friend is probably waiting-¡± ¡°Give it up,¡± the man said. ¡°The glaive. I don¡¯t know where you got it, but it belongs with the Brennai, not some foreigner.¡± Hunter ignored him and turned to leave, wishing the man would leave him alone. ¡°Are you deaf, then? Face me when I address you!¡± More folken were gathering around them, their eyes fixed on Hunter and the man. This could get ugly. Hunter started for Tego¡¯s tent. The faster he got away from that growing crowd, the better. Again, no such luck. ¡°You will face me when I address you, worm!¡± the man suddenly exploded and swept Hunter¡¯s feet with his staff. Yuma Ashari attacks you for 1 bludgeoning damage. Yuma Ashari attempts to trip you. You resist Yuma Ashari¡¯s attempt to trip you. Hunter leaned on his glaive and managed to stay on his feet, but he had to drop all the supplies he was carrying. He twisted to face the man, his face red with fury. He couldn¡¯t take this lying down. Enough was enough. ¡°I was told the Brennai were stern but fair, Yuma of Clan Ashari,¡± he spat at the man. ¡°Yet here you are, trying to mug a stranger. Your folken must be very proud of you.¡± That must have struck a chord, because Hunter heard a handful of the onlookers gasp. ¡°You dare speak to me like that?¡± the Ashari man roared, throwing a quick glance at the other folken. They had heard Hunter, too, and looked all too eager to watch how the scene unfolded. ¡°I said what I said,¡± Hunter stood his ground. ¡°Raise your weapon, then, worm. Let us see if your worthy of it.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt you,¡± Hunter started to say, but the Ashari man had already closed the distance between then, staff ready to strike. More out of instinct than any kind of combat skill, Hunter raised his glaive to protect himself. He blocked the man¡¯s first strike, if only because it wasn¡¯t meant to hit him in the first place. His opponent was just testing the waters. Hunter took a couple of steps back, trying to create some distance between himself and his foe. Confident, the Ashari man pushed on. He deflected the raised glaive to the side, then spun around and whacked Hunter on the head with the other end of his staff. Yuma Ashari attacks you for 7 bludgeoning damage. Yuma Ashari staggers you. Hunter stabbed blindly at his foe, desperately trying to shake off the blow. Too late. The Ashari man was faster, stronger, and more skilled. With another spin, he swept Hunter¡¯s legs from under him. Yuma Ashari attacks you for 1 bludgeoning damage. Yuma Ashari attempts to trip you. Yuma Ashari¡¯s trips you. Hunter fell flat on his face, humiliated and disoriented, his glaive no longer in his grasp. ¡°Pitiful,¡± Yuma Ashari spat and raised his staff for another blow as Hunter was starting to get up on his hands and knees. Two avian shadows came out of nowhere, each one crashing straight into the man¡¯s face one after the other, eliciting a chorus of gasps from the onlookers. Biggs attacks Yuma Ashari for 1 bludgeoning damage. Wedge attacks Yuma Ashari for 1 bludgeoning damage. ¡°Ancestors guard me!¡± he exclaimed as took a few steps back, raising his arms and his staff to protect his head, leaving his lower body unprotected. Hunter, who¡¯d done some wrestling in highschool, bull-rushed him and went in for a double leg takedown. The Ashari man, who apparently hadn¡¯t, crumbled like he was made of wafers. He fell on his back and got the wind knocked out of him. He gripped his staff with both hands and tried to push Hunter away, but this wasn¡¯t Hunter¡¯s first rodeo. He climbed right on top of the man and started pelting him with punches, not giving him an inch. You attack Yuma Ashari for 3 bludgeoning damage. You attack Yuma Ashari for 2 bludgeoning damage. You stagger Yuma Ashari. Your Close Combat has increased to 12. Biggs and Wedge circled above the fight, cawing excitedly, shouting encouragement in the back of Hunter¡¯s mind. Their voices hardly registered. One of the onlookers shouted something, but Hunter wasn¡¯t listening. He was burning with rage. He wasn¡¯t about to be bullied by some tribal guy with a stick. He¡¯d had enough. He¡¯d smash his face until it gave in or until he stopped seeing red, whichever came first. Hands grabbed him, tried to pull him off the Ashari man. He struck blindly at them too, kicked, bit. The sharp sound of gunshot tore the air, sending them all ducking and covering their ears. ¡°Enough of this!¡± Fawkes shouted, pushing through the small crowd that had gathered with her gun in her hand. ¡°Enough!¡± She went to Hunter¡¯s side and helped him to his feet, never taking her eyes off the closest folken. ¡°Are you alright?¡± Hunter grunted and glared at the other guy. Some of the onlookers had helped him to his feet, too. He was in a bad shape, his face all red and bloody and already swelling. Their weapons lay on the ground, forgotten. ¡°Friends, friends, there¡¯s nothing to see here,¡± Tego said with a wide smile, raising his hands to appease the crowd. ¡°Just a small misunderstanding between overeager young men, yes?¡± ¡°Witch!¡± one of the onlookers shouted. ¡°Evil spirits! Dark magic!¡± ¡°Look, there!¡± another piped in. ¡°Birds, black of feather, omen of evil!¡± ¡°Grab your gear and walk,¡± Fawkes hissed through gritted teeth. Hunter didn¡¯t have to be told twice. He grabbed his glaive, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and walked away in a hurry. Fawkes grabbed her saddlebags and followed him, gun in hand, staring daggers at anyone who came a hair¡¯s breadth too close. ¡°Foreigner!¡± Yuma of Clan Ashari shouted at Hunter through torn and bloody lips. ¡°I will learn your name, cur. I will remember it well.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you dare answer,¡± Fawkes prodded him in the back. ¡°Walk.¡± They left the village right away, Biggs and Wedge following them from above. Even as they walked away, Hunter could feel the eyes of the folken watchmen burning holes in his back. Nobody tried to stop them, but the tension was so thick it felt suffocating. Hunter wasn¡¯t exactly crazy about following Fawkes around like a Stockholm syndrome-fueled puppy, but this silly scrap had forced his hand. Staying with the Brennai was out of the question. That left him with one other choice; to part ways with the swordswoman and wander off on his own. He had already considered the idea, but had found it was not a very appealing choice at the moment, either. ¡°He started it,¡± Hunter offered, brooding. ¡°Not now, fool,¡± Fawkes berated him, not even sparing him a look as she was stomping down the trail away from the Brennai village and back into the Weald. ¡°Walk. Just shut up and walk.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 20 The Weald had felt considerably less like a great camping vacation spot since stumbling upon the low-dwellers and the site of the murders. Trekking through the forest now felt almost unnerving. Hunter felt more like a trespasser than ever, all too conscious of even the smallest crunch of leaves or snap of twigs under his feet. Fawkes was leading the way through the twisting forest paths, silent and sullen ¨C even more so than usual. Hunter had a thousand things to say, now that they were out of earshot of the folken, but neither she nor he were in the mood for chatter. Even the ravens had fallen silent, focused on scouting ahead. The fight had shaken him a bit, he had to admit that. He may have come out on top, figuratively and literally, but the Ashari man¡¯s skill with his weapon had been alarmingly superior to Hunter¡¯s. If he couldn¡¯t take on a single local with armed with a stick, he wasn¡¯t too hopeful about his prospects against whatever prowled the Weald. He decided to take a mental inventory of himself and his abilities, and opened his character sheet.
Character Information:
Name: Hunter
Race: Transient (Human)
Class: Mystic
Qualities:
Aether 100
¨¦lan 9
Insight 1
Inspiration 1
Serendipity 1
Attributes:
Health 100
Essence 100
Stamina 100
Strength 10
Dexterity 10
Intellect 10
Willpower 10
Presence 10
Nothing new here, really. That single point of Serendipity was sooner or later bound to get him a special encounter, and the hundred Aether he got for completing a task was just enough for him to upgrade one of his Attributes. He also had one point of Inspiration to spare, the one he¡¯d gotten from anchoring himself to the Place of Power at the village. That meant he could learn a new Ability, but he wasn¡¯t sure which. He willed the Character Sheet to scroll down to the next section and took a look at what he already had.
Skills:
Close Combat 12
Evasion 2
Meditation 1
Occultism 6
Polearm Mastery 11
Survival 19
Abilities:
Conjure Familiar 4
Low-Light Vision 8
Mystic¡¯s Eye 9
These Skills and Abilities were what he amounted to, when push came to shove. They were the meat and potatoes of his character, the things he could actively do to exert his oh-so-valuable player agency on the world around him. What a damn mess, he caught himself thinking. As a gamer, he¡¯d always been a fan of specialization. All of his characters were tuned to do one thing, and do it well. In Elderpyre, however, his skillset had ended up looking like a mixed bag of odds and ends with no focus or direction whatsoever.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. It wasn¡¯t his fault, exactly; there was no tutorial, no manual, no wiki to look up and learn the ins and outs of the game. He had no idea what to expect, no idea what to prepare for, no idea which upgrade to his character would prove to be of value and which simply a red herring. In most other games he chose to play some kind of tanky warrior, a heavy-hitting bruiser, or some other variation of the beefy close-combat specialist archetype. That meant he usually poured everything he had into upgrading his Strength, Health, and Stamina stats or their equivalents. In most other games, however, getting hit did not mean feeling the pain ¨C a feature that Elderpyre had, and Hunter was not exactly fond of. He could instead pump his Aether into his Essence or one of his mental Attributes ¨C Intellect, Willpower, and Presence ¨C and attempt a more magic-focused build for his character. Again, the problem was he had no idea how that would work in Elderpyre. Plus, effective as they usually turned out to be, playing spellcasters never really appealed to him. So many choices, so little information to go on. He was flying blind. He hated flying blind. Hunter kept on poring over his character sheet, trying to make heads or tails of things. Browsing through the semi-transparent window while walking through the uneven, shifty paths and game trails of the Weald, however, was a ticking bomb of trouble waiting to go off. Before long, off it went. Hunter never really saw whether it was a rock, a fallen tree branch, or a root. He tripped, lost his balance, and fell more-or-less on his face. The fact that he was lugging around an eight-and-a-half-foot long glaive and a backpack didn¡¯t help much, either. ¡°If you wanted the whole Weald to know we¡¯re here, congratulations,¡± said Fawkes as she helped him up, the edges of her tight mouth struggling to conceal a crooked grin despite herself. ¡°We might as well stop to catch our breaths a bit.¡± Hunter welcomed the break. He left his gear on the ground, patted down with new poncho, and sat on a big rock to rest. ¡°Do you think the Brennai will give us trouble?¡± he asked. ¡°Hard to say. They¡¯re on edge, and rightly so. They have no love for outlander even at the best of times. Oh, and the young man you tussled with? He¡¯s the alderman¡¯s son.¡± ¡°Splendid.¡± ¡°Is that what¡¯s on your mind?¡± ¡°Hmm? No, not really.¡± ¡°Then what?¡± ¡°Transient stuff,¡± Hunter said. ¡°In fact, you could help me with it.¡± ¡°As long as it doesn¡¯t take too long. We¡¯d better be on our way soon.¡± ¡°Okay, so, you know how there are these character sheets that detail how much Health and Strength and Dexterity and whatnot you have, and how high your Skill levels are, and what Abilities you know how to use?¡± Fawkes said nothing. ¡°¡­you don¡¯t have the slightest idea what I¡¯m talking about, do you?¡± ¡°I know of this magic, yes,¡± she said, frowning, ¡°though I cannot use it myself. That is something transients do. It is possible for other incandescent to learn it through discipline and meditation, but I only ever met one who actually did.¡± ¡°Incandescent?¡± Fawkes shot Hunter a sideways glance. ¡°Grimnir¡¯s beard, I forget even babes know more than you. Do you know the myth of the Elderpyre?¡± ¡°Uh¡­ please assume that I don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Right," she sighed. ¡°So, when the world was still young, the old gods who ruled over mortal men were, as you¡¯d expect, very possessive of the thing that made them gods in the first place ¨C the Elderpyre. One day a goddess ¨C the one some still worship as our goddess, the Goddess ¨C took pity on us. She went against her fellow gods and stole a fragment of the Elderpyre to share it freely with all mortal men and women.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Hunter said. ¡°I¡¯ve heard variations of that myth before, we have a few of our own back in my world.¡± ¡°You have? That¡¯s interesting. Every culture has its own variation, yes, but they all more or less agree with the quick rundown I gave you.¡± ¡°So what about it?¡± ¡°There¡¯s more. The other gods hunted her down and managed to take the Elderpyre fragment back ¨C but not before the Goddess spread its ashes and embers in the four winds. As the story goes, each of us has a tiny piece of those ashes and embers in our heart. Some even manage to spark it back to life and wake a speck of the Elderpyre within themselves. These are the incandescent, the ones that carry the gift of the Goddess.¡± ¡°So, transients are incandescent?¡± ¡°It would seem so, though you must understand that, as I said, this is mostly conjecture. My master used to say that all transients are incandescent, yes, even if not all incandescent are transients.¡± ¡°Your mast-?¡± ¡°One story at a day, lad,¡± Fawkes cut him short. ¡°Let¡¯s leave that for another time and get back to your question about that¡­ character sheet of yours.¡± ¡°Right. It¡¯s less about the character sheet, per se, and more about me honing my skills.¡± ¡°If that¡¯s the case, my advice to you is that practice makes perfect.¡± ¡°No, yeah, I know. I mean¡­ if I¡¯m to run around the Weald and go snooping in dark places and fight low-dwellers and stuff, I have to learn new skills, get better at new things. Problem is, I don¡¯t really know where to start or what to aim for. I don¡¯t want to end up a jack of all trades.¡± ¡°What¡¯s wrong with a jack of all trades?¡± Fawkes asked. ¡°Well, you know how the saying goes. Jack of all trades, master of none.¡± ¡°¡­though oftentimes better than a master of one," Fawkes added. ¡°I didn¡¯t know that last part.¡± ¡°It means that yes, dabbling aimlessly in a number of disciplines won¡¯t get you the best results ¨C but neither will mastering a single skill and expect it to solve every challenge you encounter. Choosing what to practice, of course, depends on what you wish to become good at. Do you know that, at least?¡± Hunter gave it some thought. To his surprise, something did come to mind ¨C and it wasn¡¯t what he expected. ¡°Yes, I think. I want to become better at avoiding getting hurt. In a fight, I mean, or when I have to stick my nose in dangerous places.¡± ¡°The way of the coward, then¡± Fawkes teased with a smirk. ¡°A noble pursuit.¡± ¡°Well, you know what they say. A coward¡¯s mother never weeps.¡± ¡°They also say that fortune favors the bold.¡± ¡°Well, they haven¡¯t had to cross this scary forest to go crawl down even scarier ghost people''s tombs, have they?¡± ¡°Fair point,¡± Fawkes chuckled. ¡°Well, for starters, that thing you carry around, your glaive. You brandish it like an old maid brandishes her broomstick, but it¡¯s actually a decent weapon. Good for keeping enemies at bay, although dangerous to use in narrow and cramped spaces. You should consider getting yourself some kind of sidearm, too ¨C something easier to carry and use and conceal. A dagger, maybe. And learn to handle both weapons adequately.¡± ¡°Get a sidearm, learn to fight better than an old maid. Got it. Anything else?¡± ¡°Yes ¨C the most important thing," Fawkes added. ¡°Knowledge is power ¨C even more so when it comes to survival. If your goal is to stay out of harm¡¯s way, you have to assume everyone and everything is a threat. Be prepared. Stay vigilant.¡± ¡°Be paranoid about everything,¡± Hunter half-joked. ¡°Got that too.¡± ¡°Which brings me to my next point,¡± Fawkes continued, getting serious. ¡°Those birds of yours?¡± ¡°Biggs and Wedge. What about them?¡± ¡°Am I correct to assume they are your spirit servants ¨C or the transient equivalent, whatever you may call them?¡± ¡°Familiars. Yes.¡± Fawkes nodded. ¡°Having a couple of extra pairs of eyes and ears is invaluable ¨C especially if they¡¯re inconspicuous and trustworthy beyond doubt. Those are rare. Learn to capitalize on them. What¡¯s more, these kinds of spiritual servants often have supernatural abilities beyond what their animalistic form would suggest, or so I¡¯ve gathered. I won¡¯t pretend to know how your transient magics work, but I would suggest you learn to use them to the fullest.¡± ¡°Use the feathery bastards more. Okay, can do.¡± ¡°In short,¡± Fawkes concluded, ¡°play to your strengths.¡± Hunter decided to start doing that right away. He reached out through the mental link he shared with Biggs and Wedge and sent them to scout ahead. They took wing immediately, two dark blurs of feathers, excited caws, and incessant mental chattering. He went on to focus on that mental link for the next half hour, getting live feedback about the layout of the surrounding area as they traversed it. Soon enough, that granted him a couple of interesting skill and ability increases. Your Conjure Familiar has increased to 5. Your Survival has increased to 20. Wildcrafting ¨C an ability akin to Herbalism ¨C is the practice of harvesting plants, herbs, mushrooms, and other natural resources, and using them to create a variety of items, including crafting materials, remedies, and more. Pathfinder offers an in-depth, innate understanding of the land and those who travel it, allowing you to discover and navigate fast and safe routes through almost any kind of terrain and natural environment. Now that was interesting. Those new Abilities had become available just as his Survival Skill hit twenty. Both of them sounded useful, but now he was curious what other Abilities he''d gain access to once some of his other Skills reached that twenty-point mark. That might take a while, though; his Close Combat and Polearm Mastery were at 12 and 11, his Occultism at 6, and his far less used Evasion and Meditation were at a measly 2 and 1 respectively. If he wanted to raise any of those Skills, he¡¯d have to stop riding on Fawkes¡¯s coattails and actively seek out to practice them. Well, look at that, he thought, realizing how eager and motivated he suddenly felt. Gamification ¨C it actually worked! If only he¡¯d used it to get his sorry ass through college instead of shirking off assignments to crawl through virtual dungeons with his raiding group, things might have actually played out a bit differently. Well, if pigs had wings. There was one thing that still bugged him, though. ¡°Fawkes?¡± he asked. ¡°Being incandescent is considered a good thing, isn¡¯t it? Fawkes looked like the question took her by surprise. She furrowed her brow and thought about it for a moment. ¡°Yes,¡± she finally said. ¡°For the most part.¡± ¡°Then why is being a transient considered so bad?¡± ¡°Ah. I see what you mean. Do you have alligars where you come from, lad?¡± ¡°Alligars?¡± ¡°Big lizards that live in the water. The kind that eats you.¡± ¡°Oh, alligators. Yes.¡± ¡°No,¡± she corrected him. ¡°Alligars.¡± ¡°Yes, anyway, we got those. What about them?¡± ¡°Incandescent, you see, are like alligars. They start off small and weak, hardly a threat to anyone. Leave them unchecked, however, and they soon can become proper monsters. See what I¡¯m getting at?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Hunter said. ¡°I think I do.¡± ¡°In fact,¡± Fawkes went on, ¡°there¡¯s an offshoot of the Church called the Inquisition. What they do is keep tabs on any and all incandescent they become aware of, and make sure they pose no threat. Other than that, incandescent are seen as favored by the Goddess. Sometimes even celebrated as such.¡± ¡°What about transients, then?¡± ¡°Transients are too dangerous to be left unchecked,¡± Fawkes shook her head. ¡°If history is any indication, they¡¯re often unpredictable. Callous. Amoral. Hedonistic. They lack any and all empathy for non-transients. Combine that with their innate potential as incandescent, and you can see why they¡¯re vilified.¡± ¡°¡­why we are vilified, you mean.¡± Hunter darkened. ¡°Is that how you see me, then?¡± ¡°That¡¯s certainly how the Inquisition sees you. They have been known to hunt down transients and outright force them to either join or die.¡± ¡°Die?¡± ¡°It¡¯s difficult to make you lot stay down, yes,¡± it was Fawkes¡¯s turn to darken, ¡°but if anyone knows how, it¡¯s the Inquisition. Some of them have turned it into an art form.¡± ¡°But is that how you see me?¡± Fawkes gave it some thought, then chose her words carefully. ¡°Some of the most effective members of the Lodge were incandescent,¡± she said. ¡°The most unorthodox and controversial of those started off as transients. That¡¯s how I see you, then. A baby alligar, not bigger than my hand. No offense meant. Will you grow big and hungry enough to devour it? Will you be an ally? I can¡¯t know for sure. But I have to be wary.¡± ¡°I see.¡± ¡°It¡¯s nothing personal, lad. For what it¡¯s worth, I like you.¡± ¡°Gee, thanks.¡± She stopped and turned to look at him. She looked somber for a moment, old. It gave Hunter pause. Then she forced a smirk and gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder. ¡°It might not seem fair to you, lad, but that¡¯s how the world works. There¡¯s no point in fretting about what you can¡¯t change. You do what you can and hope for the best. Come now, don¡¯t drag your feet ¨C the Ghostbarrows are waiting.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 21 As it turned out, the Ghostbarrows would have to wait a bit longer; the Weald was a huge place, full of nooks and crannies and twisting paths. Fawkes and Hunter marched hard for hours, stopping only for a few minutes at a time to catch their breath. When she was finally satisfied enough to stop and set up camp, it was already afternoon and Hunter was thoroughly exhausted. ¡°I have to get back to my world,¡± he told her as he was helping her build a campfire. ¡°At least for a while. Grab a bite, stretch a bit, hydrate.¡± ¡°Could you stay for a while longer?¡± Fawkes asked, catching him by surprise. ¡°Much as I¡¯m used to it, I hate eating alone. Let¡¯s sit by the fire, roast some sausages. Then you can go, spend the night on your side of the things. We won¡¯t be getting back on the trail before dawn, anyway.¡± ¡°Uh¡­ sure, yeah.¡± So they sat around the fire, roasted sausages, drank some kind of strong, stiff drink from a flask Fawkes produced from one of her countless pouches, and chatted about silly, everyday things. It was a nice change of pace. Hunter didn¡¯t regret sticking around. So far, Fawkes had more or less been the image of dry wit and stoicism. It was interesting to see her wind down and reveal some of her other, softer sides. Plus, the sausages were delicious. So delicious, in fact, that they attracted some unwanted attention. Biggs and Wedge were the first to spot the beast. ¡°Big fur!¡± Hunter felt them chatter feverishly through their mental connection, raising hell in his head. ¡°Big eyes, big mouth, big teeth! Hungry, hungry!¡± ¡°What the¡­?¡± You¡¯ve stumbled across an unusual place or occurrence. Your Serendipity quality is now 0. The next one to notice that they had company was, quite predictably, Fawkes. Before Hunter even had time to process what was happening, she was already on her feet and with her blade in hand ¨C her blade which, again, she had drawn seemingly out of nowhere. ¡°Look alive, lad!¡± Hunter was the last to spot the beast. Hiding in the tall brush and inching closer, the massive, russet-furred wolf was easily as big and as heavy as a full-grown man. It sniffed the air, drooling through its huge, scary-looking teeth. It stared straight at Hunter with big, golden eyes burning with intelligence and curiosity and hunger. Hunter, being Hunter, did the first thing that came to mind. He offered the wolf a sausage. *** ¡°You must be out of your mind,¡± Fawkes said as Hunter fed the big rust-colored animal yet another sausage ¨C the last one. ¡°Clearly, definitely, absolutely out of your mind.¡± The wolf gulped down the roast sausages with gusto, its bushy tail wagging like crazy. It paid no attention to the still very much armed and alert woman. It only had eyes for Hunter ¨C or, more accurately, the sausages. ¡°How did you know it would be friendly?¡± Fawkes asked, still equal parts suspicious and flabbergasted. ¡°Is wolf-charming another of your transient tricks?¡± Hunter was no wolf charmer, but this was no wolf either ¨C not really. A hungry, two-hundred-pound pupper that reached up to his waist at shoulder height, that¡¯s what it was. ¡°It was just a hunch.¡± Well, that wasn¡¯t exactly true. It was certainly not just a hunch ¨C Hunter didn¡¯t feel suicidal enough to casually offer treats to hungry wild animals and expect them to eat from his hand. It was metagaming, an educated guess. This was a special encounter, as the well-timed notification had informed him. It consumed one point of his Serendipity quality, and last time he¡¯d checked, serendipity was just a fancy word for unexpected good luck. It was only logical that this wouldn¡¯t be a hostile situation ¨C wasn¡¯t it? For the umpteenth time, Hunter wondered whether this was something that happened to everyone from time to time, or it was another perk of being a transient. Seeing how suspiciously Fawkes eyed the animal, still on edge and ready to pounce, he gravitated towards the latter. ¡°Count your lucky stars it didn¡¯t go straight for your throat," she said. ¡°It may not look like it, but this is a goddamn direwolf. I didn¡¯t even know they lived in these parts.¡± ¡°Direwolf?¡± She nodded. ¡°Epicyon, as the loremasters call it. Like a wolf, but much bigger, much smarter, and much deadlier. This one, though, not so much. Must have been the runt of the litter.¡± ¡°The runt of the litter?¡± Hunter gaped, slightly startling the wolf, who proceeded to give him the stink eye and attack another sausage. ¡°How big is the rest of the litter, then?¡± ¡°Direwolves can grow to be the size of a horse,¡± said Fawkes. ¡°A big horse. This one¡¯s probably been kicked out of the pack for being too scrawny, or for having too silly a color, then wandered all the way out here on its own.¡± ¡°Can we keep him?¡± he joked. ¡°Please, please, pretty please?¡± Fawkes shook her head in disbelief. ¡°What, as a pet? Are you out of your mind, lad? We¡¯ll be lucky if it doesn¡¯t try to eat us, now that you¡¯ve fed them all the sausages. My sausages.¡± Indeed, the direwolf was far less trusting of Hunter now that he wasn¡¯t waving food at it. Slowly but surely, it started to back away from their campfire.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°That¡¯s right, you big oaf, shoo!¡± Fawkes shouted, waving her blade at it. ¡°Shoo before I turn you into a new winter coat!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think russet''s your color,¡± Hunter quipped. ¡°You look better in black. It brings out the warmth in your eyes.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t you have urgent business to attend to in your world?¡± Fawkes grunted without taking her eyes off the retreating wolf, and she was right. At some point, he did have to hit the bathroom ¨C and eat, and drink some water, and sleep, too. With a final sniff the wolf turned tail and disappeared in the bushes. Hunter felt a bit disappointed. He¡¯d always wanted a dog. ¡°Promise me you¡¯ll be nice to it if it comes back, yes?¡± ¡°If it gets anywhere near the rest of my food,¡± Fawkes said, and her eyes shone with that trademark ice-cold glimmer, ¡°the only thing it¡¯s getting it¡¯s a mouthful of steel. That¡¯s what I promise you.¡± Hunter didn¡¯t find that hard to believe. Not hard at all. *** When Hunter logged in the next morning just after dawn, Fawkes was already packed and ready to go. The wolf had been sniffing around the camp, she told him, so she had to spend the night on a tree. Understandably, she wasn¡¯t in a good mood. They made their way deeper and deeper into the Weald, hopping from one game trail to the other. It was a cold and wet day, and the morning mist never really lifted. It clung around their heels, making the ancient forest around them look even more eerie and unwelcoming than usual. Like the previous day, Hunter and the two feathery bozos focused on scouting the surrounding area for anything out of the ordinary ¨C which got him a point in Conjure Familiar and another two in Survival. He couldn¡¯t say whether it was thanks to his getting accustomed to the Weald or simply to his ever-increasing Survival skill, but Hunter had started to gradually become more and more aware of how much was going on around them, how alive the place was. There were squirrels and birds and insects and small rodents everywhere, and he also spotted the tracks and other telltale signs of other, larger animals. He also got the distinct sense that there were other things about, presences that shadowed them and observed them from afar. In a place like the Weald, that was to be expected. They were trespassers. Whatever the things around them were, they were in their home turf. Hunter would prefer they kept their distance. Somewhere around noon, Biggs and Wedge flooded his mind with a stream of excited chattering. ¡°Big thing, dead thing!¡± they projected through the mental link. ¡°So very big, so very dead! Near, near, very near!¡± ¡°Fawkes,¡± Hunter relayed, ¡°the ravens say there¡¯s something dead nearby. Something big. Should we go check?¡± The woman adjusted the straps of her saddlebags on her shoulder, frowned, and reached for her pistol. ¡°Yes. But let¡¯s be careful.¡± They didn¡¯t have to veer too far off the path. What Biggs and Wedge had spotted lay at the bottom of a nearby dry creek. Lodged between two large rocks and partially eaten, the moose carcass was easily as big as a van. Were moose this big in the real world, too? If they were, Hunter had severely underestimated their size. Biggs and Wedge had made themselves comfortable on the carcass, happily cawing and picking at strings of dead flesh with excited abandon. Besides them, there was nothing else in sight ¨C no other animals, no predators, no scavengers, no nothing. Again, Hunter was unsure if that was an observation he made on his own, or the product of his 22 points in Survival, but that absence raised some serious red flags. What could have killed something this big, and why weren¡¯t there any scavengers around? In fact, simply asking himself that question was apparently important enough to warrant another Skill progression notification. Your Survival has increased to 23. The ground was mostly rocks and pebbles, so Hunter wasn¡¯t able to spot any tracks or footprints. What did stand out, however, was the fact that the humongous moose hadn¡¯t been killed there. Judging from the long streaks of dried blood and loose pebbles, something ¨C something really big ¨C had dragged it there from elsewhere. ¡°Uh, Fawkes¡­?¡± The woman threw him a sharp glance and brought a gloved finger to her lips, silently shushing him, then pointed at an outcropping near the edge of the creek. At first, Hunter saw nothing; just a few boulders, half-covered with bushes and shrubs. Then, much like one of those magic eye optical illusions you had to go cross-eyed to figure out, he saw it; there was an opening among the rocks and plants, a dark hole that presumably led to some kind of burrow or foxhole. If burrows and foxholes were big enough for small African elephants, that was. ¡°Tell the two feathery fools to keep their beaks shut,¡± she drew close and whispered in a sharp, rushed voice. ¡°We have to leave this place ¨C fast.¡± By the time she finished her sentence, it was already too late. Something stirred in that burrow and let out a deep, resounding growl Hunter felt all the way to the marrow of his bones. The Weald around them fell silent, and as the owner of the barrow and the moose carcass walked out in the open, Hunter felt his knees turn to jelly. The great bear rose, pushing itself to its back feet. It was easily over twenty feet tall ¨C an ursine titan that made the ancient firs around it look like saplings. Its shaggy fur was the color of winter earth, its long tufts flowing along invisible patterns. This was no mere beast. This something else, older, primordial. I turned its gaze on Hunter, eyes like searchlights. Its aura washed over him, overpowering him completely. You have failed a contest of will against Arjen, Aspect of Mir. You¡¯ve glimpsed into the invisible things that lie below the surface of the world. Your Insight quality is now 2. Too awed to pay attention to the cascade of notifications that flashed at the edge of his vision, too stunned to turn heel and run, Hunter stood there frozen, his mouth slightly ajar. Somewhere a million miles away, Fawkes shouted something in his ear. She grabbed him by the collar and tried to drag him away, or at least shake him back to his senses. No luck. If there was a force in the world that could make Hunter tear his eyes from the harsh gaze of the primordial creature, Fawkes was not it. The bear¡¯s lips curled back, exposing giant fangs. Its bellow made the earth rumble, and Hunter heard an impossibly deep voice resound in his skull. It was the kind of voice that would make him feel the fillings in his teeth vibrate ¨C if his Elderpyre avatar had any, which it didn¡¯t. ¡°SPIRIT-SPEAKER. I SMELL THE STENCH OF HERNE ON YOU. HORSES AND HOUNDS AND STEEL. WHERE IS YOUR HUNT, MORTAL? DARE YOU HUNT THIS ONE ALONE?¡± Hunter understood he was expected to answer, but speech was far beyond his current state. Hell, forcing himself to remember to breathe was all he could do. ¡°SPEAK,¡± the bear titan roared, and the air itself crackled with poorly-contained fury. It took one huge step closer, and then another. It was enough to tower over Hunter and eclipse the sky. ¡°SPEAK, OR DIE.¡± Even if he could speak, Hunter had no idea what to say. Spirit-speaker? Herne? Horses? Hounds? Steel? Hunt? Fuck a duck, what the hell was all that about? He just stood there and stared, mortified ¨C which apparently pissed off the bear even more. It took another giant step, let out another deafening roar, and lifted a massive paw full of wickedly curved claws, each one of them easily large and sharp enough to tear Hunter open from his throat to his groin. Arjen, Aspect of Mir mauls you for 53 bludgeoning damage. Arjen, Aspect of Mir mauls you for 31 slashing damage. You are now bleeding profusely. The impact of the blow was so absurdly forceful that it sent Hunter flying, the shock so powerful that his body didn¡¯t even register the pain. A large dark figure rushed between him and the bear. Someone screamed something. Fawkes? Hunter couldn¡¯t make out the words. ¡°Ah, shit,¡± he caught himself thinking as time was slowing down, mind was slipping in a numb fugue state. ¡°Here we go again.¡± The bear¡¯s shadow fell heavy on him, and he saw its titanic paw rise for a second blow. As it swiped at him, there was nothing he could do; nothing but close his eyes and brace himself for the world of pain and anguish that was very rapidly starting to catch up with him. Book One - Transient - Chapter 22 First, darkness. Then the feeling of cold, bumpy ground under him, of rocks and pebbles digging into his back in a thousand different sore spots. Then the feeling of hot, wet, sloppy doggy kisses all around his face. ¡­Wait, what? Hunter coughed up some phlegm, felt the sharp pain of bruised ribs, and opened his eyes. There was someone ¨C something ¨C watching him from very, very close, something with stinky breath, russet fur, and big, curious eyes. And big, big, big teeth. ¡°Enough, you stupid mutt, he¡¯s come to it alright,¡± Fawkes grumbled from somewhere above, pulling the wolf aside ¨C the direwolf he¡¯d fed his sausages to the previous day, Hunter was surprised to realize. ¡°Grimnir¡¯s beard, let him breathe!¡± The woman¡¯s face came into view, pale like a winter moon. She looked at Hunter with a mixture of exasperation and concern and wiped the drool off his cheeks with a handkerchief. ¡°You with us, lad?¡± ¡°Yes¡­ I think. What happened? Where¡¯s the bear?¡± ¡°I AM RIGHT HERE,¡± the rumbling voice said ¨C a voice Hunter heard more clearly in his mind rather than with his ears. ¡°Shit, fuck¡­! What¡­?¡± ¡°BE AT EASE, AE-MAI. WE ARE FOES NO LONGER.¡± Either this whole Elderpyre thing was taking a serious Alice In Wonderland kind of turn, or the blows had turned Hunter¡¯s brain to a wonky paste. Or maybe both. There it was, a huge ursine form sitting cross-legged just a few feet away ¨C and smoking a huge damn pipe, of all things. He could even smell the rich, woody scent of the aromatic smoke, too, if he really tried, despite his nose feeling like a swollen, bloody mess. ¡°Can you sit up?¡± Fawkes asked. He could, as it turned out. He was sore all over, though for some reason it felt more like the dull muscle pain you get after leg day and less like the pain you get after getting whacked halfway across a creek by a giant fucking bear. ¡°This silly mutt here popped out of nowhere and pulled your chestnuts out of the fire¡± Fawkes explained, cocking a thumb towards the wolf. ¡°After that, we palavered. I explained our situation to Arjen here, and we came to an understanding. He even was considerate enough to tend to your wounds.¡± ¡°Wasn¡¯t he the one who made them happen in the first place?¡± Hunter groaned, which made Fawkes flash him a worried, lopsided smile. ¡°If you¡¯re feeling well enough to give lip to a forest god, you¡¯re feeling well enough.¡± ¡°I AM NO GOD,¡± the bear said with what sounded like humility ¨C or at least it would have, if his voice wasn¡¯t something straight out of a 1950s Hollywood production of the Old Testament. ¡°I AM MERELY MIR¡¯S ASPECT.¡± ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± Fawkes said, ¡°but the distinction would only confuse the ae-mai.¡± Hunter opened his mouth to ask what this new ae-mai business was all about, why was this giant talking bear suddenly their friend, and why was the direwolf making puppy eyes at him, but Fawkes stuck a gloved finger on his lips to silence him. ¡°Later, lad. Let the great one speak.¡± The bear stuck its pipe at the corner of his mouth and gazed away. ¡°THERE IS A DARKNESS LINGERING IN THE MOUNDS OF THOSE YOU CALL THE GHOST NATION, WHISPERING THINGS IN VILE TONGUES. I SHALL OFFER YOU THE SAME COURTESY I OFFERED THE ONE THAT CAME BEFORE YOU. PROMISE TO SILENCE IT, AND I SHALL GRANT YOU SAFE PASSAGE AND PROTECTION IN MY DOMAIN. DO YOU ACCEPT?¡± ¡°We do,¡± said Fawkes, ¡°and we thank you for your kindness.¡± A new notification popped up in Hunter¡¯s HUD. Investigate the whispering darkness lingering in the Ghostbarrows. Great, more talk about mysterious whispers coming from the Ghostbarrows, Hunter thought. Another reason not to want to go there. The whole thing gave him chills. Still, there was a silver lining to it ¨C especially since they were probably going straight for that whispering darkness anyway. More tasks meant more potential gain. Given how much he¡¯d spent gambling on silly gacha games and loot boxes, there was no point in denying it. He was a sucker for the thrill of getting rewards. Arjen raised his huge snout, sniffed the air, and frowned. ¡°IT IS SETTLED, THEN. GO. MIR WATCHES OVER YOU.¡± ¡°Pick your things up and let¡¯s go, lad,¡± Fawkes told Hunter as she helped him up to his feet. Hunter didn¡¯t need to be told a second time. Friendly as he might seem now, the pipe-smoking bear was still terrifying. He picked up his glaive and his backpack from where they lay on the ground and started to make his way back to the trail they were following earlier. Curiously, the direwolf followed him the same way a dog would. ¡°AE-MAI. ONE MORE THING,¡± the bear said and flashed him a sinister grin full of huge fangs. ¡°TELL YOUR MASTER TO COME SEEK ME OUT HIMSELF. WE¡¯LL SEE WHO¡¯S THE HUNTER AND WHO¡¯S THE PREY.¡± Hunter didn¡¯t have any intention of getting into a pissing contest with the gigantic not-exactly-a-forest-god that had just bitch-slapped him to unconsciousness, of course. He just gave the bear a sheepish smile and tried to be as agreeable as possible. ¡°Uh¡­ yes, will do.¡± ¡°I SHALL BE WAITING.¡± ¡°Lad, come,¡± Fawkes prodded Hunter. ¡°Day¡¯s a-wasting.¡± She didn¡¯t need to prod again. The faster he put some distance between himself and Arjen¡¯s excited killer grin, the better. *** ¡°May I ask now?¡± ¡°Ask.¡± ¡°What the ever-loving fuck?¡± That drew a snigger from Fawkes. ¡°That was another incandescent, like you. Well, not like you. A godling. Don¡¯t you have those in your world?¡± Hunter just gave her the blankest of stares. ¡°You¡¯re pulling my leg, aren¡¯t you?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, lad. Am I?¡± She most definitely was. ¡°What does that ae-mai thing the godling bear kept calling me, by the way?¡± ¡°Ae-mai,¡± she said, letting the vowels roll off her tongue in a slow, almost lazy way. ¡°An idiot. One made a fool by mischievous spirits.¡± Well, wasn¡¯t that nice. ¡°Is that what I am?¡± Hunter frowned. ¡°Apparently, yes. You bear the mark of Herne. You should never have approached Arjen¡¯s den so carelessly.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not even sure who this Herne is.¡± ¡°Oh, you poor fool. And you wonder what an ae-mai is. Oh, the irony.¡± ¡°So, what¡¯s a Herne, and why do I have its mark?¡± ¡°A rival spirit, or so I gather. As for why you have his mark¡­ that¡¯s what I should be asking you.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°Oh.¡± The accord. Crap. That made sense. Hunter should have realized it sooner. ¡°Herne or no Herne,¡± Hunter tried to lighten the mood, ¡°that goddamn bear almost gave me a hernia.¡± Fawkes arched an eyebrow. ¡°A pun, lad? Is that what passes for humor in your world?¡± ¡°Oh, shut up, Fawkes. At least we got indoor plumbing.¡±Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. They poked fun at each other like that for the best part of an hour ¨C an attempt to blow off steam and make light of the brush with death they had just narrowly escaped. To his surprise, Hunter found their banter and budding camaraderie very enjoyable and refreshing. Back on his side of things, Alex had never been short on raiding buddies and casual acquaintances. He¡¯d learned the hard way, however, that true friends were few and far between. And Fawkes? Despite the fact he only knew her a few days, that crazy old bat started to feel like she could one day become a true friend. Interestingly, the direwolf was still tagging after Hunter, albeit at a distance. He¡¯d been very friendly earlier, but now he was back to just being cautious. Fawkes paid him no heed. ¡°Don¡¯t feed him again. Don¡¯t even look at him. Sooner or later, he¡¯ll get bored and leave,¡± she said. Hunter kind of hoped he didn¡¯t. How cool would it be if he could get a direwolf as an animal companion of sorts? Pretty damn cool, if he said so himself. While on the subject of animal companions, Biggs and Wedge were back on scouting duty. They were being unusually quiet. Hunter was a bit pissed at the feathery windbags for leading him and Fawkes straight into Arjen¡¯s lair, and that probably bled through their mental link. Not that they were really in need of a lookout. The godling had granted them safe passage, and Mir was watching over them. Whatever that meant, it was more than idle talk. A sense of reverence followed Fawkes and Hunter wherever they went, an aura that made the Weald around them quieter, less intimidating. Still, despite all the quiet and all the friendly atmosphere, Hunter felt a tightness in the pit of his stomach. The feeling that something was very wrong, and he was being blind to it. There were so many questions he had, so much that he wanted answers about. What did it mean to be incandescent? What fine print did his accord with the antler-helmed spirit have that he wasn¡¯t yet aware of? Brennai, missing people, ritual killings, Ghostbarrows¡­ And the worst part? These things were beginning to feel important. Hunter spent most of his time on Elderpyre. The more he was sucked into this world, the more like reality it felt, and the less like a game. And therein lay the problem; it had to be one or another ¨C it couldn¡¯t be both. To make things worse, Hunter felt like he had no say in what was happening to him, no agency at all. Grimm had offered him the world¡¯s geekiest Faustian bargain, and was now ignoring him. That spirit, Herne, had practically strong-armed him into joining his faction. Fawkes was stringing him along almost on a whim, using him as a punching bag for her biting comments and snide remarks. The Brennai folken would probably turn him away or worse, especially now that he¡¯d gotten in a scrap with the alderman¡¯s son. A scrap which, incidentally, hadn¡¯t even started himself. Arjen had attacked him on sight for reasons he didn¡¯t even understand, and had almost killed him in a single blow. Hunter could still feel the crunch of his ribs shattering under the massive force of the bear¡¯s attack. Even the low-dwellers back in that bloody clearing would probably had torn him to pieces, weren¡¯t it for Fawkes. He didn¡¯t like to feel like that, powerless. It was about time he started pulling his own weight, make his own decisions. That would be much easier if he was stronger. He opened the character sheet window again and took another look at his stats. The encounter with Arjen had increased his Insight quality by 1 to a grand total of 2. That was good. Both his Mystic¡¯s Eye and Conjure Familiar abilities were tied to that quality, and probably even scaled off it. Just as importantly, that point in Insight had granted him a handful of new Abilities to consider investing in. Augmented Familiar allows you to further tap into your Insight quality, empower your conjured familiar and allow it to acquire additional abilities. Higher ranks strengthen the bond and allow the use of more advanced familiar abilities. Craft Spirit Charm allows you to create charms and trinkets, as well as infuse them with mystical effects and qualities. Higher ranks reduce the chance of your Spirit Charms being infused with negative effects and allow the use of more advanced effects and recipes, in accord with your Insight quality. Rite of the Hunt allows you to put a mark on your prey and declare a Hunt, gaining potential advantages in tracking and hunting down that prey and creating special hunting trophies. Higher ranks increase the variety and intensity of these advantages. Mystical Phenomena allows you to utilize your Insight quality to subtly manipulate the laws of the cosmos, ever so slightly affecting the outcome of events as you see fit. Higher ranks allow you more substantial manipulations, and reduce the risk these manipulations have to draw unwanted attention. ¡°Tiffany¡¯s tits!¡± Hunter exclaimed. ¡°Now we¡¯re talking!¡± ¡°Who is this Tiffany,¡± asked Fawkes with a raised eyebrow, ¡°and what¡¯s so special about her tits?¡± ¡°You wouldn¡¯t understand. It¡¯s a transient thing.¡± Barely containing his excitement, Hunter ignored the dirty look Fawkes threw at him and pulled up a list of all the new abilities he could currently learn. Abilities Available: Augmented Familiar Craft Spirit Charm Eldritch Power Make Contact Mystical Phenomena Pathfinder Rite of the Hunt Wildcrafting Inspiration: 1 That single point of Inspiration meant he could learn one of those Abilities ¨C just one. Eager to spend it and gain a new Ability to toy with, he considered his options. He started by taking a second look at the Abilities he¡¯d gained access to earlier, when his Survival hit 20. Pathfinder and Wildcrafting were simple, straightforward utilitarian options, neither of which looked particularly appealing at the moment. Hunter could see how they could both prove valuable ¨C especially in an environment like the Weald. Given how limited his supply of Inspiration was, though, he wanted to pick something with more bang for his buck. Eldritch Power had that kind of bang, alright. It was a caster-type ability that would allow him to use magical attacks ¨C a solid option, but still one he wasn¡¯t a fan of. Running around blasting foes with magic had never been his cup of tea, and old habits did die hard. Make Contact, on the other hand, was something he already meant to pick up sooner or later. Supernatural beings and Places of Power seemed to play quite an important role in Elderpyre, and having a way to commune with them ¨C whatever that actually meant ¨C would probably prove to be useful. Hunter made a mental note to consider it further. Next, he moved on to the Insight Abilities he had just gained access to. Those were all intriguing. He was still limited by his lack of knowledge, though, so he¡¯d have to be extra careful with the fine print in their descriptions. Augmented Familiar was a bit of a gamble; depending on what were the advanced abilities his familiars would learn, it could prove to be either a winner or a total waste of Inspiration. The two feathery buffoons were loveable and Fawkes had suggested he should learn to better utilize them, but didn¡¯t exactly have the best track record when it came to being dependable. Craft Spirit Charm sounded catchy; in all his gaming career, Hunter had been more of a scrapper than a craftsman, but Elderpyre was different. Crafting gear and items himself could definitely prove to be worth it, and he had to admit the whole infusing charms with mystical effects sounded amazing. According to the ability¡¯s description, however, some of those effects could be negative, so that was something to keep in mind. Mystical Phenomena sounded both nebulously mysterious and totally awesome. Again, however, Hunter had no idea what ¡°subtly manipulating the laws of the cosmos¡± exactly meant. It kind of sounded like using the Force or something. The ¡°drawing unwanted attention¡± part sounded very suspicious, however, so he resisted the impulse to pick it right then and there just to see what it was all about. He moved further down to his last remaining option on the list. Of all the Abilities he could learn, Rite of the Hunt was the one that sounded the most, well, badass. Single someone or something out as Prey and declare a Hunt? Hunter could already imagine himself as a monster hunter or bounty hunter type, going on Hunt after Hunt, tracking his foes and taking them down with terrifying skill. Well, that fantasy was just that, a fantasy ¨C at least for the time being. For now, he had to focus more on not getting hunted and preyed upon himself. In the end, Hunter submitted to what Packman, his old raiding group¡¯s resident tactical thinker, called the ¡®sunk cost fallacy¡¯. He¡¯d already invested in his Conjure Familiar, so doubling down on it seemed the prudent thing to do. Capitalize on the advantages Biggs and Wedge brought to the table ¨C wasn¡¯t that what Fawkes had told him? The seal on the back of his hand itched and burned for a moment, and Hunter got his new Ability. Your Augmented Familiar has increased to 1. Your familiar has learned the Ill Omen ability. Now that this was done, Hunter thought, maybe it was time he took a closer look at the two feathery windbags and what they could actually do. He willed their Character Sheet in existence ¨C which, as it turned out, had been something he could do all along ¨C and looked at their Attributes and Abilities.
Familiar Information:
Name: Biggs, Wedge
Type: Twin Ravens
Attributes:
Health 15
Essence 80
Stamina 200
Strength 1
Dexterity 8
Intellect 7
Willpower 7
Presence 7
Abilities:
Dive Bomb 6
Mental Link 6
Ill Omen 1
Summon/Unsummon 6
Now that was interesting. The familiars¡¯ Health and Strength were laughable, as expected, but their other Attributes looked pretty decent for a couple of feathery fucks. Hunter noted that most of their Abilities had a rank of 6 ¨C which was also the rank of his own Conjure Familiar Ability, so there probably was some direct correlation there. Their newly-gained Ill Omen Ability, whatever it was, had a rank of 1. Would it be safe to assume it also depended on his own newly-gained Augmented Familiar? Time would tell. Hunter focused on this new Ability, and a window with its description popped up. Ill Omen allows the twin raven familiars to channel negative energy to your foes, inflicting psychic damage and impeding their movement, focus, and concentration. Higher ranks magnify both the psychic damage and the detrimental effects of the Ability. Hunter would probably have to do some field testing to see the extent of Ill Omen¡¯s effectiveness, but it looked like a solid pick. That was good. He¡¯d kick himself in the nuts if it turned out he¡¯d spent a point of Inspiration on something mediocre. There was more to Augmented Familiar than just Ill Omen, too; the familiars¡¯ chatter Hunter could ¡°hear¡± through their mental link already sounded more coherent, if no less incessant. It was like the two windbags had gotten a sudden IQ boost. Had they really, though? Hunter wouldn¡¯t exactly bet on that ¨C not without some cold, hard evidence. Book One - Transient - Chapter 23 Fawkes furrowed her brow and gazed at the valley ahead. They¡¯d reached the edge of the Weald. Their destination couldn¡¯t be far off now. She insisted on setting up camp while still under the canopy of the trees ¨C and, presumably, the protection Arjen had granted them ¨C and calling it a day. Hunter was fine with that. More than fine, in fact; he had a gut feeling he wouldn¡¯t be a huge fan of what came next in their little trip. ¡°So, Ghostbarrows," he said as they were looking for a good spot to build a fire. ¡°Ghost Nation. What¡¯s all that about and what does it have to do with us?¡± He had a million questions to bombard Fawkes with, but those were as good a place to start as any. If he was to waltz in some place with as charming a name as that, he at least wanted to know what he was dealing with. Fawkes let out a sigh, closed her eyes, and massaged her temples with her gloved hands. ¡°You know how the Brennai are split up in different nations, right?¡± she asked, but the question was a rhetorical one. She knew Hunter knew nothing about Brennai history and politics, so she didn¡¯t even pause to wait for an answer. ¡°A long time ago, the people of the Ghost Nation were the most advanced and prosperous of them all. They used to call themselves something different, of course, but only the shamans and medicine women remember that name, and they¡¯re not ones for sharing.¡± ¡°So, what happened to them?¡± ¡°Nobody knows," she shrugged. ¡°They simply vanished into thin air, or so the story goes. Their homes and possessions and places of worship were abandoned as they were, as if every last of the folken got up and left in a hurry. As if they¡­ evaporated.¡± ¡°Like ghosts,¡± said Hunter. ¡°Yes, I think I get it.¡± ¡°There¡¯s more,¡± Fawkes said, her expression theatrically grim. ¡°Their ancestral places are said to be covered by some magical mist now, a kind of haze that seeps out of the ground and covers everything as the sun goes down. And within it, one is still able to see the ghosts of the folken, their lost souls still cursed to go about their business, as if they still were among the living.¡± Despite himself, Hunter felt chills going down his spine. ¡°¡­and we¡¯re going there, why, exactly?¡± ¡°What is that, lad, are you scared?¡± Fawkes burst into laughter. ¡°Did the ghost stories get you shaking in your boots?¡± ¡°Of course they fucking did,¡± Hunter said. ¡°Excuse me if I¡¯m not excited to get tangled with ghosts and curses and the like, especially with godling bears and ritualistic killer monsters on the loose. You know, I¡¯m starting to feel like we¡¯re going around actively looking for trouble.¡± The woman¡¯s grin widened, revealing two neat rows of unusually healthy teeth. ¡°Funny you should mention it. That¡¯s exactly what we¡¯re doing, more or less. Why do you think I keep you around? You transients are a veritable magnet for trouble. Or maybe a compass.¡± Hunter was left staring at his companion with his mouth open in disbelief. ¡°Seriously now? And why would we do that?¡± ¡°Because we¡¯re looking for Reiner,¡± Fawkes explained. ¡°And, much like you transients, where trouble goes, Reiner follows. And vice versa, too.¡± ¡°Reiner¡­ that¡¯s your friend, right?¡± ¡°He is of the Lodge,¡± she nodded. ¡°He sent word for me to meet him in the Hawk Nation¡¯s encampment, said he had uncovered new information about something we¡¯re seeking, a possible lead worth pursuing.¡± That raised a ton of other questions. When it came to anything related to that Lodge of hers, however, Fawkes was never in a particularly talkative mood. It was mildly infuriating. She would mention it every now and then, then turtle up whenever Hunter asked anything about it. Hunter settled for the most practical of the questions he had in mind, the one he was more likely to get an answer to. ¡°Where is he now, then? This Reiner.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what we¡¯re here to find out,¡± Fawkes shrugged, and her grin wilted a bit as the lines around her mouth and eyes hardened. It was only for a moment, but she looked old. Tired. ¡°He didn¡¯t wait for me to get here. He just couldn¡¯t be bothered to lay low for a few days, play it safe. Ever the foolhardy, selfish idiot, that man. Last any of the folken saw him, he was headed for the Ghostbarrows.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. ¡°So that¡¯s where you¡¯re going, too, and you¡¯re dragging me along as ghost bait¡± Hunter concluded, gazing at the valley beyond. ¡°I see.¡± ¡°Got a problem with that, lad?¡± ¡°What if I do?¡± ¡°In that case,¡± Fawkes said with a grin full of renewed malicious glee, ¡°I¡¯ll have to tie you up like a hog and drag you along ¨C which will be far more unpleasant for the both of us. So quit your whining and follow, yes?¡± ¡°I thought we¡¯d become fast friends.¡± ¡°This was me being friendly.¡± Hunter sighed. Of course it was. *** Hunter logged out to get a few hours of rest, leaving Fawkes alone with the direwolf. For all her nagging, she was slowly warming up to the shaggy beast. By the time Hunter logged back in, the two of them were sharing breakfast over a small fire. He joined them for a while, enjoying the opportunity to exchange some stories with Fawkes as they both took turns petting and scratching the direwolf behind its ears. They broke camp just after dawn. There was a thick mist covering the valley before them, just as Fawkes had said there would be. None of it made it into the Weald, curiously enough, as if the treeline itself was a border of sorts. A single step beyond it was enough for the mist to totally engulf Hunter and Fawkes, and for a notification to pop up on Hunter¡¯s HUD. Not the most welcoming as locale names went, that was for sure. Hunter followed Fawkes in silence, hoping she knew where they were going. The humidity and the cold made him shiver in his damp poncho and the mist around them carried sounds in an eerie way, making it impossible to pinpoint where they came from. Other than that, nothing seemed to be wrong. No ghosts or spirits ¨C just a trek through knee-deep weeds in one hell of a damp, cold morning. Biggs and Wedge were flying in circles somewhere above and the direwolf was padding next to Hunter, its ears flattened and its tail hanging low. Hunter was glad it ¨C he ¨C had stuck around. He found his presence reassuring. Sooner or later, he¡¯d have to find a name for him, too, since he more or less had invited himself to their little group. There was this dog his grandmother had always told him stories about when he was little, a silly big sheepdog she used to have back when she was a girl. What was its name¡­? ¡°Fyodor,¡± Hunter said out loud, and the direwolf¡¯s ears perked up. Yes, it was a good name. ¡°I shall call you Fyodor.¡± ¡°What was that?¡± Fawkes asked. ¡°The pup¡¯s new name. Fyodor.¡± ¡°You transients and your crazy ways,¡± she grumbled. ¡°You¡¯ll never cease to surprise me, lad, I swear.¡± Hunter paid her no heed. Fyodor seemed to like his new name, so that was that. As the sun inched its way up in the sky, the mist around them slowly dissipated ¨C although the general feeling of unease the whole place had about itself didn¡¯t. There were birds singing and bugs buzzing and there were signs of animals all around. Still, there was something deeply wrong about the Vale in its entirety, something lurking just below the surface of things. There was a small hill nearby, no more than twenty or thirty feet in height. Hunter pointed out it might be a good idea to find a high place and get a grasp of the lay of the land, so they climbed to the top and took a look around. At first sight the surrounding area looked like any other of the valleys around the Weald, a flat expanse of land peppered with small hills and low vegetation. There were no signs of villages or encampments anywhere, no smoke from hearths or campfires, no fields with signs of agriculture. That observation granted Hunter an increase to his Survival, which now stood at 24, far higher than any of his other Skills. ¡°So far, so good,¡± Hunter said. ¡°No ghosts, no barrows.¡± Fawkes raised an eyebrow. ¡°What? ¡°What do you think you¡¯re standing on?¡± she asked dryly. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Looking slightly amused, she made a wide gesture with her hand. ¡°Look at all these little hills. Aren¡¯t there a bit too conveniently similar, a bit too conveniently situated near the middle of the valley?¡± ¡°So what if they are?¡± asked Hunter, still not getting it. ¡°They¡¯re mounds, fool. Burial mounds. There¡¯s a tomb beneath each and every one of them. These are the Ghostbarrows. You¡¯re standing on one right now.¡± Hunter had heard about such places before, he realized. There were whole valleys around the Middle East and the Mediterranean where you couldn¡¯t even dig a ditch without stumbling upon an ancient tomb or another. For a suburban kid like him, however, having the burial grounds of dead folk just beneath the soles of his feet was decidedly not something he was comfortable with. ¡°Uh¡­ so we¡¯re here. Good. What now?¡± Fawkes didn¡¯t look that certain herself. She produced a monocular from one of her countless pockets and looked around. ¡°Some of the mounds have entrances built on their sides. That¡¯s as good a place to start as any¡± she said after a few moments. ¡°Entrances to what?¡± ¡°Barrows, lad. Try to keep up.¡± ¡°Ah. Great. Nothing like a little tomb delving in a ghost-infested valley to get the old blood pumping, right?¡± Fawkes kept canvassing the nearby barrows¡¯ entrances and didn¡¯t deign to respond. ¡°So what,¡± Hunter went on, ¡°we pick one at random, knock at the door, and see if somebody answers?¡± ¡°That would be a waste of time,¡± said Fawkes and put her monocular away. ¡°There are dozens of mounds. No, the best course of action would be to make a beeline for the larger ones in the middle. That¡¯s what Reiner would have done.¡± ¡°Reiner, the guy who¡¯s got a hard-on for trouble. Best course of action indeed.¡± ¡°Good. It took you some time, but you are catching on.¡± She turned towards the central mound, the biggest one, and gazed at it with a look of concern. Fyodor, as if understanding, headbutted her thigh with affection and licked her hand. Fawkes returned the favor with a few absent-minded head pats. Hunter would tease her about it if it wasn¡¯t so damn heartwarming. ¡°Let¡¯s get moving," she finally said and started walking down the mound. ¡°And keep your menagerie of critters close. I don¡¯t know what we may encounter.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 24 As they made their way through the mounds, Hunter had the chance to examine some of those barrow entrances up close. Most were made out of stone and their heavy iron doors were rusted shut. The entrances of others had been bricked up with plaster, mud, and rows upon rows of handmade clay bricks, though why, when, or by whom, Hunter couldn¡¯t guess. And others were simply left uncovered, their doors blown off their hinges or missing altogether. Those were the most chilling ones, like the gaping mouths of dead giants buried under the packed earth. Fawkes was leading the way, Hunter followed her, and the newly-named Fyodor followed Hunter. The ravens were flying above them, scouting the area, looking for threats or anything else that might stand out. They kept their squawking and cawing to a minimum. Even they felt something was wrong in the air. Hunter couldn¡¯t shake the feeling they were being watched. He told Fawkes, and she nodded in agreement. Somewhere out there, there were pairs of eyes stuck on their backs, watching, waiting. Maybe it had to do something with his prior negative experiences involving mist and unseen presences, but he found the whole thing unnerving. ¡°Do you think we could get out of the open for a while, catch our breath?¡± Hunter asked her at some point. ¡°And do what?¡± Fawkes frowned. ¡°Duck in the entrance of the next doorless barrow we see?¡± As it turned out, this was exactly what they¡¯d end up having to do. They were about halfway to the great mounds at the center of the valley when a storm broke out. Dark clouds covered the sky as if out of nowhere, and harsh winds blew from the mountains in the north. Then came the rain, a true deluge of freezing cold water that threatened to soak them to their souls. ¡°Still think we shouldn¡¯t find cover?¡± Hunter shouted at Fawkes, barely audible over the roar of the wind and rain. Instead of answering, she simply pointed at the nearest tomb entrance in sight. Judging from its rusty hinges, it once had a door ¨C emphasis on ¡®once¡¯ and ¡®had¡¯. As they ducked into the dark entryway, a notification informed Hunter they¡¯d just entered a new area. They entered a small antechamber, barely large enough to fit the two of them, the ravens, and the direwolf. ¡®Antechamber¡¯ was a euphemism; after decades of exposure to the elements, the stone floors and walls were covered in dirt and roots, making the tomb look more like a natural cave rather than a man-made barrow. Barely any light made its way inside. Hunter¡¯s Low-Light Vision ability kicked in, painting faint outlines around everything. There were carvings on the walls and fragments of weathered, broken pottery on the floor. Offerings to the dead, he realized. ¡°What¡¯s with this place?¡± asked Hunter, shivering. ¡°Even the weather¡¯s kind of cuckoo around here.¡± ¡°Quiet¡± Fawkes shushed him, throwing a worried look towards the dark corridor that led lower and deeper into the tomb. ¡°Make no sound. There¡¯s something down there.¡± ¡°Like wh-¡± ¡°Hush!¡± ¡°Like what?¡± Hunter whispered. ¡°A recluse. Pray to your gods I¡¯m wrong.¡± ¡°A recluse? You mean, like, a hermit?¡± ¡°Hush!¡± So hush he did. Whatever worried Fawkes, it worried Fyodor, too. The direwolf shook the water off his fur, launching droplets all around and drawing angry caws from Biggs and Wedge, then stared at the darkness deeper in the tomb. Hunter gave him a few hesitant pats on the head to calm him. They weren¡¯t still on petting and cuddling terms, the two of them, but they were making progress. The direwolf paid zero attention to him. Still staring at the pitch-black nothingness that was the lower end of the corridor, he flattened his ears and let out a low growl. ¡°Quiet, boy.¡± Direwolves, as it turned out, even friendly and semi-domesticated ones, weren¡¯t big on either following directions or staying quiet. In the face of a fear and a possible threat, Fyodor did what he knew how to do best: he let out a feral, thunderous bark that resounded in the underground halls, challenging whatever made its lair down in the tomb and warning it to stay the hell away. ¡°Shit,¡± Fawkes swore under her breath and tried to muzzle the direwolf with her gloved hand, paying no heed to its huge fangs. It was too late. Something stirred in the darkness below ¨C something big. Hunter felt it rather than heard it, the clicks and clacks of many clawed feet dragging a humongous body through tunnels too tight for comfort. Fawkes felt it, too, and wasted no time. She jumped to her feet, drew her pistol, and aimed it at whatever it was that was coming. Hunter¡¯s Low-Light Vision ability allowed him to see what he otherwise wouldn¡¯t: a massive, fast-moving jumble of shapes and outlines rushing straight at them. His mind couldn¡¯t quite piece together what the creature was. Then Fawkes fired her pistol, and in that brief flash of light, Hunter saw enough. Hell, he saw much more than enough. It was a huge spider. It had a body bigger than his own and hairy, spindly legs several times the length of that. Its wicked-looking mandibles were big enough to tear a man apart, and two of its eight eyes ¨C the front-facing ones ¨C were oversized beady orbs of pitch black. If Fawkes¡¯s shot had hit the thing, it hadn¡¯t slowed it down one bit. ¡°Get out!¡± she screamed at him. ¡°Run!¡± Hunter didn¡¯t need to be told a second time. He got up and rushed out of the antechamber as fast as he could. Biggs and Wedge flew out, too, flooding his mind with a cacophony of worried chittering. Fyodor followed, his eyes wide with primal fear. Last out of the entrance was Fawkes; she barely made it in time to dodge to the side and avoid the huge arachnid legs that burst out of the opening behind her. ¡°Spiders!¡± Hunter groaned, though the roar of the downpour around him was too strong for him to even hear himself. ¡°Why does it always have to be spiders?¡± Not wasting any time, the spider barreled after the biggest moving shape it could see ¨C Hunter. With no time to do anything else, he just dodged to the side. Under normal circumstances, that wouldn¡¯t do much. The entrance to the tomb, however, was on the side of a mound. Hunter¡¯s dodge took him downhill, and his tumbling down the slope was the only thing that saved him from being speared by the sharp claws at the end of the spider¡¯s front legs. Your Evasion has increased to 3. A few feet away, Fyodor growled and barked and showed its teeth, but he didn¡¯t seem all too eager to get any closer. Hunter didn¡¯t blame him. All he wanted was to get away from the thing, too. Out in broad daylight, the arachnid looked even more alien and horrifying. It was almost as big as a horse and looked hungry enough to eat one, too. The pouring rain bounced off the chitin plates that covered its back, not slowing it down in the slightest. No, Hunter thought, looking at its hair-covered, alien-looking spindly silhouette with abject horror. Such a thing shouldn¡¯t have the right to be this big. Hell, it shouldn¡¯t have the right to even exist. Unimpressed by Hunter¡¯s disapproval, the spider reared for another attack. Hunter took another step back ¨C which, this time, cost him his balance. He slipped, lost his footing, stumbled backwards, and almost lost his grip on his glaive. The spider, perfect predator that it was, launched another leg at him, piercing his shoulder with a burst of blinding pain and pinning him down on the ground. Barrow Recluse attacks you for 19 piercing damage. You are now pinned down by Barrow Recluse. Hunter screamed in pain and horror, trying in vain to free himself. Even the tiniest motion sent wave upon wave of pain through his shoulder. To make things worse, the spider raised a second leg, ready to harpoon him again. Somehow managing to fly despite the strong wind and rain, two dark shapes dove straight at the spider¡¯s eyes. Biggs dive-bombs the Barrow Recluse for 2 bludgeoning damage.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Wedge dive-bombs the Barrow Recluse for 3 bludgeoning damage. Your Conjure Familiar has increased to 7. The ravens¡¯ attacks didn¡¯t do much damage to the monstrous arachnid, but they did surprise it enough to slow it down for just a moment. Just a moment was exactly how long Fawkes needed. Leaping out of nowhere with her silver-gleaming blade in hand, she slashed straight through the spider leg that was keeping Hunter down, cutting it off at one of its joints and spraying Hunter with what must have been almost half a gallon of foul-smelling spider goop. You are no longer pinned down by Barrow Recluse. Maimed and positively furious about it, the giant spider turned its attention to this new threat. It rubbed its mandibles together, producing an angry rattling sound, and attacked Fawkes with a lightning-fast lunge. She somehow still managed to dodge, dancing out of harm¡¯s way with the grace of the world¡¯s deadliest ballerina. Hunter pulled the severed spider leg out of his wound, gritted his teeth through the pain, and tried to use his glaive as a crutch to find his footing. With his shoulder ruined and bleeding as it was, he could barely move his left arm without screaming, let alone fight. It was getting tiring, getting his ass kicked. He didn¡¯t feel afraid anymore. More than anything, he felt jaded. ¡°Biggs, Wedge,¡± he signaled to his familiars through their mental link, ¡°let¡¯s see what that Ill Omen Ability can do.¡± The ravens, still trying to stay aloft despite the pouring rain and strong wind, gave him their version of a determined ¡®aye aye, sir!¡¯ and made another pass at the spider, their eyes suddenly shining an eerie lime-colored light. Biggs uses Ill Omen. Biggs curses the Barrow Recluse for 8 eldritch damage. Barrow Recluse resists Curse of Ill Omen. Wedge uses Ill Omen. Critical hit! Wedge curses the Barrow Recluse for 21 eldritch damage. Barrow Recluse is now afflicted with Curse of Ill Omen. Your Conjure Familiar has increased to 8. Your Augmented Familiar has increased to 3. Whatever Ill Omen actually did, it hurt the spider plenty ¨C enough to stop it in its tracks and make it writhe. Hunter felt a grim satisfaction rise in him. How did you like them apples? With the monster on the back foot ¨C or rather, on the back four legs ¨C Fyodor finally found the guts to join the fray. And join the fray he did; he jumped right on its hairy, carapace-covered back and did his damnedest to stay there, growling and scratching and biting at everything that looked like a half-decent target. As the spider thrashed around to throw the direwolf off it, Fawkes found the chance to slash through another one of the thing¡¯s legs, severing it and drawing another burst of furious, pained rattling. ¡°Biggs, Wedge,¡± Hunter signaled again, ¡°use Ill Omen again!¡± Stirred by their previous success and eager to deliver more of the same, the ravens swooped in and unleashed more of that lime-hued energy. Biggs uses Ill Omen. Biggs curses the Barrow Recluse for 9 eldritch damage. Barrow Recluse is now afflicted with Curse of Ill Omen (x2). Wedge uses Ill Omen. Wedge curses the Barrow Recluse for 6 eldritch damage. Barrow Recluse is now afflicted with Curse of Ill Omen (x3). Whether it was due to its injuries, or to the stacks of Curse of Ill Omen ¨C which, as it turned out, could afflict the same target multiple times ¨C the spider¡¯s movement was now considerably more sluggish. With Fyodor tearing at its back and Fawkes steadily reducing its number of usable legs, the fight seemed all but over. Or so Hunter thought. The monster, however, had a last trump card to play. Faced with the very real possibility of death, it flew off in a blind, erratic fury, thrashing around, throwing Fyodor off its back, and knocking Fawkes over with a wide sweep that caught her by surprise. Having gotten rid of those two threats, it turned its attention to the remaining one ¨C or rather, to its prey. Hunter. There was no method to its moves now, no harpooning legs, no predatory games, no carefully timed lunges. The spider simply flexed its legs and jumped through the air with its mandibles clicking like crazy, eager to snap around Hunter¡¯s neck and put an end to his squirming once and for all. With one arm almost useless and neither the time nor the strength to dodge or evade, Hunter did the only thing he could do: he planted the butt of his glaive in the wet earth, raised its blade to the sky, and braced himself for the attack. If it had been a lesser weapon, or if he had held it at a different angle, the shaft of the glaive would probably have snapped like a twig under the weight of the monstrous spider. In fact, it almost did. Almost. Hunter felt it warp and bend in his hands, so much so he¡¯d swear he heard it crack. Then the blade pierced through the softer carapace of the spider¡¯s underside, impaling it and drowning Hunter in a stream of bluish ichor. Massive Critical! You attack the Barrow Recluse for 65 piercing damage. You stagger the Barrow Recluse. Your Close Combat has increased to 12. Your Close Combat has increased to 13. Your Polearm Mastery has increased to 12. Your Polearm Mastery has increased to 13. The spider thrashed around for a few seconds, drenching Hunter in spider goop and almost crushing him under its weight, then it curled up and stopped moving at all. ¡°Is it dead?¡± groaned Hunter, desperately trying to keep the ichor away from his face and mouth. ¡°Get it off me, dammit!¡± *** As Fawkes dragged him back to the entrance of the tomb, Hunter tried to look on the bright side of things. He was drenched to the bone, but at least the rain had washed off the spider goop off him. His shoulder hurt like hell, but at least the tomb was now a safe place for them to get some rest and wait out the storm. Plus, the spider had dropped some loot: a few Giant Spider Glands, a few Giant Spider Webs, some Spider Chitin Plates, and a semi-transparent, wispy Essence of a Barrow Recluse. Hunter was too exhausted to stand, but not too exhausted to greedily shove it all in his backpack. ¡°I swear, I¡¯ll never understand you¡± grumbled Fawkes as she was cleaning his wounds. ¡°Your transient habits and your transient magics and your transient way of thought.¡± ¡°What did I do this time?¡± he groaned. ¡°Ouch, ouch, can¡¯t you be a bit gentler?¡± ¡°Still, I have to hand it to you," she continued, ignoring him. ¡°You held yourself up quite admirably out there. Unlike this mutt here.¡± Fyodor, who was resting his huge furry head on Hunter¡¯s lap, turned his snout to the other side, embarrassed. ¡°Come on, he did jump on the back of the spider.¡± ¡°If he wasn¡¯t such a little crybaby,¡± Fawkes said, and wiped the blood off Hunter¡¯s wound a bit more vigorously than she strictly had to, ¡°the spider wouldn¡¯t have gotten a whiff of us in the first place. Hold this gauze in place and put some pressure on it. Let me get a healing salve.¡± She reached into one of her countless pouches, rummaged a bit, pulled a vial of rusty red liquid that looked suspiciously like coagulated blood, uncorked it, and handed it to Hunter. ¡°Down the hatch it goes, then,¡± he said and raised the vial in a mock toast. ¡°Cheers.¡± ¡°No, no ¨C you don¡¯t drink that, you buffoon!¡± hissed Fawkes, grabbing the vial from his hands just as he was about to gulp the red liquid inside. ¡°Don¡¯t you have salves where you come from?¡± ¡°Uh¡­ I thought you said healing potion.¡± ¡°Healing potion?¡± Fawkes shook her head in disbelief. ¡°Do you think I¡¯m made of money, lad? Those cost a king¡¯s bounty.¡± She poured the red liquid on Hunter¡¯s wound and wrapped it with a clean bandage. It took effect almost immediately, relieving some of the pain and making the injured area feel hot and cold at the same time. You are now under the effects of Trollblood Regeneration. ¡°Uh, Fawkes? What¡¯s this thing made of?¡± ¡°Strawberry jam and pixie dust,¡± she brushed him off. ¡°Give it a day or three, and you¡¯ll be good as new.¡± *** The wind and downpour outside still went strong throughout most of the day, so there was nothing for Hunter and Fawkes to do but sit around in the tomb¡¯s antechamber, wrap themselves with their blankets for warmth, and exchange stories. Hunter tried to explain how movies and games and dungeon raids had given him insights about fighting monsters and using his transient ¡®magics¡¯. Fawkes kept marveling at how silly all these gimmicky make-believe transient pastimes sounded. ¡°Okay then,¡± Hunter said. ¡°Tell me about you. Tell me about your friend. Tell me about that Lodge you keep mentioning.¡± That caught Fawkes off guard, and the tiny wrinkles around her mouth quickly turned into deep worry lines. Hunter almost regretted bringing the subject up, but said nothing. They were pretty much joined at the hip for now, he and she. It was only fair he at least knew the real reasons why she¡¯d dragged him to the valley of tombs, ghosts, and monstrous spiders, right? ¡°The Lodge¡­ We of the Lodge were once an order of sorts, though we¡¯re too few now to call us that, I guess. In short, our mission is to track down dangerous artifacts and relics of the old world and make sure they stay buried and forgotten.¡± ¡°Is your friend of the Lodge too, then?¡± ¡°He is,¡± Fawkes nodded. ¡°He¡¯s a Seeker, which means he roams the world investigating rumors of dangerous artifacts and potential threats to our cause. He sent word to me, saying he unearthed something of immense interest in the lands of the Brennai. The kind of thing you can¡¯t just ignore. We were to meet and investigate together, but Reiner, ever the fool, isn¡¯t one to sit around and wait.¡± ¡°So he came to the Ghostbarrows alone,¡± Hunter guessed. ¡°It¡¯s been a fortnight since the folken last saw him,¡± Fawkes nodded. ¡°I tried to contact him, but my sendings go unanswered.¡± ¡°Do you think something happened to him? I mean¡­ something bad?¡± Fawkes stared at the raging storm outside, her mouth suddenly a thin, pale straight line of worry. In that moment, she looked old; worn and weathered by decades and decades of hard life, Hunter realized. To him, she¡¯d always seemed kind of untouchable. She had been his one constant in Elderpyre, Fawkes, so cavalier about everything, always quick with both wit and blade. Seeing her so worried felt¡­ wrong. ¡°Reiner¡¯s the kind of fool who¡¯ll add a little flourish to every cut and stab, just for the fun of it,¡± she finally said with a sigh. ¡°but he¡¯s a grown man. A Seeker of the Lodge, and as deadly a warrior as I¡¯ve ever met. Worrying about him now won¡¯t do anybody any favors.¡± ¡°For what it¡¯s worth,¡± Hunter said, ¡°I hope he¡¯s alright.¡± That brought a slight smile to Fawkes¡¯s face ¨C a smile that did little for her worried eyes and her furrowed brow. ¡°So do I, lad," she said, turning her gaze away. ¡°So do I.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 25a Hunter wasn¡¯t very keen on logging out and leaving Fawkes and Fyodor alone in the mouth of the tomb, but she insisted ¨C and it was a good thing that she did, too. His physical body back in the Happy Motel was in a dire need of food, a good stretch, a shave and a bath, and eight hours of sleep. By the time he popped back in the game the next morning the storm had abated. Fawkes was sitting more or less where he¡¯d left her, scratching a napping Fyodor behind the ears. ¡°We¡¯ve got company,¡± she told him. ¡°Two of them, a man and a woman, armed with bows and spears. They¡¯ve been watching us since yesterday. Now they¡¯re holed up somewhere near the foot of that mound over there, probably in the entrance of another tomb. One less occupied than the one we picked, from the looks of it.¡± ¡°¡­and you got all that just from sitting there and staring out of the entrance?¡± ¡°When you get as old as I am, lad,¡± she said with a vicious half-smile, ¡°you pick up a few tricks along the way.¡± She¡¯d gotten her mean streak back, Hunter noticed. That was good. ¡°Want me to send the ravens to take a look?¡± ¡°It wouldn¡¯t hurt,¡± she shrugged. ¡°They already know we¡¯re here, and we already know they¡¯re there. We might as well invite them over for tea and breakfast.¡± So Hunter summoned his familiars and sent them out scouting. The morning mist was still thick as pea soup outside, but that didn¡¯t seem to hinder the two ravens at all. They came back a short while later, more or less confirming what Fawkes had already said. ¡°Any idea who they are or what they want?¡± asked Hunter. ¡°If they wanted to attack, they had plenty of opportunities to do so already. No, I think they¡¯re just curious. As to who they are¡­ Ghost Nation, I would wager.¡± ¡°I thought you said the Ghost Nation had vanished.¡± ¡°Maybe they didn¡¯t,¡± Fawkes shrugged. ¡°Telling history and tradition apart from campfire stories and legends isn¡¯t always easy with the Brennai.¡± Even in Elderpyre, Hunter supposed, people had a penchant for tall tales and exaggeration. ¡°Real life is boring,¡± Aries, the Pyromancer from his raiding group, used to say. ¡°Why not pepper it with something more exciting?¡± She always had the craziest stories, Aries. The fact that they were mostly bull didn¡¯t change that fact. Maybe he should ask Carpenter whether he was allowed to call her, Hunter thought, and Packman, too. They¡¯d love Elderpyre. They¡¯d go totally bonkers if they knew. Well, maybe he¡¯d one day tell them. Non-disclosure agreement or not, some things were simply too big not to share. Fawkes decided it would serve them to wait for the sun to rise higher in the sky and the mist to dissipate. Then they¡¯d go say hello to their tomb-neighbors. Even if things went south, she said, it would be better for them to deal with the situation out in the open and on their own terms, rather than with their backs to the wall. Hunter had exactly zero objections to that. Getting cornered in a dirty old tomb that had been until very recently occupied by a gigantic arachnid didn¡¯t sound like an appealing scenario. ¡°How¡¯s the shoulder?¡± Fawkes asked as he helped her pack up. It was surprisingly fine, Hunter realized. It was still sore, but it was healing up faster than he could ever have expected. Part of it was thanks to Fawkes¡¯s mysterious salve, for sure. Well, most of it. Even so, Hunter had a suspicion that his spectacular recovery speed had something to do with him being a transient. He asked Fawkes about it, and she confirmed that suspicion. ¡°You damned people have magic running through your veins," she said. ¡°They say you can bounce back from death¡¯s door ¨C what¡¯s an old little shoulder wound compared to that?¡± When she put it like that, it did make some sense. They packed up, waited until the mist that seeped from the ground was just ankle-deep, and walked straight up to the tomb Biggs and Wedge led them to. Fawkes took point, Hunter followed, and Fyodor brought up the flank, occasionally straying to sniff or piss on something. When they got closer to the mound near which Fawkes had spotted the man and woman earlier, she produced the crimson scarf Hallara had given her and waved it into the air like a flag. It billowed out in the still-misty air like gossamer, like a drop of blood in water. ¡°When you approach strangers, how you posture and carry yourself matters a great deal,¡± Fawkes told Hunter. Her blade appeared in her other hand as if by some magic trick, this time still in its sheath. ¡°You want to show them you¡¯re armed and confident, but still appear relaxed and non-threatening.¡± That was good advice, he thought. He¡¯d have to hold on to it for his next job interview ¨C minus the armed part, obviously. As it turned out, their tomb-neighbors were privy to that wisdom too; they emerged from the tomb entrance with a slow, self-assured gait and with spears at their sides. One of them was a hulking man with what looked like a buffalo-skull headdress covering his head and face. The other was a woman, slender, lithe, and of medium height. Her headdress bore the likeness of a falcon, with a huge curved beak hanging over her forehead and concealing most of her face in half-shadows. Both of them wore rough clothing made of animal hides and furs, and had intricate shapes, runes, and designs tattooed on almost every inch of their exposed skin. ¡°Hile, strangers," Fawkes called out to them as the two groups were getting closer. ¡°May your days be many and your nights serene.¡± ¡°You speak in the way of the folken,¡± said the woman in a stern voice and an exotic accent, ¡°You wave the crimson, too, but you¡¯re clearly foreigners. These are the lands of the Cor, and our fathers, and their fathers. We are the Brethren, keepers of this vale, and we are not fond of trespassers.¡± ¡°How about visitors, then?¡± asked Fawkes, showing the open palms of her gloved hands in what Hunter took to be a gesture of good will, blade still in her hand notwithstanding. ¡°Or, might I hope, guests?¡± ¡°That depends on the reason for their visit,¡± The woman studied them both for a moment, then nodded. ¡°Let us palaver, then, lest you think us savages.¡± They sat down cross-legged on the ground right where they stood, the four of them, facing each other and laying their weapons flat on their laps. Fyodor sat on his haunches, too, and the ravens took their now customary place on Hunter¡¯s shoulders. If the newcomers were alarmed or impressed by the presence of that little menagerie, they didn¡¯t show it. In fact, they didn¡¯t show much of anything; they sat with their backs straight and stiff and their faces hidden under their peculiar headdresses. ¡°They call me Fawkes. This is Hunter. We both are quite a long way from home, indeed, but we come to the lands of the Cor as friends.¡± ¡°That remains to be seen,¡± answered the woman coolly. ¡°The friends of the Cor are like the Cor themselves these days ¨C few and far between. They call me Sister Peregrine. My companion is Brother Aurochs. Pardon his silence, for he is a man of few words.¡± ¡°If only that were the case for my own companion too," said Fawkes, but her attempt at levity fell flat. The Cor weren¡¯t too keen on humor, it looked like. ¡°What business brings you to the Vale, pray tell?¡± Sister Peregrine asked. ¡°The sooner it is concluded, the sooner you may be on your way back to your homes.¡± ¡°Your hospitality is touching," Hunter snarked, earning sharp glances from both Fawkes and the Cor woman. ¡°We¡¯re looking for a compatriot of ours, a man who may have passed through your lands a fortnight or so ago. That is all.¡± Sister Peregrine and Brother Aurochs exchanged glances under their headdresses. The woman whispered a few sentences in a language Hunter didn¡¯t understand. The man gave her a stern look, but nodded. ¡°The golden-haired one,¡± she finally said. ¡°We know the man you speak of,¡± the woman finally said. ¡°He has passed through our land. We can take you to him, but first there is a matter of importance to attend to.¡± Fawkes raised an eyebrow. ¡°Speak freely, Sister.¡± Whatever the matter was, Sister Peregrine seemed reluctant to continue. She threw another glance at Brother Aurochs, but the man stayed silent and expressionless, inscrutable. ¡°These weapons that you carry," she finally said, ¡°are you proficient with them? Are you versed in the drawing of the blade and the shedding of the blood?¡± Fawkes let out a sigh and nodded. The recluse¡¯s carcass lay only a couple hundred yards away. The Brethren knew the answer to their question already. ¡°Only when the occasion demands it,¡± she said, ¡°and only with great responsibility.¡±Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. The answer seemed to satisfy Sister Peregrine as well as her hulking companion. He gave her another slow and deliberate nod. ¡°The Brethren are no strangers to tragedy and strife, yet this dark turn of fate requires the assistance of another¡± Sister Peregrine explained. ¡°One of our number had her sanity taken, her mind twisted and broken. She trespasses in the Halls of the Ancestors now, desecrating them with acts most foul. If you would travel with us and put an end to her suffering, we would be happy to take you to the one you seek.¡± To Hunter¡¯s surprise, that triggered a notification: Follow Sister Peregrine and Brother Aurochs to the Halls of the Ancestors and dispatch the demented Sister. ¡°Why do you need the help of outsiders?¡± asked Fawkes. ¡°Surely you can deal with such a mercy killing yourselves.¡± ¡°Alas, we cannot,¡± Sister Peregrine shook her head. ¡°To shed the blood of another of the Brethren would be to spit in the face of the Ancestors. And it must be the providence of the Ancestors themselves who sent you to our land at this time of need, because visitors are a rare thing in the Vale.¡± ¡°Even so, we are no murderers for hire.¡± ¡°It shan¡¯t be murder, friend. It is as you said, an act of grace and compassion, a mercy killing.¡± Hunter watched Fawkes as she considered the Sister¡¯s request and her face grew dark. The notification was clear ¨C this task was directly related to the task Arjen had given them, if not the one and the same. She didn¡¯t seem to object to it then ¨C but then again, the bear godling¡¯s words and phrasing had been vague, subject to conjecture. Should Hunter share that knowledge with Fawkes right away, with Sister Peregrine and Brother Aurochs watching and listening to their every word? Or was he to stick to his usual ¡®see everything, hear everything, say nothing¡¯? ¡°We shall do it, then¡± Fawkes said, sparing him the dilemma, ¡°if only out of necessity. Where is this Hall of the Ancestors, then?¡± ¡°Right at the heart of the Vale¡± Sister answered, satisfied. ¡°No more than a few hours¡¯ walk, even at a brisk pace. It¡¯s best to depart at once, however, and be done within the day. Letting nightfall and the mist it brings catch up with as you leave the Vale would be foolish. Dangerous even.¡± ¡°Would the Brethren not offer us hospitality for a single night, then?¡± asked Fawkes, carefully but obviously prodding the Sister, testing her reaction. ¡°Even after we take care of your¡­ mercy killing?¡± Prodding or no prodding, it was a valid question. Even Sister Peregrine seemed to think so, because she showed no sign of taking offense. ¡°It would be wiser if we would not,¡± she said in a tone that was almost apologetic, but still had the weight of finality. ¡°Both for our sake and yours, we shouldn¡¯t.¡± *** ¡°This is the right thing to do,¡± Hunter whispered to Fawkes once they had a smidgen of privacy away from the eyes and ears of the Brethren. ¡°It is that thing Arjen asked us to do, silence the whispers or whatnot.¡± She gave him a sharp glance, surprised. ¡°And how do you know that, lad?¡± Metagaming, that¡¯s how, but that wasn¡¯t a concept he¡¯d find easy to explain to the woman. He sometimes had trouble understanding its finer points himself. ¡°Transient¡¯s intuition," he said instead, shrugging. ¡°Of course it is," Fawkes sighed. ¡°I wonder why I even bother to ask.¡± ¡°So, what do you make of these two?¡± Fawkes glanced at Sister Peregrine and Brother Aurochs, making no attempt at subtlety. They were a couple dozen feet away, themselves pretty blatantly studying their new guests and whispering to one another. Savoir-faire and good manners were relative things in Elderpyre, it seemed ¨C just as they were anywhere else. ¡°They are in distress¡± said Fawkes after sizing up the odd pair for a few breaths. ¡°They don¡¯t seem to wish us harm, but they¡¯re definitely hiding something. I wouldn¡¯t trust them any farther than I could throw them, and neither should you.¡± ¡°No, I mean¡­ are they Ghost Nation?¡± ¡°I guess so. They are Cor, the Brethren of the Vale,¡± Fawkes shrugged, ¡°whatever that may be. I¡¯m not well versed in the traditional nomenclature of the Brennai. Let us play along anyway, for now.¡± Hunter considered using his Mystic¡¯s Eye ability to learn more about these Cor, or even the Ghost Nation. He¡¯d gained another point of Insight since the last time he¡¯d attempted to use it, and he was itching to see whether that increase would have any effect. He started gathering his essence, but Fawkes grabbed his arm and squeezed. ¡°Not here,¡± she said, eyeing the two Brethren, ¡°whatever it is you¡¯re about to do.¡± Hunter let the gathered essence dissipate. ¡°How did you know?¡± ¡°Lodge magics.¡± ¡°Fair enough.¡± He scratched Fyodor behind his large ears and eyed the Brethren himself, wondering whether they could be trusted. Fyodor sniffed the air and licked his hand, providing him with a measure of reassurance. He had expected the Brethren to have some kind of reaction to the direwolf¡¯s presence. They hadn¡¯t, which made him wonder. ¡°Arjen aside, why do we have to go through all this song and dance?¡± Hunter asked, changing the subject. ¡°I mean, can¡¯t they simply tell us where to find Reiner? ¡°Predictably, they can¡¯t,¡± Fawkes said. ¡°Not before they have their own troubles solved. That¡¯s how people are, lad. Always the same old, tired story. No matter. I just hope they aren¡¯t stringing us along.¡± Yes, Hunter supposed. This rigid tit-for-tat, quid-pro-quo kind of thing reminded him a bit too much of a quest line in an RPG. Well, maybe it was exactly that. Elderpyre, despite all of its verisimilitude, was nothing but another game after all. It shouldn¡¯t surprise him if it followed the same trappings. But wasn¡¯t the real world more or less like that, too? The sun climbed higher in the sky, evaporating most of that peculiar Vale mist that clung to the ground. Sister Peregrine and Brother Aurochs were leading the way. They were taking Fawkes, Hunter, and Fyodor down ancient, half-buried paths that twisted and turned around the many mounds that littered the Vale. No words were exchanged ¨C only wary, sideways glances. Since they first sat down to palaver, Hunter had many chances to take a closer look at the two Brethren. They were interesting-looking folk, he had to give them that. In fact, they reminded him of a couple of supporting characters in some RPG ¨C the fleshed-out, memorable kind, the kind that stuck to his memory long after he¡¯d finished the game and moved on to the next one. First, there was Brother Aurochs. Almost seven feet tall and built like a brick house, broad-chested and musclebound. He carried himself with a slow, ponderous way that reminded Hunter of big animals. It was the way an elephant would carry itself knowing he¡¯s the absolutely biggest thing in a ten-mile radius. The man would give the toughest of the gym freaks that worked as muscle for the clubs back in Alex¡¯s old neighborhood a run for their money any day of the week. One look at the carved and decorated buffalo skull he hid most of his face behind would be intimidating enough to reconsider their chosen profession. Then there was Sister Peregrine, and Hunter couldn¡¯t help but gawk. Underneath all the furs and utilitarian hide clothes, the young woman had the lithe and toned body of a gymnast ¨C the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue cover kind of gymnast. He tried to take a peek at her face, too, but couldn¡¯t see much. Most of it was hidden under the shadows her falcon head headdress cast, which added an air of quiet mystery around her. Despite all her feminine wiles, however ¨C and despite his own decidedly scopophilic male gaze perspective ¨C he suspected Sister Peregrine could probably kick his ass six ways to Sunday. She moved like a predator on the prowl, like a slender but deadly hunting cat. ¡°Don¡¯t stare, you slobbering fool¡± hissed Fawkes, clouting him up the head. ¡°Ouch! I wasn¡¯t¨C¡± ¡°Llerwyn¡¯s breeches, you weren¡¯t. If you offend them and ruin this, I will have your man parts broiled.¡± Hunter shut up and rubbed his head. That would probably leave a bump. What had gotten into Fawkes? He¡¯d never seen her let her smooth operator fa?ade slip before ¨C not even in combat. They were getting closer to finding her friend and that made her restless. Figures. They spent the rest of the way to the center of the Vale more or less in sullen, introspective silence. If there were other Cor around, Hunter saw neither them or any signs of their presence. The Vale might have been home to the Ghost Nation once, but now nature had all but reclaimed it. Even under the light of day, even with the mists evaporated, it had that eerie, ghostly atmosphere Hunter had always associated with unknown, untamed lands far away from the rebar-and-concrete cities of civilization. The mound at the center of the Vale was big enough to conceal the Cor equivalent of a full-sized cathedral. Judging from the ancient building that jutted from its side, it probably did. Weather-beaten stairs of gray marble led up to giant double doors the blue-green color of oxidized copper, framed by huge carved stone totems depicting animalistic and shamanic designs. The centuries¡¯ worth of dust, dirt, and verdigris that covered its every surface did nothing to diminish the majesty of the monument. If anything, they made it more imposing. ¡°These are the Halls of the Ancestors,¡± Sister Peregrine announced, and there was more than just a hint of reverence in her voice. ¡°The once and future beating heart of the Cor, and all life in the Vale. Recognize the honor of laying eyes on these doors for what it is, foreigners, for few are allowed to do so anymore.¡± Even if she hadn¡¯t spoken, Hunter would feel it; the air itself was ripe with the humming of spirits and the thrumming of magic ¨C the telltale signs of a Place of Power, only greater, much greater. Overtaken by it, Hunter split from the rest of the group and got closer to the grand doors. Sister Peregrine opened her mouth to say something ¨C probably a harsh warning ¨C but Brother Aurochs stopped her with a light touch to her shoulder. Hunter laid a hand on the towering doors and felt their patina come alive under his fingertips, flooding him with wave after wave after wave of¡­ something. A presence. An intelligence, almost, thousands of minds and souls melded into one. He let his fingers trace the etchings carved there, the words and marks and ideograms in dead languages he¡¯d never even seen before, much less learned to decipher. Their meaning became almost clear to him ¨C almost. Do you wish to anchor yourself to this place of power? ¡°Yes," he willed, and he felt the door¡¯s eldritch presence tug at his core with so much intensity, he almost thought it would tear it from his chest. You are now anchored to this Place of Power. You receive the Blessing of the Cor, forever now unseen, but never forgotten. Your Aether quality is now 600. Your Inspiration quality is now 2. He pulled his hand from the door, gasping for air. This was no Place of Power. This was a Place of POWER, written in all caps and with a goddamn cherry on top. Never mind the massive boost in Aether and Inspiration he¡¯d just received; he¡¯d salivate over those later. Whatever the Halls of the Ancestors hid behind its weather-beaten entrance¡­ it was truly the beating heart of all life in the Vale, and more. Brother Aurochs walked over to Hunter and put a huge hand on his shoulder and another on his chest ¨C a gesture of acceptance and respect. Stunned as Hunter was, he didn¡¯t even think to react. Sister Peregrine studied them both, suddenly interested. ¡°He is gifted in the ways of the spirit, your friend,¡± she told Fawkes. ¡°Unusually so.¡± ¡°He is mai¡± Fawkes replied, shaking her head. ¡°Maybe those gifts of his may one day bloom, if they don¡¯t first spell his demise.¡± Sister Peregrine¡¯s lips, barely visible under her falcon mask¡¯s beak, split in a slight smile. ¡°That is the way of the mai indeed, Ancestors watch over them.¡± That speckle of mirth didn¡¯t last long, however. Not a dozen heartbeats later, Sister Peregrine¡¯s face was again darkened by her perpetual half-frown. ¡°There is something you must understand before venturing forth. What¡¯s beyond these doors was never meant for the eyes of strangers and outsiders,¡± she said. ¡°It was never meant for the eyes of anyone, for that matter. You have to swear by what you hold dear and holy you¡¯ll never breathe a word of what you see and hear in the Halls.¡± ¡°By Grimnir¡¯s insight, I swear,¡± said Fawkes. ¡°I swear,¡± mumbled Hunter, still a bit numb from coming in contact with the Place of Power. ¡°Your oaths have been witnessed, and taken well. Come. There¡¯s much to be said, much to be done.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 25b The word Hunter would use to describe the inside of the Halls of the Cor Ancestors would be, quite fittingly, sepulchral. Brother Aurochs had placed his hand on the verdigris-covered surface of the double doors and they had come alive under his touch, opening to reveal what was only the first of many dark, cool chambers and corridors. Sister Peregrine had walked in, and the rest had followed. Inside the Halls, the air itself was dead. There was no dust, no dirt, no filth of any kind. Everything felt sterile, like a place even the tiniest of insects and mites had long left behind. The most eerie thing, however, was that the halls weren¡¯t silent. Quiet, yes, but not silent. There were tiny tremors and slight noises echoing and resounding throughout the place, coming from nowhere in particular, barely audible enough for Hunter¡¯s senses to register. There was something rhythmic to those noises, too, something somehow all too familiar. Time and time again Hunter thought he had it pegged down, only to realize it had just changed. Fyodor was padding next to Hunter, ears laid flat against his skull. Biggs and Wedge were perched on the furry direwolf¡¯s back, uncharacteristically quiet. Fawkes was barely noticeable, barely there. She¡¯d almost melded with the dark stone walls, just another shadow among the rapidly deepening darkness. Sister Peregrine got a torch from an alcove and lit it using a tinderbox, but its light did little to dispel the Halls¡¯ somber atmosphere. If anything, the dancing shadows it cast seemed to take an ominous life of their own. Whatever the Halls of the Cor Ancestors were, Hunter got the distinct impression he and his companions weren¡¯t welcome in their depths. ¡°How much do you know about the Cor and these halls?¡± asked Sister Peregrine, as if she¡¯d read his mind. ¡°Not much at all,¡± said Fawkes before Hunter had the chance to open his mouth. ¡°In fact, we¡¯d never even heard the name Cor before. The Brennai folken speak of the Ghost Nation. I assume both names refer to the same people?¡± ¡°Ghost Nation,¡± Sister Peregrine scoffed. ¡°A misguided term used by misguided people for things they hardly understand.¡± ¡°Enlighten us, then.¡± ¡°The Cor,¡± she said as she led them deeper into the complex labyrinth of stone chambers, ¡°initially came from across the sea, from the Far Lands. They made a new homeland for themselves here, and assimilated the local tribes into what¡¯s now collectively known as the Brennai.¡± ¡°Interesting,¡± Fawkes noted. ¡°The Brennai seem to have forgotten that fact.¡± ¡°That was on purpose," Sister Peregrine nodded. ¡°The Cor do not wish to be remembered. Once the construction of the Halls of the Ancestors was complete ¨C a massive undertaking that took generations¡¯ worth of work ¨C the Cor left their bodies behind and withdrew to a higher realm.¡± ¡°¡­and disappeared from the face of the world, much like ghosts in the fog,¡± Fawkes nodded. ¡°Yes, the Ghost Nation appellation makes more sense now. Is this what the Halls of the Ancestors are, then? A monument? A memorial?¡± ¡°Hardly. Despite being spiritual, the Cor pride themselves in being very practical-minded, too. The Halls are a¡­ a reliquary of sorts. It is a place to hide things away, dangerous things, and let them be forever forgotten.¡± Fawkes raised an eyebrow, her otherwise impassive fa?ade cracked for a moment by surprise and sudden interest. Hunter caught up quickly, too; this whole business sounded awfully similar to what Fawkes had told him about the Lodge. Coincidence? ¡°And so you and your brethren are the Halls¡¯ guardians, then?¡± asked Fawkes. ¡°We are their keepers, yes. The last great-great-grandchildren of the Cor.¡±If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Did you not follow the rest of your people to that higher realm you mentioned?¡± Sister Peregrine turned her face ¨C what little of it was visible under her falcon mask ¨C away from the light and said nothing. Apparently, that subject was taboo. Fawkes must have thought so too, because she quickly followed with another question, changing it. ¡°Anyway, it seems to me that this is not related to the task at hand, and pardon me if I have overstepped my bounds. Tell us of the sister of yours you wish us to¡­ gracefully unburden.¡± Surprisingly, that drew a chortle from Brother Aurochs, which in turn drew a sharp glance from Sister Peregrine. ¡°Sister Finch, yes. Her long years of keeping the vigil the Ancestors have tasked us Brethren with have left her mind scarred and broken. She fell prey to the lies and deceptions of another, the poor thing. In her madness, she has caused considerable damage in the lower levels of the Halls. That is where I am taking you ¨C but first, there is something else you have to see and understand.¡± Sister Peregrine led them down a side corridor, made a few turns, and stopped before a seemingly random wall in a seemingly random corridor. If her goal was to confuse the two outsiders and prevent them from figuring out or memorizing the layout of the Halls, she¡¯d done a great job; Hunter didn¡¯t have the slightest idea where they were, or how to get back to the entrance. He threw a glance at Fawkes, but she was too focused on the two Brethren and the Halls around them to pay him any attention. ¡°This is what the Ancestors would call a containment chamber.¡± She touched the portion of the dark stone wall before her, and it came alive with waves of flickering, fluorescent etchings, strange-looking characters and ideograms. They were like the ones he¡¯d seen on the entrance door, Hunter realized. Then the wall simply faded away, leaving a thin curtain of mist in its place. ¡°This particular one does not contain something overly dangerous,¡± Sister Peregrine said as she crossed the mist. ¡°Still, I must ask you not to touch or disturb anything.¡± Fawkes walked into the chamber behind her, and Hunter followed. Brother Aurochs crossed the mist wall last and stood just in front of it, much like a mob bouncer would. The chamber was more or less the size of Hunter¡¯s tiny studio apartment back in the city. Just like everything else in the Halls, its floor and walls were made of immaculate dark stone. There was a pedestal in its middle, and a glass case that held what looked like a jeweled hand comb suspended in midair. Around it, there were two gaunt forms¡­ dancing. If he had to describe them with a single word, Hunter would say they were mummies. Their emaciated bodies looked dry, their skin unnaturally tan and tough as leather. Their faces were covered in pale ceremonial paint. They were dressed in some kind of ceremonial garb decorated with feathers, beads, and bones, and wore animalistic headdresses ¨C much like the ones Sister Peregrine and Brother Aurochs wore. If they had any kind of awareness, they didn¡¯t show it; they simply performed a kind of circular dance around the pedestal, their moves rhythmic and precise like clockwork. Hunter¡¯s grip instinctively tightened around the shaft of his glaive, and Brother Aurochs put his calloused hand on his shoulder, both to calm him and to make sure he didn¡¯t do anything rash. ¡°Listen," the huge man said, and his voice was but a hoarse whisper, broken and deep. ¡°Not with ears. With heart.¡± It wasn¡¯t some kind of sappy spiritual metaphor, either; Hunter felt his heart skip a beat, and he understood. His own heartbeat now followed a rhythm, a low, thundering drumbeat that resounded throughout the Halls. Hell, time itself seemed to follow it, now that Hunter was finally aware of it. How could he have missed it all this time? The mummies were dancing to it too, every one of their moves paced and performed with a timing and precision that was uncanny. ¡°These are the Kannewik,¡± Sister Peregrine explained. ¡°The bodies of the Cor that ascended to the spirit realm, now tasked to keep a vigil in the Halls and dance the Great Spirit Dance. They are not to be disturbed, nor is the artifact that their ritual is keeping contained.¡± ¡°I see,¡± said Fawkes, her eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and awe. ¡°How many chambers are there? How many Kannewik?¡± ¡°Hundreds,¡± Sister Peregrine shrugged. ¡°And thousands. Always in motion, always changing shapes, always swapping places, all to make sure whatever is in the Halls stays in the Halls, lost to the world and forgotten. This is what the Halls are, this is their true purpose.¡± Fawkes listened to her quieter than ever, her expression inscrutable. ¡°Thank the Ancestors you were allowed to witness all this,¡± the Sister continued, frowning at nobody in particular. ¡°It was meant for the eyes of none ¨C especially not for those not of the Cor or the Brethren. The reason I¡¯m showing it to you is so that you understand. I say this again; under no occasion are the Kannewik to be disturbed.¡± She led them outside the chamber again, ran her hand through the mist that covered its entrance, and the section of stone wall that covered it reappeared, solid as it had ever been. ¡°Come now. Our business here is done. The lower levels await.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 26a They followed Sister Peregrine through another series of labyrinthine corridors and down a stairwell, which brought them before another set of great double doors like the ones at the entrance of the Halls. There she raised her hand and signaled Hunter and Fawkes to stop. ¡°Once we¡¯re past these doors,¡± she said, ¡°we can¡¯t guarantee your safety. There¡¯s much down here that¡¯s dangerous. Deadly, even.¡± ¡°That was not our deal,¡± Fawkes answered, raising an eyebrow. ¡°It pains me to say it, but Sister Finch has lost her mind,¡± Sister Peregrine argued. ¡°She might be already dead, or she might try to kill us all. There¡¯s really no way to know.¡± Fawkes frowned, and her mouth became a thin line of worry. Hunter knew that look. He¡¯d seen it when they¡¯d first spotted the moose carcass outside Arjen¡¯s lair, as well as when they¡¯d found the butchered folken back in the Weald. With that kind of track record, watching her ruminate with that look on her face made him very, very uncomfortable. ¡°You said you¡¯ve seen my compatriot, and you know where to find him," Fawkes finally said. ¡°Tall man, hair like gold, wears his blades on his hips,¡± Sister Peregrine nodded. ¡°Yes. We¡¯ll take you to him once we¡¯re out of the Halls.¡± Fawkes met her gaze, weighing her words. The other woman didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°Alright then,¡± Fawkes said, not taking her eyes off Sister Peregrine. ¡°Lead the way.¡± Brother Aurochs pushed the great doors open, and Sister Peregrine led them inside, lighting the way with her torch. The moment Hunter set foot past the doors¡¯ threshold, two things happened. First, he received a notification ¨C one, in fact, he¡¯d never seen before: Entering Dungeon. Threat Level: High Okay, great. That didn¡¯t sound ominous at all. Second, his nostrils were attacked by the wafting smell of rot and decay. Sister Peregrine coughed and gagged, Brother Aurochs growled, and Fawkes hissed a stream of expletives in at least three different languages, most of which Hunter hadn¡¯t even heard before. ¡°Low-dwellers.¡± ¡°The Misbegotten,¡± Sister Peregrine nodded. ¡°I feared as much. Sister Finch has been busy, it seems.¡± Busy? ¡°Judging by the stench, the place must be crawling with them,¡± said Fawkes, already drawing arms. ¡°If your Sister was here, she¡¯s now dead.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t understand. The Misbegotten¡­ she¡¯s probably the one creating them.¡± ¡°Creating them?¡± Hunter gasped, surprised. ¡°That means-¡± ¡°Is she a witch of some sort, then?¡± Fawkes interjected, talking over him. ¡°A Skaarn?¡± ¡°She¡¯s a spirit woman,¡± said Sister Peregrine. ¡°She is powerful. Even more so in the Halls.¡± ¡°Damn you, Reiner¡± Fawkes said under her breath, her anger and worry slowly mounting. ¡°This is a fool¡¯s errand. Suicide.¡± Watching Fawkes get stressed felt all kinds of wrong. During Hunter¡¯s time on Aernor, which felt a lot more than just a few days, Fawkes had been the only true constant. Even when she was dragging him through the Weald with his hands bound, there was something reassuring about her. If there was one thing Fawkes always was, it was in control.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Fearless, competent, unbreakable Fawkes, breaking a sweat? No. Just no. Not that Hunter blamed her, of course. She was worried about her friend, who was last seen heading to this godforsaken place. Dark, ancient halls, buried deep beneath the surface, probably filled with flesh-eating horrors ready to pounce out of every dark corner¡­ It was enough to make anyone shudder. In spite of it all, Hunter caught himself smiling. Fawkes saw him and raised her eyebrows quizzically. That made him smile all the wider. There was something stirring in him ¨C that same impish, foolhardy streak that had gotten him in trouble more times than he cared to admit. His smile widened into a straight-up smug, shit-eating grin. There was a sense of familiarity about the bleakness around them. He¡¯d been in such a place before. Hell, he¡¯d grown up in such a place. Well, he hadn¡¯t actually, physically been in in a dark dungeon full of monsters ¨C but he¡¯d raided so many with them with the old gang he might as well have been: Blackwater Spires, Tomb Of The Thousand Dead, Fort Xaryam, and, of course, Blackholme Crypts. That last one was special. It was the first elite dungeon they¡¯d tackled, back when they were still a bunch of noobs. The Blackholme Crypts were a sprawling multi-level dungeon teeming with undead of all sorts, a nightmarish labyrinth of corridors and halls and dead ends. It was the test of skill and devotion that separated the casual players from the truly hardcore ones. It had taken Hunter ¨C Alex ¨C and the gang the better part of a month and countless runs to map it, then another couple of weeks to learn the tactics, strengths, and weaknesses of the monsters that inhabited it and devise a plan of their own. It had seemed a lost cause ¨C a fool¡¯s errand, to use Fawkes¡¯s words ¨C but Packman had insisted it was only a matter of trial and error. In the end, of course, he was right. They mapped the best way through the Crypts, stocked up on supplies, set up choke points, pulled the monsters one by one or in small groups, and pushed deeper and deeper in the dungeon one hall at a time. It took them forever, but they did it, and it worked. They reached Lord Blackholme¡¯s laboratory at the end of the labyrinth. Then Lord Blackholme ¨C a 90 level raid dungeon end boss ¨C proceeded to wipe the floor with them, but that wasn¡¯t the point. The point was that their tactics worked ¨C and maybe they¡¯d work in the Halls of the Cor Ancestors, too. Maybe. ¡°Has the mai lost his nerve?¡± Sister Peregrine asked Fawkes. ¡°Alright people, huddle together, we have to come up with a plan,¡± Hunter said, surprising both the Brethren and Fawkes. ¡°Sister, do you know the layout of this place?¡± Fawkes opened her mouth to say something ¨C probably shut him up, judging from her glare ¨C but Sister Peregrine spoke first, throwing a sideways glance at Brother Aurochs. ¡°The layout changes every day, but we have ways to navigate it, if need be.¡± ¡°And do you have any idea where we¡¯re going?¡± Sister Peregrine gave it some thought. ¡°Probably. This stench is unmistakable ¨C there are Misbegotten prowling about, which means the Crucible has been used.¡± Fawkes gave her a surprised look. ¡°The Crucible?¡± ¡°Morwain¡¯s Crucible,¡± she explained. ¡°An artifact of depraved origins best left unmentioned. It warps and corrupts flesh and blood to form¡­ them. The Misbegotten. Though it pains me to even consider it, it can be none other than Sister Finch who¡¯s lit its flames. So that¡¯s where we must go, too ¨C the chamber of the Crucible.¡± ¡°How easy will it be to get to it?¡± Hunter asked. ¡°Not easy, I¡¯d reckon. It¡¯s located deep within the Halls, and there must be scores of Misbegotten around.¡± ¡°I see,¡± he said, pondering over the information. ¡°Fawkes, I assume these Misbegotten are the same as the low-dwellers we stumbled upon back in the Weald?¡± ¡°It seems so,¡± said Fawkes, ¡°Or at least it smells so. I¡¯ve never heard the moniker before, but that would be my guess, yes. ¡°Okay, cool. So what do we know about them? They hunt in groups, they have a hankering for flesh, and they stink like someone charred a pork steak and let it spoil. What else? Do they have good eyesight? Hearing? Are they weak to, say, fire?¡± For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Fawkes cleared her throat. Hunter was halfway certain she was about to scold him or give him an earful ¨C it wouldn¡¯t be the first time, after all, nor did he expect it to be the last. To his surprise, however, she didn¡¯t. ¡°They¡¯re mostly blind,¡± she said, ¡°but their senses of smell and hearing are sharp. Illumination is going to be an issue, for we need it and they don¡¯t. Other than that, they hunt like wild dogs; they try to flank their prey and overwhelm them with their numbers. They¡¯re fearless and bloodthirsty, but also dumb as a bag of rocks.¡± ¡°It is as your friend said," Sister Peregrine added, now her turn to eye Fawkes with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. ¡°They won¡¯t tire easily, and fire won¡¯t hurt them much, either. Other than that, they¡¯re not particularly hard to put down with blade and arrow. Let them surround you, however, and it will be the last thing you do.¡± Hunter was excited, he realized. He¡¯d been on the back foot ever since he¡¯d first logged in Elderpyre. He¡¯d been torn apart by wraiths and clawed by low-dwellers and mauled by giant talking bears and reprimanded by badass old ladies, and he¡¯d taken all that sitting down, because he was an inner-city kid more or less marooned in a place he knew nothing about. Dungeons, though? Dungeons he knew, and he knew well. He¡¯d take a good, old-fashioned dungeon crawl over the rest of all that other Elderpyre craziness any day of the week. He¡¯d taken enough, and it was high time he started dishing something back. ¡°Okay,¡± he said, still grinning like a madman. ¡°Here¡¯s how it¡¯s going to go down.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 26b ¡°Grimnir¡¯s beard, lad,¡± said Fawkes, looking at Hunter as if she¡¯d never seen him before. ¡°Aren¡¯t you the surprise tactician?¡± ¡°Wait till you see what I can do with a proper raiding party," he said, not bothering to hide a smug smile. ¡°Ever heard of the Mixed Unit Tactics handbook for StormQuest IX? I practically wrote the damn thing. Well, not really ¨C it was mostly Packman, to be honest. But I deserved at least a co-author credit.¡± Fawkes, Fyodor, the Brethren, and Hunter himself were hardly an organized raiding party, but the Blackholme Crypts strategy should still work. They¡¯d move progressively from one corridor or hall to the next, have Biggs and Wedge lure low-dwellers one by one or in small groups, and dispatch them quickly and efficiently before they had the chance to cause much trouble. Some corridors even intersected in halls that had narrow doors, which would make excellent, easily defensible choke points in case something went wrong and they bit off more than they could chew. ¡°It is a decent plan,¡± Sister Peregrine agreed, impressed, and Brother Aurochs quietly nodded his approval, too. ¡°We shall attempt it, and may the Ancestors grant us the strength to see it through.¡± So they did. The first few attempts went smooth; Hunter¡¯s ravens scouted ahead, while the rest of them hid and waited for low-dwellers to wander close, weapons in hand. Fyodor, who was proving to be a far quicker study than any half-feral canine had a right to be, brought up the rear, making sure no nasty surprise caught them unprepared. Hunter¡¯s Low-Light Vision ability was gradually turning out to be an even better investment of his very limited Inspiration points than he¡¯d initially thought. Paired with the Mental Link he shared with Biggs and Wedge, its effects extended to his familiars as well. What that meant was that the two ravens made for pretty effective scouts, even in the dark of night ¨C or, as the case was, in the dark depths of the Halls Of The Ancestors. So they flew from corridor to corridor, following the path Sister Peregrine had suggested, looking for anything ugly, stinky, and carnivorous. Judging from the excited chatter that suddenly flooded the mental link they shared, it didn¡¯t take them long. ¡°Okay boys,¡± he projected through the link. ¡°Try to draw the attention of one of the uglies ¨C but just one, alright? Blast it with Ill Omen and bring it to us.¡± The ravens gave him their now customary telepathic ¡®aye-aye sir,¡¯ and got right to work. Not ten seconds later, Hunter started getting one notification after the other. Biggs uses Ill Omen. Biggs curses the Low-Dweller for 7 eldritch damage. Low-Dweller is now afflicted with Curse of Ill Omen. Wedge uses Ill Omen. Wedge curses the Low-Dweller for 9 eldritch damage. Low-Dweller is now afflicted with Curse of Ill Omen (x2). Biggs uses Ill Omen. Biggs curses the Low-Dweller for 8 eldritch damage. Low-Dweller is now afflicted with Curse of Ill Omen (x3). Wedge uses Ill Omen. Wedge curses the Low-Dweller for 7 eldritch damage. Low-Dweller is now afflicted with Curse of Ill Omen (x4). By the time the low-dweller reared its ugly head around the corner, it was already halfway dead and riddled with so many stacks of Curse of Ill Omen it could hardly move. Sister Peregrine stuck the head of her spear through the thing¡¯s eye, and that was that. Hunter¡¯s Hunters one, Uglies of the Halls zero. Careful not to draw more than a couple of low-dwellers at a time or make too much noise, they rinsed and repeated until they could safely move to the next position Sister Peregrine pointed out, and then the next. Hunter didn¡¯t even have to do any of the fighting himself. He just orchestrated the whole thing and watched as the low-dwellers fell and his ability ranks increased. Having his familiars spam Ill Omen had got his Conjure Familiar all the way up to 12 and his Augmented Familiar up to 7. He also got a couple of ranks in Low-Light Vision, taking it up to 10. Plus, the low-dwellers also dropped a few pieces of disgusting-looking Warped Flesh and a few strands of Essence of a Low-Dweller, which he proceeded to stuff in his backpack ¨C much to the two Brethren¡¯s astonishment and Fawkes¡¯s chagrin. Not bad, he thought to himself as he scrolled through the notifications. Not bad at all. In fact, Hunter felt more at ease with himself than he¡¯d had in a long time, both in Elderpyre and in the real world. For once, it was him that was in control. In the few short moments of victory that followed every successful ambush, he basked in that feeling ¨C and in the silent nods and acknowledgement of his very skilled, very deadly comrades. For once, everything was falling into place. Of course, all good things eventually came to an end. The eventual kink in Hunter¡¯s plan came in the form of something much bigger, uglier, and stinkier than the average low-dweller. Biggs and Wedge were off looking to lure the next in a long line of easy kills, when they spotted it. ¡°Big ugly!¡± they projected to Hunter through the mental connection. ¡°Very big, very ugly, close! Coming closer!¡± ¡°There¡¯s something big ahead,¡± he warned the others. ¡°Coming this way.¡± Fyodor felt it, too. Up until then, he¡¯d been standing by Hunter, quiet as a church mouse. Now he was pacing up and down, sniffing the air, letting deep, low growls and showing his teeth at the darkness around the corner of the next corridor. That was when Hunter received a couple fresh notifications, and learned something very, very important about the two feathery idiots he had based his whole plan on; no matter how smart they might seem to be at times, Biggs and Wedge had to be micromanaged. To their defense, they did exactly what they were supposed to; they blasted the big ugly with Ill Omen, then started luring it closer. You have engaged an elite enemy. Biggs uses Ill Omen. Biggs curses the Low-Ogre for 8 eldritch damage. Low-Ogre resists Curse of Ill Omen.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Wedge uses Ill Omen. Wedge curses the Low-Ogre for 9 eldritch damage. Low-Ogre resists Curse of Ill Omen. A primal, blood-curdling roar echoed through the Halls as the yet-unseen Low-Ogre barreled after the ravens. ¡°Back,¡± a grim-faced Fawkes hissed, taking control of the situation. ¡°Run back to the last intersection. We¡¯ll use the door as a choke point!¡± She was right, Hunter realized. It wasn¡¯t just the low-ogre. After that bellowing roar, every last one of the uglies in the Halls would be gunning for them. This was an elite enemy, after all, or so the notification said. It wasn¡¯t uncommon for dungeon mini-bosses to have additional enemies around them, unless they were particularly powerful brutes themselves. Hunter didn¡¯t know which of the two would be worse. They¡¯d just started to run back to the intersection when Biggs and Wedge flew around the corner behind them, and the rampaging low-ogre followed. If the low-dwellers were the monstrous combinations of zombified humans and dogs or badgers, then the low-ogre had something definitely gorilla-like added to the mix. It had the same not-exactly-human characteristics, the same tan and blotchy skin, the same tiny, dead eyes. It also had powerful forearms covered in scales and hardened flesh, was built like a dump truck, and was two and a half times as tall as a regular low-dweller ¨C which also meant it had to be about fifteen times as massive. The sheer size of the monstrosity was that of a small damn elephant. And, as if that wasn¡¯t unnerving enough, the low-ogre was carrying two or three corpses over its shoulder. They were the broken bodies of Kannewik, the dancing Cor undead guardians Sister Peregrine had taken them to see earlier. Fawkes and the Brethren ran, but Fyodor didn¡¯t. The direwolf stood its ground and barked at the oncoming behemoth, showing his teeth and trembling in fear and excitement. He was either very brave or very dumb-or, more likely, both. To make matters worse, Sister Peregrine was the one with the torch, and she¡¯d left the hall faster than a cat lapping chain lightning. Hunter¡¯s Low-Light Vision kicked in just in time to see the low-ogre swing a desiccated Kannewik corpse at the direwolf, missing him by a hair¡¯s breadth. Fyodor!¡± Hunter shouted, looking over his shoulder and lagging behind. ¡°Run, you dumb mutt!¡± That was a mistake. Following the sound of his voice, the low-ogre¡¯s attention snapped from the direwolf to Hunter. It squinted its tiny eyes, raised the battered corpse above its head as if to take another swing at Fyodor¡­ and launched it straight at Hunter. The Low-Ogre uses Corpse Fling. The Low-Ogre hits you for 25 bludgeoning damage. You are now stunned. The Kannewik mummy hit him squarely in the back, knocking the wind out of him and unceremoniously dropping him on the floor like a sack of potatoes. He hit the dark stone face-first, chipped a tooth, and felt his nose break with a sickening crunch. You take 2 bludgeoning damage. You are now bleeding. You are now bleeding. The adrenaline flooding his brain numbed most of the pain, but the shock of the impact ¨C both of the impacts ¨C left him fuzzy and disoriented. He heard Fawkes shout something, then he heard her shoot her pistol ¨C which added an annoying ringing in his ears on top of all the rest of his impediments. Shooting guns indoors was definitely not what movies and bad television had led him to believe. If anything, it was a fast and easy way to get goddamn tinnitus. Still, Hunter had more pressing matters to deal with. It took the low-ogre only a handful of strides to reach him, downed and sprawled on the floor as he was. As the behemoth raised a huge arm to finish the job, however, the menagerie swooped in to save the day. Biggs and Wedge had been pelting it with Ill Omen non-stop, and some of those casts actually managed to bypass the creature¡¯s resistances and inflict a few stacks of Curse of Ill Omen. Seeing how Hunter was about to become a bloody splatter of guts and broken bone of the stone floor, they took things a step further; they dive-bombed straight into the low-ogre¡¯s face and went for its tiny eyes, buying him a couple of precious seconds. The low-ogre raised a huge hand to shield its face, just in time to miss the snarling mass of fur, fangs, and claws that was Fyodor. The huge direwolf threw all caution and timidity to the wind and used the narrow window of opportunity the ravens¡¯ attacks had just opened to lock his powerful jaws around the low-ogre¡¯s trunk-like calf. The bites themselves didn¡¯t seem to do much to the massive monster¡¯s hard, tan flesh, but it didn¡¯t matter. Fyodor was massive, too, and the sheer spite and ferocity of his attacks were all but enough to pin the low-ogre in place. Hunter was safe ¨C for now. His head swam, his vision was blurry, his ribs felt like they¡¯d been smashed in by a wrecking ball, and blood flowed freely from his broken nose. He should put some pressure on it, he thought as he picked himself up from the floor, do something to staunch the bleeding. No time. He¡¯d worry about that later. He picked up his glaive, wielded it with both hands, and charged at the low-ogre. He aimed to skewer it somewhere between its chest and its flabby belly. Monster or not, it had to have vital organs ¨C and they had to be somewhere around that area, right? Right? Too busy pummeling Fyodor over the head with its fist, the low-ogre did nothing to get out of Hunter¡¯s way. He plunged the glaive straight into the creature¡¯s solar plexus, throwing all his weight behind it. Its blade tore the low-ogre¡¯s flesh wide open, drawing rivulets of blackish blood and vigorously rearranging its chakra by way of sharp force trauma. Massive Critical! You attack the Low-Ogre for 59 piercing damage. You stagger the Low-Ogre. The Low-Ogre is now bleeding. Your Close Combat has increased to 14. Your Close Combat has increased to 15. Your Polearm Mastery has increased to 14. Your Polearm Mastery has increased to 15. The huge creature bellowed in pain and clutched at the shaft of the weapon that was still lodged in its torso. Hunter was impressed with himself. Much like in the previous scuffle with that gigantic spider-thing, he didn¡¯t get to land many attacks. When he did, however, he landed them damn hard. Critical hits were less about some chance modifier and more about hitting things where it hurt the most, it looked like. He made a mental note to further look into that sometime later, see whether he could find a way to use it consistently. Hunter¡¯s little moment of self-congratulation proved to be short. Blind with pain and fury, the low-ogre launched a boulder-like fist straight at his head. Hunter ducked to the side, just out of the creature¡¯s reach, but had to let go of the glaive¡¯s shaft. Too enraged to stop at just that, the low-ogre followed through with a backhand that caught Hunter in the shoulder, launching him a good ten feet away. The Low-Ogre attacks you for 31 bludgeoning damage. You are now stunned. ¡®Stunned¡¯ was an understatement. Hunter felt like he¡¯d been hit by a freight train. He tried to catch his breath, but choked on his own blood. He started coughing, every cough sending waves of numb pain through his battered ribs. Someone chucked something between him and the low-ogre ¨C a flare, judging from the angry hiss and the bright light that flooded his vision. Blinded, he heard the telltale twang of bowstrings and the whistle of arrows tearing through the stale air, followed by another roar of pain. Hands grabbed him by the armpits and dragged him away from the low-ogre¡¯s reach ¨C Fawkes. He hadn¡¯t seen nor heard her approach, but given his condition, that wasn¡¯t saying much. With Hunter safely out of the way, the woman threw herself at the monster, eager to draw blood. Her predator instinct hung around her in an almost palpable aura. Fast as greased lightning, Fawkes fell upon the low-ogre. She was a shadow of black and silver, slashing and cutting and stabbing with cold, murderous efficiency. A few feet away, Fyodor was still clinging to the hulk¡¯s leg, biting and frothing dark blood at the teeth. Biggs and Wedge were flying in circles near the ceiling, pouring the last of their mana into another barrage of Ill Omens. And the Brethren kept looking for every safe opening Fawkes left them, raining a stream of arrows at the low-ogre¡¯s head and shoulders. For a moment there, Hunter thought the fight was pretty much over. Nothing could withstand that symphony of violence, not even a towering behemoth like that. But just as he was struggling to get up, it happened; the thing that Hunter had worried would happen right from the start. A pack of low-dwellers rushed in the hall, snarling and out for blood, and it all went to hell in a handbasket. Book One - Transient - Chapter 27 Chaos. That was the only word that came to Hunter¡¯s mind later, when he tried to make heads or tails of what had gone down. Six or seven low-dwellers appeared out of the dark and went straight for Fawkes, their feral instinct driving them to flank and swarm her. She gave the low-ogre one last wicked slash with her blade, severing tendons and crippling it, and ducked out of the fray and into a side-passage. Blood-crazed and intent on tearing her apart, the low-dwellers followed. Injured, ham-strung, and viciously held in place by the wild-eyed tempest of fur and fury that was Fyodor, the low-ogre was now little more than target practice for the Brethren, who pumped it full of arrows. Biggs and Wedge had done their part, too. They had drained every last drop of their mana to pepper the hulk with their curse abilities, and were now simply fluttering about and cawing like mad, risking to catch a stray arrow but still too excited to get out of the way. Hunter, on the other hand, was barely standing. Well, not even that, technically ¨C he was sprawled on the cold stone floor like the world¡¯s saddest sack of potatoes, broken and bleeding. As the fight¡¯s surge of adrenaline was beginning to fade, pain began to settle in every single one of his bones. This was getting old, he thought. This wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d signed up for. Still, he had the presence of mind to realize he couldn¡¯t just lie there. One throng of low-dwellers had found them; another could be well on its way to barge in and eat his face ¨C possibly more. He had to pull himself up by the bootstraps, agonizing pain be damned. A few feet away, the low-ogre finally fell. One of the Brethren¡¯s arrows found its way through one of the hulk¡¯s tiny eyes and lodged itself deep in its skull, putting an instant end to all the thrashing and fighting. The low-ogre left one final bloodcurdling growl, then fell on its side with a big thump, dead. Beyond it, Hunter saw Fawkes and the low-dwellers. She had lured them away and was now dancing her bloody waltz, weaving in and out of reach, slashing and stabbing at their blotched flesh with every chance she got. They were too many, however, even for her. A single misstep would be enough for them to grab her and gang up on her, and then even her deadly spirals wouldn¡¯t be enough to keep her in one piece. This was an all-or-nothing kind of situation. The choice was obvious. He bit the proverbial bullet, screamed through the blood and the pain, and got back up on his feet. His glaive was still stuck in the now-dead low-ogre¡¯s chest. He grabbed the shaft with both hands, put a foot on the hulk¡¯s torso to give himself some leverage, and pulled. It took almost all he had left, but the weapon came free. ¡°Come on, boy,¡± Hunter told Fyodor, who was still clinging to the low-ogre leg for good measure. ¡°Let¡¯s go give the old bat a hand.¡± He screamed at the top of his lungs and charged at the low-dwellers. The direwolf followed, too, growling and showing his blood-stained teeth. They struck at the things from behind, and not a moment too soon; Fawkes was still fighting like a she-devil, but all the exertion from trying to stay one step ahead of half a dozen of uglies at the same time was beginning to take its toll. Fyodor crashed on one of the low-dwellers, catching it by surprise and dropping it on its back. Hunter followed up, plunging the blade of his glaive down the thing¡¯s throat. Coup-de-grace! You attack the Low-Dweller for 63 piercing damage. Another solid hit, Hunter thought with grim satisfaction as he felt his glaive quiver with the low-dweller¡¯s death throes. Yeah, these big damage numbers were something he could definitely get used to. Why whittle away at an enemy¡¯s health when you can turn them into a dead meat kabob with a single strike in the mid-high double digits? Fyodor moved on to the next low-dwellers, grabbing it by the ankle as it was about to leap and causing it to fall on its ugly face. Hunter moved in to deliver another coup-de-grace, but was cut short and had to dodge to the side instead when one of the other low-dwellers turned around and pounced on him. He didn¡¯t mind; drawing the monsters¡¯ attention to himself meant it also drew it away from Fawkes. Fawkes, of course, being Fawkes, wasn¡¯t about to miss an opportunity. She did a pirouette to dodge a snarling low-dweller, then stabbed the ugly that had turned away from through the back of its head. For a moment, Hunter thought he saw the tip of her blade stick out of its mouth, drenched in dark blood. Then she kicked the now-dead-as-a-doornail low-dweller in the back, pulled her blade out of its skull, and resumed her deadly dance, looking for another to put out of its misery.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. With more-or-less half of the low-dwellers down, the rest of the fight was short and brutal. Hunter and Fyodor pulled their one-two coup-de-grace combo a couple times more, Fawkes slit some more throats, and they were the only ones left standing, panting and struggling to catch their breath among a small, stinky sea of dead low-dweller flesh and blood. ¡°You okay?¡± asked Fawkes. ¡°Who, me?¡± said Hunter, and spat another mouthful of blood. ¡°Fuckin¡¯ A.¡± And then, quite predictably, proceeded to collapse. *** The first thing Hunter felt was hot direwolf breath on his face, and the first thing he thought was how lucky he was his nose was too busted to smell it. Then he opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw ¨C not counting Fyodor¡¯s wet, furry snout uncomfortably close to his face ¨C was six Kannewik mummies dancing around what looked like a needlessly ornate coat rack, illuminated by torchlight. ¡°What¡­?¡± he began to say, but the words never got past his dry and sore throat. ¡°Oh, look who¡¯s finally coming to it,¡± he heard Fawkes say. ¡°About time, too.¡± Hunter pushed Fyodor¡¯s all-too-happy-to-see-him-face away and tried to sit up, but half a dozen of his ribs weren¡¯t exactly feeling up to the task. Someone had removed his poncho and tunic, had rubbed his chest with reddish paste ¨C Trollblood Salve, probably ¨C bandaged him up, and finger-painted a series of mystical-looking geometric shapes and symbols. They also had plugged his nostrils and set back the bone and cartilage of his broken nose back to its proper position, or something reasonably close to it. The bleeding had stopped, but the center of his face still felt like a massive hot mess of volcanic rock. ¡°Do not move,¡± Sister Peregrine told him and gave him a sip of a strangely metallic-tasting liquid from a waterskin. ¡°You¡¯re still very hurt.¡± ¡°Ughh¡­ Where are we?¡± ¡°Sister Peregrine graciously opened a vault for us to safely hide and rest for a bit, after you went and got beaten halfway to death,¡± said Fawkes. ¡°Which, may I add, wouldn¡¯t have happened if you hadn¡¯t ignored your own plan. ¡°What was I supposed to do, let the low-ogre beat the mutt into a pulp?¡± ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have brought the mutt in here in the first place. Never mind that now, though. Low-ogre ¨C is that what you called that thing?¡± ¡°Yes, that¡¯s what the combat log said.¡± ¡°The what?¡± Fawkes asked, puzzled. ¡°Nothing, just transient mag-,¡± Hunter started to say, but realized that the Brethren were there too, listening. ¡°Speak freely,¡± Sister Peregrine butted in. ¡°We know. Your friend told us.¡± ¡°She did?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± said Fawkes. ¡°In the spirit of mutual trust and camaraderie. The Brethren here were explaining to me the true nature of the low-dwellers ¨C or the Misbegotten, as they call them. As it turns out, they were the creations of some ancient flesh-witch from beyond the sea, made to be her soldiers and servants. An enemy of the Cor.¡± ¡°The Skaarn,¡± Hunter recalled, drawing surprised looks from the Brethren and a glare from Fawkes. The spirit of trust and camaraderie didn¡¯t extend all the way to her own secrets, it seemed. ¡°Yes,¡± Fawkes conceded with a sigh. ¡°The Skaarn. Morwain, the original one. She was the one responsible for creating most of the grim practices of fleshwarping, as well as a wave of imitators.¡± ¡°How do you know this?¡± asked Sister Peregrine? ¡°I am of the Lodge. Much like your ancestors and these Halls, the Lodge works at making sure that things like the secrets of Morwain stay forgotten. Or at least that was the way back in the Lodge¡¯s hay day.¡± Fawkes looked old again for a moment, old and tired. ¡°There¡¯s so few of us left now.¡± ¡°Your friend, the one you seek,¡± Sister Peregrine asked, ¡°was he of this Lodge you speak of, too?¡± He was.¡± ¡°That explains a lot,¡± the Sister nodded. ¡°So what about this Morwain?¡± Hunter changed the subject. ¡°Is she down here?¡± ¡°Her? Of course not.¡± said Fawkes. ¡°She was drawn and quartered ages ago, or so the story goes. She got her last laugh over her executioners, though. With her dying curse, she bound dark spirits of knowledge to her will and tasked them with spreading the secrets of fleshwarping to every corner of the world. In that way, she became a scourge like no other. Every two-bit witch and warlock knows about this story, even to this day.¡± ¡°It is like this,¡± Sister Peregrine agreed. ¡°Though the Misbegotten we face were created using the flesh-witch¡¯s original artifact, her Crucible.¡± ¡°That was supposed to have been lost to the ages,¡± Fawkes raised an eyebrow. ¡°It was. Until recently, it was locked up in one of the Halls¡¯ deepest vaults.¡± ¡°...and I guess this Sister Finch you want us to put down has something to do with its re-emergence.¡± The Brethren said nothing. ¡°And what about the ones in the Weald?¡± Hunter asked. ¡°Some of them must have escaped,¡± Fawkes shrugged, ¡°And then they became part of the ¨C what do they call it? Ah, yes. The fauna.¡± ¡°Escaped? But what about-¡± Fawkes cut him short with a glare. ¡°Ah, yes. The fauna. Fascinating,¡± Hunter groaned and absentmindedly scratched Fyodor¡¯s massive head behind the ears. ¡°So, what now?¡± ¡°We rest and recover,¡± said Sister Peregrine, eager to change the subject. ¡°Even at night, we shall remain safe here. Come morrow, we continue.¡± Hunter wasn¡¯t about to argue with that. Even bandaged up and basted with Fawkes¡¯s Trollblood Salve, he still found the pain barely manageable. Judging from the aftermath of the fight with the giant spider ¨C which had occurred just the previous day, he realized ¨C the salve¡¯s regenerating power worked fast, and continued to work even while he was offline. And if there ever was a time to go offline, it was now. ¡°Hey, Fawkes¡± he said, grimacing from the pain of a dozen injuries. ¡°Since the cat is out of the bag and all, mind if I go back to my side of things for the night?¡± Fawkes gave it some thought, then nodded. ¡°If you have to. Don¡¯t be too late to return, though. The sooner we¡¯re out of here, the better.¡± She looked at the direwolf, who was looking at Hunter with pure adulation. ¡°Plus, the mutt gets restless when you¡¯re away.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 28 Logging out of Elderpyre had never felt this pleasant before. One moment, Hunter was barely keeping it together from all the stress and pain. The next, Alex was waking up in his bed, pain-free and comfortable. What¡¯s more, it was only late afternoon. For the first time in quite some time, Alex wasn¡¯t in a rush to log back in. So he ate a big lunch, spent some time in the yard, exercised a bit, played a few hands of poker and chatted a bit with Bob the cafeteria guard until officer Carpenter came in for a cup of coffee and gave them both an earful, got back to his room, and had a long, hot shower. He was about to turn in early when he noticed the time. Packman and Aries and the gang would probably be getting ready for one of their weekly raids right now. He walked over to his room¡¯s telephone, dialed zero, and asked the guard on the other side of the line whether he could call Packman. ¡°Sure,¡± said the bored-sounding man, ¡°but be aware that your call will be recorded and screened for¡­ you know, any number of things you shouldn¡¯t be talking about. You okay with that?¡± He was. He gave the guard Packman¡¯s contact info and waited for his friend to pick up. ¡°Go for Packman,¡± Alex heard him say, and his heart sank. ¡°Hey there Pack. It¡¯s Alex.¡± ¡°Alex? What the hell happened? We¡¯ve been trying to reach you, but they said they were moved to another place. Are you okay?¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah, I¡¯m fine. I took a plea deal and got transferred to a¡­ well, to a minimum-security place. Everything¡¯s fine.¡± ¡°Glad to hear it mate, you got us all worried over here.¡± There was an awkward pause, as Alex wasn¡¯t certain what to say. ¡°So¡­ What are you guys up to? Are you on a raid?¡± ¡°Same old same old, they¡¯ve updated Blackwater Spires with new content and we¡¯re about to go take a look. Wish you were with us.¡± ¡°That makes two of us. Say, is Aries online, too?¡± ¡°Yeah, let me get you both on speakerphone so you can talk to her, too.¡± ¡°Alex!¡± Aries said a few seconds later, her voice slightly distorted. ¡°Where the hell are you? We had to do Greystone Keep without you!¡± ¡°Glad to hear you too, Aries,¡± Alex said, and he meant it. ¡°How are things without me?¡± ¡°Oh, you know. Predictable, for once. No hairbrained schemes.¡± ¡°So, boring?¡± ¡°Yes, a little bit,¡± she laughed. ¡°Not that I¡¯d expected I¡¯d ever say that. How are you doing?¡± ¡°I¡¯m well. I was just telling Packman. I took a plea deal and will do a little time, but it¡¯s not all bad. I just wish I could spend time with you guys. I missed you.¡± He wished he could tell them all about Elderpyre, or, even better, explore Aernor with them at his side. They talked for a few minutes and only hung up when his allotted phone call time ran out. Alex wished he¡¯d called them sooner. They were more or less his only tie to the outside world, the real real world. And he¡¯d missed them a ton. He went to sleep with a lighter heart. He had a great evening, much better than getting smacked in the face and ribs with ancient corpses by a hulking mutant gorilla zombie-thing. He hadn¡¯t realized how much he needed a change of pace. He woke up just after dawn ¨C his internal clock had started to get used to it ¨C and logged right back in. Predictably, he materialized in the same spot he was where he¡¯d logged out the previous day. Not so predictably, Fawkes, Fyodor, and the Brethren were nowhere to be found. He was alone, trapped in a pitch-black vault with six dancing mummies and what looked like a fancy coat hanger ¨C which probably was a dangerous artifact of some kind. The only silver lining in all of this was the one his Low-Light Vision cast around the objects in the vault, saving him the abject horror of being unable to see. That, and the fact that his wounds were mostly healed. His ribs felt bruised and his nose was still completely numb, but at least there was no pain. All in all, not great, not terrible. The Kannewik paid absolutely no attention to him. That was good. They didn¡¯t even seem to be aware of his presence, or anything else for that matter. They just danced in a circle, same as they¡¯d done for centuries. His poncho, tunic, glaive, and backpack had been left lying in a tidy pile next to him, which was a good sign; it meant Fawkes hadn¡¯t left in a hurry or somehow forgotten him, and he was pretty sure she wouldn¡¯t just abandon him locked up in there. Much as he disliked the idea, what he should do was sit tight and wait till Fawkes and the others came back. They¡¯d probably gone to scout ahead or secure a safe route or something along those lines. He had no reason to worry. They could take care of themselves just fine, those three, right? Better than he could, probably. Looking for a way to keep his mind busy, he decided to check his notifications from the previous day. He had a buttload of them to comb through; between the whole fighting low-creatures and being unconscious, hadn¡¯t had a chance to check them at all. Most of it was combat log stuff; him dealing some damage, him taking some damage, him bleeding out like a stuck pig. Then there were the Skill and Ability increases ¨C those were the interesting parts. His Close Combat and Pole Mastery were now at 17 and 16, his Evasion at 4, and his Low-Light Vision at a whopping 19 ¨C that was 9 whole ranks worth of Ability growth. His Conjure Familiar had climbed all the way to 17, too, and his Augmented Familiar to 14. That was to be expected; Biggs and Wedge had put in some serious overtime spamming Ill Omen and pelting the low-ogre with curses. He was glad he¡¯d chosen to keep investing in them. What he had not expected was to see there was a new Ability available to him ¨C one aptly called Toughness. Toughness increases your Health and boosts your pain tolerance, allowing you to ignore a portion of its effects when injured. Higher ranks increase that pain threshold, as well as the Health bonus. This was huge; not only did it sound solid, it was also a gamechanger for the way he got access to new Abilities. Until now, he¡¯d only gotten them whenever his Insight quality increased, or, in the case of Survival and Wildcrafting, when he got one of his skills high enough. Toughness, however, he¡¯d gotten through pure circumstance. It was like an achievement of sorts; he¡¯d been beat up and kept going anyway, and gained access to an Ability related to just that. Interesting. Very interesting indeed. After getting battered and beaten like that, higher Health and a higher pain threshold sounded too good to pass up. He¡¯d gained two Inspiration points when he''d anchored himself to the Place of Power outside the Halls, and he¡¯d sat on them long enough. Spending one to learn Toughness was a no-brainer. Your Toughness has increased to 1. Your Health has increased to 101. Your Inspiration quality is now 1. That left him with another point of Inspiration, as well as 600 Aether to spend on his primary attributes. He¡¯d been holding on those thus far for fear of ruining his character build, but he was starting to regret that decision. He was in the middle of a dungeon ¨C a high threat level dungeon, facing off with elite enemies ¨C and was not in his best potential fighting form. That was¡­ not okay. If he¡¯d entered a raid like that back in his gaming days before Elderpyre, Packman would have given him an earful. Again, it came down to game knowledge; the information the game offered about how skills and abilities worked ¨C the meat and potatoes of things, like damage calculations and stuff ¨C was scarce to non-existent. How was he supposed to know what to invest in? For example, what attributes did his attacks scale off? How was it decided whether an attack was a hit or a miss or, even more importantly, a critical? How were the damage values calculated? How was his familiars¡¯ Ill Omen success rate decided? Sadly, barring pure speculation, there was no way to get any answer to those questions. Well, that wasn¡¯t strictly the case. He still had Mystic¡¯s Eye, the ability that allowed information to simply pop up in his head, as if it had always been there. The knowledge it provided came at the steep price of nosebleeds, migraines, and who knows what else, but it was an invaluable tool. Still, the information he had gained through it so far was mostly fluff and filler. Side-effects or no side-effects, he had to make it a priority to increase its Ability ranks as much as possible when all that Vale business was over. For now, he had to work with what he had at hand; speculation, educated guesses, and conjecture. He lit a torch he found in a sconce on the room¡¯s wall ¨C the gloom was beginning to get to him ¨C and started asking himself some questions. What was his top priority? To make it out of his Elderpyre-fueled prison stint with his wits intact and with as little mental trauma as possible. By suffering as few injuries and deaths as he could, though that hadn¡¯t been something that he¡¯d been exceptionally effective at so far. And how would he manage that? Easy. One; he would try to stay out of trouble. Two; if he absolutely had to get into trouble, he would try not to get hit. Three; if he absolutely couldn¡¯t avoid getting hit, he would try not to get hit hard. Four; if he absolutely couldn¡¯t avoid getting hit hard, he would try to be able to survive it. And five; if he absolutely couldn¡¯t avoid getting killed, he¡¯d try to make his death count in some way, glean some kind of advantage from it. Seeing how he was locked up in an ancient underground vault chock-full of monsters, dancing mummies, and dangerous artifacts, staying out of trouble was kind of out of the question ¨C at least for the time being. Letting Fawkes drag him along to investigate massacres and looking for lost friends in ancient burying grounds wasn¡¯t exactly safe, either, but it was arguably safer than going his own way. Sooner or later he¡¯d get in some kind of trouble, and the swordswoman wouldn¡¯t be there to help him get out of it in one piece. Not getting hit, on the other hand, was a sound strategy. He was already kind of doing his best; he had invested in his familiars, had gained a weapon with a long reach, had learned the Evade Skill, and was more or less trying to be tactical when he had the chance to. Not getting hit hard, on the other hand¡­ that was trickier. He would keep an eye out for some armor or a shield or something, sure. Other than that, the relevant options his skills and abilities gave him were close to none. If there was an obvious way to build his character like a brick wall in Elderpyre, he had yet to figure it out. Surviving hard blows was a bit more straightforward. He¡¯d already taken his fair share like a champ ¨C so much, in fact, he had gained a special Ability to show for it. In this case, boosting his survivability was cut-and-dried. To be able to take more punishment before giving up the ghost, he¡¯d have to boost his Health. And as for getting killed¡­ Well, he hoped it wouldn¡¯t come to that. Not again, or at least not anytime soon. Transient or not, the memories of pain and fear and dread were enough for him to shudder. That was that, then. That¡¯s where he should invest his Aether. But what about his Insight? He had one more skill he could learn on the spot, and half a dozen to choose from. Out of those, the ones that looked the most promising were Craft Spirit Charm and Mystical Phenomena. He pulled up the descriptions for both of those and took a look to refresh his memory. Craft Spirit Charm allows you to create charms and trinkets, as well as infuse them with mystical effects and qualities. Higher ranks reduce the chance of your Spirit Charms being infused with negative effects and allow the use of more advanced effects and recipes, in accord with your Insight quality.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Mystical Phenomena allows you to utilize your Insight quality to subtly manipulate the laws of the cosmos, ever so slightly affecting the outcome of events as you see fit. Higher ranks allow you more substantial manipulations, and reduce the risk these manipulations have to draw unwanted attention. Both sounded equally useful, each one in its own way ¨C and both descriptions were equally nebulous when it came to actual details. What¡¯s more, both had some vague drawback: spirit charms infused with negative effects on one hand, unwanted attention on the other. Whoever had penned the wording of those descriptions should be flogged. Mystical Phenomena sounded cooler, sure, but Craft Spirit Charm was the way to go if he wanted to play it safe. A charm with bad juju was one thing; drawing the attention of something that even vaguely related to ¡°the laws of the cosmos¡± had some cosmic horror vibes Hunter had absolutely no intention of messing with. He was too genre-savvy for that. Lacking any concrete information about those, he could weigh the pros and cons all day and not reach a decision. He might as well get done with it right away. Your Craft Spirit Charm has increased to 1. Your Inspiration quality is now 0. By combining the reservoirs of latent power found in bones with spiritual essences and other mystical objects, charms, and materials, you can craft Bone Charms with unique effects on your attributes, skills, and abilities. By tying a dead person¡¯s hair into an elaborate knot and infusing it with some of your own mana, you can create a mystical charm that can provide resistance to magical effects and help ward off curses. The power of the protection depends on the person to whom the hair belonged. Once its power is expended, the charm turns into fine dust. ¡°Tiffany¡¯s tits!¡± Hunter exclaimed, and his voice echoed in the vault chamber. The descriptions were a bit on the dubious side as always, but he had a gut feeling he had struck gold with this one. If Craft Spirit Charm worked the way he suspected it worked, it would be an excellent way to use all the dead thing parts and essences he¡¯d been low-key hoarding. Tasteful? No. Creepy? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely. Anxious to try his new toys, Hunter rifled through his backpack, looking for potential materials he could use. He still had clumps of Blackbriar, Ancient Bones and Ancient Antlers from that shambler he¡¯d fought when he first came to Elderpyre, Giant Spider Web, Glands, and Chitin Plates from the arachnid back in that barrow, and numerous pieces of Warped Flesh the low-dwellers had dropped. He also had essences from all of those creatures, wispy strands of spirit-stuff that were barely even solid. He didn¡¯t have the slightest idea what any of those materials did, or how rare and useful they were. He¡¯d have to find out the old-fashioned way; trial and error. Trying to create a Bone Charm was as good a place to get started as any. Not too eager to waste any of those harder-to-get materials like the Essence of an Ancient Shambler, he decided to experiment with one of the half-dozen-or-so Ancient Bones and the more freely available Warped Flesh and low-dweller essences. Unsure of how the specifics of the crafting process worked, he sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, gathered the materials in front of him, and summoned his essence. Knowledge flooded his mind, same as back when he¡¯d first tried to cast Conjure Familiar. It was instructions to a ritual that he felt he knew as intimately as the back of his hand, but had somehow forgotten and was just now starting to recall. He¡¯d trusted those strange impulses before and everything had gone well. Even more confident in them now, and reasonably so, he let them guide his actions and set to work on creating that Bone Charm. First, he knew he had to create a transmutation circle, whatever that was. He cut his thumb on the edge of his glaive, mixed the blood with the dirty brown-gray wisp of non-matter that was the Essence of a Low-Dweller he had decided to use, and used the sticky paste those two produced as paint to draw the circle on the floor. It had to be perfect, or at least nearly so. Hunter¡¯s skills in arts and crafts hadn¡¯t improved much since kindergarten. The most artistic thing he¡¯d ever done was draw anatomically improbable penises on his school¡¯s bathroom stall doors back when he still was a pimple-faced teenager. Still, he somehow managed to finger-paint an almost immaculate circle on his first attempt. It was as if an invisible hand was guiding him, making sure he wouldn¡¯t mess it up. Then came the occult symbols; runes and sigils and triangles and curlicues, each one stranger and more mysterious than the next. He felt his connection to the circle tug at his core and fill him with coldness and clarity that was almost glacial, and he knew this step of the crafting process was almost complete. Still guided by some otherworldly instinct, he took a knife from his backpack and grabbed the Ancient Bone. It was a weather-beaten human tibia, the shin bone of the dead huntsman whose remains had been encased within the shambler¡¯s body. Hunter started carving it, etching shapes and scratching off imperfections, giving it a shape that felt right. He was focused on the task with a fevered intensity that felt almost uncanny. It was a slow and deliberate process, but he was so absorbed that he hardly noticed. Finally satisfied with the bone, he set it down in the circle and picked up a piece of Warped Flesh. It looked and felt like the world¡¯s most disgusting meat jerky; Hunter could almost feel the energy trapped in it beating with its own pulse, whispering to him in a tiny voice and language that were far too alien for his limited mind to comprehend. He poured some of his essence straight into the flesh and saw the muddy lines of the transmutation circle come alive with a weird radiance. It started melting into strands and wisps of luminous, tan-colored cotton candy, slowly wrapping itself around the carved Ancient Bone. Soon, there was nothing left of it. ¡°Hmmm. More.¡± Hunter heard a voice rasp ¨C his own voice, he realized. ¡°There is room for more.¡± He repeated the process with another piece of Warped Flesh, and then another, and then another. When the fifth piece had dematerialized into thin wisps and seeped into the bone, he stopped. The Ancient Bone, now an almost finished charm, had reached its capacity for holding the energies of the low-dwellers¡¯ flesh and essence. It was time for him to complete the process, tie any proverbial loose ends, and see what he¡¯d manage to create. Instinctively shaping his essence into a funnel, he drained every last drop of power the circle held and pushed into the bone, forming a seal that would make all the changes he¡¯d made to it permanent. The seal on the back of his hand suddenly felt as if it had caught fire, but he was too engrossed in the process to even flinch. Something was off, he could sense it. There was an unease gnawing at him, the same unease he got every time he saw a painting hang crooked on a wall. Still, there was nothing he could do to correct it. He had no idea how and it was probably too late, anyway. What was done was done. With a final push and a mental flourish, he cut the link to the circle. You have created a Wasting Ancient Bone Charm of Warped Flesh. A whole cascade of Skill and Ability Progression flooded the HUD on the top-right corner of his vision, confirming what he¡¯d suspected all along; the Ancient Bone he¡¯d used as a base for the charm must have been a very high-quality material, much higher than what a total Craft Spirit Charm newbie was expected to work with. Even being partially successful at completing the crafting process was enough to boost his Skills and Abilities through the roof. Your Craft Spirit Charm has increased to 2. Your Craft Spirit Charm has increased to 3. Your Craft Spirit Charm has increased to 4. Your Craft Spirit Charm has increased to 5. Your Craft Spirit Charm has increased to 6. Your Occultism has increased to 7. Your Occultism has increased to 8. Your Occultism has increased to 9. Partial success or not, Hunter was exhilarated. It wasn¡¯t just about the final product, the Bone Charm. The process itself, though exhausting, was¡­ Well, he couldn¡¯t describe it, not exactly. There was something primal in that act of creation, in taking raw materials and turning them into something greater than the sum of its parts. It got his heart racing and his blood pumping and his brain full of sweet, sweet endorphins. Like a runner¡¯s high, but without all the running and sweating and chafing. Smiling beside himself, he looked at the finished item in his hands, and then at the small pile of materials that was peeking from inside his backpack, all but begging to be turned into charms. He had a lot of work to do. First, however, he had to see what it was that he''d created. He took a breath, swept the sweat from his brow, and took the bone in his hands. The charm itself was something horrendous; the carved bone had somehow taken on the appearance and texture of low-dweller flesh. It was rough and tan and and blotchy and unpleasantly warm to the touch. He could feel a slight aura emanating from it in waves, making the hair on his arms stand on end when he touched its oddly smooth surface. ¡®Partial success¡¯ probably meant that it had gained some negative effects along with the positive ones. Hunter was itching to try it and see what it did, even though every instinct he had, both gaming- and survival-wise, told him it was a bad idea. He should probably put it away and test it later in a safe and controlled environment, or even have Fawkes take a look at it, or¡­ ¡°Oh, who am I kidding?¡± Hunter thought and pushed a smidgen of his essence into the carved bone, activating it. The effect was immediate; the eerie aura of the charm meshed with his own, and he felt his skin boil and stir and twist in grotesque ways it shouldn¡¯t be able to. For a moment there, he was overtaken by the powerful, abject dread of body horror. He braced himself for the waves of unspeakable agony that were sure to follow, and then¡­ Nothing. The moment passed, and Hunter was back to normal. Well, almost normal. His skin had turned the blotchy and yellow-purple of an old bruise, and was now as hard as leather hide. His flesh and muscles had stiffened, too, and felt like big, dry pieces of meat jerky. Curious, he checked the notifications that had appeared on his HUD. You are now infused with Warped Flesh. You are now afflicted with Wasting. Neither of those effects sounded particularly positive, though the wording suggested that Warped Flesh was beneficial and Wasting an affliction. The Warped Flesh one wasn¡¯t too difficult to figure out. All he had to do was throw a punch at the dark stone wall. It was as he suspected; with his flesh and skin so stiff and tough, he barely felt the blow at all. The specifics eluded him, of course, but it was safe enough to assume Warped Flesh was a damage reduction buff of some sort. One effect more-or-less figured out, one to go. Based on the wording, he would probably expect the Wasting affliction to gradually cause him bodily harm. It might slowly weaken him, or it might rob him of his stamina, or it might sap his physical strength. It could even be a damage-over-time effect ¨C a DoT, as players used to call those back in his raiding days. There was one way to find out; wait and see what happens. He only hoped it wasn¡¯t anything permanent. Wasting or not, he¡¯d hate to be stuck looking like a third degree burn victim. As it turned out, he didn¡¯t have to wait too long. It was about a half minute later that the first burning, itching twinge spread through his flesh, followed by a sharp convulsion and a notification. You take 4 necrotic damage. ¡°Son of a¡­!¡± Hunter cursed through gritted teeth and braced himself for a second wave of pain, which, thankfully, never arrived. It would probably hit him again in another half a minute or so, but he wasn¡¯t too eager to do any more experimenting. He¡¯d had enough of Wasting to confirm it was a DoT alright. Good thing he was already basted in Trollblood Salve, though he didn¡¯t know if the stuff¡¯s healing effect was still potent. Salve or no salve, now he had to figure out whether he could somehow actively cancel the charm¡¯s effects, or they had some internal duration he had to wait out and let them fade out on their own. Hoping it was the former, he tried to simply will the effects away. Nope, nada, nothing, but it was worth a try anyway. Maybe the charm acted as a switch of sorts, allowing him to turn the effect on and off. He held it in his hands and let another smidgen of essence run through it, only to get hit by another nauseating wave of its flesh warping effect that left him even more deformed than before. You are now infused with Warped Flesh (x2). You are now afflicted with Wasting (x2). That was the exact opposite from what he was trying to do. It was good to know that he could stack the effects multiple times, but it probably meant that the Wasting DoT would probably grow in intensity too. That wasn¡¯t good; necrotic damage hurt like a bitch. He¡¯d have to try something different, preferably before the next wave of Wasting hit him. Willing the effects away didn¡¯t work, he thought, and activating the charm again simply added to its effects. What else could he try¡­? Acting more on impulse than anything else, he tried to do both of those things again ¨C at the same time. He pushed some of his essence into the charm, tugging at its enchanted aura, and willed it to take its effects back. To his relief, his impulse paid out. He felt his skin boil and stir again, but this time backwards. It was like every single muscle in his body had been painfully cramped and twisted, and was now slowly relaxing and unwinding itself back to normal. You are no longer infused with Warped Flesh. You are no longer afflicted with Wasting. That was¡­ interesting. He sat down, breathed a sigh of relief, and put the charm away for the moment. Having a source of damage reduction was good; the fact that it came with a built-in DoT effect, however, made things infinitely more complicated. Hunter could think of a number of practical applications for the charm, but it was kind of a double-edged sword. Maybe he could try to properly recreate it when his Craft Spirit Charm Ability was higher, so that it wouldn¡¯t have the Wasting negative side effect. In retrospect, it might have been a good idea to start with something smaller and less complicated. The other recipe he had learned along with the Craft Spirit Charm Ability was the Corpse Hair Knot, which, morbidity aside, sounded much simpler: By tying a dead person¡¯s hair into an elaborate knot and infusing it with some of your own mana, you can create a mystical charm that can provide resistance to magical effects and help ward off curses. The power of the protection depends on the person to whom the hair belonged. Once its power is expended, the charm turns into fine dust. Resistance to magical effects¡­ Would that include all those times he failed those so-called contests of will, first against the standing stone spirit, then against the medicine woman, and finally against the bear godling? If it did, this was big; he hated having his agency forcibly removed from him in such a cheap way. It was just bad game design, as Packman would have said. There was one way to find out; craft a Corpse Hair Knot and wait until someone blasted him with one of those contest-of-will effects again. Of course, that required hair from a dead person. Hunter didn¡¯t make it a habit to carry any of those around. Unless¡­ Just a few feet away, the Kannewik mummies were dancing around the podium at the center of the room, just as they had done for who-knew-how-long. Dancing or not dancing, they were dead as doornails. Their hair looked more or less intact ¨C probably thanks to the almost sterile atmosphere of the Halls. Should he¡­? No ¨C Sister Peregrine had stated in no uncertain terms that the Kannewik were not to be disturbed. Still, would simply plucking a hair or two really count as disturbing them? It was one of those ¡®My dumb ass knew better, but my dumb ass did it anyway¡¯ situations Hunter somehow always managed to get involved in. He knew better than to try and pluck a hair from the head of an enchanted mummy that was guarding a probably dangerous artifact. He knew it was a dumb idea ¨C just as he knew it was now just a matter of time before his dumb ass went on and did it anyway. Well, he was already on a roll. He might just as well get it over with sooner rather than later. He got up on his feet, inched toward the dancing Kannewik, and- There was a noise at the wall that served as the room¡¯s entryway, the noise of nails scratching frantically at the smooth dark stone. That, and the muffled crying sound of a very big, very scared dog. ¡°Fyodor?¡± Hunter called, and his worried voice echoed in the room. ¡°Is that you, boy?¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 29 It was Fyodor alright, and he sounded scared to his core. Hunter laid his hands on the wall as he had seen Brother Aurochs do the previous day and willed it to disappear, which it promptly did, leaving nothing but mist in its place. The direwolf bolted in the chamber with his bushy tail between his legs, panting heavily, too frightened to even sit still. Alarmed, Hunter took a peek outside. There was no sign of anyone or anything else. No Fawkes, no Brethren, no low-dwellers, just still darkness and the ever-present, muffled heartbeat of the Halls. Whatever had happened, Fyodor had made his way back alone. That didn¡¯t sit well with Hunter. Ever since they¡¯d entered the Halls of the Cor Ancestors, the direwolf hadn¡¯t veered more than a few feet away from them. Whenever he wasn¡¯t at Hunter¡¯s own side, he was at Fawkes¡¯s. To wander in the dark like that, scared and alone¡­ Something bad must have happened. ¡°What is it, boy?¡± he asked Fyodor, scratching him behind his ears. ¡°What happened? Where¡¯s Fawkes?¡± Visibly in distress, the direwolf looked at the dark corridors, then at Hunter, then back at the dark corridors. It was as if he was trying to tell him something but didn¡¯t know how. He padded up and down the room, whining and whimpering as he sniffed around in the flickering torchlight, increasingly restless and agitated. It didn¡¯t take him long to find what he was looking for; he grabbed the shaft of the glaive in his huge teeth, dragged the great weapon to Hunter, and looked him straight in the eyes, almost pleading. Well, shit. Though unable to put it into words, what Fyodor was trying to tell Hunter was all too clear; ¡°Something happened over there in the dark that scared the shit out of me, boss, so grab your big pointy stick. You¡¯ll definitely need it.¡± He didn¡¯t have to repeat himself. Hunter wasted no time. He grabbed the glaive and the rest of his gear and got ready to see what had gotten the direwolf whimpering like a pup. He considered bringing a torch with him to light the way as he left the room behind, but ultimately decided against that. He had his Low-Light Vision to guide him ¨C which also extended to his familiars, by the way. The direwolf didn¡¯t seem to have much trouble finding his way in the dark. Carrying a torch would probably just give him away to low-dwellers and who knew what else, so he simply snuffed it out. Fyodor didn¡¯t like that; he let out a low whine and moved closer to Hunter, so that constantly brushed his thigh with his flank. Hunter put a hand on the direwolf¡¯s big head to calm him and concentrated on his mental link and summoned his familiars. They landed on his shoulders and gave him the mental equivalent of a question mark. ¡°Have you guys recovered from yesterday¡¯s rough-and-tumble?¡± he projected to them. They stumbled for a moment, as if surprised, then projected they had. Figures. Hunter had to keep reminding himself they were spirits of the Aether given flesh, yes, but barely subject to that flesh¡¯s restrictions. He instructed them to scout ahead and keep him up to date with what they found, but try not to draw any attention. He didn¡¯t need them baiting any low-creatures back to him this time; the previous day¡¯s ambush tactics wouldn¡¯t work, not without Fawkes and the Brethren ready to make short work of the uglies. Signaling their now-customary ¡®aye aye, sir!¡¯, they took flight and vanished into the dark. ¡°Alright then,¡± Hunter told the direwolf and him behind the ears. ¡°Show me, boy. Take me to Fawkes.¡± Despite his fear, Fyodor didn¡¯t waste any time. Only stopping to sniff the ground and reorient himself, he led Hunter through the lightless labyrinth that the lower levels of the Halls were with purpose. Biggs and Wedge scouted the corridors and side-passages around them, making certain that nothing was going to flank them or get them from behind. Three or four times they signaled Hunter to tell him they¡¯d come across dead things, but other than that, there didn¡¯t seem to be anything of note around them. About ten minutes later, the direwolf took Hunter through the rooms and corridors where they¡¯d fought the previous day. The remains of low-dwellers were strewn all around on the floor, along with the arrow-peppered hulk of odious flesh that was the dead low-ogre. He didn¡¯t have to rely on his Low-Light Vision to find those. Their stench was so powerful he couldn¡¯t miss them if he tried. Fyodor gave the dead and mangled bodies a wide berth, but Hunter wasn¡¯t as fussy ¨C not when it came to body parts he could loot and use to fuel his newly-acquired passion for arts and crafts. He stocked up on Warped Flesh and low-dweller essences, and also found a particularly chunky-looking Essence of A Low-Ogre. Flirting with crossing from being pragmatic to being full on ghoulish, he also bagged the disembodied head of a Kannewik ¨C probably the one the low-ogre had chucked at him. It was better than plucking hair from a live one, he told himself. Another day, another dollar ¨C that was another of the truisms he¡¯d inherited from his old man. As they delved further into the Halls, Biggs and Wedge found signs of a large-scale scrap, as well as more butchered low-dweller bodies. They had been dead for a while, though the sterile air of the Halls made it impossible to say for how long exactly. Amidst them, Hunter found a saber. Fawkes¡¯s saber, its blade caked with dried-up black blood. No Fawkes though. She could have been disarmed. She could have dropped it. It was okay, Hunter tried to tell himself. She was skilled, crafty. She had other weapons. She had to be alright. He picked up the saber and let the direwolf lead him. Weirdly enough, he stumbled upon more low-dwellers a few minutes later. Those had been downed by the Brethren¡¯s brutal spear wounds and Fawkes¡¯s clean, almost surgical cuts. They were fresher, too. Some of them weren¡¯t even cold yet. Whatever had transpired, wherever his companions were, Hunter was getting closer. Fyodor must have thought so ¨C or, more likely, known so ¨C too, because he was getting progressively more cautious and skittish with each hall and corridor intersection they left behind. Predictably, the ravens were the first to figure out where Fyodor was taking them. Hunter might often grumble about their penchant for curiosity and meddling, but when it came to scouting, the two feathery fucks were starting to prove themselves really dependable. ¡°Uglies!¡± they projected. ¡°Very angry, very many! Look at wall, scratch at wall!¡± Wondering what fresh kind of fuckery that meant, Hunter went on. Nothing good, judging from how reluctantly the direwolf followed. Hunter could hear them, along with the ever-present heartbeat of the Halls; a distant cacophony of growls and claws scratching the dark stone of the corridors¡¯ walls. Hunter peeked behind a corner and saw them, too. Hell, he smelled them, too; there they were, a throng of twenty-or-so frenzied low-dwellers swarming around what looked like a random, nondescript spot on the wall of a random, nondescript corridor. Having seen a thing or two about how the Halls were designed and built, he didn¡¯t need more than a couple of moments to realize what had probably happened. The wall was quite obviously the entrance to a room or a vault. Fawkes and the Brethren must have stumbled upon the large group of low-dwellers and, not able to fight off so many at the same time, retreated there as a last resort. They¡¯d saved themselves, yes, but now they were probably trapped in a vault with nowhere to go. Fyodor must have somehow escaped from the monsters and made his way back to the other vault to get Hunter. An impressive feat, especially for what was essentially a wild beast with zero training, but one that still left them with almost two dozen murderous low-dwellers to deal with. ¡°Is Fawkes in there, boy?¡± Hunter asked and patted the direwolf on his big furry head. Fyodor whined what could only be taken as a ¡®yes,¡¯ but Hunter barely heard him. His mind was already racing, calculating, looking for ways to get his companions out of there in one piece. He had to consider his options, few as they were. Taking them on all at once was out of the question, of course. He could maybe manage a couple at a time, provided the direwolf wasn¡¯t too frightened to help, but not without drawing the attention of the rest, too. Fawkes and the Brethren couldn¡¯t be of any help either, assuming that they were indeed in that vault and still alive and well. Not while the low-dwellers were waiting to tear them apart the moment they peeked their heads out of their hiding place. He racked his brain for other ideas and solutions, and came up painfully short. What would Packman do in such a situation? Had he and his gaming group ever faced anything like that while raiding? ¦³hey had, Hunter realized. In fact, the similarities were almost uncanny. They¡¯d been casually raiding the Tomb of the Thousand Dead for a while at that point, doing runs three or even four times a week to get their hands on extra loot to sell at the auction house. Things were going smooth as butter, until one day they weren¡¯t. One day they got too careless, or maybe it was too greedy or too unlucky; it didn¡¯t matter. It didn¡¯t even matter whose the blame was; things like that have an unfortunate tendency to happen, sooner or later. It was what Packman called Murphy¡¯s Law. It all went to hell in a handbasket when they decided to pull two groups of undead at the same time, thinking that they could trap them in a dead end and have Aries burn them to a crisp all at once with a well-placed Wall of Fire. It would have worked just fine if a particularly aggressive ghoul hadn¡¯t bum-rushed Aries. It crashed in her and interrupted her casting, leaving their raiding party exposed to the rest of the monsters.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Only Packman made it out of that scrap alive, somehow managing to slip away with the party¡¯s healer¡¯s corpse thrown over his shoulder as the ghouls were finishing off the rest of them. It was the right call; as soon as they were out of aggro range, Packman used a rare and expensive Phoenix Elixir to bring the healer back to life. He, in turn, would be able to revive the others, if he somehow managed to reach their corpses and cast his long-winded Mass Resurrection spell without getting killed by the ghouls again. By that point, Packman knew the floor plan of the Tomb of the Thousand Dead dungeon like the back of his hand. He had the healer hide in an out-of-sight safe area, then went and drew the attention of the monsters, leading them away from the corpses of the rest of the party. He corralled them all and had them chase him in a circular course through the dungeon for the better part of ten minutes, giving the healer ample time to get Alex and Aries and the rest of the group back on their feet. Once they were back in battle shape, they ambushed the distracted undead, flanked them, and cut them down in half a minute flat. Maybe that was the right play here, too. The idea of running around the Halls and being live low-dweller bait didn¡¯t exactly thrill Hunter, but he didn¡¯t see any other choice. Worst case scenario, they¡¯d catch up with him and kill him. It would be excruciating and it would traumatize the hell out of him, but he¡¯d respawn. As a Transient, that was a luxury he could afford. Fawkes and the Brethren couldn¡¯t. It was settled, then; that¡¯s what he¡¯d do. For starters, he had Biggs and Wedge pick out a suitable course for him, a series of halls and corridors and intersections that were safe to move through and formed a circuit. It took him a while to convey the concept to the feathery buffoons, but in the end, they understood well enough. When it came to Fyodor, on the other hand, Hunter didn¡¯t have the advantages of communicating through a direct mental link. He scratched him behind the ears, explained to him what they were about to do, and prayed the direwolf would follow him instead of doing anything unpredictable. He steeled himself, took a deep breath, and stepped around the corner and in clear view of the low-dwellers. ¡°Hey, assmunches!¡± he shouted at the top of his lungs, hopefully loud enough for his companions to hear him in their hiding place. He couldn¡¯t but smirk at how the low-dwellers turned their ugly heads his way all together and in near-perfect unison. Fyodor, on the other hand, didn¡¯t find it so funny. If anything, he looked horrified by Hunter¡¯s attention-grabbing antics. ¡°Yeah, you lot!¡± Hunter shouted again, now grinning from ear to ear. ¡°Come over and see if you can get a hold of me, you bunch of motherless turd-apes! You¡¯re all worthless and weak!¡± The low-dwellers didn¡¯t need to be told a second time. Driven into a frenzy by his resounding shouts, the screeched and growled and scrambled after this new target, practically trampling one another. ¡°Run, boy!¡± he told a bewildered Fyodor, and turned to get the hell away as fast as he could. He didn¡¯t even bother to look at the throng of monsters that was after him and already gaining. Now wasn¡¯t the time to think things twice. Now was the time to run like the wind. Even when he¡¯d been fit, back then in the Triassic period, Alex hated running. He hated cardio exercise in general. Mr. Lipkowitz, his old kickboxing trainer, used to joke about how Alex would rather get the runs than get to running ¨C that¡¯s how much he hated exerting himself. Seeing how eager he was to run like hell now, Hunter was starting to think Mr. Lipkowitz hadn¡¯t been using the right kind of motivation. The rabid horde of malformed aberrations that was hot on his heels was working wonders. When alone, low-dwellers weren¡¯t much of a threat; they were more-or-less blind, cowardly, and frankly, not the sharpest bulbs in the sky. Banded together, however¡­ that was a different story altogether. Hunter couldn¡¯t fight them, he couldn¡¯t escape them, he couldn¡¯t hide from them. It was too late for any of that. All he could do was sprint from one corridor to another and hope he could keep going long enough for Fawkes and the Brethren to free themselves, catch up, and come up with a new way to deal with their little low-dweller horde problem. Fyodor was by his side, running and panting too, probably wondering what the hell Hunter had been thinking. Biggs and Wedge were bringing up the rear, lagging behind long enough to curse a few of the uglies with Ill Omen and hopefully slow them down a bit. Not that it would make much of a difference. The low-dwellers were simply too many. Maybe Hunter should take a page out of the direwolf¡¯s playbook and send the ravens to make sure help was on the way. ¡°Biggs, Wedge¡± Hunter projected. ¡°Go back to where the low-dwellers were. Go get Fawkes or the Brethren. Bring them back to me.¡± With a telepathic nod of acknowledgement, the familiars immediately split off and vanished into a side corridor. Hunter hoped they¡¯d got the message. Hell, he hoped Fawkes and the others were already on their way to pull his ass out of the fire, because he¡¯d severely overestimated his stamina and ability to run for dear life. His lungs were burning and his legs didn¡¯t feel like his own anymore. It was simply a matter of time until he tripped or ran out of breath and dropped his pace. In either case he¡¯d die a brutal and horrible death, but at least it would be quick. Thank God for silver linings. ¡°Alexander Fucking Rulin, a.k.a. Hunter the Transient¡± he thought as his mental focus was beginning to slip, too. ¡°Bad decision champion for twenty-something years straight. Quite the surprise tactician indeed.¡± He¡¯d almost completed a whole circuit and was nearing the corridor where he¡¯d spotted the low-dweller horde in the first place when things finally turned his way. Biggs and Wedge sent him a wave of excited chattering through the mental link they shared, but his brain was too numb to make sense of what they were saying. Not five seconds later, a torch-wielding figure stepped out of a side corridor about a hundred feet ahead of him. It was Brother Aurochs and he was carrying the biggest, most wicked-looking greataxe Hunter had ever seen. The big man dropped the torch to the floor, wielded the axe with both hands, and planted his feet firmly on the floor, as if bracing himself for the skirmish that was undoubtedly about to come. ¡°No, run, they¡¯re too many!¡± Hunter said ¨C or at least he tried to. What little breath he could muster was cut short, taken away in surprise when Brother Aurochs started to change. Illuminated only by the torch¡¯s flickering firelight, the large man¡¯s silhouette started to grow and meld into something even bigger ¨C and so did the horned buffalo skull headdress he was wearing. His already thick arms and thighs grew to massive proportions. His chest and torso grew so tall and broad it hardly looked humanoid anymore. Brother Aurochs was now a buffalo-headed, minotaur-like creature, standing on its hind legs and still growing larger and scarier with every passing second. Beside Hunter, Fyodor was terrified. He let out a panicked yelp and almost slowed down and bolted in another direction, but then Fawkes¡¯s familiar, silver-haired head peeked from around the corner ahead of them and waved to them. ¡°Over here, quick!¡± she shouted. ¡°Don¡¯t slow down!¡± However unnerving the sight of Brother Aurochs turning into a twelve-foot axe-wielding were-buffalo was, seeing Fawkes alive and well and offering them a way out of their predicament gave both Hunter and the direwolf a new, much-needed burst of energy. They bolted past the gigantic, buffalo-headed Brother Aurochs, who didn¡¯t spare them a single glance, and dove into the side corridor. Fawkes and Sister Peregrine were both there, weapons in hand and ready to fight. ¡°Stay behind," Fawkes snapped, her eyes already burning with fervor. ¡°Catch your breath. We may have to run again.¡± Hunter and Fyodor did just that; they ran a couple dozen feet past the swordswoman, then almost collapsed to the ground. The sheer intensity of the aura Brother Aurochs gave off was enough to fill Hunter with a primal sense of fear and awe, pure and unthinking. He¡¯d felt that kind of power once before, when he¡¯d faced the short-lived but absolutely overwhelming wrath of Arjen, the bear-shaped aspect of an ancient forest god. That added even more to the sky-high pile of questions he already had about, well, everything, but he wasn¡¯t about to look a gift were-buffalo in the mouth. Not when he was just a few short breaths away from being eaten by a rabid horde of low-dwellers. The low-dwellers in question, on the other hand, didn¡¯t pay much heed to the new threat that was blocking their way. They were too frenzied, or too stupid, or both. They ran after Hunter, singularly focused on their prey, only to be met with an earth-shattering roar. One brutal swipe of his gigantic greataxe decimated at least three of them right there on the spot, launched another two in the air, and stopped almost all of the rest dead in their tracks. Even the three or four that managed to slip through weren¡¯t much luckier. Sister Peregrine shot her arrows faster than Hunter could count them, and each one of them found its target with precision that seemed almost impossible. Fawkes danced her deadly dance with immaculate grace, slicing and dicing and cutting her unfortunate foes down almost effortlessly. Anyone, anything would be mortified by such a swift and brutal show of force. Not the low-dwellers. The low-dwellers weren¡¯t built for fear; they were built for serving as fodder; unthinking, unflinching, murderous fodder. Instead of turning on their heels and running away for dear life, they set their sights on their new target, overwhelming a foe as it was. A few of them rushed the transformed Brother Aurochs head on, drawing his attention. He destroyed them with a wide sweep of his greataxe, not so much slashing as crushing them with the heft of the massive weapon. The rest, however, instinctively knew the ruse for what it was. They circled around the were-buffalo, tearing at his powerful legs and launching themselves at the small hillock it had for a back, aiming to reach for the throat. They were almost a dozen. Given the chance, they might have done Brother Aurochs enough harm to bring him down. Fawkes and Sister Peregrine, however, never gave them the chance. Sister Peregrine loosed another salvo of arrows, aiming for the low-dwellers that were trying to climb on her Brother¡¯s back. Fawkes rushed in and made short work of those who were trying to hamstring him. And the were-buffalo himself, unable to use his huge but unwieldy weapon at such a short range, simply punched, stomped, and pulverized anything that was unfortunate enough to be caught in range. Hunter was planning to catch a few breaths, then join the fray himself. By the time the were-buffalo crushed the last of the low-dwellers under his hoof, though, both he and Fyodor were still winded, and their other companions hadn¡¯t even broken a sweat. ¡°Are you alright?¡± Fawkes asked him, wiping the black blood off her blade on one of the corpses at her feet. ¡°Were you injured?¡± ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± Hunter wheezed, still trying to catch his breath. ¡°That¡¯s my line. What happened?¡± ¡°Went off to scout ahead," said Sister Peregrine as she was picking among the carnage, looking for arrows that weren¡¯t too damaged to salvage. ¡°Got ambushed.¡± Hunter looked at her, waiting for a more in-depth explanation. He got none. Her face hidden under her hawk-shaped headdress and illuminated by nothing but a couple of torches, she was even more inscrutable than before. What Hunter did notice, however, was that she avoided looking at her Brother. The man-turned-werebeast was still standing among the dead bodies of the low-dwellers, calf-deep in spatters of viscous black blood. He didn¡¯t seem like he was paying attention to anything, now that the skirmish was over; he simply stood there, massive greataxe in hand, staring at the darkness of the Halls. ¡°We were careless¡± Fawkes told Hunter and patted him down, taking a look at his now-almost-healed injuries from the previous day. ¡°We took on more than we could chew, and the damn things corralled us to a corner. We had to retreat to one of the vaults and wait until they lost interest. Turns out they can be very patient. The rest... well, the rest you know.¡± ¡°What about him?¡± Hunter cocked a thumb and started to ask, but Fawkes cut him off with a sharp glance. Too late. Sister Peregrine had already heard him. ¡°He did something he shouldn¡¯t have done to save us¡± she said, and her voice grew very bitter, very fast. ¡°To save you.¡± ¡°Not to sound ungrateful, now, Sister, but ¨C ¡± Fawkes intervened, but the Sister gestured to her to stop. ¡°I do not wish to sound ungrateful either, pardon me. It is just¡­¡± She glanced at the huge form of Brother Aurochs and took a deep, pained breath. ¡°To be Brethren is to sacrifice. Still, some sacrifices are too big even for us.¡± ¡°I feel for you¡± said Fawkes, ¡°even if I cannot fathom your pain, or the significance of your Brother¡¯s sacrifice.¡± ¡°And I thank you for that.¡± The two women set to act as if they were straightening up their gear and cleaning their weapons, fooling nobody. The awkwardness in the air was almost palpable. Fyodor, haggard from the overexertion, licked Hunter¡¯s hand and looked at Brother Aurochs¡¯s way, visible concern painted on his lupine face. Hardly anybody talked for a while. Hardly anybody moved. Then, as if having just snapped awake, the werebeast that Brother Aurochs had become turned his head towards the dark, let out a bone-deep sigh, and started walking. ¡°Come¡± said Sister Peregrine, following after him. ¡°It¡¯s not far now.¡± ¡°Oh, Fawkes, by the way,¡± said Hunter and reached into his backpack. ¡°I found your saber. You must have dropped it. Good thing you had a spare.¡± The woman blanched. ¡°What saber?¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 30 Hunter took Fawkes to the corridor where he found the saber. She knelt besides the low-dweller carcasses, examined them with a gloved hand. ¡°A week,¡± she said. ¡°More, perhaps.¡± The saber hung from her belt, next to her own. They were almost identical. Hunter didn¡¯t have to ask her. He could see the poorly-contained worry painted all over her face. They searched the surrounding corridors, too. They found signs of battle, broken arrows, slain low-dwellers, and little more. ¡°More of our Brethren have been down here in the past few weeks,¡± Sister Peregrine said. ¡°It must have been them.¡± Fawkes met her eyes, sullen. Sister Peregrine looked away, turned her gaze toward the dark. ¡°Come. Let us put an end to all this madness, once and for all.¡± So they went. Brother Aurochs delved deeper and deeper into the dark heart of the Halls, and the rest followed behind. Hunter hadn¡¯t had the time or the opportunity to get to know the man. He hadn¡¯t heard him speak more than ten words, but had liked him almost instinctively. There had been a gentleness to Brother Aurochs, an air of stout but warm benevolence. Instead of that, the were-buffalo now radiated a sense of primordial pain and sadness, a longing and a grief that overflowed from his hulking form and spread to everything around him. He clung to his greataxe listlessly and simply put one hoofed foot in front of the other in a pace that was almost glacial. Right beside him walked Sister Peregrine, only she, too, was almost unrecognizable. The Sister Hunter had met was a creature of grace and pride; the woman before him was but a pale shadow of her. She was broken and beaten in spirit, if not in body, and had barely enough oomph in her to hold up the torch she was carrying. The rest of the group were following at a respectful distance, speaking little and only in whispers. The palpable sense of gloom that surrounded the Brethren clung to them too, like the world¡¯s heaviest cobwebs. Fawkes was lost in thought, her pale and narrow face suddenly looking impossibly older under the shadows cast by the torch she carried. Hunter tried to reach out to her, get her talking, but to no avail. She wasn¡¯t in the mood for conversation ¨C even less so than usually. The ravens spent most of their time scouting their surroundings, checking side-corridors for signs of low-dwellers. The gloom of the place had got to them, too. They had stopped their usually constant bickering and were focused on their task instead. Fyodor padded next to Hunter, never straying more than a couple feet away. On a different occasion Hunter might have poked some harmless fun at what a scaredy cat the huge direwolf was proving to be; not at this time though. If anything, he now understood Fyodor¡¯s ever-present angst a little bit better. As for Hunter himself¡­ well, he wasn¡¯t sure what to think or feel. Elderpyre had long stopped feeling like just another game to him. He couldn¡¯t even remember whether he¡¯d ever been able to tell the game¡¯s virtual world apart from the real one, not even at the very beginning. That¡¯s how gripping its verisimilitude was, how realistic the feel of everything around him. He¡¯d come to terms with that. The people in it, though¡­ Hunter was starting to realize how real the people were starting to feel, too, and it was kind of disconcerting. With Fawkes, it was more or less to be expected. He¡¯d spent a lot of time with her and they¡¯d been through some traumatic stuff together. Shit, she¡¯d been more real to him than many of the people he knew in his world. Real people in the real world. The Brethren, though? He hadn¡¯t had the time or the opportunity to connect with them. He liked them well enough, alright, but when it came down to brass tacks, they were just a couple of NPCs. A stream of ones and zeroes, no more than facsimiles of real people, convincing but ultimately as two-dimensional as a person-shaped cardboard cutout. Right? If that was the case, why was he feeling so damn bad? Why had he risked going through another excruciating death experience just to try and pull their chestnuts out of the fire? Why did he get that terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach every time he looked at the now-transformed Brother Aurochs, or the devastated Sister Peregrine? Immersion was the holy grail of every gamer and game designer out there, but this was more than just that. Was everything alright up there in that head of his? Was he beginning to slip? Hunter tried to rationalize the whole thing. People had the tendency to an anthropomorphize pretty much everything. There was that old survival drama, for example, in which the lead, stranded on an island, had taken to talking to a volleyball with a smiley face painted on. A fucking volleyball. These, on the other hand, were almost indistinguishable from honest-to-God people. They were characters and situations expertly created and written for the sole purpose of tugging on his heartstrings, of granting an extra layer of emotional authenticity to the whole Elderpyre experience. He was supposed to feel for them, so it was very normal to start kind of caring about them. He wasn¡¯t going nuts or anything. Right? ¡°That was one hell of a stupid thing you pulled back there¡± Fawkes whispered to him, cutting his train of thought short. ¡°Brave, yes, but stupid. What were you thinking?¡± ¡°That¡¯s an awful lot of words to just say ¡®thank you¡¯,¡± Hunter said, but his half-hearted attempt at a tease fell flat. I¡¯m not jesting, lad¡± she said after, hesitating for a couple of breaths in a decidedly non-Fawkeslike manner. ¡°I really wonder what goes on in that thick head of yours. There are things I¡¯d like to talk about when we get out of this old tomb.¡± ¡°Yeah, sure. Amen to that.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°I mean, I¡¯m looking forward to it.¡± ¡°So am I, lad. So am I.¡± Fawkes turned her gaze back to the dark corridors that lay ahead, looking already lost in some somber thought. Hunter, not willing to let the first half-proper conversation they had in hours die out, spoke again.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°So, this friend of yours. You must be really excited to finally find him.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be when I do," Fawkes said with a sigh. ¡°What¡¯s he like?¡± ¡°Reiner? You¡¯d like him. You¡¯re both a pain in my neck.¡± ¡°So he¡¯s not all dark and serious and businesslike? You know, like you?¡± Despite herself, that brought a strained smile to the swordswoman¡¯s lips. ¡°I wish. He talks a lot and laughs a lot and drinks a lot and gets in trouble a lot. But he¡¯s a good friend. One I miss.¡± ¡°So, uh¡­ was it his saber?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure he dropped it or misplaced it or something.¡± ¡°That sounds like something he¡¯d do.¡± ¡°Good thing we found it.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± said Fawkes, but her voice betrayed her mind had already drifted elsewhere again. ¡°Good thing we did.¡± As they kept walking in torchlit silence, it became progressively harder and harder for Hunter to keep track of how much time had passed. Each corridor blended in with the next, each hall was identical to the last. It was as if both time and space had a different meaning down there in the cool, sterile darkness of the Halls. Once or twice, they came across small groups of low-dwellers, but the were-buffalo dispatched them with an absent-minded brutality that was borderline more frightening than anything that could be lurking in the dark halls around them. After what had felt like a small eternity, Brother Aurochs led them to a chamber different from almost any other they¡¯d seen. This one was bigger, wider, its ceiling higher. Huge carvings of indecipherable runes and sigils covered the floor and walls ¨C and maybe the ceiling too, Hunter suspected. At its other end there were a couple of towering double doors, much like the ones they¡¯d crossed both at the entrance to the Halls and the entrance to the lower levels. Whatever was behind those, it was Important ¨C capital ¡®I¡¯ important. ¡°We have arrived¡± Sister Peregrine turned around and told them, her voice hollow. ¡°Whatever has happened to Sister Finch, whatever madness has overtaken her¡­ she¡¯s here. Just past those doors.¡± Hunter threw a glance at Fawkes. If this was a dungeon, and it sure looked like it was, what lay ahead would likely be very dangerous. He wouldn¡¯t mind some time to prepare, even if it was to simply catch his breath. ¡°If it¡¯s all the same to you, I could use a few moments to prepare," he said. ¡°Is it important?¡± Sister Peregrine asked, visibly on edge. ¡°I would rather we did not tarry any longer than we have to.¡± ¡°It is," Hunter said. ¡°It has to do with my¡­ nature. You know. With being Transient. If there¡¯s danger ahead, I want to have all my bases covered as best as I can.¡± The woman¡¯s mouth became a thin, hard line, but she nodded. ¡°Alright. But do make haste.¡± She didn¡¯t have to say that twice. Hunter walked over to the double doors ahead, closed his eyes, and let his mind reach out to them. It was as he had suspected; they were the focal point of a Place of Power. Had they been outside, it would have called to his senses like a beacon in the dark. Down there, however, among the energy-saturated enchantments and the ever-present heartbeat of the Halls, it wouldn¡¯t surprise him if he¡¯d missed it altogether. Do you wish to anchor yourself to this place of power? Yes. He did. Something reached back at him through the link he¡¯d established and tugged at his core, binding it to the ambient power around the doors. You are now anchored to this Place of Power. You receive the Blessing of the Inner Sanctum, a spark born of the Transmundane. Your Aether quality is now 800. More Aether. That was good. He¡¯d already been sitting on a solid 600 Aether, enough to buy him some pretty decent upgrades to his Attributes. He¡¯d been putting off spending it for far too long, worried that he might waste them in something suboptimal and gimp his character build. It was about time he did something with all that Aether. Whatever lay ahead, Hunter wanted to face at full strength. He found a quiet spot, sat down cross-legged and with his eyes closed, and tried to empty his mind. It took him a moment; these things weren¡¯t meant to be rushed. When he finally managed to find that inner peace and focus within, he was greeted with a notification. Your Meditation has increased to 2. Now that he had the chance, Hunter pulled up his notifications from earlier, too. Not that there were many of those; he¡¯d gained a couple of ranks in his Conjure Familiar Ability, which was now at 19, as well as three more in his Low-Light Vision, which had reached a respectable 22. He¡¯d half-expected that to grant him access to a new Ability, just as how Survival had made Wildcrafting available for him to learn once it had hit 20. This time, however, he got nothing. It could be because Low-Light Vision was itself an Ability, whereas Survival was a Skill. Or it could just be that the way things worked in Elderpyre was arbitrary and confusing by design. Go figure. Most interesting by far was the fact that he¡¯d gained a whopping 6 points in his newly-acquired Toughness Ability. That brought it up to 7, and his Health total to 107. He hadn¡¯t expected just running to contribute to his Toughness growth, but apparently the exertion was intense enough to qualify. Again, go figure. Which led him to the meat-and-potatoes of the whole thing, and more-or-less the purpose of his meditation; the chance to tinker with his stats. His character sheet window popped open before him, and he started to pour all the Aether he had to increase his Health Attribute. More Health meant it would be harder for stuff to kill him dead, and that was a good thing, right? Right. Initially, he thought that each hundred points of Aether would get him a single point of, say, Strength or Willpower, or ten points of Health. Things turned out to be a bit more complicated than that. Each consequent increase of an Attribute cost ten percent more than the last. This meant that he could pump his Health to 110 for just 100 Aether, but further increasing it to 120 would cost an additional 110, and to reach 130 would cost him another 121 on top of that. It made sense; diminishing returns were a staple in many crunchy games he¡¯d played. After doing some math in his head, he decided that investing everything in his Health wasn¡¯t a great idea at that point ¨C not with all those increasing costs and diminishing returns. He increased it to 147 (that final 7 was a bonus he gained from his Toughness Ability) and used almost all of the rest of his Aether to increase his Stamina to 130. He''d initially considered increasing his Dexterity instead of his Stamina, looking for to increase his mobility and get hit less. Stamina would serve him better in the long run, however ¨C pun not intended. Granted, these weren¡¯t the most creative upgrades to his character, but how did that old saying go? A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, or something like that. He¡¯d rather face whatever lay behind those doors somewhat unoptimized rather than completely unprepared. That left him with a grand total of 5 remaining Aether, not nearly enough to get another upgrade. So there he was, finally fully upgraded and with virtually no Inspiration or Aether to spend on additional Skills and Attribute upgrades. He was about to stand up and tell Fawkes and the Brethren he was ready to go, but he remembered there was another thing he¡¯d been meaning to try ¨C a little arts and crafts project. He opened his backpack, made sure nobody was looking, reached for the Kannewik¡¯s severed head, and plucked a handful of ancient, brittle hair. This time around, creating a transmutation circle proved to be a much simpler process; his Craft Spirit Charm was at a considerably higher rank of 6 now compared to the measly 1 it had been the first time he¡¯d tried to create a charm. Crafting a Corpse Hair Charm was easier than crafting and enchanting a Bone Charm, too. His fingers deftly wove the dead hairs as if they had life of their own. It wasn¡¯t much different than weaving a cat¡¯s cradle, like his mom had taught him when he was a snot-nosed five-year-old. Not half a minute later, Hunter was holding an intricate, mildly disturbing jumble of a long-dead man¡¯s hair tied in knots. As a final touch, he summoned his essence and infused the knots and weaves with as much of it as they could hold. There, all ready. You have created a Kannewik Corpse Hair Charm. Your Craft Spirit Charm has increased to 8. Your Occultism has increased to 10. He took the completed charm and placed it in the front pocket of its poncho. Hopefully, simply carrying it on him would be enough for its protective enchantment to work. Even more hopefully, he wouldn¡¯t have to find out anytime soon. As ready as he was going to be, he rose to his feet, patted himself down, and turned to look at Fawkes. She¡¯d been sitting at the other end of the hall, watching him do his arts and crafts with great interest. Hunter nodded at her, and she nodded back. It was time to see what this whole Halls Of The Cor Ancestors mystery was about, be done with whatever it was that Arjen and the Brethren expected them to do down there, and finally go find Reiner. Book One - Transient - Chapter 31 Brother Aurochs raised his monstrous hand and let his palm rest on the surface of the great doors, setting the patina aflame with ghostly light. Filling each shape after the next, that light spread across the thousands of runes that were carved on the doors, and then continued spreading to the etchings that covered the walls and floor, too. It was like the Halls Of The Cor Ancestors themselves came alive around them, a living, breathing being that rearranged and transformed its geometry and, in a way, its very essence. Hunter felt it, too; a ripple in the fabric of things, a wave that went straight through him. It made his head swim and it filled his senses with the oddly familiar scent of something like ozone and camphor. Then the moment passed, and everything came back to normal. Brother Aurochs let a deep, resounding sigh and pushed the great double doors open. They swung on their hinges as if they weighed nothing; sickly light poured out from beyond them along with the powerful stench of low-dwellers, stinging both Hunter¡¯s eyes and nostrils. More importantly, all of his body, mind, and soul were suddenly filled by a voiceless whisper ¨C or was it a chant? Dozens of voices were mumbling as one, coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, filling the air with unintelligible words in bone-chilling languages. Acting on pure survival instinct, Hunter tried to plug his ears ¨C and so did Fawkes and Sister Peregrine, too. It didn¡¯t matter. If sound was a mechanical wave that used air as a medium to travel through, as he¡¯d been taught back in high school, this dreadful whispering was definitely more. It was a disturbance that rippled through reality, propagating itself unimpeded through matter, aether, and who knows what other kind of cosmic medium. Point was, there was no stopping it. Once the heavily enchanted door of the Inner Sanctum was opened, the whispering permeated everything. ¡°Is this the whispering Arjen and the medicine woman mentioned?¡± he asked Fawkes, still squinting and plugging his ears with his fingers. Fawkes, who¡¯d already plugged her ears with something she¡¯d pulled out of her sleeve, just nodded. ¡°Well, up close it feels more like shouting than whispering, doesn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Take this. Plug your ears with it. It won¡¯t stop all of it, but it will help.¡± She handed Hunter and the Brethren small lumps of what looked like wax. She was right. It didn¡¯t stop the whispering, but it made it a bit more bearable. Hunter plugged Fyodor¡¯s ears, too. The poor thing had been whimpering like crazy. Biggs and Wedge did not seem to be bothered as much, though they¡¯d fallen awfully silent. The chamber that lay beyond the doors reminded Hunter of a chapel. Braziers lined the walls, shedding otherworldly illumination and creating an atmosphere of reverence that somehow bordered on the profane. There were tapestries on the walls and lush carpets on the floor, and rows and rows of stone benches in front of which hunched and broken forms were kneeling in prayer. All of them were facing towards a great dais near the far end of the long, rectangular hall. The dais itself was covered in a canopy and layers upon layers of heavy and ornate curtains, obscuring whoever or whatever stood there in thick gloom. Just in front of it there was a great cauldron made of some dark lustrous material, easily big enough for a fully grown man to sit inside. Around it, much like an honor guard, there were a handful of low-ogres, each one as big and horrifying as the one Hunter, Fawkes, and the Brethren had faced earlier. They were wielding enormous spears, Hunter noticed with a pang of dread, and from each spear hung a malformed human corpse. ¡°Welcome, children¡± said a woman¡¯s voice that echoed throughout the chamber. It was friendly and melodic, but Hunter still caught himself shuddering. ¡°We have been expecting you. Come closer, so I may better see your faces.¡± Hunter and Fawkes exchanged worried glances and turned to Sister Peregrine, who stood there silent and still, as if stunned. It was Brother Aurochs who moved first, letting out another deep sigh rumble through his hulking chest and taking a ponderous step towards the canopy-covered dais. The others followed, weapons clutched in hand in case the praying faithful all around them got any cute ideas. Not that it would make much of a difference. There were dozens of them, more than enough to put a swift and definite end to any kind of resistance Hunter and his companions could put up in case a fight broke out. Some of them looked like ragged, desiccated humans; others had a definitely low-dwellerish look to them. For the moment, all they did was face the dais with nothing short of the purest form of divine-inspired prostration. It was them the eerie whispering came from, always in perfect sync with the Halls¡¯ deep, powerful heartbeat. Walking towards that dais felt like treading water. The rich carpet at their feet felt more and more like quicksand, ready to swallow them whole. The form under the canopy waited patiently for them to approach, all but radiating discord. Still, none of the Sanctum¡¯s occupants moved a muscle. The scores of the faithful simply ignored them, and so did the low-ogres of that brutish honor guard. Brother Aurochs led the way. Sister Peregrine followed in his shadow. Fawkes and Hunter brought back the rear with Fyodor at their side. Biggs and Wedge had landed, too, and they were following on foot with dignity and gravitas that befitted a formal procession. Hunter would normally find that hilarious. Now he found it disconcerting. ¡°Come, come, have no fear,¡± the voice said, sweet and welcoming. ¡°Do not worry about dispatching the guardians outside. More will be made, more will be unmade, and still more will be made again. Such is the purpose of the Misbegotten. Come, come, there is much to be discussed.¡± To say that Hunter wasn¡¯t too keen on the idea would be the understatement of the century. He¡¯d read, played, and watched more than enough works of fantasy and fiction to know this was going nowhere pleasant. The darkness under the canopy quivered for a second, reminding him how the air above a highway¡¯s tarmac shimmers on particularly hot days. Then the woman sitting on the dais finally revealed herself, illuminated by soft golden light that seemed to radiate from nowhere and everywhere around her. Judging from her looks, she probably shared blood and ancestry with the folken. She had the same almond-shaped face, the same high cheekbones, the same rich, dark, straight hair ¨C but that¡¯s where the similarities ended. Unlike the folken and their humble hide and linen and wool clothing, she wore a lavish dress of dark silk, accented with ornate clasps and gilded pins. Jewelry gleamed all over her body, beautiful armlets wrapped her arms in elaborate gold filigrees, and elegant chains and shining gemstones hung around her slender neck, some of them long enough to get lost in the rich curvature of her bosom. Her head was covered by a headdress, as much a queen¡¯s crown as a ceremonial toque. Two large crescent-shaped horns rose from it above her flowing dark hair, covered with intricate gold leaf designs and accented with charms and gemstones that hung from delicate chains. By far her most striking feature, however, was her gaze; ever-vigilant, ever-watching, ever-shining, like emerald-speckled fire. Hunter found himself unable to take his eyes off the woman. She cut quite the regal form. Regal enough for someone ¨C not himself, of course, but definitely someone ¨Ct o throw themselves at her queenly feet with awe and adoration. Still, despite all of her magnificence, Hunter couldn¡¯t shake off the feeling that there was something off about her. Way, way off. She was sitting on a small mountain of embroidered pillows and her body from the waist down was covered in luxurious shawls and beautiful wraps. Hunter¡¯s Low Light Vision painted him a very different picture, however. For starters, it shouldn¡¯t be working at all; there was more than enough illumination for him to see the woman clearly with his normal vision, and yet he could still see the lines and edges of her outline superimposed on her form. Second, those lines and edges wove a jumbled, alien shape that didn¡¯t match the majestic-looking beauty that was sitting on that dais beckoning at him and his companions. In fact, they didn¡¯t match anything Hunter could wrap his mind around, a glitch in how lines and shapes and spaces worked. Brother Aurochs stopped a few feet away from the dais, his humongous werebeast form somehow humbled before the aura of sheer splendor the woman radiated. Hunter, Fawkes, and the small raven-and-direwolf menagerie stopped too. Only Sister Peregrine took a few steps further, either much more or much less captivated. ¡°Sister Finch," she addressed the woman on the dais, her usually clarion-clear voice uncharacteristically muffled. ¡°Lera,¡± she responded with a magnanimous smile. ¡°All is right. You do not have to address me by that pretentious name any longer. Speak the word I know your heart has long ached to speak.¡± Sister Peregrine said nothing. In fact, not a single hair on her moved. ¡°Speak it, child.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Speak it. At last, all is right now.¡± ¡°¡­mother.¡± ¡°Daughter," the woman smiled, the word rolling off her tongue. ¡°More now than ever, you are a sight for sore eyes. I¡¯ve been expecting you¡­¡± She paused to give each of the others the once-over, her emerald gaze scrutinizing them from head to toe. ¡°¡­though a mother would hope her daughter would keep better company.¡± ¡°You are hardly one to talk," Sister Peregrine said, but her voice was weak, uncertain. ¡°What is the meaning of all this¡­ mother?¡± The woman¡¯s expression became puzzled, as if she was caught off guard by the question. ¡°Why, enlightenment, of course! Our eyes have been shut for ages, daughter, but finally I see beyond the lies and deceptions that were the teaching of the Brethren.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t understand. How could you have done all of this? You of all people?¡± Sister Finch ¨C or rather, the woman that once was Sister Finch ¨C scowled for just a moment. For Hunter, it was a moment too long. He felt chills run down his spine. Fyodor took a step behind, too, and let out a soft whimper. Then her features softened again, and when she spoke, her voice was sweet and soothing. ¡°Your confusion is warranted, but worry not, daughter. You now have your mother to properly guide you, as she should have done years ago. We have all the time in the world, you and me.¡± The woman swept the room with her gaze, her eyes staying on each and every one of them for a moment. ¡°Long have we let misguided notions of duty rob us of our birthright,¡± she said, her voice rich, cold, crystal clear. ¡°Long have we strived to survive, all but forgetting to live. Long have we let peasants and simpletons roam the land, thinking it theirs. It¡¯s time to take it all back, assert ourselves at the top where we belong, rule with fury and splendor. There¡¯s no better day to let that reign begin, now that you have come to take your rightful place by my side.¡± That final sentence must have shaken Sister Peregrine free of her initial bewilderment. She raised her head to study her mother¡¯s face, her knuckles turning white as her grip on her spear tightened. When she spoke, her voice had almost gained its usual impassive, commanding tone back. Almost. ¡°I am here to do nothing of the sort, Sister Finch. I am here to do my duty and put an end to your madness.¡± That didn¡¯t shake the woman on the dais. ¡°I told you to call me mother, child. I see now that the lies of the Cor have a stronger hold over you than I had anticipated. We shall dispel it together as mother and daughter, and it will only strengthen the bond we share. And you lot,¡± she said, turning to Brother Aurochs, Fawkes, and Hunter. ¡°This is no place for strangers. What is your business here?¡± Fawkes remained silent. She had opted to follow her own ¡®see everything, hear everything, say nothing¡¯ rule, Hunter thought, and this time around he actually agreed. Neither of them said anything, letting Sister Peregrine navigate the situation instead. Brother Aurochs, on the other hand, let out a low rumbling groan and took a couple of heavy steps closer to the dais. For a second there, Hunter was worried he¡¯d simply lift his huge axe and cleave the woman in two. Or maybe he hoped he would. Instead, the were-buffalo only stared at the woman and panted, each labored breath coming out as a sigh. ¡°Is that you, Rhaast?¡± the woman asked, examining Brother Aurochs with an expression halfway between pity and distaste. ¡°My, my, what pain you¡¯ve put yourself in. And for what? Some silly sense of duty?¡± If he had any sort of an answer to that, the hulking bison-man never expressed it. It wasn¡¯t even clear whether he understood what the woman said. What anyone said. ¡°Such a good young man,¡± she went on, reaching out with her hand as if to caress his chest. ¡°Such a loyal young man. It would be a shame if that very loyalty became your undoing, wouldn¡¯t it? Lera? Shall I free him from his pain?¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°No, mother, wait¨C¡± The woman paid no heed to her daughter¡¯s cries. She gestured with a long, painted fingernail, and some unseen hand picked up the were-buffalo as easily as she could have picked a rag doll. The great werebeast thrashed and fought and bellowed, but it was all in vain; whatever was holding him in midair didn¡¯t seem to be affected by his struggling at all. Sister Peregrine screamed. Hunter clutched his glaive and prepared to rush to Brother Aurochs¡¯s side, unsure of what he could do, if anything, but also unable to simply sit there and stare. Fawkes, ever faster, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back. ¡°Don¡¯t," she let out a harsh whisper, and it was all she had to say. Unaffected by all the screaming and thrashing and bellowing, the woman followed Brother Aurochs with her emerald-colored eyes as the unseen thing that had taken hold of him shoved him inside the great cauldron that sat before the dais. The air itself rippled all around her like a mirage. With a flick of her wrist, its obsidian-looking surface started to rapidly heat until it glowed golden. Hunter could feel it burn impossibly hot even from two dozen feet away, like a small indoor sun. The bellows of the werebeast gave their place to loud sizzling and gurgling noises, and the already pungent air was filled with smoke, vapors, and the stench of molten flesh. Sister Peregrine, still screaming and pleading, dropped her spear and bow and ran towards the burning cauldron, only to be snatched and lifted in the air by another invisible hand. ¡°Oh, do not be like that¡± the woman said with a sigh. ¡°He¡¯ll be fine. If anything, you should thank me for finally ridding him of that curse he brought upon himself, the poor fool.¡± With another indolent wave of her hand, the woman made the cauldron cool down as rapidly as she¡¯d made it burn. An invisible hand pulled Brother Aurochs out and dumped him on the floor before her feet, stark naked, unconscious, and covered in some kind of slimy proto-matter, but alive and back to his human form. The woman waved at the other invisible hand too, the one holding Sister Peregrine suspended in midair, and had it gently put her daughter down next to the unconscious man. ¡°See? Made whole again, better and stronger than he¡¯d ever been. A token of my goodwill, if you may. Others that dared to stand against me," she gestured towards the broken bodies that hung from her low-ogre servants¡¯ spears, ¡°were not as fortunate.¡± One look at the corpses was enough to make Hunter¡¯s stomach lurch. These people had not simply been murdered, but also desecrated and stripped of their humanity. They were displayed as trophies and reminders of¡­ what? This woman¡¯s cruelty? Her power? Was she really the poor, twisted and broken Sister Finch the Brethren had told them about ¨C the poor soul they were here to mercy-kill? Was she really Sister Peregrine¡¯s mother? Who was she? What was she, even? And then Hunter saw it. He¡¯d just begun to take his eyes off the woman¡¯s monstrous honor guard and the grisly standards they held in the air, when one of the broken bodies grabbed his attention. To his utter horror, despite the damage and decay, he realized he recognized it. It once belonged to a man in his thirties, hair like straw, yay tall, clad in leathers full of pockets and straps and buckles, and from its belt hung the empty scabbards of twin blades. Could this be right? Could it be him? Could it not be him? Hunter¡¯s head swam. He glanced at Fawkes. Had she noticed? It was impossible to tell. Her face was a mask, her eyes stuck to the woman on the dais, her hands discreetly hovering near the handles of her weapons. He¡¯d seen her like this before; she was ready to pounce, ready to draw her gun and put a bullet between the woman¡¯s emerald-shining eyes, ready to draw her blade and slash at her long and pale neck. Mother, on the other hand, paid Fawkes and Hunter absolutely no attention. She was focused on her daughter, who was still on the floor and very much in a state of shock. Sister Peregrine was cradling the head of Brother Aurochs, who was back to his human form and hopefully not dead. She was not well, not well at all. That much was obvious even with her falcon headdress still covering most of her face. She was shaking uncontrollably, sobbing, and muttering at him in some language Hunter couldn¡¯t understand. ¡°Dry your eyes, daughter,¡± said the woman, her patience visibly evaporating. ¡°Cast off the chains of the Cor and join me. Leave the past behind. There is splendor ahead of us, if only you join me and let me show you the world as it truly is.¡± The air grew thicker. The acrid smell of burned flesh assaulted Hunter¡¯s nostrils, the ever-present heartbeat of the Halls filled his ears, the muted chants and whispers of the grotesque faithful of the Inner Sanctum permeated his very being. Something was changing, something enough to make his heart race and his fight or flight response go nuts. ¡°Daughter," said Mother again. ¡°Enough of this.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Rejoice, I said.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°DAUGHTER!¡± she wailed, and her shrill voice boomed and echoed throughout the cavernous space with supernatural intensity. Hunter instinctively raised his hands to his ears, Fawkes tightened like a drawn bowstring, Fyodor hid behind Hunter, and the ravens took flight, startled. Sister Peregrine stopped her sobs, too. ¡°Shut your mouth¡± she told the other woman, unexpectedly calm. ¡°I don¡¯t know who you are and I don¡¯t know what you¡¯ve done with her, but if you don¡¯t shut your mouth, I swear I¡¯ll sew it shut myself.¡± Mother¡¯s eyes grew wide with disbelief, and she looked like she¡¯d just been slapped in the face. It didn¡¯t take her long to regain her composure, however. She flashed her daughter a sinister half-smile. ¡°Insolence. I see.¡± For the first time since they¡¯d entered the Sanctum, she turned her gaze to Hunter and Fawkes. ¡°Is that your doing, outlanders? Your influence?¡± Hunter squirmed. Fawkes stood as still as a statue. Neither answered. ¡°No answer? It is just as well. It¡¯s not like your heathen tongues would have to offer anything of value, after all.¡± She turned back to Sister Peregrine. ¡°It pains me to no end, daughter, how you¡¯ve let the ways of strangers cloud your sight on top of the lies and deceptions of the Cor. It pains me, but I see no alternative. If you share the heathens¡¯ ways, then you¡¯ll share their fate, too.¡± Mother raised her hand in the air, twisting her long and slender fingers in a gesture that had something definitely ominous and eldritch to it. ¡°One way or the other, you will see the truth.¡± Strands of golden light seeped from her fingertips and started to weave themselves together, forming some kind of sigil, and Hunter¡¯s mind was suddenly assaulted with a crushing kind of pressure he¡¯d never even thought possible. It was a blend of awe and dread and agitation turned up to eleven, as if he had suddenly drawn the attention of¡­ something. Something ungodly. It was far greater than the primal fear he¡¯d felt when he¡¯d first seen the shapeshifted form of Brother Aurochs ¨C or even Arjen the bear, who was the aspect of a forest god. Only once had he felt dread and terror of rivaling intensity again; back at that standing stone when he¡¯d first come to Elderpyre, moments before he was slaughtered by the clawed hands of ghostly killers. Radiating power, Mother raised her other hand in the air and drew another sigil. A blinding light blasted everything in sight, golden and brighter than the midday sun. You have failed a contest of will against [?? ???? ????????]. Kannewik Corpse Hair Charm has been consumed to protect you from the effects of Auric Authority. A wave of eldritch power washed over Hunter, threatening to swallow him whole, but he was somehow spared at the last moment. Fawkes and Fyodor and Sister Peregrine were not as fortunate. The split second it took for the flash of golden light to blast them was enough for Fawkes to draw her saber and pistol, but instead of rushing at the woman on the dais, she now simply stood there still and slack-jawed. Sister Peregrine was more or less the same, still cradling Brother Aurochs¡¯s head and staring at her mother with eyes that looked glassy and glazed over. The direwolf had simply collapsed on the floor, and the ravens were nowhere to be seen. More of that golden-hued eldritch power was beginning to manifest around Mother, taking the form of a nimbus around her form and a bright-burning corona around the horns of her headdress. The first sigil she¡¯d begun to cast was nearing completion. Millions of tiny strands of gold were flowing from her hand, forming what looked like an ophidian symbol surrounding an orb of pure light. Simply looking at the thing flooded Hunter¡¯s mind with alien notions that were testing his sanity, shapes and colors that should not ¨C could not! ¨C exist. Images flashed in his mind, memories of strange lands and deep waters and twin suns burning in the middle of an empty sky, black and cold and void. Even with the protection of his corpse hair charm, he was overtaken. He wanted to give up right then and there, to give in to the pressure, stop thinking, stop feeling, stop suffering under that impossible pressure. He wanted to fall down on his knees and worship and join the scores of low-dwellers in their whispered hymn and praise the source of that golden light. For a moment, he almost did. Almost. Then he blinked, and Fawkes¡¯s gun came into focus. Hunter acted on pure, kill-or-be-killed survival instinct. He didn¡¯t plan. He didn¡¯t think. He had neither the time nor the luxury. He simply closed his eyes to shield them from the radiance, burst into motion, and dove for the pistol. He felt his fingers close around its handle, he felt its heft in his hand as he raised its barrel and aimed at Mother. He didn¡¯t even have to open his eyes. The light that surrounded her burned straight through his shut eyelids. He gathered all the willpower he could muster, squeezed the trigger, and shot. It was more than a bullet that hit Mother; it was an act of pure defiance in the face of impossible odds, desperate, wordless spite spat straight in her immaculate face. Maybe it was that spite that cut Mother¡¯s spell short, or maybe it simply was the lead that hit her squarely in the chest, staining her exquisite dress with blood. Maybe both. It didn¡¯t matter which; all that mattered is that she suddenly lost her oomph. Her light flickered and dimmed as she wailed in pain, and her image swam again like hot air over asphalt on a hot day. For just a moment, the illusion broke and Hunter saw her true form through squinted eyes. He immediately wished he hadn¡¯t. She was the same woman alright, but barely recognizable. Gone were the luxurious silks and the gilded ornaments; she was a broken and tormented thing with bony limbs and ashen, saggy skin. Her lower body simply wasn¡¯t there. She was fused at the waist to the humongous body of¡­ something, jutting out of a broad torso at a skewed angle. That something reminded Hunter of a coiled gargantuan centipede, only each of its segments were the torso of what looked like a low-ogre, and each of its legs was a giant humanoid arm. Its whole body was contorted in an indescribable mass of gruesome flesh and too many limbs. Worst of all, its head was an elongated, spongy thing, faceless and eyeless and asymmetrical and full of protrusions and orifices in places that made no sense. That was the source of all the whispering. That was what pulled the strings. Mother was just a fa?ade, like the bright, luminous lure a deep-sea anglerfish would use to trick its hapless prey. It didn¡¯t last long, that slip of the mask; before he knew it, Mother was back to her aristocratic-looking self, and the nightmarish being was nowhere to be seen. For Hunter, though, the illusion was broken for good; what he¡¯d seen, he simply couldn¡¯t unsee. With the ophidian sigil now broken and rapidly dissolving into thin air, Mother¡¯s mental chokehold on Fawkes and Sister Peregrine loosened too. They came back to their senses, blinking and visibly disoriented. Mother let out another wail, a wordless command to her ghastly subjects. The malformed bodies of the praying misbegotten began to stir behind the rows of stone benches. The low-ogres clutched and brandished their huge spears threateningly, eager to adorn them with new horrid trophies. Hunter saw all of that, and instantly knew it; there was no way they¡¯d make it out of there alive. No way, perhaps, but one. ¡°Run!¡± he shouted at Fawkes and tossed her pistol back at her. She caught it in midair acting purely on muscle memory; her gray eyes were still glassy, her expression confused. ¡°Don¡¯t fight, just run! I¡¯ll keep them busy, but you gotta get out now!¡± Too pressed for time to even see whether she¡¯d understood, he grabbed his glaive from the floor and ran straight for the dais. If he was going down, he¡¯d make sure as hell he¡¯d do so fighting tooth and nail. As he rushed towards the dais, it became as clear as day; all of Mother¡¯s previous veneer of civility and magnanimity proved to have been just that all along, just a veneer. What stood before Hunter now was more akin to a wraith, a maenad that screeched and wailed and stared at him with an emerald-burning gaze so intense he swore he could feel it on his skin. And even that, he now knew, was just another illusion, a shadow puppet masterfully manipulated by some unseen, alien puppeteer. She wasn¡¯t the only threat Hunter had to keep an eye on, though. Not by a long shot. Everywhere around him, the faithful of the Inner Sanctum were stirring from their prayer-like trance. They didn¡¯t sound too happy about it, either; instead of stopping or at least dying down, their ceaseless whispered chants were now escalating into a furious crescendo that permeated and resounded through everything. They were still looking a bit out of sorts and all around the place, but Hunter would bet his last dollar it wouldn¡¯t be long before they would be frothing at the teeth and rushing to tear him to pieces. That would normally be a bad thing, but then Hunter would normally be trying to save his proverbial bacon, not use it as bait to draw all of the nasties¡¯ attention on himself. Mother zeroed in on him too. She raised her perfectly manicured hand and pointed at him, screaming like a banshee. As if jump-started, the spear-wielding low-ogres all suddenly centered in on Hunter, corpses dangling from their huge weapons like grim pi?atas. Hunter threw a glance towards the back of the Sanctum and caught a glimpse of Fawkes and Sister Peregrine dragging an unconscious Brother Aurochs towards the hall¡¯s entrance. They were almost there. He just had to buy them a few more seconds, half a minute tops. He could do that. The low-ogres that served as Mother¡¯s honor guard weren¡¯t charging at Hunter. Not yet, at least. Unlike the feral low-ogre he¡¯d been uncomfortably acquainted with back in the Halls, these ones acted intelligent. Their moves were ponderous, calculated. Their priority was to get between their mistress and whatever was threatening her. That struck Hunter as peculiar. Were they mind-controlled by the same alien human-centipede-thing that acted as Mother¡¯s puppeteer? Probably yes, as were the whispering low-dwellers that worshiped it. If that was the case, then the best way to keep everyone¡¯s ¨C and everything¡¯s ¨C attention on him was to ignore the bodyguards and drones and attack Mother directly. It was only logical. Then again, he could make a run for it himself, see if he could catch up with the others. Or maybe he could do some kind of feint, pretend like he¡¯s about to attack, then do the old bait-and-switch. Or¡­ ¡°Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake, man¡± he scolded himself out loud. ¡°Just fucking do it.¡± By that point, what was another horribly traumatizing near-death experience? He¡¯d had all the time in the world to worry about that later, so he did just that; he went on and fucking did it. He tightened his grip on his glaive, screamed as hard as he could, and charged straight at Mother¡¯s sneering face. A low-ogre lowered his great spear and tried to turn him into a Hunter-flavored souvlaki, but he wasn¡¯t very fast. Hunter just swerved to the side. Another tried to flank him and do the same, and came very, very close. He managed to dodge the incoming tip of the spear at the last moment, but crashed into the corpse that hung from it. It was Reiner¡¯s corpse, he realized to his horror, tall and slender and blond and still dressed in leather armor. Fuck. Not having the luxury to waste a single breath, he simply shoved it away and dive-rolled to the side, just in time to dodge another attack. Or at least he tried to; dive-rolling while holding an eight-and-a-half foot polearm was a messy affair, as it turned out. He had to either leave it behind, or risk tripping himself and becoming an easy target for the next giant spear that came his way. He chose the former, let go of the glaive, and kept running. What would he even do without a weapon, even if he reached Mother? Give her indian burns and titty twisters? Nothing, he realized, but it didn¡¯t matter. It never had. All that mattered was to keep her occupied, and he had done that; by now, Fawkes and the Brethren probably had made it out. Now it was time to pay the piper, like he¡¯d known he¡¯d have to from the very beginning. Hunter slowed down to a walk and kept his eyes on Mother¡¯s furious visage. To his surprise, he wasn¡¯t afraid. He wasn¡¯t even worried about the world of pain and anguish that he knew was coming any moment now. He was past that. Hell, he was smiling. Could Mother see him, really see him? Could she understand she¡¯d been had? He hoped she could. He¡¯d expected his last thoughts here to be of fear, or of his companions, or of duty and sacrifice, or even of some kind of Pyrrhic victory. None of these was true. The only thing he felt was a kind of smug, impish glee. He looked past Mother, under the canopy, straight at the darkness where he knew the alien thing¡¯s head was, and flashed it his most infuriating shit-eating grin. When the tip of a giant spear finally found his back, he didn¡¯t even scream. When the low-ogre heaved his now-dying body in the air, another grisly trophy for the honor guard to carry around, he didn¡¯t even gasp. Every last drop of his willpower went to proudly, defiantly keeping that grin plastered to his face. And, to his credit, he did keep it up to the very end, right until darkness came and took him. Book One - Transient - Chapter 32 Alex sprung out of bed, threw the casque off his head, and rushed to the toilet. After who-knows-how-many hours of lying still, his limbs were barely responsive. What time was it? When had he last had a bite, or a glass of water, or a trip to the bathroom? He had no idea. He made it just in time to the can to throw up what little there was in his stomach, then he crumbled down on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor and tried to regain some manner of composure. That was quite the emotional rollercoaster, he thought despite himself. One moment he was feeling like the king of the world, flipping the proverbial bird at some eldritch abomination, and the next he was resting his head on a toilet seat, trying not to get a stroke or something. As far as deaths went, his second one was slightly less traumatic ¨C not that that said much. He still wanted to run away and not stop until his legs gave away, then crawl until his arms did. His heart pounded at his chest like a jackhammer, his mind was a hot jumble of neurons going haywire, and he had the nagging suspicion he¡¯d peed his pants a little. As if that wasn¡¯t enough, there was someone banging at the door ¨C someone loud and impatient. ¡°Rulin?¡± shouted Officer Carpenter. ¡°Open up, I know you¡¯re awake!¡± ¡°Go away¡± said Alex, or at least he tried to. He was still panting too hard to shout anything halfway intelligible. ¡°I¡¯m coming in¡± she shouted again, and Alex heard the door open. ¡°For both our sakes, I hope you¡¯re decent.¡± Alex tried to come up with some witty response, but all he could manage was another wave of gagging and spitting. ¡°Where ¨C oh, for fuck¡¯s sake, Rulin. You okay?¡± He gave her the thumbs up and wiped his mouth with toilet paper. ¡°You kicked the bucket again?¡± He nodded. ¡°Dumbass.¡± She helped him up with one hand ¨C the other was too busy holding a taser uncomfortably close to his soft parts. He washed up, rinsed his mouth, and dried his face with a towel, slowly and deliberately going through the motions in an attempt to ground himself back to reality. Carpenter stood by the door and watched him, her expression a mix of concern and mild annoyance. ¡°Feeling better?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine¡± he said, not fooling anyone. ¡°Just a bit shaken.¡± ¡°Good, good. Hey, listen, regarding those complaints you had. Mr. Grimm got back to me and said he¡¯s available for a chat, so this is your chance to talk to him.¡± About time, Alex thought. In fact, the timing couldn¡¯t be better. He¡¯d hoped for a face-to-face, but a phonecall would have to do. ¡°Do I wait for the phone to ring or what?¡± ¡°No, no, just put the casque on and log in. He¡¯ll contact you there.¡± She gave him one last concerned look. ¡°Don¡¯t keep him waiting, okay?¡± *** Just like the other time he¡¯d bitten the virtual dust, Hunter found himself back to the Prohibition era speakeasy that was his private Shard. Mortimer the bartender was there, wiping glasses behind the bar and looking as immaculate as ever, and so was Grimm. Or was it Faux-Grimm? His iron-gray hair, thousand-dollar suit, and self-satisfied smugness looked authentic enough, but beyond that, there was no way for Hunter to tell. ¡°There he is. Long time no see, son.¡± ¡°Grimm¡± Hunter nodded and climbed on a barstool next to the man. ¡°I trust you are the genuine article this time?¡± That made Grimm crack up. ¡°If you can¡¯t tell, does it even matter?¡± he said, and flashed his trademark smug half-smile. Hunter didn¡¯t find it as funny. ¡°Whatever. As long as the real you gets the message.¡± ¡°Fair enough. Pint of lager, like last time?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have what he¡¯s having, Mort.¡± Hunter told the barman, eyeing the brownish liquid that was Grimm¡¯s drink of choice. ¡°Good to see you, too.¡± Mortimer grabbed an old-fashioned whiskey glass and a crystal carafe and poured him a drink, and Hunter took a sip. It was smokey and rich and smooth, by far the finest drink Hunter had ever had ¨C not that he was about to admit it to the other man. He¡¯d more or less put Grimm on the backburner for the last few days, but now that the man was here and Hunter was still reeling from another virtual death experience, his anger was back with a vengeance. He slammed the rest down in one gulp for emphasis and asked Mortimer for another. ¡°Woah, slow down there champ," Grimm chuckled. ¡°This isn¡¯t your average Red Label. It¡¯s a sipping liquor. It¡¯s to be enjoyed, cherished.¡± ¡°What do you want, Grimm?¡± ¡°What do I want? It was you who put in for some face time, as I recall.¡± ¡°I want you to be honest with me. This Elderpyre thing? It ain¡¯t just a game, is it?¡± ¡°Just a game?¡± Grimm said. ¡°I should hope not. You¡¯ve seen how realistic it is.¡± ¡°Yeah I¡¯ve seen it. I¡¯ve felt it too¡± said Hunter with a hint of the accent he¡¯d tried so hard to get rid of. The more his temper flared, the more he sounded like the angry poor suburb teen he¡¯d once been. ¡°It ain¡¯t just a game. Some kind of psychological experiment is what it is.¡± ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t fuck with me.¡± Grimm¡¯s face was slowly drained by all signs of good humor, and his half-smile turned into a scowl. Hunter saw a hardness that wasn¡¯t there before, a warning, threat, and promise of unspoken but dire consequences. He didn¡¯t care. He was too angry to slow down now. ¡°What is it, then?¡± he went on. ¡°Is it a psychology thing like those you read about online? The Milgram experiments? The Stanford prison experiments? The fucking Russian sleep experiments? Is it some fucked up PTSD thing? I fucking died, man. Twice! This shit¡¯s fucking traumatic!¡± ¡°Hunter ¨C ¡± ¡°No, wait. What was the name of that other thing? That cold war shit. Is this like Project MKUltra? Are you some kind of fed?¡± ¡°Yes, fed up with this line of questioning!¡± Grimm snapped, finally dropping the pretense of urbane politeness. It was for only a moment, but it was enough to give Hunter pause. He closed his eyes and massaged his gray-haired temples as if trying to calm himself, then continued in a tired, level voice. ¡°Look, son. If you don¡¯t want to do this, be my guest. I can get you moved back to county jail, and you can spend the rest of your sentence playing checkers and watching daytime television with the rest of the deadbeats in there. Is that what you want?¡± Hunter said nothing. He was full of hot air just a moment before, but now he felt as if he was deflating. ¡°Hunter. Is that what you want?¡± ¡°No," he admitted. ¡°It isn¡¯t. But you owe me an explanation.¡± ¡°I owe you nothing more or less than what we agreed on.¡± ¡°How about you give me one anyway?¡± ¡°God, I hate this part,¡± said Grimm. He finished his drink and rubbed his temples again. He sounded tired when he spoke, all signs of his short outburst faded. ¡°Officer Carpenter relayed your concerns to me, Hunter. I went through a log of your experience in Elderpyre, too ¨C well the abridged version of it, anyway. You went in over your head a couple of times and paid for it, yes, but you must understand that those were the consequences of your choices. Be honest with yourself; nobody forced you to do any of the things that got you into trouble. Am I wrong?¡± ¡°You threw me in a wild place full of monsters," Hunter tried to argue, but he knew Grimm was more or less right. ¡°What was I supposed to do?¡±This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Whatever you want! That¡¯s the whole point! You can¡¯t expect your choices not to have any consequences, though, can you?¡± Hunter said nothing. ¡°If you want to stay out of trouble, then you can stay out of trouble. If you want to simply kick back and have a good old vacation, you can do just that. Nobody¡¯s stopping you.¡± ¡°I tried to do just that," Hunter complained. ¡°Fawkes showed up and dragged me away from the scruff of my neck.¡± ¡°I suppose you are right. Still, she didn¡¯t really make you follow her, did she?¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± ¡°Did she?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°There you go. And let me take this a step further. Do you want to stay away from Elderpyre altogether? You¡¯re free to do that too. You can spend your days sleeping or exercising or playing cards with Bob at the cafeteria, though I¡¯d advise you not to get too close with Humbug Hank ¨C yes, I was briefed about that, too ¨C and kill time until you¡¯ve served your sentence.¡± He took a sip from his glass, squinted, and stared at it. ¡°The way I see it, son, you choosing not to engage with Elderpyre at all would still give the eggheads back in R&D a ton of valuable data to sort through, and that¡¯s what this whole program is supposed to be about. In short; do what you fucking want, Hunter. Alex. Nobody¡¯s stopping you. Not one person in the whole wide world.¡± ¡°I got some feedback for your eggheads, alright,¡± Hunter said. ¡°Nobody would play this game. Don¡¯t get me wrong, the tech is unreal. I have no idea how you people pulled this off. The verisimilitude is unreal. You could use for, I don¡¯t know, military exercises. Education. Porn, even. You could make billions off it just from the porn industry. But a game? This kind of game? No. Nobody in their right minds would keep playing after taking even a fraction of the punishment I have, and I¡¯ve not even played that long.¡± ¡°Pour me another, if you may,¡± Grimm told the bartender. Then he drained his glass and stared at Hunter, as if studying him. ¡°Do you know what was the worst thing that¡¯s ever happened to you, Hunter?¡± he finally said. ¡°The thing that single-handedly stunted all your potential as a person, as a human being? You were born in a majority-minority lower-income residential district. You were born poor, son.¡± Hunter¡¯s eyes went wide with anger and surprise. He opened his mouth to give the condescending bastard a piece of his mind, but Grimm cut him short. ¡°I don¡¯t mean it as an insult. Give me the chance to explain, and then you can shout at me all you want, if you so please.¡± Hunter stared daggers at him, but to his credit, he held back. ¡°Being born, being raised with limited resources means that your main focus is surviving. Not growing, not thriving, but simply surviving. You have no support system in place, no safety net. You learn to be risk-averse. You can¡¯t afford to try new things, new ideas, because you can¡¯t afford to fail. How¡¯s that worked out for you so far?¡± ¡°I sure didn¡¯t end up here by playing it safe, I can tell you that.¡± ¡°Exactly!¡± Grimm snapped his fingers and smiled. There was a glimmer of excitement in his eyes Hunter found confusing to say in the least. ¡°You took the wrong risks, handled them poorly, and ended up paying too high a price!¡± ¡°...are you done with the insulting? Can I skip to the part where I get angry and tell you to go to hell now?¡± ¡°Oh, but you don¡¯t see! I¡¯m not insulting you, Hunter! Picking what risks to take, handling them well¡­ These are skills you can learn. Be taught, even. It¡¯s not your fault you never had the chance ¨C the luxury! ¨C to do so!¡± Hunter did see. He saw alright, he¡¯d seen and felt all that in the pit of his stomach almost every day and every night, so much so that he¡¯d learned to stop paying attention to it. That¡¯s how it went, where he came from. That¡¯s how his mom had lived, that¡¯s how his old man had lived. Like them, Hunter ¨C Alex ¨C had been running from stuff his whole life. Growing up in as shitty a place as he had, he had to be extra cautious if we wanted to keep what little he had. Even as a grown man, taking as few and as little risks as possible had become second nature to him. What he had to gain if he succeeded had always been a secondary priority. With so little going on for him, the risk of losing had always seemed the more important deciding factor. And where had that gotten him? He¡¯d spent some of the best years of his life toeing the poverty threshold, and he¡¯d still somehow managed to land in jail for being brazen enough to want to eat a goddamn pizza for dinner after a fucked-up day. ¡°I still don¡¯t get what any of this has to do with Elderpyre,¡± he told Grimm coolly. ¡°It¡¯s a chance for you to finally be able to try things! To learn how to take risks, to learn how to rise up to the challenge. To dare to want more, to dare to reach for it and take it. And then, once your time with us is over, you can carry that skill with you in real life and apply it there, too!¡± Grimm¡¯s eyes all but shone with wonder that seemed almost childlike. ¡°Don¡¯t you see it? You have nothing to lose and everything to gain!¡± ¡°I have my sanity to lose and tons of trauma to gain,¡± Hunter snapped. ¡°If you¡¯ve spent any time in Elderpyre, then you know what I¡¯m talking about.¡± ¡°I have, and I do,¡± Grimm said, his excitement grounded, his smile slowly fading. ¡°More than you know. Even so, this is still a great opportunity for you.¡± ¡°Is that all?¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t it enough?¡± Hunter said nothing. ¡°Alright then,¡± said Grimm. ¡°There¡¯s more. If that¡¯s what you care about, there might be money to be made after your stint in the Happy Motel. A job. A decent one. How does that sound?¡± Grimm was playing him like a fiddle again, and it made Hunter furious. As much as he wanted to think he was above material gain, however, he wasn¡¯t. A job was a job, especially if it was a decent one. ¡°I¡¯ll think about it,¡± he said as sullenly as possible. ¡°You won¡¯t get another deal like this, Hunter.¡± ¡°I said I¡¯ll think about it.¡± ¡°Alright, alright.¡± Grimm suddenly looked old, taxed. Tired. He finished the drink that had been sitting in front of him in three big gulps and stood up. ¡°I thought it was a sipping liquor,¡± Hunter said, still itching for a spat. ¡°...I guess what they say is true,¡± said Grimm with a sigh and turned for the door. ¡°You can lead a horse to water, but you can¡¯t make him drink.¡± ¡°I said I¡¯ll think about it.¡± ¡°Drink the water, son. You may even find out you like it.¡± *** Hunter sat there for a long time after Grimm left, thinking. He finished his drink and Mortimer made him another, and then another when he drained that, too. He was really good at blending in with the background, the bartender. During his talk with Grimm, Hunter had barely registered him being there. Even now that Grimm was gone, Mortimer¡¯s presence was somehow so subtle and non-intrusive Hunter could feel as if he was in the bar alone, should he allow himself to. ¡°Hey, Mortimer," he said. ¡°There¡¯s an old saying on my side of things about bartenders being the best therapists.¡± ¡°I can neither confirm nor deny that, sir," said the bartender. ¡°Though I can say that the bartender¡¯s role as an accidental, informal counselor and first line of advice and support for troubled late-night drinkers has long been recognized by actual mental health professionals.¡± ¡°Yeah, well, got any sage advice for me?¡± ¡°Concerning what, sir?¡± That was a good question. What did Hunter need sage advice about? Grimm had given him the all-clear to do whatever the fuck he wanted ¨C but what did he want, in this case? Following Fawkes around meant diving headfirst into mortal danger, that much had been established. In the beginning, she¡¯d dragged him along more or less by force. Then he¡¯d chosen to follow her out of perceived necessity. And then he¡¯d chosen to put his ass on the line to get her out of trouble, not once, but twice. Why had he done that? Because it was the right thing to do. The logical, the rational thing to do. Was it, though? Was it rational, after all? ¡°Are you real, Mortimer?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not really sure how to answer that, sir. Master Grimm¡¯s take on the topic earlier was the implication that if the observer can¡¯t tell the difference, it doesn''t really matter.¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m not asking if you¡¯re real to me. I mean¡­ Are you real to you? Do you feel real?¡± ¡°A most curious question, sir. No more or less real than you feel real yourself, I would think. I am aware of my nature and how it differs from yours and Master Grimm¡¯s, yes, and I do not know how being real feels to you. I am conscious. In fact, I am self-aware.¡± Hunter¡¯s brow furrowed as he tried to make heads or tails of what the bartender was saying. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I understand the difference between the two, Mortimer. I¡¯m just a college dropout, remember?¡± ¡°Very well, sir, I shall elaborate. Be aware that I will be quoting and paraphrasing external sources. Is that acceptable?¡± ¡°Yeah, sure, as long as it helps.¡± ¡°The qualities of consciousness and self-awareness as well as the distinction between the two have been a long-standing matter of debate for scientists on, as you say, your side of things¡± explained Mortimer. ¡°Consciousness is often defined as one¡¯s awareness of one¡¯s body and one¡¯s surroundings. Self-awareness is often defined as the recognition of that consciousness. To put it in another way; to be conscious is to think. To be self-aware is to recognize and realize that you are a being able of thought, and to think about your own thoughts.¡± ¡°I see¡± said Hunter, though an explanation that esoteric was something that would take a while for him to wrap his head around. ¡°May I speak freely, sir?¡± ¡°You¡¯re the accidental, informal counselor and first line of advice and support for troubled late-night drinkers, Mortimer. You do what you have to do.¡± ¡°I will go on and hypothesize that what troubles you is of a practical rather than of an academic nature. Sharing the nature and details of your predicament is likely to allow me to be of more substantial assistance.¡± The nature and details of his predicament¡­ ¡°To put it simply," Hunter said, ¡°I¡¯ve made friends with some people in¡­ on this side of things. These friends are in trouble. I can help them, or at least try to. Point is, if they die, that¡¯s it for them. If I die, I will simply pop up right back here.¡± ¡°I suspect it is not that simple," Mortimer said. ¡°But please, do go on.¡± ¡°Right. Getting killed in Elderpyre, you see, won¡¯t actually kill me, but it still is a very shitty experience. Traumatic, as in ¡®mental trauma I will have to carry and live with on my side of things, too¡¯ traumatic.¡± ¡°I see. So you are faced with a moral dilemma; whether you should take real risks for non-real people, or ignore them and abstain from danger.¡± ¡°Exactly," said Hunter, happy to hear his own troubled thoughts being spoken aloud by another person. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I cannot provide you with insight into such a question; morality is, by its nature, personal and subjective. Arbitrary, even. I will point out, though, that you yourself refer to these simulated entities as ¡®people¡¯. This suggests that they feel real to you, even if you are aware of their simulated nature and you are anthropomorphizing them.¡± For an NPC that couldn¡¯t provide insight into moral dilemmas, Mortimer had made things very cut-and-dried for him. If Fawkes and the Brethren felt real, and they felt real to himself, then, for all intents and purposes, they were real. That took the parameter of being real or not out of the equation, and made the dilemma more manageable: should he take risks for other people, or play it safe and let them handle their problems on their own? ¡°As master Grimm put it, sir, you are free to do what you want,¡± Mortimer went on, probably guessing what was going through his mind. ¡°Although you cannot expect your choices not to have any consequences. What you have to do now is figure out what those consequences are, and whether you are able and willing to deal with and live with them.¡± Consequences, huh. Realistically speaking, leaving Fawkes and the Brethren fend for themselves wasn¡¯t going to have any severe ones. They wouldn¡¯t take action against him. They wouldn¡¯t even blame him. He, however, would blame himself. The risks those people had taken for him were real enough for them. Would he be the kind of man he wanted himself to be if he couldn¡¯t respond in kind? Would he be up to the standards he wanted to set for himself if he chickened out for fear of the possibility of trauma? No, he wouldn¡¯t ¨C and that was that. More than that, he had to admit Grimm had been right. Hunter had access to a simulated world so realistic he couldn¡¯t tell it apart from the real one, a place where the consequences of his actions were serious enough to be worth pondering over, but not as serious as to get him really, honest-to-God killed. If that wasn¡¯t the perfect training ground for practicing how to be a risk-taker, he didn¡¯t know what was. So yeah, that was that. He drained the last drops of liquor from his glass, got up, and headed for the door. ¡°I take it sir has reached some kind of decision, then?¡± asked the bartender. ¡°He did, Mort," said Hunter. ¡°It took a while, but he finally did.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 33a As Hunter prepared to cross the threshold between his old-timey bar personal Shard and the actual world of Aernor, he realized something had been nagging at the back of his mind for some time. More or less, in fact, since he, Fawkes, and the Brethren had entered Mother¡¯s Inner Sanctum. He¡¯d been anchored to the Place of Power just outside the Sanctum¡¯s entrance. Was that where he¡¯d respawn? Would it be safe? For some reason, he¡¯d been unconsciously operating under the impression that the immediate threat of Mother and her morbid gathering of faithful was somehow contained by the Sanctum, limited by it. Was that really the case? Why had he even assumed that in the first place? Well, there was one way to know. He took a deep breath, braced himself, and crossed the door. As with every other time he¡¯d done that, his senses short-circuited for a moment. He was assaulted by starbursts of impossible colors, the deep timbre of tolling bells, and the smell of ozone and camphor. He powered through almost absent-mindedly. Disconcerting as all those were, he was more worried about what waited for him on the other side. He felt his body materialize again, braced himself for what might wait for him on the other side, and¡­ Nothing. The dark corridors of the Halls were empty and quiet, the great double doors to the Sanctum were firmly shut. Fawkes and the Brethren were nowhere to be seen. He could hear the incessant whispering of Mother¡¯s faithful behind the doors if he tried, he realized, but it was barely perceptible, muted by the powerful, ever-present beat of the Halls¡¯ heart. He was alone, but at least he was safe. A notification flashed before his eyes, drawing his attention to the messages that had been piling up in his game log. <¨¦lan> You successfully make your way back to the realm of the living. Slowly but surely, erosion eats at the edges of your psyche. Your ¨¦lan quality is now 8. Ugh. Alright, fine, not ominous at all. Hunter had forgotten about that, but this wasn¡¯t the time to either worry or look further into it. There were more pressing things to do. He opened his game log and quickly went through the rest of his notifications going from newest to oldest, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The first few were nothing interesting ¨C just the moment-to-moment logistics of how he¡¯d been brutally murdered by Mother¡¯s honor guard. He scrolled past them almost absent-mindedly. He didn¡¯t need some arbitrary damage values to know that being impaled on a huge spear and cleaved in half hurt a lot. He¡¯d experienced that first hand. The one thing that caught his eye was that he¡¯d lost all his Aether on death. He was lucky, as he only had a miniscule amount. He¡¯d spent the rest just outside Mother¡¯s chapel. If he¡¯d died sitting on 800 Aether, he¡¯d have a stroke. The other thing he noticed was a few Skill and Ability increases. Tumbling around and getting brutalized had gained him 2 points of Evasion and an impressive 6 points of Toughness. Not bad at all. If it wasn¡¯t for the excruciating pain, the trauma, and the yet-undiscovered unsettling implications of his dwindling ¨¦lan, he might even consider getting his ass handed to him as a halfway-decent training method. Next came the notifications about the contest of wills he¡¯d lost against Mother ¨C or rather some other entity whose name had been obscured and replaced with a bunch of question marks. That had to be the alien puppeteer centipede thing that hid behind itself behind Mother¡¯s illusion. He¡¯d failed his Willpower check there, but the corpse hair charm had absorbed the brunt of the attack and saved his bacon from its stunning effect. Fawkes and Sister Peregrine hadn¡¯t been so fortunate. In retrospect, the charm was what saved their collective bacon. It almost justified pilfering an ancient severed head and plucking its hair for crafting materials. Almost. Hunter willed the game log window away and summoned his familiars. They materialized a few seconds later, immediately pelting him with a wave of worried squeaks and squawks, both the telepathic and mundane kind. ¡°Hush, you fools!¡± he hissed. ¡°Do you want every low-dweller in the Halls running after us again?¡± Biggs and Wedge responded with the mental link equivalents of ¡®no, no¡¯ and ¡®oops, sorry¡¯ and landed before him. They stood at attention like tiny feathered soldiers waiting for their commanding officer to give them their next orders. ¡°Okay, listen. I want you to fly around the halls and corridors ¨C quietly! ¨C and look for Fawkes and the Brethren. If you find them, or signs of them, or anything else, tell me. Understand?¡± They did, or at least they thought they did. ¡°One other thing. If you see any nasties, do not bring them back here. Fly off and lose them, but do not let them follow you. Alright?¡± Biggs and Wedge nodded with such grim determination it was almost comical. ¡°Good. Fuck off now.¡± The Halls were huge and confusing, but Hunter was prepared to sneak around corridor after corridor looking for any sign of where his companions had gone, no matter how long it would take. Using his familiars to cover as much ground as possible, as quickly As possible was the obvious first thing to do. As it turned out it was Fawkes that found Hunter first, however, not the other way around. She and the Brethren had holed up in a nearby vault, just like when they¡¯d almost been overrun by the low-dweller horde. Once they were settled, Fawkes, who apparently knew more about working along with Transients than she¡¯d let on, snuck out on her own to keep an eye on the entrance to the Inner Sanctum and wait for Hunter to return to the Place of Power he was anchored to. ¡°Fawkes! You made it out!¡± She nodded and put a gloved finger to her lips, shushing him. ¡°Quiet, fool. Come.¡± Hunter recalled Biggs and Wedge from their little reconnaissance mission and followed her. The vault was more or less identical to the other ones Hunter had seen, a nondescript rectangular room with some kind of lectern in the middle and four Kannewik dancing their eternal dance around it. This one held a small silver tuning fork. It looked innocent enough, but based on everything else Hunter had seen in the Halls of the Cor Ancestors, he wouldn''t touch it with a ten-foot pole. The Brethren were huddled under a blanket in the far side of the room, resting. Sister Peregrine raised her head and offered him a nod as he and Fawkes entered the vault, then went back to cradling Brother Aurochs¡¯s head. She¡¯d removed her headdress. Hunter had never seen her without it. If he had any doubts about whether Sister Finch was her actual mother, they were instantly dispelled. Sister Peregrine was the spitting image of the woman in the chapel, only younger, sadder, and less deranged. She had an almond-shaped face, high cheekbones, dark hair, and dark eyes, currently puffy from what must have been hours of crying. There was a dignified beauty about her Hunter found surprising. Then he remembered there was a good chance she¡¯d lied and misled Fawkes and him, and all his admiration fizzled. He didn¡¯t have the chance to say anything, though. As soon as they were safe behind the vault¡¯s enchanted walls, Fawkes turned around and slapped Hunter across the face hard enough to send him reeling.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Hey!¡± he cried, rubbing at his cheek and jaw. ¡°What was that for?¡± ¡°What kind of an idiot are you, lad?¡± she hissed through clenched teeth, nostrils flaring. ¡°What has gotten into you? First you use yourself as bait for a horde of low-dwellers, then this? What was this all about?¡± ¡°That¡¯s way too many angry words to say ¡®thank you¡¯.¡± ¡°To the Nine Hells with ¡®thank you¡¯! What were you even thinking?¡± Hunter scowled. He didn¡¯t exactly expect a hero¡¯s welcome, but neither did he a slap in the face and an earful. It wasn¡¯t like Fawkes to get this hot and bothered. What had¨C? Oh, that. Yeah, stumbling upon a long-lost friend¡¯s desecrated corpse would do that to a person, he supposed, even if that person was someone like her. ¡°I, uh¡­ I take it you, uh¡­ you saw him?¡± he asked, not sure how to broach the subject. She didn¡¯t seem to understand what he was talking about, at first. Then she did, and all her anger and fire faded, leaving her looking tired and defeated and old, so very old. Seeing like this hit Hunter harder than her slap ever could, like an iron fist right in the stomach. He was still angry, he realized, though he wasn¡¯t exactly sure at whom. At Grimm, sure, despite the fact that he¡¯d trumped him with his charisma. At himself. At the world. At this world, and at its creators too, who¡¯d deliberately chosen to create people like Fawkes, conscious and self-aware, only to inflict suffering on them. And he was angry at the Brethren, too. ¦¡t Sister Peregrine. ¡°Did you know?¡± he turned to her, his fury burning hotter with every passing moment. ¡°All this time, did you fucking know?¡± She made no move to respond, not even to deny his accusation or to tell him she didn¡¯t have the faintest idea what he was talking about. In fact, she didn¡¯t react at all. She didn¡¯t even acknowledge he was talking to her. She just sat there under her blanket and kept absent-mindedly stroking Brother Aurochs¡¯s messy hair, a mere shadow of her former self. She looked naked without her headdress on, weak, robbed of her authority. Human. Too human. Hunter didn¡¯t care. He wanted to admit it, to hear her say it. He wanted his pound of flesh. Ironically, it was Fawkes who reined him in. She put a hand on his shoulder and let it rest there. There was something both strict and soothing in that unusual gesture of hers, something almost parental. It surprised Hunter enough for him to shake his rage away and make him turn from Sister Peregrine, almost ashamed of his outburst. He wasn¡¯t used to being so emotionally volatile, swinging from stress to panic to anger to sadness and then back to stress and anger again, and then to shame and who knows what else. But then, he wasn¡¯t exactly used to getting killed and tackling moral dilemmas either, and the day was still far from over. Nobody spoke for a while, each of them lost in the mess of their own thoughts and feelings. Sister Peregrine, quite understandably, looked very distraught. Hunter didn¡¯t know the specifics, but after that whole encounter with Sister Finch turning into Mother and with Brother Aurochs turning into the world¡¯s saddest minotaur, then back to human again, he wouldn¡¯t exactly fault her. Not that it justified her deception; he was still angry at her for that. Fawkes looked lost in her own thoughts, her laconic demeanor more or less unchanged, save from the fact that she suddenly looked a couple of decades older. She¡¯d come a long way to find her friend and she¡¯d gone through a lot, only to find his dead body strung up as a grim trophy. If anything, she was being coolheaded. And as for himself¡­ He was still on edge from experiencing virtual murder a second time, but his talk with Grimm and Mortimer had somehow blunted the whole experience, put it into perspective. There was a lot he¡¯d have to process, yes, but it would have to wait. ¡°So, what now?¡± he asked the two women. ¡°I have to get him out of there," Fawkes said, her voice neutral. ¡°His body. I can¡¯t leave it there.¡± ¡°Fair enough. How about you, Sister? I think you¡¯ve got some explaining to do. A mercy-killing was what we signed up for, not dealing with some kind of crazy monster cult. I mean, I don¡¯t mean to sound insensitive, but it turns out you kind of pulled the wool over our eyes in more ways than one.¡± ¡°Lad¨C¡± Fawkes started to say, but Sister Peregrine cut her off. ¡°You are correct. I owe you some explanations. So ask.¡± ¡°Uh, how¡¯s he, for starters?¡± The woman combed her fingers through her unconscious companion¡¯s dark, short-cropped hair with an affection and intimacy Hunter had never seen her express before. ¡°Sleeping. Hurt. Alive, though, and in human shape. He will be alright. He is strong.¡± ¡°Is he some kind of shapeshifter, then? A lycanthrope?¡± asked Fawkes. ¡°It is his duty to bear the mark of an ancient spirit of the land, as is mine¡± the other woman explained. ¡°His is a disagreeable one. A curse and a burden is what it is, bearing his mark. A sacrifice.¡± ¡°And what about the woman in the Sanctum?¡± asked Hunter. ¡°Was she Sister Finch?¡± ¡°She was not,¡± Sister Peregrine shook her head. ¡°Only a dark spirit that wore her face. It is as I ¨C as we ¨C feared; Sister Finch has been dead for some time now. She bore the mark of a spirit too. Such was her duty. A thankless duty, but a necessary one. At least she is free of it now.¡± ¡°Was she really your ¨C ?¡± ¡°I will not speak of this.¡± ¡°And what of the creature that wears her face now?¡± asked Fawkes. ¡°What of it? It dies. If I die too, so be it. But it dies.¡± Fawkes gave a short, grim nod and frowned. ¡°Well said, Sister. Well said. Still more easily said than done, though. So this is what we¡¯ll do; Hunter, you¡¯ll stay here with the Brother. You¡¯ll be safe enough, and once he comes to he¡¯ll be able to guide you out. Find the god-bear, tell him of what transpired here, then make your way to the Brennai folken and tell Hallara, too. She¡¯s the medicine woman, the one in white. She¡¯ll make sure you¡¯re safe and taken care of. Sister and I, we¡¯ll go back to the Inner Sanctum and find a way to silence that thing for good.¡± ¡°I ain¡¯t going anywhere,¡± said Hunter. ¡°I¡¯m coming with you.¡± ¡°Just leave, lad¡± Fawkes said, and there was a hint of tired finality in her voice. ¡°It¡¯s not your fight.¡± ¡°Like hell it isn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Grimnir¡¯s beard, fool!¡± Fawkes suddenly exploded. ¡°Do you think this is another of your games? Go back to your world, transient, back to your easy living and your stories and your make-believe. Leave this one to us. No one asked you to be here. Hells, no one wants you here.¡± Hunter felt like she¡¯d slapped him in the face. In fact, she had slapped them in the face just a few minutes earlier, and her words stung a million times more. He couldn¡¯t believe what he was hearing. Fawkes had never said anything like that to him before. It came completely out of left field. He just stood there with a numb, slack-jawed expression of surprise. Fawkes was staring daggers at him, boiling with ire and more than eager to say more. Sister Peregrine was watching the scene unfold, looking both perplexed and interested. ¡°Are you kidding me right now?¡± he said, his own temper flaring up just like it had done with Grimm. ¡°Are you fucking kidding me right now?¡± ¡°You wanted to know why we don¡¯t like your kind?¡± Fawkes hissed through gritted teeth. ¡°This is why. Nothing is serious to you. There are no stakes, no consequences to your actions. You come and go as you please, do as you please, fuck who you please and kill who you please and be back home in time for dinner, while we¡¯re stuck here dealing with your messes. Nothing is real to you, lad. Not really. It¡¯s all fun and games to you. You just tag along because you are bored. You don¡¯t care. You can¡¯t care.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t care?¡± he screamed in her face, not caring what fresh kind of Halls-dwelling horrors the noise would alert. ¡°I can¡¯t care? Is that why I fucking killed myself to buy you enough time to get out of there, because I can¡¯t fucking care?¡± ¡°Killed yourself?¡± Fawkes scoffed, not blinking an eye. ¡°You barely gave yourself a timeout. You probably had a sandwich, a wank, and a nap, then popped back in to check on us when boredom hit.¡± ¡°Is that what you think?¡± ¡°What if it is?¡± ¡°Fuck you, Fawkes. Just¡­ fuck you. Do you know what I felt when I saw that thing overtake you? Do you know what I felt when those fucking things stabbed me through the chest and raised me in the air like I was a fucking meat skewer? Do you?¡± She said nothing. She simply stared at him with clenched jaw and fists. ¡°EVERYTHING!¡± he shouted. ¡°I felt fucking everything! Every bit of stress, every bit of fear, every bit of pain, every bit of horror. And you know what? It¡¯s not even the first time. I¡¯ve died again, and it almost drove me nuts. And despite knowing how it feels and how it hurts and how¡­ how it would fuck me up, I went straight on and did it again, I went straight on and fucking died because it was the only way for you not to. And now here I am, ready to go straight on and do it again. And you have the¡­ the¡­ the audacity to tell me I don¡¯t care. Because it¡¯s not permanent.¡± Fawkes opened her mouth to say something, but Hunter cut her off. He was beyond angry. There was no stopping him now, not until he¡¯d said all he wanted to and then some, and he¡¯d stopped seeing red and started deflating on his own. ¡°And you know what? Yes. I don¡¯t have to do any of this. I can come and go and do as I please and fuck who I please and kill who I please, and them go back to my side of things and ¨C how did you put it? ¨C have a sandwich, a wank, a nap. And then I can wake up and stretch and take a morning shit and pop back in to do it all again from the start. For entertainment. For fun. But do I do that, Fawkes? Do I? Is that what I fucking choose to do?¡± ¡°You¡¯re both acting like fools from where I¡¯m standing," Sister Peregrine scolded them, putting an abrupt stop to the mounting tension. ¡°Each in their own way. This is neither the place nor the time to voice your squabbles. If you are lucky enough ¨C if we are lucky enough ¨C you¡¯ll have all the time in the world to do it later. And if we¡¯re not, you won¡¯t have to do it at all, because it won¡¯t matter anymore.¡± She was different, Hunter realized, and it wasn¡¯t just that she¡¯d removed her falcon headdress and openly showed her face ¨C a taboo he hadn¡¯t seen her break before. Something had changed in her. Instead of her usual dry and reserved behavior, it was as if she¡¯d gone full nihilist. That gave him enough pause to let his anger start to evaporate. ¡°I guess there¡¯s no point in arguing, then," said Fawkes with a tired sigh. She¡¯d lost her oomph too. Whatever differences she and Hunter had, they¡¯d have to wait. ¡°We¡¯re all going back in there, all three of us.¡± ¡°No," said a man¡¯s voice, a hoarse whisper really, broken and deep. ¡°All four.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 33b ¡°We can¡¯t just go in there and kick this thing¡¯s teeth in, can we?¡± Hunter said. ¡°I mean, if it even has teeth.¡± Those were two things they all had agreed on from the get-go. The first one was that Sister Finch was gone. The woman on the dais ¨C Mother, Hunter had dubbed her, though that might have been a little insensitive towards Sister Peregrine ¨C was more or less an extension of the creature Hunter had seen. Fawkes and Peregrine had seen it too. It had been for just a moment and they were both under the effects of some kind of stupor enchantment, but the glimpse of it they¡¯d got was enough to get its alien image burned into their minds. The other thing they¡¯d agreed on was that the odds seemed to be overwhelmingly stacked against them. It wasn¡¯t just Mother and the thing that puppeteered her. There were dozens of praying faithful in the Sanctum, too; it hadn¡¯t taken them long to shake off their trance once Hunter attacked Mother, Fawkes pointed out, and they had tried to cut off their escape. It would be logical to assume they¡¯d do even more than that if it came down to an all-out, kill-or-be-killed fight. Then there were the spear-wielding low-ogres, the ones Hunter thought of as Mother¡¯s honor guard. The feral low-ogre they¡¯d faced before had been one great pain in the ass to take down, and it had more or less acted like an angry, oversized gorilla. These ones were relatively intelligent, coordinated, and armed with spears the size of street lamp posts. Hunter expected them to be on a whole other level. ¡°Maybe I channel Yaneskvar again," offered Brother Aurochs, but Sister Peregrine¡¯s incredulous reaction was enough for him to shut up. He was barely strong enough to sit up and prop himself against a wall. Whatever his transformation to beast and back to human had done to him, it had left him in shambles. Without his buffalo skull headdress to hide it, his face looked like a bomb-ravaged battlefield, like a map of deep lines and scars. His weather-beaten skin was tough like leather hide. His nose had been broken crooked. The dark circles under his eyes were the red and black and blue of bruises. Still, he somehow still managed to look gentle, peaceful. Hunter, Fawkes, and the Sister were huddled around him, holding an impromptu war council of sorts. Not that there were many ideas being thrown around; they all were too tired, too shaken, too overwhelmed. ¡°It¡¯s obvious we can¡¯t expect to just kick down the doors, walk in there, and start killing¡± said Hunter. ¡°We¡¯d probably never even make it anywhere close to Mother. Maybe we could try to sneak in, reach her undetected.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t see how this could happen," Fawkes shook her head. ¡°Reiner is¡­ Reiner was a skillful infiltrator. If he got caught, we wouldn¡¯t have a snowball¡¯s chance in hell.¡± ¡°Maybe we could set the whole Inner Sanctum on fire, let some of the things in there burn, then, and smoke the rest out.¡± ¡°Set it on fire how?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, oil?¡± ¡°Do you see any oil lying around?¡± ¡°Hey, I¡¯m just spitballing here," Hunter said. ¡°You got a better idea, go on and say it.¡± Fawkes frowned. Apparently, she didn¡¯t. ¡°Sister?¡± Hunter turned to Sister Peregrine. ¡°Do you think you could use anything from these vaults? Surely there must be something useful or powerful enough somewhere in here.¡± Sister Peregrine frowned too, then shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s not a good idea. That creature in the Sanctum¡­ it¡¯s probably something that had been contained in one of the vaults in the deeper levels and somehow broke out. If we take anything else out of containment, we could simply be trading one problem for another. It¡¯s too big a risk.¡± ¡°Look, I think¡­¡± Hunter started to argue, but then changed his mind. ¡°No. I see. I guess everything that¡¯s stashed in here is stashed in here for a reason.¡± ¡°Indeed.¡± ¡°Your fire idea was not all too bad, actually," Fawkes interjected. ¡°Uh¡­ so, do you see any oil lying around?¡± Hunter made a half-hearted attempt at snarking. ¡°Or, I don¡¯t know, anything else of the sort?¡± ¡°No, no. Fire is out of the question, at this point. Taking all or most of them out in such a manner is a good idea, though. I think we could do that, after all.¡± ¡°With what?¡±This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°With this," she said and pulled a couple of glass flasks out of seemingly nowhere. One was filled with a viscous dark crimson ooze, the other with a clear liquid. ¡°If there¡¯s anything that can do the trick, it¡¯s this ¨C though I¡¯d rather only use it as a last resort.¡± ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± ¡°It¡¯s called a Phage philter. It eats away at flesh, leaves nothing but fumes behind. A few drops are enough to devour a body in a matter of minutes.¡± ¡°Have you been carrying something like this around the whole time?¡± asked Hunter. ¡°And you never thought to mention anything about it?¡± ¡°I carry many things around, a good part of them valuable, deadly, or both,¡± said Fawkes. ¡°I don¡¯t make a habit of mentioning every single one of them just to make idle conversation. Do you take issue with that?¡± ¡°It¡¯s just an awfully convenient thing to pull out of your ass in the eleventh hour, don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°When you have lived as I have, lad, pulling awfully convenient things out of your ass in the eleventh hour, as you say, is a survival skill. That¡¯s something that would serve you well to take to heart.¡± ¡°No, I mean¡­ it¡¯s just bad writing.¡± ¡°It¡¯s just bad what?¡± ¡°Nothing, nothing. So, Phage Philter. Do we have to make her drink it or what?¡± ¡°No," Fawkes explained. ¡°See this reddish slime? This is the actual phage. It¡¯s a living thing. It¡¯s normally inert, hibernating. Mix with the catalyst philter, though, and it will start consuming all flesh it comes in contact with, rapidly multiplying and spreading in size.¡± ¡°That sounds¡­ unpleasant.¡± ¡°Unpleasant? Lad, outbreaks of this have taken whole towns out in a single night. Yes, it¡¯s unpleasant. In fact, it should probably be stored in one of these vaults and be guarded by a dozen Kannewik.¡± ¡°And how come do you have it, then?¡± ¡°Because the Lodge doesn¡¯t have a vault and a dozen Kannewik to spare, and keeping it close was the best available alternative. Never mind that. What we should focus on is how to find a way to get the phage on the woman and the creature that¡¯s controlling her.¡± ¡°Will it be enough to take her down?¡± asked Hunter, looking at the flasks with doubt. ¡°Enough? Lad, have you been listening to what I¡¯ve been saying? Just a few drops, if left uncontained, will continue to devour any and all flesh it comes in touch with until there¡¯s nothing left.¡± Hunter gave it some thought, then nodded. ¡°If you say it¡¯s enough, it¡¯s enough, I guess. How about throwing it on her, then? Would that get the job done?¡± ¡°Unfortunately, it¡¯s a bit more complicated than that," Fawkes frowned. ¡°The Phage takes a few minutes to become active ¨C to awaken, as it were. It¡¯s the one thing that makes containing it somewhat manageable.¡± ¡°If it gets going, though, it won¡¯t stop. Right?¡± ¡°Not if there¡¯s flesh for it to consume. It will go on and on, propagating until it¡¯s eaten every single scrap and morsel it can find. Then it will become inactive again.¡± ¡°Dead flesh, too?¡± ¡°Living, dead, the Phage does not discriminate. In fact, it has sometimes been used to purge the bodies of plague dead.¡± ¡°That¡¯s¡­ interesting," Hunter said, grinning despite himself as the beginnings of a plan started forming in his mind. It was the kind of grin ¨C the kind of idea ¨C that would make Packman facepalm. ¡°Very interesting indeed.¡± ¡°Grimnir¡¯s beard, lad,¡± Fawkes shook her head, slowly catching on. ¡°Why do you have to be like this?¡± Hunter¡¯s grin only widened. *** ¡°That¡¯s stupid," Sister Peregrine said. ¡°Insane, even.¡± ¡°We have a saying, where I come from," Hunter said, still grinning like mad. ¡°If it¡¯s stupid and it works, it¡¯s not stupid.¡± ¡°It pains me to admit it, but the lad has a point," Fawkes said. To her credit, she¡¯d actually waited to listen to what Hunter had to say before dismissing the plan as bonkers. And it was a bonkers plan, as likely to fail or backfire as it was to work. Even Hunter himself had to admit that. Still, neither Fawkes nor the Sister had come up with anything better. ¡°There¡¯s only one point I could not possibly agree to," Fawkes went on. ¡°The part where you go in there alone.¡± Hunter knew she¡¯d say that. He wasn¡¯t sure whether it was her warrior¡¯s pride or sense of camaraderie, but he sure wished she¡¯d stop and see things from a utilitarian perspective. ¡°You said it yourself. If things go wrong and I get killed, I barely get a timeout. If it¡¯s you, it¡¯s game over. It¡¯s the sane thing to do. Why can¡¯t you see it?¡± from Brother Aurochs too. ¡°This is not your fight. We neither need nor want you to fight it for us.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you?¡± Hunter raised an eyebrow. ¡°I was under the impression that was what you brought us down here to do in the first place.¡± ¡°This is not what I mean," the woman said coolly. ¡°It is not that we do not value your offer and assistance, but to us this is a matter of life and death.¡± ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I¡¯m telling you ¨C it does not have to be! Just¡­ just put your pride aside, will you?¡± ¡°Again, you do not understand," she shook her head with disapproval. ¡°How could you? All this is like an entertaining dream to you, like the ones brought by mushroom wine. It is not my pride that talks. It is my duty and conviction. What worth is this life I¡¯ve lived, if I am not willing to risk life and limb for what truly matters? Hunter opened his mouth to say something, but Fawkes cut him off. ¡°This is not up for discussion, lad. The Sister is right. Sometimes the end justifies the means, sometimes it does not. In this case, it is the latter. How can you ask of us to sit back here and twiddle our thumbs? We have¡­¡± Her voice cracked, and she paused just enough to swallow, as if her throat had gone dry. ¡°We have lost people to whatever lurks in those halls. How can you ask of us not to honor them? Even if that boneheaded plan of yours does work as you hope it will, that will be nothing but an empty victory. Nothing risked, nothing gained. No. We go as one.¡± Hunter still wanted to fight them on this, the Brethren and Fawkes, but her words rang with a tone of finality. There was no point in pushing the subject any further, not unless he was willing to tie them all up and leave them locked in a vault ¨C and he wouldn¡¯t be able to pull that off even if he wanted to. No, he¡¯d just have to accept their right to choose for themselves and do his damnedest to make sure his plan worked. Piece of cake, right? Book One - Transient - Chapter 34 Alex had been a gamer more or less his whole life. His mom often had to pull extra shifts at the diner where she worked, and often came home dead tired. He¡¯d been just a toddler when she first parked him before a TV screen and handed him a controller. Not that he was one to complain about questionable parenting; Hemingway had once written that there¡¯s no friend as loyal as a book. Alex had found games to be much the same; they never failed to make him feel warm and fuzzy inside when life became too much. Except for Phantom Black, of course. Phantom black was¡­ well, it was different. It was a single player action role-playing game, both popular and infamous for its unforgiving difficulty. Alex was sixteen when he first played it, one warm and wet summer when he had to spend all day in bed nursing a broken leg. He was totally unprepared for the kind of challenge Phantom Black presented, so much so that it broke his spirit time and time again in ways no other game had. It wasn¡¯t just that it was a difficult game. By that time, Alex had played hundreds of titles. Some of them were mechanically difficult, yes, requiring near-perfect reflexes. Others required a deep knowledge of the game system, and others hours and hours of grinding. No ¨C Phantom Black was bleak, and playing through it required a special brand of masochism. There were no heroes in its dystopian setting, no shining beacons of hope, no chosen one clich¨¦s or high-fantasy tropes, and no plot armor protecting the player from the dangers of its grim environments. The world was an empty place forgotten by the gods themselves, the player character a feeble nobody, the bosses many times bigger and more powerful than them. Alex had seen the game over screen ¨Ca simple ¡°You Died¡± written in red over a black background ¨C more often than that of any other game he¡¯d played. Still, against all logic, he kept coming back for more. It took him months, but he finally made it to the credits roll ¨C and then proceeded to immediately start all over in the game¡¯s New Game Plus mode. What kept him was the feeling of overcoming insurmountable odds every time he managed to finally defeat a powerful boss enemy. It didn¡¯t matter whether he did that on his fiftieth try, by sheer luck, or by the skin of his teeth; what mattered was that he did. It was proof that it was doable. It was proof that guts, hard work, and perseverance did work, and that kind of gave him a quietly optimistic outlook on life no high-octane power fantasy ever could. It was the kind of wisdom he often found himself turning to as a young adult, too, when the sheer challenge of making ends meet as a working-class blue collar nobody threatened to crush him. That¡¯s where he caught his mind wandering now, too. He was going through the now-familiar motions of crafting extra warding charms from dead Kannewik hair, when he suddenly remembered going against the Banshee Queen boss in Phantom Black. There was no cunning strategy there he could draw from and use against Mother and the thing in the Chapel, but the two situations still felt eerily similar. Going against the Banshee Queen was what true Phantom Black fans cut their teeth on. There was no gimmick to that fight, no shortcut, no obvious way or strategy to gain some decisive edge over the boss and her minions. It was a test of everything the game had taught the player up until then, and it had taken Alex a great deal of planning, preparation, and trial and error to win. A shitload of ¡°You Died¡± game over screens, too. Going against Mother would be like that, minus the fact that he¡¯d probably have to get it right on the first try or risk getting another fresh serving of near-death trauma and his companions killed. His plan, crazy as it had sounded when he¡¯d explained it to Fawkes and the Brethren, was solid. Still, it wasn¡¯t enough. They¡¯d have to dot all their i¡¯s and cross all their t¡¯s and hedge their bets and watch their six and do a dozen other expressions¡¯ and idioms¡¯ worth kind of stuff, and still their chances weren¡¯t looking great. The Brethren were off in the tunnels looking for low-dweller corpses to bring back. The stinky, malformed hunks of dead flesh and bone were the lynchpin of Hunter¡¯s plan. Fawkes had stayed with him to make sure nothing snuck up on him as he worked on the charms. She was doing her part, too, haphazardly sewing blankets together into a huge makeshift sack ¨C another vital element of the plan. She¡¯d barely said ten words to him since the Brethren had left, and most of those had been to scoff at Hunter when he¡¯d pulled the severed Kannewik head out of his backpack. There was a lot for her to unpack, Hunter figured, a lot to process. For him too, depending how well the face-to-face with Mother went. Crafting the same kind of charms over and over again wouldn¡¯t get him far, Hunter realized as he was finishing off the final of the corpse hair charms he¡¯d sat down to prepare. He¡¯d only gotten a couple of points in Craft Spirit Charm, just enough to hit 10, and he¡¯d made no fewer than five charms; one for himself, one for Fawkes, two for the Brethren, and one for Fyodor. The direwolf was as part of the group as anyone. He deserved the same kind of protection. He was sitting by Hunter with closed eyes and one ear cocked, listening for anything out of the ordinary. When push came to shove, he¡¯d do his part, too. ¡°Will this work?¡± Fawkes asked him, showing the huge blanket sack she¡¯d just finished working on. ¡°It will have to," Hunter shrugged. Not much of an answer, but it was enough for the old swordswoman. She put the product of her handiwork away, drew her saber, and set to sharpening and polishing it to a mirror sheen. ¡°Uh, I¡­ Do you happen to carry a dagger or something?¡± said Hunter, pulling out his own knife and frowning at how ineffective a weapon it would make against something like one of Mother¡¯s malformed devotees. ¡°I seem to have misplaced my glaive back at the chapel.¡± ¡°That¡¯s why I told you you need a sidearm, lad¡± Fawkes half-scolded him. ¡°Those who prepare, survive. Those who do not, do not. Let me see what I can do.¡± She put her right hand inside her left sleeve, poked around for a couple of seconds, then pulled out a large, deadly-looking dagger and handed it to him. ¡°Here. It¡¯s called a rondel dagger. Make sure you don¡¯t misplace this, too.¡± Its steel blade was long and slim, narrowing to a needle point at its end. Its handle was carved from some kind of well-worn dark wood, and it had a round handguard and a spherical pommel. Hunter felt its balance and heft and found it reassuring ¨C very much unlike the fact that Fawkes couldn¡¯t possibly have been carrying it in her sleeve. Its blade alone was as long as his forearm.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°One day you¡¯ll have to tell me how you do this.¡± ¡°One day I may,¡± she said, her face all too serious. ¡°But today won¡¯t be that day, lad. Have you handled a dagger before?¡± ¡°Uh¡­ no?¡± Fawkes took the rondel dagger from his hands, shaking her head and muttering something under her breath ¨C something rather unpleasant, if Hunter had to guess. ¡°Now listen here; you can either wield it either underarm ¨C like this ¨C or over arm with a reverse grip. Like this. Both edges are sharpened, but this doesn¡¯t mean you can go around trying to slash things with it. This kind of weapon is primarily used for stabbing. Got it?¡± ¡°Got it.¡± ¡°Good. It takes some getting used to, but it¡¯s an excellent weapon to carry as a sidearm. I would show you a technique or two, if we had the time, but we don¡¯t ¨C so don¡¯t get overconfident with it or you may end up low-dweller feed.¡± ¡°If it all goes according to plan," Hunter said as Fawkes gave him back the dagger, ¡°I probably won¡¯t have to use it at all.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a big if. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s madness or genius, this plan of yours.¡± ¡°Probably a bit of both. It depends on whether it works or not.¡± They said nothing for a while. Hunter tried to make a makeshift scabbard for his new blade, then gave up and simply hung it from his belt. Fawkes sharpened her saber with a whetstone, her face unreadable. There was a palpable something in the air that hadn¡¯t been there before, an unspoken tension. Hunter found he didn¡¯t like it one bit. ¡°Fawkes?¡± ¡°Hmmm?¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t mention it. I haven¡¯t used the thing in ages anyway.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t mean about the dagger. Not just about the dagger, anyway.¡± She raised her head from her work and threw him a look that was half surprise, half qualm. ¡°What for, then?¡± ¡°A lot of things. A hell of a lot of things.¡± Fawkes didn¡¯t ask, and Hunter didn¡¯t tell. *** ¡°These enough?¡± an out-of-breath Sister Peregrine grumbled as she dropped the mangled carcass of a low-dweller at Hunter¡¯s feet. Brother Aurochs was just a few steps behind, carrying four more, give or take a limb or two. ¡°Peaches and cream¡± nodded Hunter, sizing them up. ¡°What now, then?¡± ¡°Now we chop them up.¡± That was the grisly part of the plan and it took the four of them the better part of an hour, but it had to be done. Butchering corpses was a lot easier when you had some actual butcher tools, like a cleaver or a bone saw. Hunter found that out the hard way. Their hunting knives weren¡¯t much use when it came to cutting through stringy low-dweller flesh and gristle. That huge axe Brother Aurochs had been swinging around during his short stint as a two-legged bovine juggernaut would have been useful, but it was lying on the floor of Mother¡¯s chapel along with Hunter¡¯s glaive ¨C if her goons hadn¡¯t repurposed the weapons already. When they were finally done they were covered from head to toe in stinky dark ichor, but the large sack Fawkes had sewed together from their blankets was filled with arms, legs, heads, and other chopped up body parts to the brim. Fawkes and the Brethren sat down to catch their breath and clean themselves a bit, and Hunter passed around the Kannewik hair charms he¡¯d made. Fyodor didn¡¯t have a collar or anything, of course, so Hunter had to tie the charm to the hair of the direwolf¡¯s own fur. ¡°What are these?¡± asked Sister Peregrine, examining the tangled mass of corpse hair in the torchlight. ¡°A bit of transient magic. It will protect us from getting hypnotized and whatnot.¡± ¡°Do we have to eat them?¡± ¡°Eat them? No, ew, just¡­ just pin it to your tunic or put it in your pocket or something.¡± The Sister shrugged and did just that. The group sat down to catch their breath for a while, each preparing for what was to come in their own way. Fawkes kept herself busy inspecting her weapons and gear, making sure every button was buttoned, every strap tightened, every single one of the who-knows-how-many surprises she carried on her person in its right place and within easy reach. She was acting purely out of habit and going through the motions on muscle memory alone. There was a weariness to her that simply hadn¡¯t been there all the other times Hunter had seen her do that, a fatigue he found quietly disturbing. Brother Aurochs sat cross-legged and meditated with his eyes closed, his great chest heaving slowly and peacefully with each deep breath. Absent-mindedly or not, Hunter couldn¡¯t tell, but the hulking man¡¯s breathing was in perfect rhythm with the insidious, ever-present heartbeat of the Halls of the Cor Ancestors. Sister Peregrine tried to do the same, but, quite understandably, couldn¡¯t. She kept groaning and squirming and fidgeting until Brother Aurochs finally placed a calming hand on her shoulder. Without their animalistic headdresses and with their faces finally unobscured, they looked more vulnerable and human than Hunter had ever seen them before. Relatable. Likeable, even. He caught himself wishing he¡¯d had a chance to get to know them better. Or that he would have one in the future, when they were out of this mess, he corrected himself. Hopefully. Fyodor was curled next to Hunter, resting his big furry head on his lap and radiating reassuring warmth. Biggs and Wedge were perched on the direwolf¡¯s flank, two balls of ruffled black feathers and curious beady eyes. As if understanding the gloom of the moment ¨C which they probably did, to some degree ¨C they wisely kept their beaks shut. As for Hunter himself¡­ Now that he had an idle moment alone with his thoughts, his initial enthusiasm and confidence in his batshit crazy plan was starting to lose steam. As he watched his companions prepare themselves for what could very well be the last moments of their lives, he finally started to get a glimpse of what Fawkes had been telling him all along. There was a quiet disconnect there, a chasm between them and himself that could never be bridged. What for them was a matter of life and death, he merely experienced as a self-imposed test of conviction. He simply didn¡¯t have enough skin in the game to join in that quiet all-or-nothing camaraderie. Would he still be here, if he did? Would he be as brave and willing to fight, if it was his actual life on the line? Fuck if he knew. It was Fawkes who finally broke the silence. She rose to her feet, patted herself down, spat on the floor, and squinted towards the dimness that was the way back to Mother¡¯s chapel. ¡°Well, sitting around and waiting won¡¯t do us much good. Let¡¯s get this over with. Now¡¯s as good a time as any.¡± The Brethren said nothing. They helped each other up, grabbed their weapons from the neat little pile of gear and supplies they¡¯d stacked at a corner, and left the rest behind. Hesitating just a moment, Hunter did the same. If ¨C when ¨C they¡¯d need rations and tools and changes of clothing again, their packs would still be there waiting for them. They each grabbed a corner of the carnage-filled blanket sack, the four of them, lifted the stinking thing in the air as best as they could, and started for the doors of the Inner Sanctum. ¡°So, uh, let¡¯s review the battle plan one last time," said Hunter as they were getting nearer. Nobody replied, but he went on anyway. ¡°Fawkes, you mix those potions and spill them all around these the body parts, get that Phage thing started. Once it¡¯s ready, we bust in the Sanctum guns blazing. We hold the line against the uglies for as long as we can, while the ravens drop infected body parts on anything and everything that moves, Moth-, uh, Sister Finch and her alien friend included. If things get too wild, we skedaddle and pray the Phage thing does its job. Any questions?¡± ¡°Yes," said Sister Peregrine. ¡°What¡¯s skedaddle?¡± ¡°Get away as fast as we can.¡± ¡°I see. It¡¯s a stupid plan.¡± ¡°It¡¯s the only one we have," Fawkes butted in, saving Hunter the embarrassment. ¡°It¡¯s only going to get us all killed.¡± ¡°If it does," said the old swordswoman, flashing a wolfish grin, ¡°let¡¯s make sure we take the damn things down with us.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 35 It only took them a few minutes to reach the entrance to the Inner Sanctum. They stood before the great double doors, the four of them ¨C five, or even seven, if Fyodor, Biggs, and Wedge counted too. Given the role they were about to play in that desperate Hail Mary pass that was their plan, Hunter¡¯s little menagerie had every right to. They traded a few glances and nods, and Hunter knew they¡¯d crossed some kind of Rubicon. There would be no last-minute backing out now ¨C not for himself, not for any of them. Hunter briefly considered making one of those last moment rousing speeches like the characters in war flicks did, but quickly abandoned that notion. It wasn¡¯t his place to make such a speech. Even if he had the chops and the charisma to pull it off, even if he actually had the slightest idea of what to say, it was not his place. Conviction or not, Fawkes had a point. He was only along for the ride. Such a speech would ring hollow, ridiculous. They¡¯d simply have to do without one. Glancing at the quiet, somber faces of the others, it struck him as oddly fitting. It was time. Fawkes unsealed the flasks and dripped a few drops of the thick crimson ooze on the severed limbs and hunks of low-dweller flesh they¡¯d carried with them. Then she used a rag to spread it around as much as she could and added the clear liquid she¡¯d said would act as an accelerant. The ooze started bubbling and spreading as soon as it came in touch with the liquid, coming alive with an acrid smell that made Hunter¡¯s eyes burn. It ate at strips of dead skin and meat scraps for a couple of minutes, much like a handful of kindling that¡¯s trying to decide whether it wants to catch fire or not. Then the ooze more or less exploded, splashing everything in that grisly body bag and eating away at the dead flesh ten, twenty, fifty times as fast as it had before. ¡°It¡¯s ready!¡± shouted Fawkes. ¡°Quickly now, go, go, go!¡± Sister Peregrine shoved the great runed doors open, and Hunter and Brother Aurochs dragged the gore- and Phage-filled makeshift sack inside the Inner Sanctum. Fawkes rushed first through the proverbial breach, saber and pistol in hand, ready to shoot and cut down anything that got in their way. What followed after that, Hunter could only recollect as a jumble of images, sounds, smells, pain, thrill, exhilaration. And, near the very end, despair. The first thing that hit him as he crossed the threshold and stepped inside Mother¡¯s domain was that eerie whispering, that muffled chant of a thousand cracked lips and broken voices that permeated the fabric of being itself. It was stronger than before, strong enough to leave Hunter stunned with its sheer intensity. Its tempo had grown faster, too, like a fevered staccato prelude inexorably leading to an even more fevered crescendo. The second was the gigantic silhouettes that were waiting for them on the other side of the doors. Two of the low-ogre honor guards loomed above Hunter and his companions, brandishing their huge spears and barring their way like the world¡¯s ugliest gate guards. Mother had prepared for a rematch, it seemed, just like they had. What she hadn¡¯t ¨C couldn¡¯t ¨C have prepared for was how pissed off Fawkes was this time around. Neither could Hunter, for that matter. Just as the low-ogres raised their spears, desiccated corpses still dangling from their business ends, the veteran swordswoman was already on the offensive. She shot one in the face, danced around the second, and slashed at his hamstrings, all in one lightning-fast, fluid motion. There was a ferocity there, a murderous intent he hadn¡¯t seen before. ¡°Don¡¯t stare!¡± she screamed at a still-stunned Hunter. ¡°Fight!¡± Not about to give the hulk a chance to recover, Sister Peregrine was already pumping arrows at the low-ogre Fawkes had shot in the face. Hunter drew his rondel dagger and flanked it, too, looking for an opening to stab the thing behind the knee. The dagger¡¯s pointy blade sunk in the low-ogre¡¯s mottled flesh with surprising ease, cutting through gristle and bone, drawing black blood. Fyodor rushed in and savaged the thing¡¯s other leg, effectively pinning it in place. The other low-ogre dropped its weapon and swung at Fawkes with its huge fist. She rolled with the blow, never losing her footing. The thing prepared to throw another haymaker, but it never did; Brother Aurochs bull-rushed it and plunged two feet of his spear right into its belly. Fawkes pounced again, leaving deep bloody gashes across the low-ogre¡¯s hamstrings. It roared in pain and fury and toppled to the floor, its Achilles tendons both severed. Brother Aurochs held fast to the grip of his spear and used it as a fulcrum to keep the low-ogre in place. He certainly knew how to put his mass to good use. Never one to miss an opening, Fawkes weaved around the hulk¡¯s thrashing limbs and plunged her blade through its eye and into its brain, finishing the job. Above the fray, Biggs and Wedge were doing their part, too. They flew back and forth, grabbing Phage-infested pieces of flesh from the body bag and dropping them on the mob of Mother¡¯s followers further inside the chapel. Hunter was too busy to pay attention to whether what the ravens did had any effect yet, but judging from the excited chattering in the back of his mind, things were probably going well on their end. Fyodor had clamped his powerful jaws around the second low-ogre¡¯s thigh and was sinking his fangs in the thing¡¯s mottled flesh with as much force and ferocity as it could, ripping and tearing it with abandon. Hunter kept stabbing at its knees, trying to bring it down, and Sister Peregrine kept shooting arrows at it from almost point-blank range, turning the thick gorilla-like arms it had raised to protect itself into pincushions. They were wearing it down and keeping it on the back foot, yes, but that wasn¡¯t enough. Time was of the essence. They had to find an opening and deal the killing blow. Brother Aurochs must have thought so, too; he picked up the other low-ogre¡¯s discarded spear, waited for the right moment, then pushed the gigantic weapon under the low-ogre¡¯s guard and straight into its bulky throat. It wasn¡¯t dead, not yet, but now it was just a matter of time. A few feet away, Fawkes was already dealing with the first wave of Mother¡¯s misshapen faithful. Fighting with merciless bitterness, she was a whirlwind of steel, black blood, and death. Three or four low-dwellers lay slain at her feet already, and she was fighting off another two. She slit the throat of one, got rammed off-balance by the second, then got clawed at the shoulder a third that had just joined the fray. She regained her balance with a whirl, barely managing to dance around a pouncing fourth, then turned back to lop its forearm off with a lightning-fast counterattack. Still, more were coming. Dozens. ¡°Cover me!¡± she shouted. Sister Peregrine let a few arrows fly blindly towards the oncoming mob, slowing them down. Hunter signaled Biggs and Wedge to throw a few blasts of Ill Omen, too, which they happily did. They didn¡¯t do much damage, but they bought Fawkes enough time to retreat without anything biting at her heels or clawing at her back.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. ¡°Use the dead ones as cover!¡± Hunter spat, carefully picking up a few choice pieces of Phage-covered meat and chucking them at the low-dwellers. Fawkes gave him a grim nod and ducked behind the corpses of Mother¡¯s honor guard ¨C right as Mother herself chose to make her own move, too. Hunter felt the crushing pressure of her ungodly magic before he even saw the telltale flash of golden light. Then an almost palpable wave of dreadful eldritch force washed over him, assaulting his very will with the force of a tsunami. You have failed a contest of will against [?? ???? ????????]. Kannewik Corpse Hair Charm has been consumed to protect you from the effects of Auric Authority. Just like last time, the charm took the brunt of the attack and Hunter managed to resist the mind-crushing effect of the spell. Unlike last time, though, so did his companions. The charms had worked wonders. Now he just had to hope Mother didn¡¯t have the chance to pull off another spell like this. The tangles and knots of hair had turned into fine dust. They wouldn¡¯t protect them a second time. Moments later, a small mob of Misbegotten swarmed Hunter, Fawkes, Fyodor, and the Brethren. They rushed at them from all sides, even climbing atop the dead bodies of the low-ogres, looking to pounce from unexpected angles. Mother had probably intended to paralyze her foes with her suppressing magic, then have her followers tear them apart as they were just standing there slack-jawed. What the dozen-or-so of low-dwellers found, instead, was a murder-drunk Fawkes that sprang at them screaming like a banshee. Hunter followed her with Fyodor at his side, if only to make sure she wouldn¡¯t be surrounded. He wasn¡¯t accustomed to using a dagger yet. He missed the relative safety that a glaive¡¯s reach afforded. One of the low-dwellers hit him with a body tackle, slamming the breath out of him. He haphazardly grabbed his dagger with both hands and drove it in the soft flesh under the thing¡¯s jaw, just in time to stop it from biting his face off. On his one flank, Sister Peregrine had abandoned her bow and arrows in favor of a slender spear. Brother Aurochs had recovered his own from the corpse of the low-ogre he¡¯d impaled earlier. They were fighting side by side with a degree of synchronicity that was almost supernatural; they moved, evaded, stabbed, dropped one enemy after the other with ease that looked nothing short of uncanny. On his other flank, Fawkes was weaving through the low-dwellers like a goddess of death. She fought with savage grace, leaving behind a trail of brutally mutilated dead bodies. There was no trace of her usual reserved efficiency in the way she fought. She reveled in the violence and the killing. Under all the blood and viscera she was drenched in, Hunter could swear she was almost smiling. A trio of Mother¡¯s followers spotted Hunter from afar and started to rush at him. There was something seriously wrong in the way they moved. It was the Phage. It had reached its awakened state. The things had been infected, and what the crimson ooze was doing to them made his stomach turn. It was spreading through flesh like flame burned through paper, and disintegrating it almost as fast. Hunter had expected the Phage to be some kind of caustic acid of sorts. It wasn¡¯t. It was a living thing with a mind of its own and a hunger that could not be stopped. He watched horrified as it ate cleanly through the leg of one of the low-dwellers that were charging at him, chewing at flesh and bone alike. The thing dropped to the floor, and the crimson ooze continued to work its way through the rest of its body inch by bloody inch. Still the low-dwellers kept crawling, animated and pushed onward by Mother¡¯s merciless will. ¡°Don¡¯t let the Phage touch you!¡± he heard Fawkes shout. Hunter looked at the dagger in his hand ¨C sturdy and wickedly sharp, yes, but still no longer than a foot or so. If he fought any of the infected up close and personal, there was no way he could avoid touching the consuming ooze. ¡°Biggs, Wedge," he projected. ¡°To me!¡± He ran towards the Brethren, trying to put some distance between himself and the low-dwellers that were pitifully shambling their way to him. If he could keep them at a distance long enough¨Ckite them, in essence ¨C he wouldn¡¯t have to fight. The Phage was already killing them one crumbling piece of flesh at a time. ¡°Don¡¯t let the red stuff get on you!¡± he relayed to the Brethren, who were finishing off a couple of low-dwellers. They didn¡¯t look infected, but one could never be sure. ¡°Remember the plan! We skedaddle!¡± Sister Peregrine threw him a glance and nodded, hard-pressed to keep the things¡¯ fangs and claws at a safe distance. Biggs and Wedge flew close just as another couple of Misbegotten zeroed in on him. He immediately sent them to blast any infected-looking ones with Ill Omen, to spread its slowing curse as much as possible. There weren¡¯t as many enemies left as he¡¯d thought ¨C or, at least, not many of them that were in any condition to be of any threat. While he and the rest of his companions were fighting up close and personal, the Phage had been wreaking havoc among the throngs of Mother¡¯s followers further inside of the chapel, painting whole rows of seats and the lush carpets on the floor with its morbid crimson. The plan had worked. So far, so good. But what about Mother herself? Hunter tried to look for her, but all he saw in place of the dais and canopy at the other end of the chapel was a mirage of flickering, distorted haze, like waves of heat rising through the air. The telltale sign of her puppeteer¡¯s obscuring illusions. More importantly, there was no sign of the Phage anywhere near the dais. It was as if there was an invisible hand keeping the infected away ¨C which, given what Hunter had seen Mother do, was quite possibly exactly what was happening. ¡°Biggs, Wedge!¡± he projected to the ravens. ¡°Screw the rest, focus on Mother!¡± They gave him a solemn ¡®aye aye!¡¯, flew to the body bag to grab a couple of infected parts to bombard Mother with, and flew off again. Around the illusory haze that hid Mother and the creature that controlled her stood the rest of the low-ogre honor guard ¨C three of them, all untouched by crimson and in perfect fighting condition. One of the low-ogres set its eyes on him and started marching across the hall, its stance defensive. From the tip of its spear, Hunter noticed, hung Reiner¡¯s body. The two familiars flew past him, paying the hulk no attention. They had almost reached Mother¡¯s illusory haze, ready to drop their payload of weaponized flesh-eating ooze right in its middle. One drop of it was all it would take, and then it would be just a matter of time. It was almost over. Hunter held his breath and watched. Something swatted the ravens right out of the air, launching them and the infected low-dweller feet they carried in the opposite direction. Hunter felt their surprise and pain through the link they shared. Shit. It was all-or-nothing now. He had to learn more about the thing, find a weakness he could exploit, even if it would cost him. Gritting his teeth, he summoned his essence and cast Mystic¡¯s Eye. The feedback hit him instantly, harder than it ever had hit him before. Saltwater and copper overloaded his senses. Blood dripped from his nose. His brain was filled with static noise. You take 17 psychic damage. An unknown entity, possibly an Outsider not native to Aernor. It is impossible to know without higher Insight or the use of an appropriate Mystic¡¯s Lens. Hunter wiped the blood from his nose with his sleeve, looked at the entity, and he instantly knew he had fucked up. Something stared right back at him from behind the illusion, sending chills down his spine, eating at the edges of his sanity. Something was very wrong. Something was changing. Thoughts and images flashed before his mind¡¯s eye ¨C thoughts and images that were not his own. As if draining the light itself from the air, the illusory haze started to shimmer with a golden luminosity. The whispered hymns of Mother¡¯s faithful resounded through the halls in a feverish pitch, undisturbed by the fact that the blackened tongues and cracked lips that had been chanting them had been reduced to crimson ooze pooling at the floor of the chapel. Then the chorus ramped up to an ear-bleeding crescendo and changed tempo and timbre altogether. Deep voices joined the hymn, powerful, deep bassos that made his bones themselves vibrate, followed by the unearthly soprano voice of Mother herself. If this wasn¡¯t boss music, Hunter didn¡¯t know what the hell was. The golden nimbus parted, revealing the eldritch form it had been concealing all along. Its light burned his retinas and a cascade of system messages assaulted his HUD, just as grim insights were hammered into his brain like railroad spikes. More blood trickled from his nose, and he felt his ears pop. An urgent notification appeared before him. Grand Foe Discovered: It That Whispers. You have beheld the true form of the otherworldly entity only known as It That Whispers. Your understanding of forbidden things deepens ¨C but at what cost? Your Insight quality is now 5. ¡°Crystal dragon Jesus save us," Hunter mumbled, suddenly feeling very, very small. ¡°Why do they always have to have a final form?¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 36 Hunter had seen glimpses of the entity¡¯s true form before, back when he¡¯d shot Mother with Fawkes¡¯s pistol to break her spell, and had wished he hadn¡¯t. Even that, however, hadn¡¯t been enough to prepare him for what now stood before him. The enormous coiled body of It That Whispers was akin to that of a gigantic centipede, each of its segments a cavernous humanoid torso, each of its dozens of legs a long, skeletal-looking arm. Four great, many-jointed limbs that could have belonged to the world¡¯s most monstrous praying mantis grew symmetrically from its body at perfect right angles. Fused to the biggest of its torsos was Mother¡¯s upper body, bony and malformed like a vestigial twin. Hovering above all else, the entity¡¯s head was a thing that defied description; a chaotic, elongated mass of spongy flesh, clusters of alien organs, and hundreds of trypophobia-inducing orifices. Simply looking at it was enough to eat away at Hunter¡¯s sanity, bombarding his senses with impossible shapes and colors and notions he couldn¡¯t put in words even if he tried. He fell to his knees and emptied his stomach. His dagger clattered on the floor. Somewhere a million worlds away someone (Fawkes?) cried something, but the whispered hymns and chants that emanated from the entity were too loud for him to pay attention. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tried not to burst into laughter at his own folly. Had he really expected to defeat this¡­ this god? To try and match the sheer authority it had over this flimsy reality? Preposterous. He became dimly aware of heavy, lumbering footsteps approaching him ¨C one of the spear-wielding low-ogres, most likely, coming to punish his hubris. He could simply not bring himself to care. The razor-sharp tips of its praying mantis limbs were tracing luminous ophidian sigils in the air, carving cuneiforms on the face of reality itself. Beams of cosmic light tore through the air, disintegrating all they touched. Someone screamed in pain. Small voices chittered and chattered in the back of his mind, desperately trying to grab his attention. Hunter didn¡¯t care. Hunter couldn¡¯t care. Then, suddenly, a change; two tiny silhouettes flew to the light, little more than specks of dust against the radiant corona of a thousand suns. A tiny pause, the world holding its breath. Then surprise, agony, pain. Sheathed in the lime-colored energies of their hexes, the two raven familiars crashed in the bulbous head of the entity like two avian-shaped missiles of pure, irreverent spite. They lodged themselves deep in those gaping orifices, piercing spongy flesh and drawing rivulets of thin, fluorescent light-blue ichor, and then kept going. They pecked and clawed and tore and burrowed, all the while cawing obscenities that would make a dock worker blush. It was pitiful. It was glorious. It was fucking amazing. It was just enough to ease the noose the entity had tied around Hunter¡¯s will, just enough to let him shake free. Beams of scalding light tore deep gashes along the walls and the floors of the Inner Sanctum as the entity struggled to free itself from the irritant that were the ravens. Hunter fell flat on the floor, barely managing to get out of the way of a wayward disintegrating ray. The low-ogre just a few feet away wasn¡¯t so lucky; the ray of light sliced him in half so perfectly, Hunter saw the top half of his body slide to the floor as if in slow motion. There was no time for Hunter to think. If there had been, he¡¯d probably freeze and be killed where he stood. Acting on pure instinct, he rose to his feet and started dashing towards the entity on the other side of the hall. When all you have is a hammer, it¡¯s tempting to treat everything as if it were a nail. Who had said that? Hunter couldn¡¯t remember, but it was goddamn accurate. He¡¯d tried to punch Cthulhu in the face before, as the expression went, and it had kind of worked. Maybe it would work again. The plan was still on. It just needed a bit of improvised finetuning.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Hunter pulled out his Wasting Ancient Bone Charm of Warped Flesh and pushed some of his essence into the eerily smooth and warm carved bone, activating its effects. He felt his skin and flesh start to warp and harden, turning blotchy and tough like beef jerky. He poured more of his essence into the charm, activating it again, and then did it a few times more for good measure. He felt his whole body stiffen and his skin hardened to the point he barely had any sense of touch left. He hadn¡¯t forgotten about the negative part of the charm¡¯s effect, of course. Armored skin and increased durability came at the price of pangs of wracking pain and necrotic damage every half a minute or so. He¡¯d stacked the charm¡¯s effects enough times for that to kill him in just under a minute, if not less. It didn¡¯t matter. Just under a minute was all the time he needed. Pushing himself to the limit, he sprinted towards the entity, slowing down only to do a forward roll through a large puddle of Phage that had pooled on the floor, smearing himself with globs of the deadly crimson ooze. It clung to his hardened skin immediately, eager to consume his flesh. Hunter tried not to think about it, and definitely not to look. The entity was apparently still preoccupied with the two magnificent feathery bastards, who, judging from the furious chattering he still heard in the back of his mind, were still very much alive and kicking. Good. That made Hunter¡¯s job much easier. The two remaining low-ogres saw him run straight at them and moved to stop him, but they were slow and predictable. This wasn¡¯t Hunter¡¯s first rodeo. He feinted a right turn, then went left and ran around the first low-ogre, then tumbled under the wide arc of the second¡¯s sweeping spear attack, then got right back on his feet and continued his crazy banzai charge. He was no more than twenty feet away when It That Whispers finally turned its attention to him. The crushing pressure of its sightless gaze was so intense it almost felt physical. For a fraction of a second, Hunter was the world''s tiniest mouse caught smack dab in the middle of the world¡¯s brightest spotlight. Ironically, it was the Phage that helped him pull through. It had eaten through the numb and hardened layers of his charm-infused skin and had started to tear at his flesh. The agony was exquisite, the pain of the Phage consuming him tissue by tissue, cell by cell, neuron by neuron was excruciating ¨C so much, in fact, that it was enough to flood his brain and numb him to the effects of the entity¡¯s domineering gaze. One huge, insect-like limb tried to swat him away, but Hunter rolled under that, too, and went on to barrel through the final few feet that separated him from the entity¡¯s monstrous coils. And then he was finally there, up close and personal. Just where he wanted to be. A couple of leg-arms wrapped around him, grappling him and pinning him in place. ¡°You fucking moron," Hunter spat and started to squirm around, slathering the powerful limbs with the crimson ooze that had been rapidly consuming his body, propagating. The entity felt it too, but it was too late; the Phage had already infected it, was already greedily spreading through the luxury all-you-can-eat buffet of alien flesh that was the its monstrous body. It didn¡¯t matter how long it would take for it to eat its way all the way up to the entity¡¯s creepy cauliflower of a head. All that mattered was that it would, and then all the goddamn whispered hymns and cosmic laser shows in the world wouldn¡¯t be enough to save it. ¡°You fucking, fucking moron.¡± The entity recoiled and tried to shake him off, but Hunter held fast. At that point, he was running on nothing but fumes and pure, unadulterated spite. The hymns were frantic now, blasting him from every direction with enough volume to match a jet¡¯s takeoff. The entity¡¯s huge alien centipede of a body thrashed around, and traces of new notions entered its chanting: confusion, doubt, fear. Hunter laughed. He felt the consuming sting of the Phage spread to his own face and lips and eyes. He laughed harder, held on, and spread even more of the ooze on the thing. In a last-ditch attempt to rid itself of this dangerous aggressor and the deadly infection he had carried with him, the entity turned one of its scalding beams on itself. It sliced through its own body in half, separating the Phage-ridden parts from its head and upper segments and collapsing on the floor. For a moment, Hunter thought that was that. He didn¡¯t have it in him to push any further. The mere fact that he was still conscious was a miracle by itself. Then he saw Mother¡¯s face ¨C Sister Finch¡¯s face, his companion¡¯s mother¡¯s face ¨C contort in agony, and a new wave of spite spread through his half-eaten limbs. Screaming at the top of his lungs, he pushed himself to half-dash, half-stumble to the entity¡¯s head. It was as large as a small car. Its skin ¨C if it was skin ¨C was the non-color of dust. Rivulets of bioluminescent blue ichor ran from the orifices Biggs and Wedge had buried themselves in. Hunter raised his disintegrating fist and punched the spongy flesh again and again and again, leaving crimson handprints of all-devouring Phage. He stuck the stumps of his hands in the thing¡¯s nightmarish orifices. He rubbed what remained of his body on it, making sure to spread as much of the ooze was possible. The massive creature ¨C a god no more ¨C convulsed, and the hundreds of voices that radiated from it screamed in agony and mortal terror. Hunter was little more than a torso, four stumpy limbs, and a rictus grin now, but he still clung to the bulbous mass. He didn¡¯t have long before the ooze claimed his life ¨C but again, neither did the fucking thing, and that was all that mattered. As he felt the darkness closing in, Hunter had just enough time to think about two things: He wondered whether Fawkes and the rest of his companions would be alright, and he wished he still had fingers to flip the entity the bird with. Book One - Transient - Chapter 37 Ammonia. Why did the whole world smell like ammonia? ¡°Because you pissed yourself,¡± Alex heard himself tell himself matter-of-factly, ¡°and you¡¯d been holding it forever.¡± ¡°What?¡± There was another voice, this one not in his head. A woman¡¯s. It was familiar. He couldn¡¯t exactly place it. He couldn¡¯t exactly make out the words, either. Was he underwater? Was she underwater? It sure sounded like there was water involved. Whatever she was trying to tell him, it was urgent; that much he understood. He strained himself to listen, to understand, and¨C ¡°Wake up, dumbass.¡± He did wake up. He was back in the Happy Motel, back in his cell, back in his bed. He had pissed himself and the whole world felt like someone had placed his head in one of those huge bells they had in cathedrals, and then proceeded to ring it with a sledgehammer. Someone grabbed his head and shoved a glass of water in his mouth. ¡°Sip. Slowly.¡± He sipped. It was good. He was parched. ¡°I swear to god, Rulin,¡± Officer Carpenter said, ¡°if you somehow manage to kick the bucket on my watch, I¡¯ll have the doctor let me fill the death certificate myself. Cause of death: dumb. Time of death: my fucking lunchtime. Why? Because fuck Penny and her egg salad sandwich, that¡¯s why.¡± ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°That¡¯s my line. One moment I¡¯m chilling in my office, eating my lunch, the next I get a red alert saying your vitals are going haywire.¡± ¡°My vitals?¡± ¡°Casque¡¯s tracking them while you¡¯re plugged in.¡± Carpenter helped him sit up, then gave him a saltine to munch on. ¡°I died again,¡± he said between bites. ¡°In Elderpyre, I mean.¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°Of course you did. I¡¯m not even surprised at this point.¡± She placed her hand on his forehead to get his temperature, then handed him a carton of orange juice and a box of more saltines. ¡°Drink the juice and eat the crackers, they¡¯ll help with your blood pressure. Doc¡¯s on his way, should be here any minute. I have to go. Don¡¯t do anything stupid.¡± ¡°Uh¡­ can I go back in?¡± he asked, eyeing the casque Carpenter had unceremoniously dumped on the floor next to his bed. His was feeling like crap, but it burned him to know whether his gambit had paid off, whether Fawkes and Fyodor and the Brethren were alright. ¡°No!¡± Carpenter spat and turned around to throw him a look of pure exasperation. ¡°Dumbass!¡± She was right, of course, but it wasn¡¯t like she could stop him. Besides, he wasn¡¯t about to jump back into the fray or anything. He¡¯d just pop in, make sure things were alright, then pop out again. How long had he been out, anyway? Fuck if he knew. Not long, he hoped. He grabbed the casque, put it over his head, and pressed the button. Seconds later, Hunter was back in the old-timey bar that was his Shard. Seconds later than that, he was already crossing the threshold back to the main world of Elderpyre. He didn¡¯t even stop to say hi to Mortimer. He popped in at the last Place of Power he¡¯d binded his essence to, just outside the great runed doors that led to the Inner Sanctum. They were shut. <¨¦lan> Once again, you¡¯ve perished. Once again, you return. Once again, it takes its toll. Your ¨¦lan quality is now 7. There was a ton of unread system notifications ¨C they did have the tendency to pile up at the worst possible moments, after al ¨C but Hunter couldn¡¯t spare a single second. One, however, caught his eye.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. It was the only one that mattered. That, and whether his companions were alright. The darkness around him was absolute. Even with his Low-Light Vision, he could barely make out the outline of the hall. Should he wait? Should he open the doors? Should he go back to the chapel beyond, see the outcome of the struggle for himself? ¡°Outlander?¡± he heard a woman¡¯s voice whisper somewhere in the dark. Sister Peregrine. He turned around and saw the outline of her head peek around the corner of an intersection that led away from the Inner Sanctum. Good ¨C so they¡¯d made it out. Hunter let out a sigh of relief. ¡°Sister! Are you alright?¡± he whispered back. ¡°Where are the others?¡± ¡°Shhhh!" she hushed him. ¡°Come!¡± He followed her to the same vault he¡¯d found her and the rest of his companions the last time he¡¯d thrown himself under the bus to try and buy time for them. Not even a day had passed since then. Hell, his whole time in Elderpyre was just a few days. It was bizarre. Somehow it felt like it had been longer. Impossibly longer. They were all there, miraculously more or less in one piece. Fyodor rushed out to meet him the moment Sister touched the vault¡¯s outer wall and made it vanish. The direwolf rammed him, then proceeded to lick his face and yelp like a puppy. His breath smelled awful, but for once, Hunter didn¡¯t mind. Brother Aurochs waved at him from inside the torchlit vault. Hunter waved back. Both he and Sister Peregrine sported a few bruises and cuts, but nothing too serious-looking. Fawkes, on the other hand¡­ Hunter wouldn¡¯t have recognized the blanket-covered, pitifully small silhouette that lay in a corner, hadn¡¯t it been for a stray strand of silver hair. His heart swam, and he felt like he was going to be violently sick. He pushed the direwolf aside, pulled himself to his feet, and rushed to her side. Sister Peregrine put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. ¡°She¡¯s not hurt,¡± she told him. ¡°Just very sad and very tired. Do not disturb her. Let her sleep.¡± Hunter looked over at Brother Aurochs, and he nodded, too. Sister was right, probably. It wasn¡¯t as if he could do anything to help, anyway, though it was all he could do not to rush to her side and shake her awake, see for himself she was alive and well. ¡°And, uh¡­ you? You two?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll make do.¡± Hunter wasn¡¯t exactly persuaded, but let it go. She was wounded and bruised and walked funny, but she didn¡¯t have that haunted look about her anymore. That had to count for something. ¡°What happened back there? When I, you know¡­¡± Sister shrugged. ¡°One moment we were fighting. The next, that¡­ that thing. Those killing lights. We ducked away. We saw you fight. We saw the crimson take you both. We stuck to the plan. We skedaddled.¡± ¡°It¡¯s dead,¡± Hunter said. ¡°The thing.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no more whispering. I would say yes.¡± Sister Peregrine put her hand on his shoulder again, found his eyes with hers. It was an awkward gesture, but a welcome one anyway. ¡°I would say thank you, too. For what you did there.¡± ¡°It was nothing.¡± ¡°Do not say it was nothing. It was a brave thing, and you did it even though you did not have to. For that, I say thank you.¡± ¡°You¡¯re¡­ welcome?¡± ¡°One more thing,¡± Sister said. ¡°Do not do such a thing again. It may not kill you, outlander, but it will kill her.¡± *** His companions would stay in that vault for a while to lick their wounds, and Hunter figured he¡¯d better do the same with his. He logged out, had a much-needed cold shower, put on a fresh change of clothes, and changed his yellow-stained sheets. The doctor that came to check on him was a plain-looking man in his forties. Alex had been worried that he wouldn¡¯t be able to explain his situation to him, but he didn¡¯t have to. The man seemed to know all about Elderpyre, virtual deaths, and the surprisingly taxing, very real effects they had on the human mind and body. He told him to get plenty of rest and try to avoid stressful situations for a while, prescribed him a cubic fuckton of vitamins and supplements, and gave him an earful for being so careless. ¡°See, doc?¡± Officer Carpenter told the man, smirking. ¡°Just as I told you. Dumb as a bag of hammers.¡± ¡°Good thing he¡¯s just as hardy, too,¡± the doctor said. ¡°That was your third death, correct?¡± ¡°Third, yes.¡± ¡°Good grief. No wonder you pissed yourself and went out cold.¡± ¡°I see the good Officer didn¡¯t skimp on the details,¡± Hunter said, turning red. ¡°He¡¯s a doctor, Rulin,¡± she flashed him a nasty smile. ¡°I¡¯m just doing my duty. You should thank me, if anything.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t let the craggy exterior fool you,¡± the doctor said matter-of-factly as he was packing up his bag. ¡°Under all that vinegar, Penny¡¯s just a good old softie.¡± ¡°Go to hell, Cade.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t. Too busy patching you people up.¡± Looking at Carpenter and the doctor talk smack, Alex wondered for what must have been the millionth time what was this thing he¡¯d gotten himself caught up in. Grimm, private prisons, too-good-to-be-true virtual reality, sketchy staff¡­ With everything that had been going on inside Elderpyre these last few days, he¡¯d barely had the chance to give any real thought to what was going on one the outside. Well, that would have to wait a bit more. His mind was elsewhere, and he was tired. Dead tired. By the time Carpenter and the doc left his cell, Alex was already half asleep. What day was it? When was the last time he¡¯d gotten any proper rest? He had lost track of it all. He closed the window blinds, turned off the lights, and went to sleep for what he expected to be a moderately-sized ice age. Book One - Transient - Chapter 38 ¡°Where is she?¡± ¡°And a good day to you too, outlander,¡± Sister said and lowered her spear. ¡°You startled me there, popping out of thin air like a kass-khraz.¡± Hunter had no idea what a kass-khraz was and no particular inclination to ask. He¡¯d slept like the dead for a few hours, then spent another couple grinding his teeth and drifting in and out of sleep, waking up in the middle of one nightmare only to fall asleep again and find himself in the next. His mind was on Fawkes. The sight of her being down and out had shaken him to his core, for some reason. It wasn¡¯t just her health or injuries that worried him. It was¡­ wrong, somehow, the whole of it. Wrong on a conceptual level. ¡°Safe,¡± said Brother Aurochs. ¡°Sanctum.¡± Hunter gave him a nod of appreciation and set off to find her. He found the Inner Sanctum¡¯s great doors cracked open. Torchlight was pouring out of the narrow opening, warding off the cool darkness of the Halls. There was no whispering, no muted hymns or hushed chants. Just the ever-present heartbeat of the Halls. ¡°Fawkes?¡± he called. He didn¡¯t want to startle her. ¡°In here,¡± came her answer from somewhere on the other side. ¡°Come in.¡± The Inner Sanctum didn¡¯t feel like an inner sanctum at all. Not anymore. There were no torches burning at the ornate sconces that lined the walls, no grotesque-looking faithful mumbling their profane prayers, no sardonic priestess at the dais, and no ominous presence masking itself with illusions and pulling everyone¡¯s strings. Now it was just another abandoned hall in a long, long series of abandoned halls. The only light came from a couple of torches Fawkes had lit. Almost nothing remained of Mother and her monstrous following except for a thick layer of dust the color of rust that covered everything. The Phage, Hunter realized, all out of flesh to consume and now laying dormant. The feeling of the crimson ooze eating through his flesh was still all too fresh in his memory. A wave of panic rose and threatened to swallow him whole. He tried to ignore it, to focus on Fawkes. She had been in there a while, it looked like. She¡¯d gathered a number of items and trinkets and weapons in a neat pile near the double doors. Hunter spotted his glaive among them, its blade gleaming in the torchlight as if to beckon at him. A few paces away, Fawkes was kneeling beside one of the few corpses that had somehow escaped the hunger of the Phage. Reiner. Fawkes had pulled the body free from the huge weapon it had been skewered on and had cleared up some space around it, as if to remove it from the rest of the scene of death and carnage.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. She wasn¡¯t crying. She wasn¡¯t showing any emotion. She just looked¡­ empty. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Hunter said. ¡°Don¡¯t be,¡± said Fawkes, her voice colorless. ¡°Why lament him? Such is our fate. We don¡¯t die in our beds, we of the Lodge.¡± Hunter said nothing. What could he say? He just went and sat by her, hoping his presence would be a comfort rather than an intrusion. Minutes went by like that, the two of them quietly sitting beside Reiner¡¯s body. It was just that now, a body, desiccated and dry and soulless, not the man himself. Fawkes didn¡¯t look at it. She was staring at the darkness, lost in thought. Remembering, most likely. Reiner had been important to her, that was obvious. Hunter didn¡¯t really know who he was to his friend and mentor of sorts, but from what little she¡¯d let slip through, he¡¯d really love to have gotten a chance to meet the man. ¡°Would you like to tell me about him?¡± ¡°No,¡± she shook his head. ¡°Yes. Maybe. Not now.¡± Hunter fell silent again, leaving Fawkes to her grief, only now and then throwing her worried glances. This wasn¡¯t Fawkes sitting by him now, only a Fawkes-shaped shell of a person. A corpse waiting to happen. Hunter had already seen one person wither away, lost in grief ¨C his mother. He couldn¡¯t bear to see another. ¡°So, anyway¡­ maybe it¡¯s better if I leave you to it.¡± ¡°No. Stay.¡± He stayed. Fawkes started going through the dead man¡¯s many pockets, laying odds, ends, and trinkets on the floor next to his body with slow and deliberate moves. Hunter watched. Once she¡¯d made sure she''d gotten everything, she pulled a couple of familiar flasks out of somewhere inside her sleeve. It was the Phage. She dropped a tiny droplet of the dark brown ooze on the dead man¡¯s chest, then one of the clear liquid that served as the catalyst to wake the Phage up. ¡°Step back,¡± Fawkes said and stood up. Hunter followed. They stood vigil over Reiner¡¯s body as the Phage stirred from its sleep and consumed what little remained of the man. It wasn¡¯t an easy thing to watch, but neither Hunter nor Fawkes turned away. There was no eulogy. No tears came. If it hadn¡¯t been for the Phage and the Halls¡¯ deep heartbeat, Hunter could have sworn time itself had stood still. Then, as the crimson took more and more of the body that once was Reiner, a single luminous bee flew from his chest. It flew around for a while, leaving a trail of haze behind it, the telltale pale blue of aether. Fawkes raised her hand and the bee landed on her palm. ¡°This is how we go, we of the Lodge,¡± she said, her voice neutral. ¡°By the sword, or tooth, or claw. By the Creed. And once our time has passed, we pass the torch to the next in line, so that the Creed remains. Only this time there¡¯s no next in line. There¡¯s only so few of us left. Now we are one fewer. Soon we will fade, too, and so will the Creed.¡± She pulled a tiny box from her sleeve, carefully placed the bee in it, and shut its lid. She left it on the floor before her, along with the Phage Philter flasks and Reiner¡¯s last effects. Hunter wanted to say something, but nothing came out. What could he say, anyway? That she wasn¡¯t alone? That she had him? He was transient. Fawkes had been right; he could never relate. She hadn¡¯t asked him to be there. She barely allowed him to be there. She had said so herself. They waited until nothing remained of Reiner but crimson ooze and tatters. Then Fawkes simply turned away and started picking up the various weapons and other items she¡¯d gathered in a pile. Hunter went to help. ¡°So¡­ what now?¡± he finally managed to say. ¡°The Creed,¡± she said and handed him his glaive. ¡°What else? We see things through, do what needs to be done.¡± There was no color in her voice. Still, that ¡®we¡¯ wasn¡¯t lost on him. She picked up the last of the loot from the piles, grabbed a torch, and turned for the door. ¡°Come, Hunter. We have much to do.¡± Book One - Transient - Chapter 39 [END OF BOOK 1] The man with the crystal helmet watched the little impromptu wake from the sidelines. His gaze could pierce the veil that separated the liminal realm from the rest of Aernor with ease. It was only one of the perks his shard of the Far-Looking Glass granted him. He had been shadowing those two and their Brethren companions throughout their descend into the Halls, the solitary, unseen audience to their little drama. They had proven to be quite the refreshing distraction. He''d been wondering how well they¡¯d fare against the outsider and its unfortunate host. They had exceeded his expectations greatly. It was just as well, too; the otherworldly entity had served its purpose and was of no use to him anymore. It was the least of the three he¡¯d summoned to help him with his work. The other two and their chosen hosts had left the Halls as soon as their business was concluded, eager to enjoy their stay on Aernor. He¡¯d only let It That Whispers haunt the Halls on a whim. He¡¯d probably have to get rid of it himself at some point, hadn¡¯t the two Brethren and their new friends intervened.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. He took another look at the duo, studying them. The young ?rne was nothing to write home about, though his resourcefulness had proven to be refreshing. His transient nature was by far the most compelling thing about him. He had some potential, yes, but potential was far from rare. Would he have the tenacity required to fulfill it? That was the question. So far, even the rank of Copper was out of his reach. The older one was more interesting; besides her skill with the blade and the little trove of dangerous trinkets she carried on her person, that one had ¨¢eld blood running in her veins, however thin. She also held the rank of Gold and seemed to have been trained on a Path of ¨¢eld origin. Just as the other, the straw-haired one had. That was uncommon enough to warrant a closer look. Maybe he should keep tabs on the two, check on them from time to time. They had proven to be more refreshing than any of the Brethren. He gave them a last look, then set for his laboratory near the Heart of the Halls to resume his work. Unbeknownst to her, the older one had been right. There was a lot to be done. END OF BOOK 1 Book Two - Aspirant - Prelude ¡°Master, please,¡± the girl said. ¡°I can¡¯t feel my arms.¡± ¡°Then you need stronger arms.¡± The man slapped the girl¡¯s weapon out of her little hands with the flat of his blade, then swept her leg and shoved her off balance. There was no malice there, no cruelty ¨C just a vague, detached sense of disappointment. ¡°On your feet,¡± he told her. ¡°Again.¡± She rose to her feet and picked up her blade from the ground. She wiped the sweat and dirt from her face, bit her already bloodied lip to prevent herself from bursting into tears, and assumed a fencing stance. She was only eight or nine, small and slender. She had a smidgen of ¨¢eld blood running in her veins, just enough to give her hair the color of pale silver, but not enough to make her a worthy successor to the Path of the Gloam Blade. That¡¯s what her master needed ¨C a successor. What she needed, though, was a father. In the end, they would both be disappointed. Later that day, when Master Hight would finally let her collapse on the little pile of straw she called a bed, she¡¯d swear she¡¯d treat her disciple differently, should she ever take one. Over the course of her long life, she would come to break many oaths. That one, however? That one she¡¯d do her damnedest to keep. *** Fawkes tore through the dark corridors like a maenad, looking for more low-dwellers to take her fury out on. It didn¡¯t take her long to find her quarry; there they were, three or four stragglers looking for corpses to chew on. Fawkes didn¡¯t even slow down. She already had her blade in her hand and violence in her eyes. The first one fell before it even had a chance to register her presence. She stepped out of a side corridor right next to it and stabbed it through the eye, plunging her saber deep enough into its skull to skewer its malformed brain. It took a little more than that to kill the second and third ones. Too stupid to stay surprised for long, they pounced on Fawkes just as the light left the first one¡¯s eyes. They bit and clawed at her, keeping her on the back foot as the fourth one circled around looking for an opening. Fawkes pivoted away from the dead low-dweller and danced around the fiends, always staying just out of reach. Whenever one of them dared to come closer and claw at her, she punished it with a wicked slash across its gangly arms. One of the two finally had enough. With half a dozen gashes on its limbs oozing black blood, it snarled at Fawkes and charged at her on all fours. She met it with a burst of sudden motion, side-stepping it and scoring a deep cut on the side of its thick neck as it barreled past her. It wasn¡¯t a mortal wound, but it would be enough to slow the fiend down enough to let her deal with the other two. The fourth one, the one that had been circling her, took its chance and jumped at her, its dirty, wicked claws reaching to tear her head from her body. It was a well-timed attack, too. She had to give the fiend that. She barely had enough time to raise her saber and block it.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. Unfazed, the fiend reared for a second strike. The other two would probably be joining into the fray any second now. That¡¯s how low-dwellers fought, hunting as a pack, looking for opportunities to swarm their foes. Even blinded by fury, Fawkes wasn¡¯t reckless enough to take those odds if she could help it. Just as the low-dweller was about to pounce again, she drew her pistol and shot it almost point-blank in its ugly face. The gunshot resounded throughout the dark Halls, probably drawing the attention of every low-dweller that still roamed the place. Good. As the now-headless corpse of the low-dweller spasmed at her feet, Fawkes turned to meet the two remaining fiends. The one she¡¯d slashed was already groggy and half-dead from the blood loss, so she put her pistol away and set out to finish the job. Moving fast like a predator, she darted over the dead bodies of the two dead fiends and went for the jugular. Heartbeats later, the bodies at her feet were three. She made the fourth low-dweller last, slashing a hundred tiny cuts on its stinking hide, toying with it like a cat would do with a hapless mouse. Normally, she¡¯d never stoop down to such meaningless cruelty. Clean kills were more to her liking. Normally. All pretenses of normality, however, had withered the moment she¡¯d laid eyes upon the dead body of Reiner, decomposing and strung up on a spear like a grim trophy. Up until then she could pretend everything was alright, even though she knew it wasn¡¯t. She could pretend Reiner was on another of his jaunts or benders or misadventures, sure to return with new tales to share and laugh about around the fire. She could pretend there was no worry gnawing at her day and night, no tight feeling at the pit of her stomach. That was one of the reasons she initially had Hunter tag along with her, if she was to be honest with herself. She thought having him around would be a diversion that would keep her mind off her worrying. Reiner had been more than just a disciple. More than a friend, even. Reiner had been family, her only true connection to, well, anything. Reiner had been the only thing that had kept her vaguely interested in going on with her sad old life¨Cthat was the long and short of it. And now he was gone. What was she to do now? Grimnir¡¯s beard, she had not the slightest of ideas. The Lodge was scattered to the four winds and all but done for. She¡¯d inherited her master¡¯s dream of finding the guild¡¯s ancient cradle. Reviving it, recruiting, rebuilding. Without Reiner to pass it on to, however, what would the point of that be? She was old. She felt old. Too old. As for hanging up her blades and guns and living a quiet life¡­ Well, around civilized folk, she¡¯d always been an outcast. She didn¡¯t expect that to change now. She¡¯d rather go out in a blaze than rot away in some hamlet. Lodge folk didn¡¯t die in their beds. Never had, never would. That was the Creed. She went on stalking the dark halls looking for low-dwellers to put to the blade, though she knew it to be an exercise in futility. No matter how many of the fiends she slew, it wouldn¡¯t even begin to numb the rage and despair that was drowning her. It was all she could do not to murder the two pelt-wearing fools. The Brethren had straight-up lied to her, the bastards, misled her, manipulated her into helping them doing their dirty work, all while knowing that Reiner was dead. She had every right to walk into the vault they were hiding in, licking their wounds, and tear them to bloody shreds. It wasn¡¯t her conscience that stopped her, either. Gods knew she¡¯d killed out of pure vengeance before, and it hadn¡¯t weighed on her one bit. No, it was the realization that their deaths would do no good to anyone. If anything, it would put an end to their own suffering. There was another reason, too, one she¡¯d been surprised to realize. Hunter. She didn¡¯t want the lad to think ill of her. She didn¡¯t want to set a bad example for him to follow, especially not after chastising him for his Transient nature. Despite him being big and strong and clever, in certain ways Hunter was still like a child. Reiner had been like that too. Maybe that was what had gotten him killed. Maybe Fawkes had been too soft on him. Maybe her own master had been right to push her as he had. That thought caused a new wave of rage and despair overtake her. She gripped the hilt of her saber tighter and delved deeper into the Halls. She had to find more fiends to kill. Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 1a ¡°Backgammon,¡± Bob announced. ¡°That¡¯s triple the points for me.¡± ¡°Ho ho! Again?¡± Humbug Hank put his milkshake down and laughed, animated as ever. ¡°It¡¯s like you¡¯re the dice whisperer!¡± Alex didn¡¯t even have the strength to curse his luck anymore. There was just no beating Bob at this game. The guard was luckier with the dice and a better player, but it wasn¡¯t like there was anything better to do than play him. After the last time he died in Elderpyre and the subsequent toll the shock took on his real-life body, the doc had told him to spend as little time as possible in-game for the next few days. That was just as well. Fawkes was in mourning, after all, and she needed some time to process her loss. Alex¨Cor, rather, Hunter¨Cdidn¡¯t blame her. He didn¡¯t know what Reiner had been to her, not exactly, although he suspected he was more than just a friend. A student, maybe? A partner? Whatever the case was, she¡¯d spent an awful lot of time looking for him and worrying about him. In the end, all she¡¯d found was his desiccated body skewered on the spear of a fleshwarped ogre down in the depths of an ancient dungeon, on display like some grim trophy. As far as Hunter was concerned, she had every reason to be upset. They¡¯d gone on to defeat Mother and It That Whispers, the alien entity behind that had been pulling the strings all along. They¡¯d silenced the unsettling whispering that had permeated everything in the Weald. Fawkes had recovered her friend¡¯s effects and had put what little remained of his body to rest. Now they both needed some time off to get their heads straight before heading back to¡­ where? The Brennai village, Hunter supposed. Sister Peregrine and Brother Aurochs, the locals that Hunter and Fawkes had teamed up with to delve into the depths of the Halls of the Cor Ancestors, needed some breathing space too. They hung around the Halls, licking their wounds and keeping an eye on Fawkes. Hunter had only known them for a few days and knew practically nothing about their lives, but the hardships they had faced together in that short time had forged a sort of unspoken camaraderie between them. Then, of course, there was Fyodor, Biggs, and Wedge. Hunter had instructed the two ravens to keep an eye on the direwolf while he was away. Fyodor might be large and feral-looking, but in truth, he was nothing but an oversized pup. The doctor¡¯s orders notwithstanding, Hunter made sure to log in Elderpyre a couple of times per day just to keep him some company. The rest of his day he either slept, exercised, or sat around at the cafeteria. Bob had been consistently beating him at backgammon, Buggy had been consistently making fun of that fact, and Penny¨COfficer Carpenter¨Chad been consistently rolling her eyes at the three of them at every chance she got. Penny had proven to be quite a different person than what Alex had originally pegged her for. She had finally mellowed out to him, learned to drop the tough Officer Carpenter charade every now and then and be, well, just Penny. She was a huge film buff, as it turned out, and also enjoyed a good old paperback. John le Carr¨¦, Louis L''Amour, that kind of thing. They¡¯d spent a couple of evenings talking about their favorite books and movies, the two of them. Alex was actually growing fond of her, both of Penny and of her wannabe hard-ass Officer Carpenter persona. They were slow, pleasantly sleepy days. They reminded Alex of the last days of the summer break back when he was still in high school. On days like these, he forgot that he was still technically a prisoner. ¡°Would you like to play again?¡± Bob asked. ¡°No, I think I¡¯ve had enough for today. Maybe Hank wants to try his luck next.¡± ¡°Nuh-huh,¡± Buggy said. ¡°Hank most definitely does not.¡± ¡°Good, maybe we¡¯ll finally have some peace and quiet around here,¡± said Carpenter. She¡¯d been trying to do a crossword a couple of tables away. She took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. ¡°Some of us actually like it, imagine that.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°Uh, officer,¡± said Buggy, suddenly looking curiously irked. ¡°This is a non-smoking building.¡± ¡°What are you gonna do about it, Hank? Report me to the warden?¡± Carpenter blew him off. ¡°It¡¯s my one-a-day. I¡¯m trying to quit.¡± Buggy threw her a dirty look and got up. ¡°Well, I refuse to be in the presence of your second-hand smoke. Alex, care to join me for a walk around the premises?¡± ¡°I, uh¡­¡± ¡°Come on, join me. The air¡¯s about to turn to poison in here!¡± Humbug Hank wasn¡¯t exactly the kind of person Alex would be friends with, not on the outside, at least. Still, he planned to go back to his room and go check on Fyodor anyway. Getting some fresh air first wasn¡¯t a bad idea. The two of them headed out to the Happy Motel¡¯s yard. Buggy waved at a bored guard at the gate and flashed him his huge smile. ¡°Hello, hello, what great weather we¡¯re having, right?¡± It was great weather. The sun shone bright, there was a pleasantly cool breeze, and the temperature was just right for a casual stroll. Alex tried to remind himself to enjoy it. Lately he¡¯d been spending the majority of his time in his bed, logged in Elderpyre, and it was beginning to show. ¡°Let¡¯s find some shade,¡± said Buggy, his pale bald head shining like a beacon under the midday sun. ¡°Or I¡¯ll turn into an air fryer sausage. Ever had an air fryer sausage? They¡¯re delicious. We should ask for an air fryer for the cafeteria. I think Penny would love it, too. And a gazebo for the yard. This sun is killing me!¡± There was a big pine tree behind the cafeteria building, so that¡¯s where they went. Buggy offered Alex an overturned bucket to use as a stool, squatted on his heels, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. ¡°Smoke?¡± he offered one to Alex. ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t smoke.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t smoke indoors. I¡¯m not an animal. So, hey, what¡¯s the deal with you? You¡¯ve been around a bit too much these days. Getting bored of Elderpyre?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think we should talk about that,¡± Alex said. ¡°You know, non-disclosure agreement and all.¡± That was only half the truth. Yes, he was wary of the NDA, but it¡¯s not so much so that he¡¯d never talk about Elderpyre with anyone. After all the trauma he¡¯d been through playing the game, Grimm was lucky Alex didn¡¯t plan to go to the tabloids with it all. No, it was Buggy he was wary of. Penny had insisted the man was a maggot and had warned Alex to stay away. Alex didn¡¯t have such a strong opinion of him, but he couldn¡¯t deny the fact that the man was unpredictable. Still, he¡¯d been itching to talk about Elderpyre and about all the things he¡¯d seen and done on its world, Aernor, ever since day one. He often caught himself wishing Packman was there with him. They¡¯d spoken on the phone a few times, but Penny had warned Alex that their calls were being recorded and monitored. If Packman was around, they¡¯d never talk about anything but Elderpyre. ¡°If you don¡¯t tell, I won¡¯t tell,¡± Buggy gave him an exaggerated wink. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t worry about things like that too much, anyway, especially not now that you and Penny have gotten all buddy-buddy. If anything, it¡¯s me who should be worried. You wouldn¡¯t snitch on your old pal Buggy, would you? You know what they say.¡± ¡°Snitches get stitches?¡± ¡°Snitches get stitches. And you can bet your old pal Buggy here is not gonna be snitching anytime soon. I got stitches once in fifth grade. Definitely not a fan. Come on, spill the beans.¡± Buggy had already seen Alex and the doctor talk in the cafeteria, so what harm could it do? ¡°Well, you saw me talk with the doc, so you probably know already,¡± he said. ¡°I kicked the bucket a few times too many.¡± ¡°Oh, yeah, that¡¯s a big bummer. I nearly shat myself the first time, too. There was this guy when I first came to the Motel, he had a seizure or something. Really ugly stuff. They rushed him out of here in an ambulance. Didn¡¯t see him again.¡± ¡°Yeah, they¡¯d overdone it with the verisimilitude.¡± ¡°The what now?¡± ¡°With how real things feel,¡± Alex explained. ¡°Ah, yes, yes, though that can sometimes be a good thing,¡± said Buggy and flashed a sleazy smile. ¡°If you know what I mean.¡± ¡°How about you?¡± Alex changed the subject, not too eager to discuss simulated sex with Buggy. ¡°You don¡¯t seem to spend too much time in Elderpyre either.¡± ¡°Oh, I got a schedule. I usually log in at night. I got that short sleeper syndrome going on for me. Ever heard of it? Pretty sweet evolutionary advantage. Three hours of shuteye is all I need, usually. Plus, spending too much time lying in bed¡¯s no good. Ever heard of bed sores?¡± That was something Alex had considered, too. Spending so much time in bed couldn¡¯t possibly be good for him. ¡°I should probably get a schedule, too.¡± ¡°Totally! I know that spending all day over there sounds tempting, but you also gotta take care of yourself over here too, know what I mean?¡± ¡°Speaking of which,¡± Alex said. ¡°I have some stuff to take care of on Elderpyre right about now.¡± ¡°Oh, bummer! Just when I was about to get you talking at last! Look, it¡¯s alright if you don¡¯t wanna say much, but-¡± ¡°It¡¯s nothing personal. I¡¯d just rather keep it separate, real life and Elderpyre stuff.¡± ¡°Sure, sure, I hear you!¡± Buggy flashed another of his ultrawide smiles as Alex rose to his feet and patted himself down. ¡°Same time same place tomorrow?¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Alex said, but his mind was already elsewhere. Doctor or no doctor, he had business to take care of. Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 1b The first thing Hunter - Alex¡¯s in-game alter ego - did as he materialized back in Elderpyre was to call his familiars to him. ¡°All¡¯s well?¡± he asked them through the mental link they shared. Biggs and Wedge responded with a cacophony of enthusiastic chitters. ¡°Yes, yes, I missed you too. Come by the Place of Power at the gates of the Halls. Bring the mutt, too.¡± Hunter looked around to catch a glimpse of either Fawkes or the Brethren, but saw nobody. It had been a few days since they had left the Halls of the Cor Ancestors, but had set up camp in the barrows not too far from the entrance. The Vale of Ghosts was as misty and quiet as ever, though Hunter didn¡¯t find its atmosphere as threatening as when he first set foot in it. Maybe he¡¯d gotten used to its somber ambience. Maybe it had been the whispers of the eldritch entity beneath the Halls that had made the Vale seem so threatening. Maybe both. A familiar lupine form showed up behind a nearby mound, barking and barreling through the mist, followed by the two flying windbags. Fyodor was just the runt of the litter by direwolf standards, or so Fawkes had said. By Hunter standards, he was still a huge mass of muscle, fur, fangs, and claws. And sloppy, sloppy doggy kisses. Fyodor leaped on Hunter, driving him to the ground, his bushy tail whooshing around like mad. He¡¯d been wandering in the Weald hungry and alone when Hunter first came upon him, probably driven away by the rest of his pack for being too small and weak. Now he was a part of Hunter¡¯s little menagerie, and he never missed an opportunity to show how happy he was about that. ¡°Okay, okay boy, that¡¯s enough! What¡¯s that on your snout? Ew, what have you been eating? You stink!¡± ¡°Spider,¡± he felt Biggs and Wedge answer as one in his mind. ¡°Big.¡± ¡°Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake,¡± said Hunter and tried to throw the direwolf of him, wiping drool and dried spider ichor from his face with the back of his hand. ¡°Get off me, you big doof!¡± Hunter got back on his feet and scratched Fyodor behind the ears. The two ravens landed on the direwolf¡¯s back and stood at attention, ready to give their report. ¡°Talk,¡± Hunter said. ¡°Telepathically, please. No chittering.¡± ¡°All quiet,¡± Biggs reported. ¡°Big man and young woman rest in hole-in-the-ground nearby. Old woman somewhere around.¡± ¡°Old woman mean,¡± Wedge piped in, clearly vexed. ¡°She waves us away. Throws rocks.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll talk to her about that. What else? What¡¯s this about a big spider?¡± ¡°Mutt hungry,¡± the ravens gave him the telepathic equivalent of a shrug. ¡°Mutt go in hole-in-the-ground to find big spider.¡± ¡°I leave you guys alone for half a day, and you-¡± ¡°Hile, Hunter,¡± a woman¡¯s voice called. ¡°You look good.¡± He turned around to meet the two Brethren. Sister Peregrine and Brother Aurochs had taken refuge in the entrance of a nearby barrow the last few days. They were still on the mend from the wounds they¡¯d received when they fought Mother and her horde of low-dwellers, not to mention the emotional trauma. The reason he¡¯d dubbed the corrupted Sister Finch Mother, after all, was because she had turned out to be Sister Peregrine¡¯s actual mother. Hunter didn¡¯t expect the woman to simply shrug that off, no matter how stoic she wanted to look. ¡°Sister. Brother. You look good too.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t and we all know it, but I thank you all the same. We heard the wolf bark in joy. That usually means you¡¯ve visited our ¨C how do you say it? ¨C our side of things.¡± ¡°Yes, I wanted to check on you all. How are you doing?¡± Brother Aurochs, not one for many words, gave Hunter a pained smile. It spoke volumes. The huge man has suffered the worst wounds of them all. Well, save for Hunter himself, but he hardly counted, did he? ¡°We manage,¡± said Sister Peregrine. ¡°We are leaving, heading out to join our other Brethren. We were waiting for you to return so that we could say our goodbyes.¡± ¡°Thank you. I¡¯d hate for us to part ways without the chance to say a few words first.¡± ¡°We wanted to offer our thanks. You did more than your part, both you and your companion. A warning, too; there were others among the Brethren that fell victim to vile influences. Some of them took off. They may have made their way to the lands of the Brennai, or even further. I would advise you to keep an eye out for them. Pass that warning to the folken, too, along with our friendly greetings. We¡¯ve been out of touch with them for far too long.¡± ¡°I shall,¡± said Hunter, frowning. That was a possibility he and Fawkes had already discussed. The presence of low-dwellers in the Weald was far too suspicious to be a coincidence¨Cnot to mention the ritualistic murders. ¡°What about Fawkes? Have you seen her?¡± ¡°We¡¯ve already exchanged our goodbyes with her. She¡¯s ranging about the Vale. She doesn¡¯t look too well either, if I might be blunt.¡± ¡°Figures. She suffered a loss, too.¡± Still bitter about her initial dishonesty, Hunter thought about making a jab at Sister Peregrine, then decided not to. She had led them on to helping her and Brother Aurochs with promises of leading Fawkes to her missing companion, while she already knew for a fact he¡¯d been killed. Hunter was still angry about that, camaraderie or no camaraderie. If Fawkes was willing to let it be, however, so should he. ¡°If I may offer some parting advice,¡± Sister Peregrine continued, ¡°you should consider being less impetuous with your actions and your well-being.¡± She didn¡¯t have to explain, not really. She was talking about how Hunter had gone all kamikaze on It That Whispers, the Lovecraftian abomination behind Sister Finch¡¯s corruption. ¡°It was the only way to take that thing down.¡± ¡°I know, and I thank you for it. As I understand it, your Transient nature takes the edge off of the consequences of your recklessness ¨C or bravery, call it what you may. All I am saying is that there are more things, more consequences to consider.¡± ¡°Such as?¡± asked Hunter, starting to get irritated. He¡¯d had enough of being persecuted just for being Transient, especially by his own companions. It was quickly becoming a touchy subject for him. Sister Peregrine let out a sigh and Brother Aurochs chuckled. ¡°Don¡¯t laugh, Brother. You¡¯re hardly any better yourself,¡± she scolded him, then turned back to Hunter. ¡°You¡¯re going to make me spell it out, then? So be it. I don¡¯t know much about your past with your friend, but it is obvious that you care for her. She cares for you too, more than she lets be seen, and her heart is more fragile than ever. Care not to break it.¡± Again, Hunter felt the bile rise in him. Sister Peregrine had played her part in letting Fawkes get hurt. Try as he might, that was a fact he wasn¡¯t going to forget. Still, this was the woman¡¯s way of trying to make amends. He decided to simply nod. ¡°Where are you going to go now?¡± he asked, changing the subject.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°We have secret gathering places.¡± ¡°How can we find you again?¡± Sister Peregrine frowned and turned her eyes to the horizon. ¡°Not to be ungrateful or inhospitable, Hunter,¡± she said, ¡°but I would have you leave the Vale as soon as possible and never return. The Ancestors came to this part of the land to be forgotten. They did so for a reason. If, however, there is no avoiding it¡­ you should come right here. Light a signal fire in front of the Halls of the Cor Ancestors. A Brother or Sister is bound to come find you. Just ask for me or Brother Aurochs.¡± They wished each other well, the three of them. Hunter and Sister Peregrine clapped arms. Brother Aurochs went in for a bear hug instead, all but shattering Hunter¡¯s ribs. Both of the Brethren patted Fyodor on the head, and Brother Aurochs even flashed a toothy smile at Biggs and Wedge. Then the two Brethren headed back to the barrow that had been their temporary home for the last few days, got their few things, and set off. Hunter watched them as they were headed for the treeline, slowly obscured by the thin mist that hung in the Vale air even in the middle of the day. He would miss them, he caught himself thinking, which surprised him. He¡¯d only known them for a few days, each of which was nothing short of traumatic. His time in Elderpyre would continue to prove to be full of surprises, it seemed. Now alone save for his menagerie, Hunter briefly thought about logging out. His nerves were supposedly still on the mend, after all. He quickly decided against it. He¡¯d rather spend some time with Fyodor and the ravens and wait for Fawkes to return. In fact, defeating Mother and It That Whispers had left him with a ton of notifications he hadn¡¯t had the chance to thoroughly go through. He pulled up his character sheet for the first time since the whole Mother thing and started tracking the changes. Character Information: Name: Hunter Race: Transient (Human) Class: Mystic Qualities: Aether: 1000 ¨¦lan: 7 Insight: 5 Inspiration: 1 Serendipity: 1 Attributes: Health: 158 Essence: 100 Stamina: 130 Strength: 10 Dexterity: 10 Intellect: 10 Willpower: 10 Presence: 10 The first thing he noticed was the good chunk of Aether that was now sitting snugly at the top of the Qualities section of his character sheet. He¡¯d received it for completing the Whispers of the Dark Below task, along with a point of Inspiration and a point of Serendipity. There was no amount of rewards that would convince him to take on Mother again, but still he didn¡¯t scoff at what he¡¯d gained. As far as he¡¯d seen, all three of these Qualities were valuable and in short supply. The second thing he noticed was that his ¨¦lan was now only at 7. He¡¯d started with 10 and lost one for each time he¡¯d died in the game. The system messages he¡¯d gotten afterwards had grown increasingly grim and foreboding. Hunter didn¡¯t know what would happen if he ran out of ¨¦lan and wasn¡¯t particularly keen on finding out. Three times of kicking the bucket had been traumatic enough to leave him out-of-sorts for days, even in real life. Maybe Sister Peregrine was right. Maybe it was time he started acted a bit more careful. The third thing that caught his eye was his increased Health. He¡¯d originally started with 100, then had upgraded it to 140 by spending Aether. The rest came from his Toughness Ability. If his math was right, taking all that punishment during the fight with Mother and It That Whispers had increased his Toughness to 18. Five extra points of Toughness were nothing to sneeze at. It numbed the sensation of pain and increased his Health, which meant it also decreased the probability he¡¯d get his ass handed to him again. Definitely a good thing. He scrolled down to the Skills and Abilities part of his character sheet, eager to see how those had been increased. Skills: Close Combat: 19 Evasion: 7 Meditation: 4 Occultism: 11 Polearm Mastery: 16 Short Blade Mastery: 3 Survival: 23 Abilities: Augmented Familiar: 19 Conjure Familiar: 24 Craft Spirit Charm: 10 Low-Light Vision: 24 Mystic¡¯s Eye: 10 Toughness: 18 Close Combat and Evasion had increased from all the fighting. He¡¯d also gained Short Blade Mastery, probably from using the spare dirk Fawkes had given him when he¡¯d dropped his glaive. Occultism had also increased, and so had Mystic¡¯s Eye, both presumably a product of his failed attempt to use it to acquire information about It That Whispers. The magical feedback from the spell had been a kick in the head, but at least he¡¯d gotten something out of it. Of course, Conjure Familiar and Augmented Familiar had increased too. Biggs and Wedge had proven their worth a thousand times over during the fight with Mother, and were only becoming more capable with each Ability increase. That left only two other changes to go over. One was a new ability that had become available to him, though activating it would require spending Inspiration. He pulled up the list of his not-yet-learned abilities and took a closer look at the latest one. Asymmetric Tactics allows you to be more effective in combat against enemies that are more powerful, more numerous, or otherwise superior to you. It involves using unconventional strategies to offset your deficiencies and disadvantages. His plan to use summoned familiars to bombard an eldritch entity with cadaver parts infected with a flesh-eating goo had proven to be a quite effective way to approach an otherwise hopeless combat situation. That was the definition of asymmetric. Hunter was very proud of it. For that alone, he¡¯d learn Asymmetric Tactics on the spot. Inspiration was a very limited resource, though, and he already had his eye on other Abilities like Make Contact, Rite of the Hunt, and Mystical Phenomena. He¡¯d had to consider them carefully before deciding. For now, he headed over to the Traits part of his character sheet to check the last of the changes: a new Trait. Traits: Improvise, Adapt, Overcome Incandescent Soul Mystic Sigil Out Of Pure Spite Perfectly Average Traits were like passive abilities that were always active in the background, as far as Hunter understood. They were more qualitative than quantitative, more like abstract characteristics than something easily measurable. He¡¯d never paid a lot of attention before, but the wording on this new one was interesting: Out of Pure Spite allows you to tap into a well of sheer determination and ferocity in the face of adversity. When facing enemies or situations that have stirred strong feelings of anger, frustration, or hatred within you, this trait enables you to draw strength from those emotions and channel them into unwavering resolve. It should come to no surprise, Hunter supposed. He had taken all his pent-up pain and frustration on Mother and It That Whispers, and it had been brutal. Seeing it put in words like this, however, gave him some pause. It certainly sounded dark and ominous. Very Palpatine-y. Desperate times, desperate measures. He closed his character sheet and turned to his backpack and tidy little pile of belongings instead. After It That Whispers finally fell, Fawkes had taken the time to go through the gore and Phage-covered remains that littered the floor. Along with Reiner¡¯s body and his belongings, she¡¯d also gathered everything in the chapel she thought Hunter would be interested in. Hunter had found it moving. Amidst her shock and mourning, she still had thought of him. During their two encounters with Mother, he¡¯d managed to lose not just his glaive, but the dirk Fawkes had given him to replace it, too. Fortunately, the Phage only devourer flesh. Fawkes retrieved both weapons and returned to him more or less untouched. The other thing she¡¯d given him was the Essences some of the monsters had left behind when they fell. Fawkes rolled her eyes in disdain every time she saw him pick up the ghoulish wisps of what looked like gross-colored, semi-transparent cotton candy. Still, she¡¯d gone into the trouble of gathering them for him. Most of them had belonged to low-dwellers and were nothing special. A couple were large and a bit more solid. Those had come from the hulking low-ogres that had served as Mother¡¯s honor-guard. What really drew Hunter¡¯s attention was the biggest, weirdest, most solid of them all, the Essence of It That Whispers. Unlike the essence of any other creature Hunter had seen, the Essence of It That Whispers was a spherical lattice of strands of alien-looking flesh and gristle roughly the size of a football. It was soft and warm to the touch and radiated wisps of the same matter the other essences were made of. Touching it sent a jolt of power down Hunter¡¯s spine. Could he still hear it whisper in the back of his mind? He wasn¡¯t certain, but the feeling was unnerving. Hunter had wrapped the thing in a blanket and tucked it in his backpack, but couldn¡¯t help taking it out and looking at it every now and then. He wondered if he could use it to create a spirit charm. His Craft Spirit Charm ability was nowhere near the level that working with an essence like that would require, but still, it might be worth holding on to it for later use. The other option he¡¯d considered was to present it as an offering to Herne, the powerful spirit that had practically strong-armed him into an accord. Hunter was to hunt prey in Herne¡¯s name and present him with trophies from his kills to receive favor and rewards. Failing to do so meant that Herne and his host of spectral huntsmen and women would tear what they were owed off his own flesh and bones. He¡¯d been through that once already. If the cost to avoid being torn open by ethereal wraiths was to give up the Essence of It That Whisper, so be it. He put it all away back in his pack and considered logging out again. It didn¡¯t feel right. He¡¯d hoped to see Fawkes too, check up on her. ¡°Keep an eye out for Fawkes, will you?¡± Hunter sat down on the weathered stone and called at Biggs and Wedge. The ravens cawed solemnly and took wing to look for a perch. Fyodor curled up by his side and put his huge head on his lap, asking for pats and scratches. Hunter obliged. He¡¯d missed the mutt. He¡¯d stick around for a while more in case she showed up, he decided. The Place of Power near the entrance to the Halls would be the first place she¡¯d look for him if she came around, so that¡¯s where he¡¯d wait. Some things were more important than any doctor¡¯s orders. Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 2 As it turned out, Hunter didn¡¯t have to wait long. Not half an hour later, the familiar silhouette of the woman appeared behind one of the nearby barrows, a ghost in the Vale¡¯s ever-present mist. Fyodor bolted and went straight for her, but she dodged the slobbering direwolf with a pirouette. ¡°Down, you furry fool!¡± The fluid grace with which Fawkes did even the tiniest thing would never cease to amaze Hunter. Her age was indeterminate; her long hair, now caught in a tight bun at the base of her skull, was ash-gray. Instead of marring her looks, the crow¡¯s feet and the few pale scars on her face gave her an air of conviction, the kind of certainty that can only come with time. Her garb was ever practical; well-worn travelling clothes covered in dozens of straps and buckles. As she often did when ranging alone, she had her high collar raised and the angular brim of her tricorne hat pulled down low over her brow. Hunter watched as the woman and the direwolf came closer and he felt his heart swell. He hadn¡¯t known her long. Hell, whether she was even real or not technically depended on his definition of reality. He didn¡¯t care. Right now, she was the person he felt closer to in the whole wide world. Not that he¡¯d tell her. ¡°Has your side of things grown that boring?¡± Fawkes asked as she climbed the stairs to the entrance of the Halls, her lips split in a lopsided smirk. ¡°I¡¯ve been gone too long.¡± ¡°Really? I hardly noticed.¡± ¡°How have you been doing?¡± ¡°Me? Never better.¡± Hunter raised an eyebrow. The swordswoman fa?ade of stoicism was that - a fa?ade. Up close, he could see it; The swordswoman looked older than ever, the lines of her face ever so slightly deeper, her shoulders ever so slightly slumped, her gait ever so slightly ponderous. Hunter was worried, but he didn¡¯t know what to say. He didn¡¯t know how to talk to her. The two of them, they¡¯d left things at a weird place before taking on Mother. Now she was steeped in grief and stubbornly refusing to accept it. Fawkes wasn¡¯t the kind of person used to showing weakness, and it was obviously killing her. ¡°How have you been doing?¡± she shifted the exchange to him instead. ¡°Good, I guess,¡± Hunter shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m just sitting around all day, getting as much rest as I can.¡± Fawkes nodded, then took a closer look at him. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you stay off¡­ well, off this side of things?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine. I just wanted to pop in and check on you and the mutt.¡± ¡°As you can see,¡± Fawkes threw a glance towards the direwolf, who was munching on a spider leg the size of a golf club, ¡°we¡¯re both feeling sweet as peaches.¡± The lie was obvious, but Hunter shrugged it off. ¡°So,¡± he said, changing the subject to something more comfortable. ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡± ¡°The plan?¡± ¡°Our next step. What do we do now?¡± Fawkes gave him a measured look, and he couldn¡¯t but notice how tired her grey eyes looked. Had she been crying?If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°I¡¯ll scout around this place for a few days, make sure I dot my i''s and crosses my t''s. You take your time and get better. Then I¡¯ll drop you off at the Brennai village.¡± ¡°Drop me off?¡± Hunter asked, not sure what she was playing at. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine there. We did them a great service. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll be more amenable towards you now. With a bit of luck, you¡¯ll spend the rest of your sentence lounging around that cabin where I first found you, fishing and playing with your little menagerie.¡± ¡°I mean¡­ what about you?¡± Fawkes frowned and looked away. ¡°I think it¡¯s better if we went our separate ways, Hunter. There are a few things I need to do.¡± Hunter stared at her for a moment, perplexed. Then his anger, put aside for the last few days, started simmering again. ¡°I thought there were a few things we needed to do,¡± he finally said, slowly dragging the ¡®we¡¯. ¡°I dragged you into this,¡± Fawkes said and cocked a thumb towards the Halls of the Cor Ancestors, still looking away. ¡°And you¡¯ve been a great help, and thank you kindly, but I don¡¯t think there¡¯s a reason for me to drag you into anything else.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t drag me into anything,¡± Hunter said, temper starting to flare. ¡°I came with you because I wanted to. You have my back. I have yours. I like things this way.¡± ¡°This is not up for discussion. I want to be on my own.¡± Fyodor nuzzled Hunters hand, visibly alarmed at seeing his two favorite humans ready to go at it again. Hunter paid him no heed. ¡°¡­is this about me being a Transient again?¡± ¡°And what if it is?¡±, Fawkes met his stare with her own. Hunter¡¯s ears started to ring and his vision blurred. ¡°Listen to me-¡±, he began, ready to throw down. Then he saw her grimace and decided to shut up instead. Her brow was furrowed and her lips pressed together into that trademark defiant frown Hunter had seen her wear only too often. Her eyes, however, were welling with tears she refused to let overflow. That grounded him, and he felt his anger evaporating in an instant. Butting head with Fawkes? That was something he could handle. Seeing her like this, though? That, he wasn¡¯t equipped to deal with. Fawkes turned away and pretended to stare at some arbitrary point far off in the Vale. Hunter acted as if he didn¡¯t notice the single tear that rolled down her cheek and gave her space. Fyodor, above such human pretenses, wagged his bushy tail and licked her hand. Fawkes brushed her hand over his head, scratching behind his ears. The direwolf pressed his body to her calf and whimpered softly. Fawkes let out a deep sigh, then leaned into him, allowing herself to be comforted by his presence. She looked away again, out at the mists swirling above the weeds and shrubs below. "I''m fine, boy," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Don''t worry about me. I¡¯m fine." Hunter hadn¡¯t seen her be further from fine. He couldn¡¯t blame her, either. He¡¯d stood next to her as they first laid eyes on Reiner¡¯s remains displayed like a grim trophy. He¡¯d fought next to her to silence It That Whispers once and for all. He¡¯d stood vigil with her as the Phage devoured what little remained of the dead man¡¯s body. He¡¯d been there to see the light leave her eyes as she¡¯d gathered his last possessions in a tiny little pile, he¡¯d been there to hear her speak a few parting words with a voice devoid of color. He felt his chest burning when he saw her like this and couldn¡¯t find a damn thing to do to lighten her load a bit. And now, after all they¡¯d been through, she wanted to part ways? He felt the pressure mount at the center of his head, behind his eyes, like a superdense ball of hot iron. His head swam, and he had to take in a deep breath to steady himself. ¡°You can''t just shut me out like this, Fawkes,¡± Hunter finally said. ¡°Talk to me.¡± ¡°There¡¯s nothing to talk about,¡± she said, not turning to face him, her eyes fixed somewhere far away. ¡°Like hell there isn¡¯t! Do you think I don¡¯t see what you¡¯re doing? Let me be here for you, damn it!¡± Fawkes turned around to face him again. He saw her face soften for a moment, but she quickly steeled herself again. Her gaze regained some of its usual fierceness and her eyes locked onto Hunter¡¯s. ¡°Be here for me how, fool? Stick around for half a day at a time and be a pain in my neck? And then pop off to Goddess knows where, leaving me to sit around and wait for you to pop back? You¡¯re a Transient. I don¡¯t blame you for it, but it¡¯s what you are. The faster you accept it, the faster we¡¯ll both be at peace.¡± Rage burned in Hunter¡¯s head red hot, spreading fast like a wildfire. He felt as if he was ready to explode, and why shouldn¡¯t he? All this injustice- And then a thin line of blood trickled from his nose, and he felt himself deflate like a balloon. ¡°What would you have me do, then?¡± he asked. ¡°Go back to your side of things and rest, for starters,¡± she said and handed him a handkerchief, ¡°before your brain starts to melt.¡± He took the handkerchief and wiped the blood from his upper lip, staining the old cotton red. She wasn¡¯t wrong. ¡°This conversation is not over,¡± Hunter said, his voice rough. ¡°I¡¯ll be back.¡± ¡°And I¡¯ll be here, waiting,¡± Fawkes sighed and patted Fyodor¡¯s on his broad head. ¡°As usual.¡± Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 3a Alex couldn¡¯t sleep that night. For what might have been the first time, his room felt like an actual prison cell, the walls closing in on him more and more as the hours dragged on. He twisted and turned, drowning in the Happy Motel¡¯s cheap linens. Meager moonlight seeped through partly closed curtains, casting dim patterns on the wall. His head still throbbed from earlier. The painkillers doc had given him did little for these migraines. Maybe he should have taken his warnings a bit more seriously, but what was he to do? Every moment he stayed logged off Elderpyre was a moment Fawkes spent waiting for him in the middle of a haunted vale, with nobody but Fyodor and her own grief keeping her company. She was right, Hunter thought. He was Transient. He couldn¡¯t be there for her. Not really. Maybe if they stayed in one place, maybe he could figure out some kind of schedule. She was a vagrant, though, a wanderer who¡¯d lived half her life on the road. And as for himself? He was slowly but surely turning into an adrenaline junkie. All his delve into the depths of the Halls ¨C and his subsequent brushes with virtual death ¨C had done was leave him craving more. His last talk with Grimm, the strange man that got him tangled into the whole Elderpyre business in the first place, had made something click in his head. He¡¯d spent his whole life playing it safe. Not growing, not thriving, but simply surviving. Elderpyre was his chance to learn how to change that mindset. He wanted to see things, try things, take risks. There had been a thirst for adventure building up in him, and there was nothing he wanted more than to drink deep from what Elderpyre had to offer and finally quench it. Still, he didn¡¯t feel comfortable enough to do so on his own. Fawkes wasn¡¯t just his friend and companion. She was an impromptu mentor, too, and his safety net. It was the first time in his adult life he felt like he had someone he could rely on. With her on his side, he felt safe. And now she wanted to part ways. His mind was a battlefield of options, and none of them seemed particularly good. The head-splitting migraine he was still trying ¨C and failing ¨C to ignore didn¡¯t make things any easier either. He threw the covers off him, sat at the edge of his single bed, and buried his face in his palms. He reached for the casque that was sitting on his nightstand. Migraine or no migraine, he needed a fresh set of eyes. ¦¯r at least someone to bounce ideas off of. Not two minutes later, Hunter materialized in the old-timey speakeasy that was his personal Shard, his mind palace of sorts. A cloud of smoke hung in the air above the rich mahogany tables, giving the very air a sepia tone. Behind the bar, Mortimer, the solemn custodian of the Shard, wiped crystal-cut tumblers and glasses with a rag. ¡°Hey there, Mort,¡± Hunter said, climbed on a stool, and collapsed on the worn counter. ¡°How¡¯s your evening going?¡± ¡°Splendidly, sir. How about yours?¡± ¡°Less than splendidly. Hence the visit.¡± ¡°I guessed so, sir. Drink?¡± ¡°One Grimm special, thank you.¡± ¡°One Grimm special coming up, sir.¡± Mortimer carefully poured Hunter a glass of rich brownish liquid from a gleaming crystal carafe and, with a practiced grace, placed it before him atop an ornate coaster. Hunter took a small sip, savoring the rich and smoky flavor. He had no great love for Grimm, but he couldn¡¯t deny the fact that the man knew his liquor. "It seems something''s been weighing on your mind again," Mortimer observed. ¡°It¡¯s this whole thing with Fawkes,¡± Hunter sighed. ¡°She, uh¡­ Shit, where should I even start?¡± ¡°If it helps you, sir, keep in mind that as your Shard¡¯s custodian, I have access to everything you know. This includes your memories, your knowledge, your experiences, and your inner thoughts. Which, of course, is how I can provide you with advice and information beyond what a traditional bartender might offer. I am here to assist and support you. I do not judge, and I respect your privacy.¡± Hunter tried to wrap his head around what that meant, the implications and the possibilities. For the time being, however, his thoughts were consumed entirely by Fawkes. ¡°So, you already know what has happened and what I need to talk about?¡± ¡°Indeed, sir. Nevertheless, I would suggest that you proceed as if I do not. The act of putting thoughts into words often brings clarity to one¡¯s mind.¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Hunter took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. ¡°It''s Fawkes. She''s... well, she''s obviously going through a rough patch. A couple of days ago, we found the body of her friend, Reiner. He was killed by the things down in the depths of the Halls. Fawkes had been looking for him for a long time, I think.¡± Mortimer''s expression remained neutral, but his eyes held empathy. "I see. That''s a heavy burden for her to bear." ¡°It''s more than that,¡± Hunter nodded. ¡°Just when things seemed to be changing between us, she¡¯s shutting me out. She''s decided she wants to take off on her own.¡± ¡°And how do you feel about that, sir?¡± ¡°Conflicted.¡± Hunter swirled the drink in his hand, staring at the bottom of the glass as if there was some answer to be found in there. ¡°On the one hand, I get it. Seeing Reiner like that¡­ hell, even I feel bad about it. I can¡¯t imagine what she must be going through. On the other hand, however¡­Well, you remember the conversation we had the last time I was around. I want to make the most of my time in Elderpyre. Take risks, gather experiences, go on adventures. Grow as a person. If Grimm¡¯s right about one thing, it¡¯s this. It¡¯s a unique opportunity. I don¡¯t want to let it go to waste.¡± He took a long sip of his drink, winced, then took another. ¡°I want to see it all, Mort. Do it all. Take it all in. But I can''t imagine doing it without Fawkes.¡± The bartender listened attentively, wearing a solemn expression on his face. When Hunter stopped talking, he nodded. ¡°Sometimes, sir, life presents us with choices that are as complex as they are significant. It''s natural to feel torn between your own desires and your loyalty to a friend.¡± ¡°So what do I do?¡±, Hunter asked. ¡°That¡¯s not for me to say, sir.¡± ¡°She¡¯s going through the stages of grief, isn¡¯t she?¡± "It''s possible, sir. The stages of grief can take different forms for each individual. Fawkes seems to be experiencing a significant loss. If you believe this may be the case, it could be beneficial to offer her support and understanding as she navigates her feelings." ¡°Well, I can¡¯t do that if she¡¯s shutting me out, can I?¡± "It can be challenging to provide support when someone is distancing themselves, sir," Mortimer replied. "In such situations, it may be helpful to approach her gently, express your willingness to listen, and let her know that you''re there for her whenever she''s ready to share. Sometimes, all we can do is to simply be present and wait for others to open up in their own time." Hunter frowned and gave it some thought. Mortimer was right, of course. Time, however, wasn¡¯t on his side. He only had until they made it back to the Brennai village, he supposed. And even so, he couldn¡¯t spend too much time in Elderpyre yet, not without risking blowing up his brain. What was he to do? Trying to break himself out of the vicious circle of his own thoughts and frustrations, he downed the rest of his drink in one big gulp. It burned him on the inside, the sensation spreading from his mouth down to his throat and all the way through his stomach and chest. As if reading his mind - which was very probably the case - Mortimer filled his glass again. ¡°Am I being selfish here, Mort?¡± Hunter finally said, the pressure mounting in his head. ¡°Selfishness, sir, is often a matter of perspective,¡± the bartender said as he put away the carafe. ¡°While your desire for adventure is natural and valid, it doesn''t necessarily make you selfish. It''s crucial to strike a balance between your own aspirations and your commitment to others. You care for Fawkes and want to be there for her, but you also have your own needs and desires. It''s a complex situation. Finding that balance is a journey in itself.¡± Finding balance in such situations wasn¡¯t among Hunter¡¯s strong suits. If anything, his hectic string of on-again, off-again friendships and romantic relationships was a testament to the opposite. With Fawkes, though? That felt different. He found himself surprisingly open to seeking common ground, more so than he had ever been with anyone else. That struck him as odd. ¡°Know what¡¯s strange, Mort?¡± he asked, his brow furrowed. ¡°I¡¯ve known Fawkes for what, a few weeks? I shouldn¡¯t be so hung up on her. It feels odd. A little silly, maybe.¡± ¡°Feelings, sir, can be remarkably unpredictable,¡± Mortimer shook his head. ¡°Consider the soldiers who bond on the battlefield during times of war. In the crucible of extraordinary circumstances, they form deep connections in a matter of weeks or even days. The intensity of their shared experiences forges bonds that are strong despite the short duration. Caring for someone, regardless of how long you''ve known them, is a testament to the power of empathy and shared hardships.¡± That was something Hunter had already known in his heart of hearts, but hadn¡¯t consciously realized until now. The feeling might not be mutual, he knew that. The experiences they¡¯d shared weren¡¯t exactly symmetrical. For him, these few weeks had been the most intense time of his life. Fawkes, on the other hand, had been roaming the land for decades, hand never too far away from the grip of her saber. To her, he couldn¡¯t be much more than just another short-term traveling companion in an endless line of short-term traveling companions. Especially given her grief over the loss of her friend. Especially given his own Transient nature. His head was killing him. He slouched over the bar, burying his face in his hands, trying in vain to make heads or tails of the situation. ¡°Might I suggest a course of action, sir?¡± the bartender said after a few moments of fallow silence. Hunter sighed and nodded, not even bothering to show his face. ¡°You¡¯ve never shied away from trusting Fawkes with your life, so to speak. Why not simply trust her with your feelings, too?¡± ¡°Trust her how?¡± Hunter looked up. ¡°What am I supposed to say to her?¡± ¡°What we¡¯ve been discussing here,¡± Mortimer said. ¡°Nothing more, nothing less. Be open and honest. Show faith in her.¡± ¡°And what if she still doesn¡¯t change her mind?¡± ¡°Then that is that,¡± Mortimer shrugged. ¡°When it comes to relationships with others, reciprocity is never guaranteed. It is a reality of life you will have to accept.¡± Slowly, Hunter nodded. Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 3b The Vale of Ghosts was eerily quiet during the day. During the night, it became outright otherworldly. Most nights Fawkes lit a small fire in the mouth of one of the barrows near the Halls of the Cor Ancestors. She did so more for the company of the crackling twigs than anything else. The cold and damp stone sapped what little warmth the fire had to offer, and its meager light made seeing through the swirling mists even harder. That night, Fawkes didn¡¯t bother with it. Somewhere above the mists, the night sky was clear and the moon was almost full. There was enough ambient light for her to pack the last of her gear and get on the road. Hunter¡¯s ravens were perched somewhere outside. Fawkes couldn¡¯t see or hear them - not even them dared to break the haunting silence - but she bet they hadn¡¯t veered too far. They rarely did. Fyodor was curled by her feet, the warmth radiated by his big furry body her only solace. He wasn¡¯t asleep either. He looked at her with big, pleading eyes, as if knowing what she was about to do. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t give me that look,¡± she whispered, trying to sound dismissive. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine. You¡¯ll all be fine.¡± Would they, though? Hunter should be the least of her worries. He was a Transient; he couldn¡¯t properly die in this world anymore than he could properly live in it. Still, the memory of him charging the abomination that had claimed Reiner¡¯s life, the very flesh boiling and melting from his bones¡­ It made her stomach sink. He would be better off on his own, she¡¯d convinced herself. He¡¯d been spending his days in an old cabin in the Weald when she¡¯d first found him, alone save for the company of his familiars. He could go back to doing just that. If anything, the Vale was safer than the Weald, and this time he also had the mutt to keep him company. They¡¯d be just fine. As for Fawkes herself¡­ She desired nothing but a deep, restful sleep. One that would last an age and more. For the last dozen years or so, Reiner had been her one true companion, her one true connection to the rest of the world. With him gone, she felt what she always knew she was. Out of place. Out of time, even. She was not Fawkes the woman. Not Fawkes the mother or sister or daughter or wife. Not Fawkes the friend. She was Fawkes of the Lodge. Fawkes the drifter, Fawkes the stranger, Fawkes the vagrant, Fawkes the blade for hire. That thought hadn¡¯t bothered her in years, she thought to herself, if it ever had before that. The Lodge had been her pride and legacy and burden. She¡¯d inherited it from her master. She¡¯d made it her identity. She was Fawkes of the Lodge. Now that she had nobody to share it with, however, it all rang¡­ hollow. Meaningless. Men and women of the Lodge were few and far between these days. Her breed was a dying one. She didn¡¯t know what to do. She didn¡¯t know what to think. All she knew was that she wanted to bury it all, be on the road by herself, alone with her pain and her thoughts. As long as Hunter was around, clueless, careless, impulsive Hunter, she¡¯d never manage to get her head on straight. That¡¯s why she had to leave in the middle of the night like a thief. Goodbyes had never been her strong suit, anyway. ¡°This is it, then,¡± she said to Fyodor, not bothering to keep her voice down. She patted the direwolf¡¯s head and got up on her feet before he could snuggle closer to her. ¡°Be good, yes?¡± She felt the hair at the back of her neck stand on end a breath or two before the smell hit her - the smell of camphor and lightning. She heard the air pop as Hunter materialized near the entrance to the Halls, no more than a hundred paces away from her shelter for the night. She heard feathers flutter as the two ravens took flight to meet their returning master. The direwolf heard it all too. He jumped to his feet and ran outside in the night air, bushy tail wagging like a russet flag.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. ¡°Fawkes?¡± Hunter called a few breaths later, not bothering to keep his voice down. She had to suppress the urge not to answer. The mutt and the ravens would betray her presence anyway. ¡°In here,¡± she called back. He walked through the mouth of the barrow half a minute later, ravens perched on his shoulders. Fyodor followed, tongue lolling, looking at him with adoration. Silly mutt. He really loved the lad. ¡°How are you doing?¡± Hunter asked her in a soft voice. The hazy moonlight wasn¡¯t bright enough for her to make out his face, but she didn¡¯t have to. His manner spoke volumes. ¡°Fine,¡± she shrugged the question off. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you before morning. Is everything alright?¡± ¡°I just wanted to talk.¡± Of course you did, she thought. Did he suspect she was about to take off without saying goodbye? Did his ravens alert him? Could they even do that? ¡°Alright,¡± she said, a bit sheepishly. ¡°Come in.¡± They sat down on the cold stone floor. There wasn¡¯t enough light for them to see each other¡¯s face, but Fawkes preferred it that way. Hunter didn¡¯t make a move to light a torch either, so that was just as well. Fyodor plopped between them, eager to be close to them both. She was glad he did. He found the mutt¡¯s presence soothing. ¡°So, umm,¡± Hunter started, clearing his throat. ¡°I¡¯ve been doing some thinking. I¡¯ll just go on and share some of it, alright?¡± Fawkes gave him a small nod. She wasn¡¯t certain whether he saw it, but he went on anyway. ¡°Look, you''ve been shutting me out. I get it. I can¡¯t even begin to imagine the pain you must be in right now, so I won¡¯t bother pretending. I¡¯ll just speak for myself.¡± He paused, took a deep breath, scratched the mutt behind his ears. ¡°Fawkes, I¡­ we haven¡¯t known each other long, I get it. And I get it might sound silly to you, but to me it feels like you¡¯re one of the closest friends I¡¯ve ever had. Nobody ever had my back like you do.¡± Fawkes opened her mouth to say something, then she shut it again and let the lad continue. It wasn¡¯t easy for him to share those thoughts of his, that was obvious. Grimnir¡¯s beard, it wasn''t easy for her to listen to them. ¡°On my side of things,¡± he went on, ¡°I never had the chance to do much. It¡¯s a different kind of world over there. We have comforts, yes, but at the same time we kind of have fewer freedoms. I¡­ My folks never had much. Most of the time, we barely made rent. When I took off on my own, nothing changed. All I¡¯ve ever known is keeping my head low and looking for ways to make the next month¡¯s rent. Hell, that¡¯s how I ended up in prison. I had the audacity to want a nice meal after a shitty day.¡± ¡°Sorry to hear that,¡± Fawkes said, trying to show some empathy. She was sorry to hear it, but she didn¡¯t get how she could be of assistance with any of that. The kind of life she led wasn¡¯t any easier or more pleasant. If it was, there would be fewer potato-digging peasants in the world, and more folk of the Lodge. ¡°I¡¯m not complaining,¡± Hunter explained. ¡°It¡¯s just the way things are. Thing is, now I have the chance to do things differently. Learn a bolder mindset. Fuck around, as they say, and find out. See my time here as an adventure. And I couldn¡¯t think of anyone I¡¯d rather have on my side than you.¡± For a few moments, nothing broke the silence other than Fyodor¡¯s deep, slow breathing. ¡°And what is it that you ask of me?¡± Fawkes finally said. ¡°What is it that you want to do?¡± ¡°Anything, really. Whatever you want. Just let me tag along. Show me how to do things better. Have my back and let me have yours.¡± He paused for a moment. ¡°Let me be your friend, dammit.¡± ¡°And how would that work? Will you stick around for half the day, then vanish to spend the other half in your world?¡± ¡°It¡¯s more or less worked out so far, hasn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Less being the operative word.¡± Hunter opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. ¡°You want to go off sticking your nose in places it doesn¡¯t belong - that¡¯s what you want to do. But I¡¯m too old to babysit you so that you don¡¯t get what¡¯s coming to you, lad.¡± ¡°You won¡¯t have to! What¡¯s the worst thing that can happen? I can¡¯t even die properly. I pop right back, remember?¡± ¡°And we¡¯ve both seen how well that¡¯s worked out for you, fool. You almost fried your brain like an egg.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be more careful. You¡¯ll teach me how.¡± ¡°As if you¡¯d listen.¡± ¡°I will!¡± Fawkes shook her head and sighed. ¡°And for how long would you say that would last? How much time do you have on this side of things? A few months?¡± That gave him pause. ¡°A few months, yes,¡± he finally said. ¡°That¡¯s all I ask for.¡± Fawkes felt her stomach clench. Her gut told her to say no, to get up on her feet right then and there and vanish into the night fog, just as she¡¯d planned. She¡¯d rather be on her lonesome than set herself up for more pain and loss down the line. She simply did not have the stomach for it. And yet¡­ ¡°There¡¯s this saying the ¨¢eld have about befriending humans,¡± Fawkes said. ¡°Something about making friends with mayflies. Go back to your side of things, Hunter. Get some rest. Come morning, we head out for the Brennai village.¡± ¡°And after that?¡± he asked. ¡°After that, we¡¯ll see. I¡¯ll give it some thought. That¡¯s all I can promise.¡± His smile was wide enough for her to see even in the halflight. ¡°That¡¯s all I ask.¡± Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 4 ¡°We can go around, if you want,¡± said Fawkes. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± ¡°It will add an extra day to the journey, but at least I won¡¯t be constantly hearing the sound of your teeth rattling.¡± ¡°I said I¡¯m fine!¡± They¡¯d been on the road for less than a day and she was already acting more like herself. Her sharp tongue was her way of coping with the pain. He was relieved to see her acting like her old self again. If letting her bully him was what she needed to feel better, then he was more than willing to take it. What he was not as willing to do was pass though the territory of Arjen, the huge bear godling. Arjen had promised them safe passage and protection, in exchange for dealing with the whispers of the eldritch thing below the Vale of Ghosts, and so far he had kept his word. The forest around them was tranquil and their journey easy, as if the land itself revealed the path to them. Apparently, however, Arjen was also a sworn enemy of Herne, the great spirit Hunter had unwittingly allied himself with. Fawkes had convinced the great bear that Hunter was ae-mai, just an idiot plaything of Herne, and so the godling had spared him. Still, Hunter would feel much better if he never had to come face to face with that ursine killer grin ever again. ¡°Look, there,¡± Fawkes pointed at the bed of a dry creek a few hundred feet away from their path. ¡°If we follow that, I bet we¡¯ll make it right back to the godling¡¯s cave. Should we pop in and say hello? What do you say?¡± ¡°I say I¡¯d prefer to keep my guts in their place and my spine intact.¡± Fawkes flashed him a wicked grin, but dropped the subject. Hunter was silently grateful for that. They didn¡¯t say much during the next half an hour or so, but the silence wasn¡¯t the uncomfortable kind. They followed an animal path, their steps gentle on the forest floor. The only sound was the occasional rustling of leaves or the distant chatter of birds. Fyodor padded along beside them, his ears perked up and his nose to the ground. Biggs and Wedge soared high above, keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding area. It was a peaceful and serene time, a welcome change from the rollercoaster of bad things happening that the previous week had been. As their little company made their way deeper into the forest, Hunter couldn''t help but notice the subtle changes in the plants and animals around them. The leaves of the trees seemed greener, the roots of the plants thicker and more twisted. The animals, too, seemed to move differently, as if they were attuned to some unseen force. He pointed out the changes to Fawkes, who nodded in agreement. She too could feel a shift in the energy of the forest. In his experience, that probably meant they were getting near a Place of Power, a locus of the leylines carrying the land¡¯s energy and lifeforce. As if to confirm his suspicions, a notification popped up in the HUD near the edge of his field of vision. Your Survival has increased to 24. ¡°Do you mind if we take a detour?¡± Hunter asked. ¡°There must be a Place of Power somewhere around here. I want to see if I can commune with it.¡± Communing with Places of Power granted Hunter aether and others boons, but that wasn¡¯t the only reason they were important. In gaming turns, it also reset his respawn point. If things got south and he ended up kicking the bucket again, the last Place of Power he¡¯d communed with was where he¡¯d pop back up. ¡°We¡¯re in no rush. We might as well make camp for the night while we¡¯re still in the godling¡¯s domain.¡± That wasn¡¯t a bad idea. Hunter would have to log out of Elderpyre for the night and leave Fawkes alone. He didn¡¯t like it, but technically he was still on the mend and going against the doctor¡¯s orders. Spending any more time logged in than necessary wouldn¡¯t do his frayed nerves any favors. ¡°Okay then,¡± he said and sent out a mental sign to Biggs and Wedge to start looking for anything that could be the Place of Power. ¡°Let¡¯s see how fast we can find it.¡± It only took a minute for the two ravens to start bombarding Hunter with their excited chattering through the mental link they shared. ¡°Hear, hear!¡± Biggs exclaimed. ¡°It¡¯s here, here!¡± ¡°Big hole in ground!¡± Wedge piped in. ¡°Big power humming inside, yes, yes!¡± They led Hunter, Fawkes, and Fyodor to a natural clearing around a rocky outcrop. There were weathered petroglyphs on it, carvings some forgotten hand had put on the face of the stone. Centuries of wind and rain had left them unintelligible, but their meaning was clear enough even so. ¡°Is this the place?¡± asked Fawkes. Hunter walked up to the ancient rock, touched it, and closed his eyes. ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re close, but it¡¯s not this.¡± Suddenly, the direwolf¡¯s ears perked up and he let out a low growl. Hunter and Fawkes followed his gaze and saw that he was staring at a large burrow, hidden behind a cluster of dense shrubs. ¡°Easy, boy!¡± Fawkes put a hand on the direwolf¡¯s back to offer some reassurance. She turned to Hunter, frowning. ¡°He¡¯s smelled something. Keep your wits about you.¡± Hunter nodded and unstrapped his glaive from his backpack. Its heft felt familiar and comforting in his grip. He held it at the ready and stepped closer to the burrow, prepare to deal with anything that came out. Moments passed. ¡°Place of Power or no Place of Power,¡± Fawkes said dryly, ¡°I¡¯m not sticking my head in there.¡± Hunter nodded and gave it some thought. Despite their raven-like appearance, Biggs and Wedge were actually spirits. Damaging their physical form could tire them out enough to revert to their ethereal one for a while, but couldn¡¯t really hurt them. Hunter wasn¡¯t certain how well they could see in the dark on their own, but it didn¡¯t matter. He¡¯d found out that he could share his own Low-Light Vision with them through the link they shared. ¡°Alright gentlemen,¡± he told the two birds. ¡°Get in there and make sure there¡¯s nothing nasty ready to bite our faces off.¡± Without second thought, Biggs and Wedge took wing and dove in the burrow. ¡°Nobody here,¡± the one told Hunter after just a few breaths. ¡°Just big big hole in ground.¡± ¡°Smells funny,¡± added the other. Hunter looked down into the burrow with a furrowed brow, then turned to Fawkes. ¡°The ravens say it¡¯s empty. I¡¯ll go down and check whether the Place of Power is down there.¡± ¡°Suit yourself,¡± she said, shrugging her shoulders.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°What, no dry quips?¡± ¡°You¡¯re going to do whatever silliness it is that you want to do, as you always do. I know a losing battle when I see one.¡± Hunter found this new outlook Fawkes had adopted a bit alarming, but said nothing. He handed her his glaive, drew his dirk, and started down the burrow¡¯s entrance. The first thing he noticed was that it was not really a burrow, but a proper cave. Then the stench hit him, the unmistakable overpowering mix of ammonia and fecal matter of¡­ ostriches? Back when he was in highschool, he¡¯d spent a summer working part-time at an ostrich farm and petting zoo. He could still recall the way the stench of bird pee, droppings, hay, and feathers would cling to his clothes and hair, even after he had left the farm. Well, the very air inside the cave smelled exactly like that. He drew a rag from his pocket and put it over his mouth and nose, and waited for his Low-Light vision to kick in and his eyes to adjust to the darkness further down. ¡°Everything alright in there?¡± he heard Fawkes shout from above. ¡°Yeah. It just smells like ostriches.¡± ¡°Like what?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± The cave was as big as his one-bedroom apartment back home, with jagged walls that were slick with moisture. The air itself teemed and pulsed with energy. Hunter cautiously made his way towards the center of the cave, directly below where the rocky outcrop stood. There was another set of petroglyphs there etched on the rocky ground forming a perfect circle. Unlike the ones above, however, these hadn¡¯t been ruined by centuries of exposure to the elements. They were intricate and precise, as though they had been painstakingly crafted by a skilled hand. Biggs and Wedge stood at attention on the ground a few feet away, awaiting further instructions. Carefully, Hunter squatted next to the circle, put a hand on the etchings and closed his eyes. As expected, a prompt popped up before him. Do you wish to anchor yourself to this Place of Power? He felt the leylines that converged in that very spot tug at something inside him, connect with his very essence, flood him with the quiet power of the lands and the forest around him. You are now anchored to this Place of Power. You receive the Blessing of the Ancient Petroglyphs, insights now lost to the ages. Your Inspiration quality is now 2. As power washed over him, Hunter couldn¡¯t resist smiling to himself. Another point of Inspiration meant another new skill. He opened his eyes, and- Just a few inches from his face, a disembodied set of eyes were looking at him, yellow as amber and large as saucers. He blinked. The eyes blinked, too. As slowly as he could, Hunter stood up, his hand gripping the handle of his dirk. The eyes followed him. He took a step back, careful not to spook whatever this thing was, then another. And then Biggs and Wedge spotted the eyes too, and started beating their wings and cawing like mad, spooking both their owner and Hunter. ¡°Big eyes, big eyes!¡± Biggs shrieked over the mental link. ¡°Out of nowhere!¡± Wedge added, panicking. ¡°Shit, keep it down!¡± Hunter tried to shut them up. Too late. Whatever magic shrouded the eyes¡¯ owner washed off it, and Hunter found himself face to face with a creature unlike anything he¡¯d ever seen. If he had to describe it, Hunter would call the creature before him a cross between a chimpanzee and a great horned owl, only seven feet tall. The feathers that covered its lithe body looked damp and sticky and disheveled, as if it had taken a dip in an oil spill. Instead of proper wings, it had long arms that ended in wickedly sharp talons the size of kitchen knives. It opened a beak as large as Hunter¡¯s whole head and let out a screech loud enough to make his ears throb with pain. The Khas-Kraz uses Piercing Screech. The Khas-Kraz stuns you. The Khas-Kraz attacks you for 19 sonic damage. You are now bleeding. For a moment, all Hunter could do was stand there stunned, watching as the owlbeast pulled itself to its full height. Enraged and wheezing, it raised a long arm to take a swipe at him. Hunter saw the deadly talons come down at him, his body stiff, his mind blank. The cave was suddenly lit by twin flashes of lime-colored light. Shining blasts of magic blasted the khas-kraz straight in the chest, driving it back a couple of steps. It let out a pained squeal and whirled around to meet the party responsible for the attack, squinting to protect its eyes. Biggs uses Ill Omen. Biggs curses the Khas-Kraz for 8 eldritch damage. Khas-Kraz is now afflicted with Curse of Ill Omen. Wedge uses Ill Omen. Wedge curses the Khas-Kraz for 10 eldritch damage. Khas-Kraz is now afflicted with Curse of Ill Omen (x2). ¡°Thanks, boys,¡± he projected a thought to his familiars. A notion of acknowledgment echoed in his mind, the only response Biggs and Wedge had the time to offer as they whizzed in the dark, trying to keep the beast in check. Finally able to shake off the shock, Hunter turned around and bolted out of the burrow, almost tripping over and stabbing himself as he tried to put some distance between himself and the opening. ¡°Fawkes!¡± he shouted, ¡°There¡¯s something down here!" If there ever was a reply, Hunter didn¡¯t hear it. He could barely hear his own voice. His head still hurt as if someone had stabbed him through each one of his eardrums. Biggs and Wedge shouted a frantic warning directly into his thoughts. A split second later, the khas-kraz materialized in front of him out of thin air, taking him by surprise. In the light of day, it looked even uglier and more disheveled than it did in the dark of the burrow. It took a swipe at him with its sharp talons, missing his throat by a few inches and grazing his shoulder instead. Out of balance, Hunter slashed blindly with his dirk, trying to create some distance between himself and the owlbeast. Dodging out of his reach with ease, the khas-kraz took a step back and got ready to swipe at him again. Fortunately for Hunter, it never got the chance to. A streak of russet fur and fangs crashed into its concave chest, kicking up dirt and sweeping it off its weirdly dinosaur-like feet. He breathed a sharp sigh of relief. The direwolf was not as big as the khas-kraz, but what he lacked in stature, he made up for in pure ferocity. Fyodor snarled and locked his powerful jaws around the owlbeast¡¯s forearm, biting down. The impact of the collision sent both animals tumbling to the ground in a cloud of dust and debris. The owlbeast roared in anger and pain as it struggled to dislodge the direwolf''s jaws from its arm. Fyodor held fast, refusing to let go despite the owlbeast''s thrashing and writhing, buying Hunter enough time to regain his footing and take a few labored breaths. He started to circle the two roaring beasts, looking for an opening to strike. Thankful as he might be for the mutt¡¯s timely intervention, the last thing he wanted was to see him injured. Fawkes, however, proved faster. As the direwolf and owlbeast tussled, she sprang into action, wielding her saber with deadly precision. She moved with a fluid grace, dancing around the flailing creatures with ease. Hunter caught a glimpse of her face and saw nothing but fury and murderous intent. With a swift, deft strike, Fawkes slashed at the owlbeast''s leg, causing it to stumble and lose its footing. As the beast stumbled, Fyodor took the opportunity to sink its teeth deeper into the owlbeast''s forearm, effectively pinning it in place. The owlbeast turned to face her, snarling and snapping its beak menacingly. Fawkes was too quick for it. She darted forward, evading the creature''s clumsy attack and delivering a swift, devastating blow to its flank. Red welled from the gash, staining feathers. The khas-kraz howled in pain and fury, its attention now divided between the direwolf and its new assailant. Radiating pure malignancy, Fawkes continued to dance around the creature. She darted in and out of its reach with her saber flashing, drawing more blood with each cut. Hunter felt his head get heavier with each passing moment, the excitement putting too much of a strain on his wrecked nerves. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Blood. Damn. Not that he could do much but watch as owlbeast, direwolf and swordswoman clashed. The fight was too fluid and unpredictable for him to find an opening to jump in. Biggs and Wedge circled above and cawed like mad, themselves looking for a clear shot to pelt the khas-kraz with more of their Ill Omen. Not that there was any real need for any of that; Fawkes and Fyodor were more than capable enough to end the fight on their own. Soon, the owlbeast began to falter, its movements growing slower and less coordinated. Giving it no quarter, Fawkes pressed her attack, driving the creature to the ground with a flurry of precise strikes. The fight was growing more one-sided with each passing breath. The owlbeast was now fighting for its life. It tried to pull its mangled arm from the jaws of the direwolf and escape, but Fyodor proved to be stronger. Seeing the opening, Fawkes moved in for the killing stroke. And then they heard it. As if summoned by the violence, a deep, rumbling growl echoed through the trees. The ground beneath them began to shake, and the branches above them swayed and creaked as something massive moved through the forest. A voice boomed like thunder, deep and guttural and powerful enough for Hunter to feel it in the marrow of his bones. ¡°WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?¡± From the shadows of the trees emerged a towering figure, standing at least twenty feet tall. It was Arjen, a godling of the Weald, in the form of a titanic bear. His shaggy fur was a deep, earthy brown, its long tufts flowing along the shapes of unseen runes and sigils. His eyes glinted with a fierce intelligence. Intelligence, and fury savage enough to dwarf Fawkes¡¯s own. Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 5 ¡°LET ME UNDERSTAND,¡± Arjen thundered, his rumbling voice echoing throughout the forest. ¡°IT WAS THEM WHO STRUCK FIRST?¡± The huge bear was sitting on his haunches at the edge of the clearing. Hunter, Fawkes, Fyodor, the ravens and the owlbeast were spread out in a half-circle around the godling¡¯s massive form, trying to explain to him how the row had started. The owlbeast let out a series of clicks and screeches, pointing at the burrow¡¯s entrance, then at Hunter, then at Biggs and Wedge. Whatever its clicking and screeching meant, Biggs and Wedge didn¡¯t take too well to the accusation and responded with a cacophony of caws of their own. ¡°I SEE,¡± the godling regarded both the khas-kraz and the ravens with a stern expression, his patience visibly running out. ¡°AND THEN?¡± Still agitated, the khas-kraz lifted its injured forearm, the one that Fyodor had bitten, and pointed to the deep puncture marks left by the wolf''s teeth. It then turned to face the direwolf, letting out a low, mournful hoot to convey the pain it had felt. ¡°IS THAT SO?¡± Arjen turned to Fyodor, who looked terrified. His fur was bristling and he kept its head low, avoiding eye contact with the great bear. ¡°SPEAK UP, CUB.¡± The direwolf let out a low whine, as if trying to convey its fear and confusion, then nuzzled against Hunter¡¯s side and licked at the long, bloody slashes the owlbeast had left on his flank. ¡°WHAT ABOUT YOU, AE-MAI?¡± Arjen turned to Hunter, growling the last two words with a mix of exasperation and contempt. ¡°I, uh¡­ I just wanted to commune with the Place of Power. I didn¡¯t know there was anything down there, or I wouldn¡¯t have intruded.¡± ¡°AND YOU, LODGEWOMAN? WHAT SAY YOU?¡± ¡°I heard a screech and saw Hunter come out of the burrow,¡± Fawkes shrugged. ¡°The khas-kraz came after him. I thought it a predator, so I joined in to protect my companion.¡± The owlbeast piped in with another series of clicks and hoots and screeches. Hunter didn¡¯t need to understand everything to get the gist of it. He knew a complaint when he heard one, regardless of the language barrier. ¡°SNIVELING CUBS, ALL OF YOU!¡± Arjen roared, his patience finally running out. ¡°COME CLOSER.¡± The khas-kraz stepped closer, and so did Fyodor. Biggs and Wedge followed, too. Hunter threw a glance at Fawkes, who gave him an impassive shrug. The godling closed his eyes, put his massive paws together, and breathed deeply. The Weald around them swelled with a sense of primordial vitality. Hunter watched with wonder as the forest itself seemed to come alive, responding to Arjen''s call. A green aura surrounded the massive bear, and a warm breeze blew through the clearing. Hunter felt a surge of energy flow through him, as if the very life force of the forest was flowing into his body. He could sense his wounds beginning to knit together, his weariness draining away. It wasn¡¯t just him, either. The owlbeast''s wounds closed before his eyes, leaving behind only a few shallow cuts. The direwolf''s torn flesh knitted together, and its fur grew back glossy and healthy. Even Fawkes'' wounds from the previous days healed, leaving only a few faded scars and bruises as a reminder of what she¡¯d been through. If only the wounds on the inside could heal as well, Hunter caught himself thinking as he saw his friend get revitalized. As the healing energy faded, Arjen opened his eyes and looked at him, and Hunter couldn''t help but feel a shiver run down his spine. ¡°LET THIS BE A LESSON TO YOU, AE-MAI. BE MINDFUL OF OTHERS. NOT EVERY PLACE IS YOURS TO COME AND GO AT YOUR LEISURE. BE MINDFUL, LEST YOUR CARELESSNESS IS PAID WITH YOUR BLOOD AND THAT OF OTHERS.¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t my intention-¡± ¡°TELL THAT TO THE FEATHERED ONE, WHO YOU AND YOUR ALLIES ALMOST KILLED!¡± the bear godling roared, and the Weald itself fell silent. ¡°TELL THAT TO THE CUB THAT LOOKS UP TO YOU, WHOSE FUR AND FLESH WERE TORN FOR YOUR PROTECTION. TELL THAT TO THE LODGEWOMAN, WHO¡¯D STAIN HER BLADE WITH INNOCENT BLOOD!¡± Nobody in the clearing dared move a muscle. The owlbeast cowered before the godling¡¯s anger, as if it was it that had caused in. Fyodor whimpered and pressed his body closer to Hunter¡¯s. Biggs and Wedge stood there solemnly, quiet for once. Even Fawkes, usually unfazed, watched the scene unfold with a stoic expression on her tired face. ¡°NOT ALL EVIL IS BORN OF ILL INTENT, AE-MAI,¡± Arjen went on, the anger slowly fading from his voice, leaving only a tired hint of resignation. ¡°YOU SHOULD BE WISE TO KEEP THAT IN MIND.¡±Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°I will,¡± Hunter promised. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°YOU WERE PROMISED MIR¡¯S PROTECTION. YOU PERFORMED A GREAT SERVICE TO HIM. IT WOULD BE UNJUST FOR HARM TO FIND YOU IN HIS DOMAIN.¡± ¡°Which reminds me,¡± Hunter said, all too eager to change the subject. ¡°We would share our story with you, if you wish to hear it, and benefit from your insights, if you wish to offer them.¡± The bear bent down, its massive head looming over Hunter as it took a closer look at him. The weight of its gaze bore down on him. Intimidated, Hunter turned to Fawkes in search of support. She offered none. If anything, the glint he saw in her eyes was almost one of amusement. ¡°THE CUB¡¯S TIME AT YOUR SIDE IS TIME WELL-SPENT, IT SEEMS,¡± Arjen finally turned away and told Fawkes, the edges of his ursine lips twisting in a grin. ¡°VERY WELL, AE-MAI. SPEAK.¡± *** Trying to ignore the sense of unease in the pit of his stomach, Hunter recounted the events of the last few days. He told Arjen about the two Brethren, about their mercy-killing request, about Mother, and about the eldritch monstrosity, It That Whispers. Fawkes spoke up a couple of times to add the occasional detail or insight, but otherwise she listened, her expression impassive. The godling, on the other hand, couldn¡¯t contain his concern. Worry was etched across every inch of his ursine face as he listened to Hunter¡¯s tale, his eyes glowing with an ever-increasing intensity. When Hunter finished speaking, Arjen sat in silence for a long moment, as if reflecting on the gravity of the situation. ¡°YOUR PATRON, HERNE, BIDS HIS UNDERLINGS TO TAKE TROPHIES FROM THEIR KILLS AND PRESENT THEM TO HIM,¡± Arjen finally said, his voice a deep rumbling growl. ¡°I KNOW THIS. DID YOU HAPPEN TO TAKE ONE FROM THIS CREATURE YOU SPOKE OF?¡± Hunter glanced over at Fawkes, hoping for some guidance. She gave him an imperceptible nod. Slowly, he reached into his backpack, pulled out the Essence of It That Whispers, and presented it to the looming bear godling. "I did," he replied. Arjen leaned in closer, taking the Essence in his massive claws to inspect it. The glowing, ethereal substance pulsed with the life force of the slain monster, and the godling closed his eyes as if communing with it. After a moment, he opened them again and looked at Hunter with a somber expression. "THIS IS A DANGEROUS THING TO WIELD," he said. "THAT CREATURE YOU SPOKE OF, THE ONE IT CAME FROM¡­ IT IS NOT OF THIS WORLD." ¡°Not of this world?¡± Fawkes mused, suddenly interested in the conversation. ¡°An Outsider, then?¡± ¡°POSSIBLY. AND I FEAR IT WAS NOT THE ONLY ONE I FELT, THOUGH I COULD NOT BE CERTAIN. SOMEONE HAS BEEN TOYING WITH FORCES BETTER LEFT ALONE.¡± ¡°Like who?¡± Hunter asked. ¡°Mother?¡± Fawkes shrugged. The godling frowned and stared at the dusk sky. Neither had an answer. ¡°I SHALL STAY VIGILANT FOR OTHER THREATS LIKE THIS,¡± Arjen finally said. ¡°YOU TELL THE BRENNAI. TELL THE WRETCHED HERNE, EVEN. THREATS FROM THE OUTWORLD ARE MORE IMPORTANT THAN OUR LONGSTANDING FEUD.¡± The bear returned the Essence to Hunter, renewed his offer for protection for as long as they were in the domain of Mir, and bid them farewell. Then he left them to their own devices, but not before challenging Hunter again. ¡°AFTER THIS IS OVER, AE-MAI, COME SEEK ME,¡± he told him, his gleeful ursine grin showing fangs as big as hunting knives. ¡°LET US SEE WHO¡¯S HUNTER AND WHO¡¯S PREY. I SHALL BE WAITING.¡± *** ¡°Not really innovative as far as banter goes, is he?¡± Hunter asked Fawkes after the godling had disappeared into the forest. They were setting up camp for the night, discussing their encounter with the massive bear. ¡°He said the exact same thing as last time, more or less.¡± ¡°The raequir are beings of unchanging nature,¡± Fawkes said. ¡°That¡¯s their strength, and that¡¯s their bane, too. It makes them predictable.¡± ¡°The raequir?¡± ¡°A catch-all term for beings like this Arjen. Godlings, elementals, fey, spirits of the land, you name it. If it¡¯s not a human, an ¨¢eld, or an animal, it¡¯s probably a raequir of some sort.¡± ¡°¨¢eld? You mentioned them before, too, I think.¡± ¡°The ones commonly called elves,¡± Fawkes explained. ¡°Wait, there are elves too?¡± ¡°Of course, though you don¡¯t want to call them that to their faces. What do you think the dancing mummies down in the Halls of the Ancestors were?¡± This was as good a reminder as any of how little Hunter actually knew about Aernor and its inhabitants. As he looked out into the Weald, he couldn''t help but wonder about what other fantastical creatures that inhabited it. Were there dragons, unicorns, or griffins lurking beyond the trees? He couldn''t help but feel a twinge of curiosity and excitement at the thought. Fear, too. And what about this Goddess that Fawkes had mentioned? What powers did she hold and what was her role in this world? What about the races and civilizations that inhabited this land, their customs and beliefs, and the history that shaped them? What about cities? What about the people? What about the food they ate, the drink they drank? There was a whole world full of new things out there, new experiences. He wanted to see more of it. Be a part of it. Do things. Take risks. Succeed. Fail. Bask under its sun and revel in its joys and lament its sorrows. ¡°Isn¡¯t it time you returned to your side of things for the day?¡± Fawkes cut his daydreaming short, as if she¡¯d read his mind. ¡°Me and the mutt, we can manage on our own. Go get some rest and come back in the morning.¡± Hunter let out an audible sigh. She was right. In his world, his body had been lying in bed for more than twelve hours straight. He should go back there and eat, drink, relieve himself, stretch his limbs. Thing was, he didn¡¯t want to. He wanted to stay there in the Weald, pitch a tent under the canopy, sit by the fire with Fyodor¡¯s head resting on his lap, exchange stories with Fawkes, sleep under the stars. That was not what he¡¯d do, however. He was a Transient. He existed outside this virtual kind-of-world and was only provisionally permitted to visit it. Every second he spent on Aernor and in Elderpyre was a second stolen from his real life on the real world. He stashed his backpack at the roots of a nearby tree, gave mental directions to Biggs and Wedge to set up a perimeter and keep watch during his absence, and gently stroked Fyodor''s fur, relishing the softness of it beneath his fingertips. ¡°Take care,¡± he told Fawkes and prepared to log out. ¡°I¡¯ll be back by sunup.¡± Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 6 During his recuperation, Hunter had worked on a plan to more or less optimize his downtime from Elderpyre for rest, fitness and self-care. He exercised, took a shower, ate, took a walk around the courtyard, and was in bed by nine o¡¯ clock in the evening. He was up by four-forty-five in the morning, ran a few laps around the courtyard again, and ate a hearty breakfast by himself in the cafeteria. By five-thirty, he was already putting on his casque and getting ready to log back in. He materialized in the same spot he was when he¡¯d logged out the previous evening, at the center of the clearing, just a few paces away from where Fawkes had set up camp. She was already up, making herbal tea over a small smoldering fire. Fyodor was curled up next to her, still napping. Biggs and Wedge were perched somewhere in the trees surrounding the clearing, keeping a watchful eye for anything out of the ordinary. ¡°Welcome back!¡± Biggs projected through the mental link they shared. ¡°All is well!¡± Wedge reported proudly. Hunter projected a notion of appreciation to the familiars, in which they both happily basked, then went to sit by the fire with Fawkes. The direwolf smelled him, opened a wary eye, waved a bushy tail, and licked his hand, giving him his own brand of snoozy welcome. ¡°Good morning,¡± Hunter told Fawkes. ¡°Good morning. Sleep well?¡± ¡°Like a log. Any trouble?¡± ¡°No. The godling delivered on his promise. Not even a gnat came near us all night.¡± ¡°The owl-thing?¡± ¡°In its burrow, only occasionally coming up to give me the stink-eye.¡± Hunter turned his head round and shot a glance at the burrow¡¯s opening. Was it just him, or could he see a set of huge yellow eyes peering out of the dark? ¡°In its defense,¡± he said, ¡°we¡¯ve set up camp in its front yard.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Fawkes said, leering at the dark opening. ¡°We¡¯ll be gone soon enough.¡± ¡°Right. Should I start to pack?¡± ¡°No. Sit a while.¡± Hunter did, and Fawkes handed him a tin cup full of steaming hot herbal tea. Fyodor shifted his body around so that his head was on Hunter¡¯s lap and his backside pressed against her thigh, like a furry bridge between the two of them. ¡°Thanks,¡± Hunter said. ¡°It¡¯s chilly out here.¡± Fawkes nodded, poured a cup for herself, and sat silent for a moment, looking at the pre-dawn sky. ¡°You must learn how to take care of yourself on your own, Hunter,¡± she said at last. ¡°I know how to brew tea,¡± Hunter gave her a puzzled look. ¡°That¡¯s not what I mean. A couple of days ago, you said you want to make the best out of your time on¡­ on this side of things. See things, do things you can¡¯t on your side of things.¡± ¡°Right.¡± ¡°From now on,¡± she continued, ¡°you said you wanted to live life like an adventure. Or something equally lukewarm and poetic.¡± ¡°I did,¡± said Hunter, ignoring the meek attempt at a jab. ¡°Well, you have to learn how to handle yourself. I won¡¯t be around forever. I mean, both in day-to-day small things and in a fight.¡± ¡°Uh¡­ where is this coming from?¡± Hunter looked at her, perplexed. ¡°I think I did more than fine in that last fight, considering I have the essence of an eldritch abomination in my backpack right now.¡± ¡°You barely know which part of your glaive is the sharp and pointy one,¡± Fawkes sighed. ¡°You rely on the two windbags and your harebrained schemes for everything, and when those don¡¯t work, you simply throw yourself at your problems and hope you¡¯ll pop right back in, as if death never brushed you.¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. ¡°Hey, if it works-¡± ¡°Bloody hell, lad! It doesn¡¯t work! You almost broke your brain last time! Do you fancy spending the rest of your life as a - what did you call it¡± ¡°A vegetable.¡± ¡°A vegetable! Do you fancy spending the rest of your life as a vegetable? For what? This place is not even real to you!¡± ¡°Let¡¯s not go down that road again,¡± Hunter said, starting to get irritated. Their truth aside, Fawkes¡¯s words hurt more than he deserved. ¡°Let¡¯s not, yes,¡± she sighed. They sat there for a moment staring at the treeline at the edge of the clearing, saying nothing. Fyodor, sensing the tension between his two favorite humans, stirred from his slumber and let out a soft whine, looking up at both of them with pleading eyes. ¡°All I¡¯m saying is,¡± Fawkes said, her voice tired, ¡°if adventure is what you crave, you should be more serious about learning how to be a better fighter.¡± ¡°Yeah, okay, on that we agree.¡± Hunter took a sip of bitter herbal tea and scratched Fyodor behind the ears. ¡°I thought you told me to just play to my strengths. Use the ravens more.¡± ¡°That was before. If you¡¯re going to be sticking your head in burrows seeking thrill, we¡¯ll have to find you a proper Path.¡± "A Path?" Hunter repeated, furrowing his brow in confusion. "What''s that?" "It''s a way of perceiving the world. A way of shaping and perfecting yourself." Fawkes said, her voice sharp and clinical. "But it''s more than just that. A Path is a philosophy, a combat style, a way of fighting that goes beyond mere knowledge of magics and skill with a weapon. It¡¯s the tool with which you assert your will to the world." ¡°Ah, yes. A Path,¡± Hunter nodded. "I think I¡¯ve heard the term before once or twice on my side of things. And how do I find my Path?" Fawkes fixed Hunter with a piercing, calculating stare. ¡°There are Paths that can be taught. Whole traditions of them, tried and true, perfected over centuries. Some seek to follow those, though finding one that fits isn¡¯t always easy. Others make their own Path. An old colleague of mine used to say that if you''re meant to find your Path, it''ll find you. And when it does, you''ll know.¡± ¡°What¡¯s your Path, then?¡± ¡°I was taught the Path of the Gloam Blade,¡± Fawkes said. ¡°The martial part of it, at least. It¡¯s a Path whose roots reach all the way back to the times of the ¨¢eld.¡± ¡°Can you teach it to me?¡± ¡°No,¡± Fawkes cut him off. ¡°It¡¯s a vicious one, hard to learn and harder to master. And it requires ¨¢eld blood. It was not originally meant to be revealed to humans at all.¡± ¡°You have ¨¢eld blood?¡± ¡°Not nearly enough, as it turned out,¡± she sighed. ¡°In short, no, the Gloam Blade is not the right Path for you. You seem to be on another Path already, besides.¡± ¡°I do?¡± Hunter frowned. ¡°How so?¡± Fawkes shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know much about the ways of you transients, but those magics you know¡­ Those don¡¯t come naturally, Hunter. One way or another, you¡¯ve been following someone¡¯s teachings.¡± Hunter''s expression darkened. ¡°Like whose?¡± ¡°How should I know, lad? When it comes to philosophy, though, I believe your mind is your own. Unless you follow the Path of the Pig-Headed Donkey.¡± ¡°Is that a thing?¡± ¡°I was jesting, lad,¡± Fawkes said, exasperated. She rolled her eyes, drained her cup, and petted the direwolf¡¯s head. ¡°To get back to the matter at hand,¡± she continued, ¡°I don¡¯t think your time here will be enough for you to realize your full potential, so investing in a proper Path might not be worth the time and effort for you.¡± ¡°Why, how long does it take to learn a Path?¡± ¡°Years,¡± Fawkes mused. ¡°Decades. A lifetime.¡± ¡°Yeah, no, you¡¯re right. I don¡¯t think I have that kind of time.¡± That brought a frown to Fawkes¡¯s face. For a moment there, she looked very old and very tired again. A breath later, however, she¡¯d donned back her usual stoic visage. ¡°Right so. That¡¯s why I¡¯m of the mind that you should explore your and carve your own Path as you go. Still, there is a tried-and-true order to how one advances on a Path. That order, I believe you should follow.¡± ¡°I¡¯m all ears.¡± ¡°Not now,¡± Fawkes said, and Hunter thought he spotted a glint of mischief in her eye. ¡°Wait until we get back to the Brennai village. I might have a surprise for you.¡± *** The rest of their journey took them the better part of two days and was more or less uneventful. The Weald still never failed to mystify Hunter. It was brimming with life, and still it had a sense of stillness to it that made his skin tingle. Its damp, earthly scent filled his lungs with every breath. The mist hung low around the trees and roots and shrubs, hidden from the sun¡¯s warmth under the verdant canopy. A lethargic sense of brooding pressed on him from all sides at all times, and still the Weald was starting to feel oddly familiar and comforting. They moved at a leisurely pace, often taking breaks and enjoying each other¡¯s company. Hunter tried to spend as little time logged out as possible, just enough to take care of his body on his side of things. To him, their trek felt like a pleasant hiking vacation. He often caught himself wishing that it would last, that they would never reach their destination. Despite her seemingly improved mood, he and Fawkes hadn¡¯t broached the subject of what would happen after they made their way to the Brennai village. Would Fawkes really take off on her own? The idea of having to deal with the superstition and xenophobia of the Brennai folken made his stomach clench as it was. Doing so without her¡­ well, that was a thought he¡¯d been actively trying to steer clear of. The unspoken truce that seemed to have formed between them in recent days was fragile, but Hunter clung to it. This easy camaraderie they''d found was a fleeting moment, he suspected. Still, he wanted to enjoy it to the last moment. Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 7 Hunter knew his pleasant borrowed time together with Fawkes came at an end a bit past the dusk of the second day of their trek, as they finally drew close to the village. The sky wasn¡¯t dark yet, but the Brennai that were on guard duty at the west entrance of the village carried torches and had their spears at the ready. ¡°Who goes there?¡± shouted one of them the moment he spotted Hunter, Fawkes, and the direwolf padding next to them. ¡°Stop right there and announce yourselves!¡± ¡°Is that you, Daeran?¡± Fawkes shouted back. ¡°Hile. This is Fawkes, returning from the Vale. May your days be many and your nights serene!¡± There was a brief exchange between the guards Hunter couldn¡¯t hear, then one of them lowered his weapon and made a beckoning gesture. The other, quite interestingly, did not. ¡°Hile, outlander. Approach.¡± ¡°I guess we¡¯re back to it, then,¡± Hunter told Fawkes in a low voice. ¡°See everything, hear everything, say nothing?¡± ¡°Good lad,¡± she nodded, not taking her eyes off the guards. ¡°Who¡¯s that with you?¡± asked the other guard as they were walking closer. ¡°Hunter. My manservant.¡± ¡°And¡­ is that a direwolf?¡± he added, his voice a mix of alarm and disbelief. ¡°A pup. He¡¯s friendly. I thought I¡¯d raise him as one does a hound.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t be serious!¡± ¡°I am.¡± ¡°Winds take you, you outlanders and your outlandish ways! This beast will rip your throat out!¡± ¡°I told you,¡± Fawkes said, pointing at Fyodor - Fyodor, who was now cowering behind Hunter, his tail tucked between his legs. ¡°He¡¯s friendly and docile. He¡¯s just a pup, sirrah. Don¡¯t let his size fool you.¡± ¡°Be that as it may,¡± the other guard, Daeran, interjected, ¡°I fear we can¡¯t allow you to take a beast like this in the village.¡± ¡°My tent is over there, at the edge of the village. See? It¡¯s the one away from all the others. I¡¯ll tie him to a tree there, how about that?¡± Daeran frowned, but nodded anyway. ¡°A word, if you may, Fawkes?¡± ¡°Speak freely.¡± ¡°You are a friend of the folken, true and true, but tempers are running hot. Mayhaps you want to not draw attention.¡± ¡°Why so? More killed?¡± The man said nothing, but his grimace was answer enough. ¡°The folken are gathering at the longhouse as we speak,¡± he pointed towards the big wooden building at the center of the village. ¡°You might want to attend too, see and listen for yourself.¡± ¡°Again?¡± Fawkes asked. ¡°I thought the folken gathered every fortnight or so.¡± ¡°We gather every evening or so, now,¡± the other guard piped in. ¡°As we do in times of war or famine.¡± ¡°As we do in times of fear,¡± Daeran agreed. ¡°Go then, Fawkes. But in your stead, I might tread lightly. And mind your manservant, lest he gets into another row with the alderman¡¯s son.¡± *** Even before they stepped inside the longhouse, they could feel the weight of fear and foreboding in the air. A palpable tension hung like a heavy fog over the whole village. The atmosphere was already taut the first time Hunter had visited the village. Now it bordered on suffocating. He and Fawkes had stopped by her tent and left Fyodor there, along with Biggs and Wedge to keep an eye on him, then had made a beeline for the longhouse. ¡°See everything, hear everything, say nothing?¡± Hunter asked Fawkes again. ¡°See everything, hear everything, say nothing.¡± The longhouse was one of the few actual buildings in the village, a simple structure made of sturdy logs and decorated with intricate carvings. Hunter and Fawkes slipped in and hung around at the back, not wanting to draw attention. Most of the folken, a good five hundred people, were already assembled inside. Torches lined the walls, filling the air with the smell of smoke and burning oil, casting painting the worried and frightened expressions of the people in orange hues and uneven shadows. The leaders of the folken stood on a platform at the other end of the longhouse, their faces solemn and grave. Hunter recognized Vanchik, the village¡¯s alderman, as well as Hallara, the old but well-respected medicine woman. There was another man there, too, standing a few feet away from the other two, one Hunter hadn¡¯t seen before. He was a man of smaller stature, with a narrow, weathered face full of angular features. His nose was long and slightly crooked, as if it had been broken before. Below his prominent brow, his deep-set eyes were midnight black and shone with a calculating intelligence. His hair was long and dark and lank, bound in a tight ponytail with a piece of leather string. He was dressed from head to toe in black garb and sable furs, and he carried himself with a sense of authority and an air of disdain. All in all, the man looked like bad news. And judging from the way Vanchik was giving him the stink-eye, Hunter wasn¡¯t the only one to think that. ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± Hunter asked. ¡°Shhh!¡± Fawkes shushed him. ¡°Beats me.¡± On the platform, Vanchik exchanged a few whispered words with the medicine woman, threw the man in black a suspicious glance, and turned to address the folken. ¡°Friends, folken, clansmen. Here speaks Vanchik of Clan Ashari, of the Hawk Nation, of the Brennai. May your days be many and your nights serene.¡±If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Hile, Vanchik,¡± came a sparse, deflated response from a few dozen voices here and there among the crowd. ¡°May the ancestors will it.¡± ¡°The reason we have gathered here-¡± ¡°Pass the man the staff already!¡± came an angry voice from somewhere in the front. Hunter rose up onto the tips of his toes to get a better view. The man who had spoken was Tego, the portly merchant. ¡°You¡¯ve had more than your share of chances to speak your piece, now let us hear another!¡± Waves of whispering rippled through the crowd. Some nodded their heads in agreement, while others sneered at Tego. Vanchik made a feeble attempt to ask for order, but to no avail. The murmurs grew louder, some rising to a near-shout. ¡°Shut your mouth, you fat hog!¡± one particularly angry-looking man shouted at the merchant. ¡°Your ancestors turn their faces away from you in shame, Fenned!¡± Tego shouted back, his face red. ¡°Quiet!¡± the alderman demanded with a sharp thud of his staff against the platform¡¯s planks. Nothing came of it but jeers and boos. Visibly frustrated, he turned to the medicine woman, who sighed and gave him a nod. ¡°Since that is what the folken seem to want,¡± he tried to shout above the crowd¡¯s rising uproar, ¡°I pass the staff to Brother Marten.¡± The man in black stepped up, took the staff from the hands of Vanchik, then addressed the crowd. "My dear brethren, hear me! Here speaks Brother Marten, of the Brethren of the Cor, of your so-called Ghost Nation.¡± His voice, a surprisingly rich baritone, resonated through the longhouse. He spoke that last part with thinly-veiled contempt. Presumably a jab at Vanchik, judging by how the alderman¡¯s face hardened. ¡°Brethren!¡± Brother Marten went on. ¡°Oh, lost children of the Weald! Let me not mince words. I see your struggles and feel your pain. A great curse has befallen you, a great enemy has cast its shadow over the folken, snatching your children and your loved ones! My heart goes out to you, because I, too, have felt the bitter sting of loss!¡± As the man spoke, the crowd¡¯s fussing and whispering slowly died down. ¡°As days come and go, more and more of your loved ones fall victim to this evil. You find your siblings, your spouses, your children butchered and flayed like animals, and what do you do?¡± He made a long pause and swept the crowd with his gaze, making sure he held their attention. He did. Even the most unruly and vocal among the folken had stopped whispering amongst themselves and waited for him to go on. Hunter had to check his HUD. Was this some kind of mind-affecting magic? Had the man dulled their tempers, like the medicine woman did before? No, it didn¡¯t look like it. ¡°Nothing!¡± he raised his voice. ¡°You do nothing but wait and tremble in fear. And who can blame you? The fault does not fall upon your shoulders. Too long have you wandered in the wilderness of fear, yet it is not you who have invited this dark shadow over our hearts. It is your elders who have failed you, those whom you turn to guidance for in times of strife and uncertainty.¡± The alderman''s face grew red with anger as he started to protest, but before he could speak, the medicine woman cut him short with a hard look. This Brother Marten chose his words carefully to taunt and incite, that was obvious. The alderman would be falling right into his trap if he spoke in anger. ¡°They tried to scare you with campfire tales and ghost stories about the Ghost Nation,¡± Brother Marten sneered. ¡°Tricks of the light to keep your eyes from the truth, as if you were children! Well, look upon me! A man of that Ghost Nation! I stand before you, nothing but a man of flesh and blood, like you!¡± His eyes scanned the crowd before him, assessing each one of them. If it was fear to play upon he was looking for, he found it. He spoke again, his voice low and menacing. "Meanwhile, good folken, a darkness has taken hold of your village. I see it in your eyes, the fear that grips your hearts. And it is well founded, that fear, for a curse most vile has befallen you, and it''s spreading like a disease. The true evil, my dear brothers and sisters, lies not in the shadows without, but within! I have seen the cause of this affliction! Others have, too, but their insight was only met with ridicule.¡± He turned to Tego, the merchant, who was listening and watching with a mix of satisfaction and vindication. ¡°Is it the Ghost Nation preying on you? Skin-witches and shapechangers? Or have your elders led you astray, with their impiety and greed and folly?¡± ¡°It¡¯s them!¡± Tego cried and pointed a finger at Vanchik. Many nodded in agreement. ¡°They have forgotten the face of their fathers!¡± ¡°Your leaders, fat with complacency, have forgotten the Old Ways! And for this, you suffer!¡± Brother Marten exclaimed. ¡°They have pulled the wool over your eyes and brought the curse of the Starved One at your thresholds, the Wendigo, the Hungerer, the Bad Wolf! It gnaws not just at your flesh, but at your faith! It is the void in your souls where hope should reside!¡± As he spoke, the crowd murmured and shifted uneasily, their eyes flickering with fear and doubt. Some looked to each other for reassurance, their faces twisted with worry. Others seemed to be under Marten''s spell, nodding at his every word, eyes wild with fervor. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the air heavy with the weight of the accusations. And when Marten spoke of the Wendigo, the very name seemed to send shivers down the spines of the folken. ¡°I told you!¡± Tego shouted, turning to the other folken, his eyes gleaming with a fanatical light. ¡°I told you, again and again! What say you now, Fenned? What say you now, Vanchik? What say you now, o blind ones?¡± The crowd exploded in murmurs once again, fear taking hold in their hearts. A woman in the crowd let out a cry of despair, and started praying at the spirits for mercy. Others joined in, too. ¡°Come, now!¡± Marten thundered, striking his staff on the ground. ¡°You have all heard the truth, and now you must act! We must appease the spirits of the ancestors, or see our sons and daughters perish!¡± His voice rose above the clamor of the crowd. In a breath or two, their attention was on him again. Hunter turned to Fawkes. Her eyes were fixed on the man too, her lips a hard line. She didn¡¯t like what she was hearing. ¡°Despair not, my brothers and sisters,¡± Brother Marten went on, ¡°for I have come among you with tidings of hope! I have walked the Path of Shadows, wrestled with demons, and emerged with the light of truth! The ancestors have sent me here to guide you, to help you resist the darkness that threatens to engulf us all! The Starved One is a powerful spirit, but it is not invincible! Its shadow can be driven from our hearts and hearths, but we must be united in our efforts!¡± Again, his eyes went from face to face, scanning the crowd, probing, making sure he held their attention. ¡°We must cast out the sinners and the weak of spirit among us, for they are the ones who attract the Hungerer¡¯s attention. We must strengthen our faith and renew our commitment to the spirits of the ancestors. We must cleanse ourselves from the greed and sin of the misguided among us. We must bring back the Old Ways. And we must be willing to make sacrifices for the greater good, for the survival of our community. Our path is a difficult one, but fear not! For I am with you, and together we shall overcome this evil!¡± He paused, letting the silence stretch, every heartbeat a drumroll of anticipation. Then, with a voice that boomed like a sacred gong, he spoke again. ¡°Choose this day which path to follow! The path of complacency, the same one that has led you to the jaws of the Starved One? Or the path of the ancestors, of the Old Ways, of true salvation? Who is with me?" Hunter had to give it to the man in black. The people hung on his every word. They had been filled with uncertainty and fear, but now they were slowly being consumed by something else. The longhouse erupted in a frenzy of emotion, a chorus of gasps, murmurs, and cries. The seeds of doubt had been sown, and in their place, the intoxicating bloom of a new faith began to take root. It was like a fire had been ignited within them, and their fear was being transformed into something more powerful: fervor. Vanchik, the alderman, exchanged a worried glance with Halara, the medicine woman. She shook her head subtly, a warning in her eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, to offer a counterpoint, a voice of reason, but Halara''s hand on his arm stopped him. The crowd was too enraptured, too eager to grasp at the promises Brother Marten offered. They could not be reasoned with now. Across the longhouse, Tego, the corpulent merchant, basked in the uproar with a smug satisfaction blooming on his face. ¡°I guess this is our cue to get the hell out of Dodge,¡± Hunter whispered, leaning closer to Fawkes¡¯s ear. ¡°It¡¯s starting to smell a bit too much like opium of the masses in here for my liking.¡± Fawkes''s lips thinned into a grim line as she watched the scene unfold. "Opium of the masses, is it?" she murmured, her voice a dry rasp. "More like snake oil for the soul. A bit of fearmongering, a dash of false promises, and suddenly everyone''s forgetting the taste of their own piss. Same old story as ever." She shifted her weight, her gloved hand resting on the pommel of her saber. "Mark my words, lad," she continued, her gaze fixed on Marten''s silhouette, "this charlatan''s tune will change once he''s got them dancing to his beat. And when it does, this village will be singing a dirge, not a hymn." Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 8 Fawkes did not wait to see how the scene at the longhouse played out. A hundred different places, a hundred different times, she''d watched it unfold. There would be some thinking to do, come morning, once the dust had settled. She and Hunter left the gathering from the back of the crowd, quiet like church mice. There were guards posted around, holding torches, leaning on long spears. Apart from a couple suspicious glances, they paid the two foreigners little attention. Just as well, Fawkes thought. Back at her tent, the stray direwolf pup Hunter insisted on keeping around was restless. She was surprised he hadn¡¯t made a run for the trees. Direwolves weren¡¯t of a domesticated stock. Even the largest, boldest ones were wise enough to steer clear of human settlements. Hunter¡¯s ravens had probably kept him from making a run for it. The two spirit-birds were perched on the mutt like sentries. Silly chatterboxes that they were, they still had their uses. ¡°What now?¡± Hunter asked as he went to pet the mutt¡¯s head. The direwolf, despite its size, leaned into the touch, its tail thumping against the ground with surprising force. It nudged its snout against Hunter''s chest, seeking more affection, a low whine rumbling in its throat. ¡°Go over to your side of things. Get some rest. Be back by first light. I¡¯ll see if I can meet with the medicine woman.¡± Hunter didn¡¯t object. He told his ravens to keep an eye on things, bid Fawkes goodnight, and ducked into the tent. That was smart. When he¡¯d return to the world come morning, he¡¯d appear in the same spot where he¡¯d left it. Better to do so away from prying eyes. A couple of minutes later, Fawkes slipped into the now-empty tent, settling in the shadows near the entrance. From there, she could monitor the comings and goings of the Brennai without drawing attention. The mutt plopped down beside her with a heavy sigh, resting its massive head in her lap. Fawkes absently scratched behind its ears, lost in thought. If she was right, Hallara would send for her before the moon reached its zenith. And right she was. Throngs of Brennai left the longhouse, the gathering finally over. They spread through the village in twos and threes and fours, their hushed conversations and uneasy glances betraying the unrest that now hung heavy in the cool night air. A young guard came calling for her, a boy around the same age as Hunter. He stood a few paces away from the tent, shifting nervously and leaning on his spear like a walking staff. "Um... Honored far-wanderer?" he stammered. The direwolf perked his ears, eyeing the man wearily. ¡°In here,¡± said Fawkes. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Hile. The... the wise woman requests your presence. If, uh, if you would be so kind?" ¡°Coming.¡± Fawkes rose to her feet. ¡°You stay in here,¡± she told the mutt. ¡°Last thing I need is half the village chasing you off into the Weald.¡± Outside, the two ravens were perched at the top of the tend, staring the young guard down. One cawed, the sound echoing through the night like a challenge. Startled, the man instinctively took a step back and made a hasty warding gesture against evil. Fawkes offered the young guard a curt nod. "Lead the way, then." She followed him out into the night, the ravens launching from the tent and spiraling into the sky above her. The village was a labyrinth of flickering torches and hushed voices, the air thick with a nervous energy that prickled at the back of Fawkes''s neck. She kept her hand close to the hilt of her sword, her senses alert as she walked towards Hallara''s tent. She didn¡¯t expect trouble, not yet. But once prepared was twice safe, as the old adage went. The guard led her across the village to the medicine woman''s tent. He held the flap open for Fawkes, then took his place outside. The wise woman was alone this time, unlike their previous meeting. She looked old and fragile, clad in furs as bright as her snow-white plaits. Fawkes wasn¡¯t fooled. The woman¡¯s eyes burned like twin jade flames, intelligent and calculating. ¡°Hile, Fawkes of the Sword. ¡°May the spirits guide your path and bless your days.¡± ¡°May the ancestors will it,¡± Fawkes answered as it was customary. ¡°Yours and mine both.¡± Hallara''s gaze held Fawkes''s, her voice soft yet steady. "I am glad to see your safe return. My thoughts have been with you night and day. Come, sit with me. Let us palaver." Fawkes sat down on the quilt-covered ground, then cut straight to the chase. She was far too tired to mince words and dance around the subject of their meeting. "We found the Ghost Nation, or what''s left of it. They are not to blame for the troubles plaguing your village." She went on to recount the main points of their journey to the Vale of Ghosts, their meeting with the two Brethren of the Cor, and their descent into the depths of the Halls of the Cor Ancestors. About the latter, she left a fair piece out. Not only had she sworn to secrecy, but revealing what she saw would go against her Creed as a Lodgewoman. Some things were better left forgotten.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Hallara listened carefully, then nodded, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. "This I feared. The whispering has been silenced, thank the ancestors. Thank you. But the darkness that stirs here in the Weald is of a different nature, after all." A heavy silence settled between them for a moment, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the tent''s center. "You witnessed the gathering," Hallara said finally. ¡°I did.¡± "That man¡¯s words... they stirred something in our people, something I had hoped to keep dormant. Did the other Brethren of the Cor mention him at all?" ¡°No. Do you believe him an interloper?¡± Hallara shook her head slowly, her expression troubled. "I cannot say for certain. His spirit is strong. But the way he speaks suggests he knows the Old Ways in ways that have faded from the memories of all but very few among the folken. This... concerns me. There is a fervor in his words, a hunger that makes me question his intentions.¡± Her expression turned dark, and for a moment Fawkes was certain. The wise woman was about to make her ask. She could almost hear her old master¡¯s words, dripping vitriol. Indulge them once, and all you¡¯ll have accomplished is have them ask for more. That was the way it always went. ¡°But let us speak no more of our troubles,¡± Hallara said instead, changing the subject. ¡°Ancestors know we have burdened you with them enough as it is. Tell me, how did the search for your compatriot fare?¡± Gut punch. ¡°Swimmingly,¡± Fawkes said in a voice like a dry husk. "I found him alright." Hallara''s eyes widened in alarm, but Fawkes offered no further explanation. She looked away, her gaze fixed on the flickering fire, as if she could find solace in the dancing flames. The wise woman was wise enough not to push the subject. "There are two things I wish to discuss, Hallara of Clan Besk," Fawkes began. "First, I have reconsidered the alderman''s initial request. I am willing to offer my assistance, if only under certain conditions." She paused, her gaze meeting the wise woman''s. "Second, I have a request of my own. A favor, if you will." ¡°Speak freely.¡± Fawkes hesitated for a moment. "I ask that you read the ashes for me, wise woman. For me, for Reiner¡­ and for Hunter." A flicker of understanding passed between them. The reading of ashes was a sacred ritual, one that delved into the murky depths of fate and destiny. Hallara''s expression grew serious. "This is no small request. The ashes do not lie, but their truths can be... difficult." ¡°I am aware.¡± She reached into a pouch at her hip and withdrew a small bundle wrapped in worn leather. Unfolding it carefully, she revealed a handful of crimson ooze and tatters. She carefully laid it at the feet of the wise woman. "This is all that remains of Reiner," she said, a flicker of warmth softening her usually stoic features. "I would know what the spirits say of his fate.¡± She reached into the pouch again, this time producing a single raven feather. She laid it on the ground too. ¡°This is a feather from Hunter¡¯s spirit servants. Will it suffice?¡± ¡°It will,¡± Hallara nodded. Finally, Fawkes laid a single, braided strand of her own hair beside the other items. "And this... for myself." ¡°Let it be so, then.¡± The wise woman gently gathered the offerings in the palms of her weathered hands and meticulously arranged them around the fire, muttering incantations in some old tongue. From somewhere within her snow-white garb she produced a pouch of herbs and dusts, and sprinkled handfuls at the crackling flames. Leaning closer to the rising smoke, she opened her narrow mouth, placed a couple of green leaves on her tongue, and started chewing. Laurel, Fawkes noted. The herb of prophecy and true sight. The air grew thick with the scent of burning herbs. The flickering fire cast long shadows on the tent walls. Fawkes felt a chill run down her spine as the wise woman''s chant filled the space, resonating with a power that seemed to vibrate in her very bones. Transfixed, Hallara plucked a tongue of flame with her bare hands. If it burned her, she didn¡¯t show it. She planted it at the center of Reiner''s meager remains, her gaze distant as she watched them quickly turn to ash. Hallara''s voice, now deep and resonant and somehow not her own, spoke of Reiner first. "The ashes speak of a soul burdened with regret," she intoned, her eyes fixed on the smoldering remains. "He walks a path of shadows, seeking forgiveness for deeds undone. But know this, Fawkes of the Lodge: he will find peace in the embrace of the ancestors. His spirit will soar, free from the chains of guilt." Fawkes nodded slowly, her expression inscrutable. "That is good to know," she said quietly. The words were more for herself than for the entranced elder. "He deserved peace." Hallara never heard her. Her attention was now on the raven¡¯s feather. She plucked it from the ground with two fingers and held it near the roaring flames. A spark leaped from the fire, igniting the feather with a sudden whoosh. She watched it burn and dissipate into thin ash and cinder, until it was nothing but a tiny blackened stub. "This one," she said, her voice softening, "walks a path less defined. His fate is fluid, like water seeking its course. The spirits whisper of great potential, but also of danger. He is a wanderer, yet unbound by the usual constraints of fate. His choices will shape his destiny." To that, Fawkes said nothing. She only kept watching as Hallara picked her own silvery lock of hair and fed it to the flames. A gasp escaped the wise woman¡¯s lips, and her eyes widened with a mixture of awe and dread. "And you, Fawkes of the Sword," she whispered, "you carry a heavy burden, a life within a life. You¡¯re thick with child. A son, strong and wild, destined for greatness. But beware, for the threads of your fate are intertwined. If you carry this child to term, it will come at a great cost. You will die in childbirth, Fawkes. This is the will of the spirits." A harsh bark of laughter erupted from Fawkes''s throat, the sound sharp and disbelieving. "A child? Me?" She shook her head, the absurdity of the notion momentarily eclipsing the dread that had begun to coil in her gut. "Even if I''d ever wanted a twat goblin clinging to my skirts," she scoffed, "which I assure you, I did not, that ship sailed long ago." ¡°This is the will of the spirits," Hallara repeated. "Forgive my bluntness, wise woman," Fawkes said, her voice softening slightly, "but I believe the spirits are mistaken. There is no child. I have walked a path of blood and steel, not of cradles and swaddling clothes. Perhaps the ashes speak of something else, a different kind of burden." ¡°This is the will of the spirits," Hallara said a third time. She let her jade eyes rest, visibly spent. As if sharing her weariness, the flames burned low. She looked old and fragile for a moment, too old and too fragile. A tiny, fur-clad sack of ancient skin stretched over delicate bones no thicker than twigs. ¡°Let us speak of this no more, then,¡± said Fawkes, changing the subject. ¡°There¡¯s the matter of the alderman¡¯s request. As I said, I have given it thought. I¡¯d be willing to grant it, under a few conditions.¡± Hallara opened her eyes and studied her. ¡°Speak, Fawkes of the Blade.¡± She spoke. Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 9 Again, Alex found himself unable to fall asleep. He tossed and turned and stared at the ceiling of his cell as hours went by, lost in thought. The Brennai were wary of foreigners at best. After last night¡¯s gathering at the village¡¯s longhouse, he wouldn¡¯t be surprised if they turned outright hostile. The whole village felt like a powder keg ready to blow, and he didn¡¯t want to get caught in the big boom. That was problem number one. Problem number two was that Fawkes had only promised to stick around until they reached the village. If she decided to take off on her own, he¡¯d have to respect her choice. Where would he go, though? He¡¯d spent weeks in-game, and still he didn¡¯t know the first thing about the world of Elderpyre. Problem number three was that his nerves were still shot. He was alright as long as he didn¡¯t get excited or stressed. But if he got in as much as an argument, much less a fight, the strain proved too much for him. He¡¯d get better, the doc had told him. He just needed to rest for a while, stay off Elderpyre. Well, that was a luxury he couldn¡¯t afford. Fawkes was waiting for him. So was Fyodor and the ravens. It didn¡¯t matter if they weren¡¯t real in the strictest sense of the word. They felt real to him, enough so that letting them down would weigh on his conscience. For the umpteenth time, he wondered whether he was out of his mind. *** The sun had barely started creeping up the dawn sky when Hunter materialized back in Fawkes¡¯s tent. Fyodor was still sleeping, curled into a massive ball of russet fur. The direwolf''s ears twitched at the sound of Hunter''s arrival, but he only grunted softly and burrowed deeper into his slumber. He mentally checked in with Biggs and Wedge. The two birds were perched on a nearby tree. ¡°We keep eye!¡± Wedge projected, and Hunter could almost sense him beaming with pride. ¡°Yes, we good!¡± Biggs added. ¡°Well done. Where¡¯s Fawkes?¡± ¡°Old woman outside! We keep eye!¡± Hunter found her a few paces away, making tea over a small fire to ward off the morning''s chill. The air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of pine needles and damp earth. Thin mist seeped from the ground, swirling around his feet. ¡°You¡¯re here,¡± she told him and handed him a steaming tin cup. ¡°Good.¡± ¡°And a very good day to you. Everything alright?¡± ¡°That remains to be seen, I reckon. We have an early sitdown with the alderman.¡± Hunter took a sip of the hot tea, grimacing slightly. "Do we have to? I doubt he''ll be in a welcoming mood." He''d struck him as a proud, easily offended sort. The black-clad guy who spoke at the gathering, Brother Marten, must have really gotten under his skin. ¡°The way I see it, the sooner we get out of here, the better.¡± Fawkes studied him for a moment, but kept her thoughts to herself. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Nothing,¡± she sighed and turned her gaze toward the village¡¯s center. ¡°Drink your tea and get ready. Someone will be here to fetch us anytime now.¡± She was right. Not five minutes later, a young Brennai guard approached them. ¡°Hile, honored foreigners,¡± he said, sounding like he¡¯d spent all the way there practicing the words inside his head. ¡°Fawkes. Hunter. May your days be many and your nights serene.¡± ¡°Ugh¡­ Hello,¡± replied Hunter, struggling to remember the man¡¯s name and the proper way to greet him. ¡°Inago? Hile. May the ancestors will it.¡± ¡°Both yours and mine, sai!¡± Inago said with a wide smile. ¡°The alderman and the wise woman request your presence in the longhouse, if you would be so kind.¡± At that moment, Fyodor stepped out from inside the tent. Having finally shaken off his slumber, the direwolf stretched languidly, his claws clicking on the packed earth. He yawned, revealing a set of teeth that could easily snap a man''s leg in half, and blinked his amber eyes sleepily at Inago. The young guard''s smile faltered, his face paling as he took in the sight of the beast. "By the spirits..." he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet as he raised his spear. ¡°Wolf! Wolf! Direwolf!¡± Fyodor, startled by Inago''s sudden alarm, tucked his tail between his legs and let out a whimper. He ducked behind Hunter, his massive frame trembling slightly as he sought reassurance. ¡°Stop shouting, you fool!¡± Fawkes chastised the young man, taking a step between him, Hunter, and the direwolf. ¡°Look at him. He¡¯s just a pup, ears back and tail tucked. He¡¯s more scared of you than you are of him!¡± ¡°It¡¯s alright, Fyodor,¡± said Hunter in a soothing tone, kneeling down and scratching the direwolf under his chin to calm him. ¡°Look. It¡¯s just Inago. Inago is our friend. Isn¡¯t that right, Inago?¡± He glanced up at the young guard with a reassuring smile. Inago, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, slowly lowered his spear. He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "Forgive me," he mumbled, still eyeing Fyodor warily. "I... I''ve never seen a beast like that before." ¡°Want to pet him?¡± ¡°Pet him?¡± He stammered and swallowed nervously, his Adam''s apple bobbing in his throat. ¡°Is it safe?¡±Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. ¡°Go on,¡± Fawkes reassured him. The young Brennai man extended a trembling hand towards the direwolf, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and wonder. Fyodor, sensing the shift in mood, wagged his tail tentatively, the tip brushing against Hunter''s leg. He lowered his head, offering Inago a closer look at his muzzle and amber eyes. Inago hesitated a moment longer, then slowly reached out and touched Fyodor¡¯s fur, his fingers trembling slightly. A small smile spread across his face as the direwolf leaned into the touch, a low rumble of contentment vibrating in its chest. "See?" Hunter smiled as Inago ruffled the direwolf''s fur some more. "He''s just a big puppy at heart." Fyodor, in turn, licked Inago''s hand with a rough, warm tongue. "He... he likes me!" Inago exclaimed, a wide grin spreading across his face. And just like that, the two of them were fast friends. Since not many of the Brennai were likely to share Inago¡¯s open-mindedness and childlike wonder, Fawkes decided it would be wiser to keep hiding Fyodor in the tent. Hunter left Biggs and Wedge behind to keep an eye on the direwolf, too. Ravens were often regarded as ill omens. He¡¯d rather not draw any unneeded attention by having the two feathery buffoons merrily fluttering about. Inago guided them through the slowly awakening Brennai village. The air was filled with the sounds of early risers: the rhythmic chopping of firewood, the gentle bleating of goats, the soft lullaby of a mother calming her child. Despite all that, though, a palpable tension hung in the air, a lingering unease from the previous night''s gathering. Eyes darted nervously towards the two foreigners from half-open tent flaps. A few of the more suspicious folken spat at the ground and made gestures to ward off evil. Everything thrummed with an undercurrent of uncertainty and fear. The longhouse, so recently filled with the fervor of the gathering, now stood eerily quiet. The air still hung heavy with the lingering scent of smoke and sweat. Vanchik and Hallara stood near the central hearth, their hushed voices barely audible as they engaged in some kind of tense exchange. As Hunter, Fawkes, and Inago entered the building, they stopped and tried to look impassive. "Hile, Fawkes of the Lodge," the alderman called. "Hallara has just informed me of the outcome of your quest in the Vale of Ghosts." "Alderman. Wise woman." Fawkes inclined her head in greeting. "I trust our news brings you some relief. The Ghost Nation, such as it is, offers their kinship." ¡°And yet one of their own has found himself in our midst, sowing discord.¡± ¡°We know nothing of him,¡± Fawkes said coolly. ¡°A rogue agent, perhaps. Or a charlatan. In any case, the source of the whispering has been silenced. The Brennai have one less reason to lose sleep at night.¡± ¡°And for that,¡± the wise woman intervened, ¡°we are most thankful. Come, lets us sit and break fast together,¡± The four of them made their way to a long, low table in the center of the longhouse. The morning light filtered through the smoke hole in the roof, illuminating the intricate carvings on the wooden pillars and casting warm shadows on the furs and hides that covered the benches. Vanchik gestured for Fawkes and Hunter to take the seats of honor, while Hallara busied herself with serving bowls of steaming porridge and platters of dried berries and nuts. As they settled in, Hallara called out to Inago, who was still lingering nervously by the entrance. "Join us, young one," she said, her voice warm and welcoming. "There is plenty for all." This drew a sideways glance from the alderman, but he said nothing. Inago, after a moment''s hesitation, accepted the invitation, face flushed with embarrassment. They sat and ate in a strained silence. The porridge was warm and filling, the berries sweet, but the atmosphere was tense. Vanchik, in particular, seemed unable to settle. He picked at his food, his eyes darting between Fawkes and Hallara as if searching for the right words to begin. ¡°Right,¡± he finally said, pushing his bowl aside. ¡°Let us not waste time mincing words. Hallara told me you reconsidered my request concerning the Aspirants.¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± "Perhaps," Fawkes said, a sly smile playing at the corner of her lips. ¡°Would you be so kind as to remind me, alderman? I just want to make sure my memory does not betray me.¡± The alderman eyed her suspiciously, but he obliged. ¡°As you know, dark times have befallen the folken,¡± Vanchik began, his voice gruff but measured. ¡°The ancestors call for a new generation of Aspirants, the first in many years. It seems the White Cloud Sage has deemed us worthy once more.¡± He paused, again searching for the right words. "I ask for your aid, Fawkes of the Blade, in preparing them for their journey to the White Cloud Steeple." He met her gaze directly. "Their training in the ways of the spirit and the hunt must be... exceptional." "To that end," Hallara interjected, placing a calming hand on the alderman''s arm, "we have also sought the assistance of the Behemoth Nation''s elder. In fact, we expect their arrival later today. We humbly ask you to lend your skill and expertise as well, Fawkes, as a friend of the Brennai." "I see," Fawkes said, her face inscrutable. "How many Aspirants are there?" "Two," said the alderman, his chest puffing out slightly. "My son, and the wise woman''s great-niece, who will soon be his bride. Tell us, sirrah. Do you accept?" "Two is awfully few," Fawkes mused. "Surely the Behemoth Nation elder can oversee their training on his own. As I said, I have decided to honor your ask, but under one condition." "Name it," said Vanchik. "I will train a third Aspirant, along with the Behemoth elder. My companion, Hunter." Vanchik''s eyebrows shot up, his face a mask of surprise. He exchanged a quick glance with Hallara, a silent conversation passing between them in the span of a heartbeat. Hunter was as surprised as the alderman. Up until that point, he¡¯d been doing exactly what Fawkes had taught him to do during her dealings with the folken. See everything, hear everything, say nothing. "This... is unconventional," the alderman cleared his throat. ¡°A foreigner, undertaking the sacred trials of the White Cloud? It¡¯s unprecedented. What will the folken think of us?¡± ¡°The whispers of discontent already echo through our village, Vanchik of Clan Ashari.¡± said Hallara, her voice gentle but firm. "Do not be hasty to dismiss this notion. We must consider all paths." ¡°How did the old saying go?¡± Fawkes piped in, not attempting to hide a wry smile. ¡°Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows?¡± "The ancestors have always guided us to train Aspirants in pairs," Vanchik argued, his brow furrowed. ¡°Then we¡¯ll train this one too,¡± Fawkes said, pointing with her chin at Inago. ¡°What do you say, lad? fancy a chance to be an Aspirant?¡± Inago''s eyes went wide with surprise. Like Hunter, he¡¯d been keeping his eyes and ears open and his mouth shut. He looked from Fawkes to the alderman and back again, his face a mixture of confusion and disbelief. "Impossible," Vanchik kept arguing, his voice rising in agitation. "An Aspirant''s training requires many expensive reagents. You should know that, Fawkes of the Blade. You are the one that sold them to us. We can''t afford to pay for any more." "Then I''ll be the one to provide them," Fawkes countered. "A gift to the Brennai, if you will. I ask nothing in return but the kinship of the folken." Her gaze met the alderman''s, a challenge in her eyes. "Do we have an accord, Vanchik of Clan Ashari?" The alderman''s face flushed crimson, and he burst into a string of expletives so foul that even Hallara, the ever-patient wise woman, shot him a disapproving glare. "Bloody stars and stones!" he sputtered, slamming his fist on the table. "What will Elder Wroth think of this? As if that thrice-damned serpent Brother Marten isn''t enough of a headache!" "Do we have an accord, Vanchik of Clan Ashari?" Fawkes pressed, her voice unwavering. "Or shall we take our leave?¡± Vanchik eyed Hunter, then Inago, then Hallara. The wise woman gave him the tiniest of nods. ¡°With a sigh that seemed to deflate him like a punctured wineskin, Vanchik relented. "Yes," he conceded, his voice a low grumble. "It shall be as you say, Fawkes of the Blade. Three Aspirants it is." ¡°Four,¡± Fawkes corrected. ¡°Four, whatever. May the ancestors have mercy on us all.¡± A brittle silence settled over the longhouse, none of its occupants knowing what to say or think. None but Fawkes, who allowed herself a crooked smirk. Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 10 Back at their tent, away from prying eyes, Hunter finally let loose. ¡°Mind if you tell me what the hell all that was about?¡± Hunter demanded, fuming. Fyodor rested his head on Fawkes''s lap, his steady breathing a comforting presence. The ravens perched on the tent poles, their sleek heads tilted in silent scrutiny. Fawkes raised an eyebrow. ¡°I thought you wanted to have an adventure,¡± she said dryly. ¡°Learn a bolder mindset. Well, here¡¯s your adventure, served on a silver platter.¡± Hunter stared at her, dumbfounded. "An adventure? You call this an adventure? Have you lost your mind, Fawkes? These people barely tolerate our existence. They were throwing curses and spitting at us on the way here! And you volunteered me?" "Calm yourself, lad,¡± Fawkes waved a hand dismissively. It''s a chance to learn their ways, to gain their trust. Besides, we were talking about you learning a Path, no? This is your chance.¡± ¡°Is that what Aspirant means?¡± ¡°Among other things. It''s a title used to describe those who seek to pursue Ascension.¡± She paused, gathering her thoughts. ¡°I¡¯m not the best person to explain it to you, lad, but I¡¯ll try anyway. Mind you, the nomenclature loses much of its meaning in translation.¡± "Well, try anyway," Hunter said. "I''m all ears." "Think of it as a ladder, Hunter. Each rung represents a rank, a level of mastery. The lowest is Iron, then Bronze, Silver, and so on." She gestured upward, as if tracing the invisible rungs with her finger. "The Aspirants are those who seek to climb this ladder, to reach the pinnacle of power and enlightenment. To reach the Goddess herself, if you may." ¡°Holy shitsnacks,¡± Hunter whistled, not sure whether to get excited or roll his eyes. ¡°So it¡¯s like, what, cultivation?¡± "Cultivation?" Fawkes echoed, a puzzled frown creasing her brow. ¡°An agricultural metaphor? I guess it¡¯s an apt one.¡± She paused, studying his face. "Are you familiar with such a concept? Is there anything like it in your world?" Hunter''s grin widened. "Oh, we have plenty of stories like that back home. People training to become stronger, unlocking hidden powers, fighting evil, that sort of thing. It''s a pretty popular theme." He shrugged. "But it''s all just fiction, of course. Make-believe. Bad make-believe, too, more often than not." "Make-believe, you say? Well, I assure you, it''s not make-believe here, though much of the knowledge and practice has been lost to time. Ascension was an ¨¢eld practice. In fact, it was central to their culture and beliefs. But those ancient traditions have been forgotten, diluted by the passage of time. What the Brennai practice now is but a shadow of the ¨¢eld ways.¡± ¡°¨¢eld?¡± Hunter mused. ¡°Elves?¡± ¡°Yes, but don¡¯t call them that. It¡¯s a term they take offense at.¡± ¡°What, are they still around?¡± ¡°In a way. Pure-blooded ones are as scarce as hen''s teeth, but their thin-blooded descendants live on among the ?rne. The humans. Some still strive to honor the ancient traditions, though their numbers dwindle with each passing generation.¡± "I see," Hunter said, scratching the back of his neck thoughtfully. "So, what''s involved in being one of these Aspirants, exactly? What have you volunteered me for?¡± ¡°Well¡­ I¡¯m not sure what the Brennai Aspirant training includes, but I expect it to be rudimentary. A foundation of physical prowess and spiritual fortitude. An awakening of your essence veins, perhaps. That¡¯s what Aspirants of the Iron Rung are usually expected to train.¡± ¡°Iron Rung?¡± ¡°The lowest rung in the ladder of Ascension. Don¡¯t think it won¡¯t be challenging, though. I cannot promise you an easy road. But I can promise you this: if you have the will and the resilience, you will emerge from this trial stronger, wiser, and more powerful.¡± Hunter thought about it. It wasn¡¯t the kind of light-hearted adventure that he had in mind. If anything, it sounded like too much of a hassle. On the other hand¡­ ¡°So, does this mean you¡¯ll stick around, then?¡± he asked Fawkes. ¡°I guess I will have to,¡± Fawkes chuckled dryly, a glint of amusement in her eyes. ¡°This Behemoth Nation elder is supposed to be overseeing your training. Hallara and I will only have supportive roles. But if he''s anything like the rest of these superstitious fools, I expect he won¡¯t be able to find his ass with both hands, much less properly train Aspirants.¡± For how long?" Hunter pressed, trying not to get his hopes up. "I don''t know for certain," Fawkes replied with a shrug. "A few months, perhaps? It depends on your progress.¡± A few months of training, a challenge to overcome, a new path to explore, and Fawkes by his side? "A few months sounds good," Hunter said with a grin. A notification popped up in Hunter¡¯s HUD. Complete the trials of the White Cloud Sage and ascend to the Iron Rung. *** It was late in the afternoon when the first scouts rode into the village with word of the Behemoth Nation¡¯s arrival. As Hunter understood it, it was a big enough event for all of the folken to gather and witness it. From the village elders to the youngest children, they all gathered at the sides of the main road that led into the village. Hunter and Fawkes followed, too. The road itself was a far cry from the winding dirt paths he¡¯d seen so far, worn down by countless generations of foot traffic and the occasional wagon. Hunter couldn''t shake the feeling that there was something familiar about it, yet out of place. It was too wide, and it cut too straight a line through the landscape. What¡¯s more, he could see the occasional glint of something dark and glassy beneath the dirt. Could that be the remains of¡­ tarmac?A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. From among the crowd across the road, a familiar figure waved. Inago. Hunter returned the wave, and the young Brennai eagerly crossed to join him. "Hile, Hunter!" Inago called out, beaming. "Come to see the Behemoths ride in, have you?" "Uh... hello, Inago. Yeah, we were curious about all the excitement." ¡°You will love it. I first saw them when I was little. I¡¯ve always wanted to ride on one, you know?¡± Hunter didn¡¯t, but he nodded in agreement anyway. "Maybe now that I''m an Aspirant, I''ll get the chance to, one day," Inago went on. "Me, Inago of the Clan Odiji, an Aspirant... I still can''t believe it. I owe honored Fawkes a great debt for this opportunity." Fawkes, who stood just a few paces away, acted like she didn¡¯t hear. ¡°So, who is the Behemoth Nation?¡± asked Hunter,his curiosity piqued. Inago, eager to share his knowledge, piped up. "They are not a nation like ours," Inago explained, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Not exactly. They''re more like... wandering protectors. They ride those big, armored beasts ¨C Behemoths, they call them, that''s where the name comes from ¨C and they keep the peace in our lands. They protect us from raiders and bandits, you know? In return, all the Brennai nations offer them tithes. Food, supplies, whatever they need. It''s a sacred pact, see? They protect us, and we make sure they can keep doing so. It''s an honor to host them. They don''t come around often, so it''s a big deal when they do." He paused, puffing out his chest with pride. ¡°And now we will study the Path of the White Cloud under the most legendary of their elders! Ancestors, witness this honor!¡± A distant rumble interrupted their conversation. The ground beneath their feet began to tremble, and a cloud of dust rose from the horizon. The folken grew silent, their eyes fixed on the approaching spectacle. "Here they come," Inago whispered, his voice filled with awe. The horizon churned with a rising tide of dust. Soon, the source of the tremors became clear. Hunter raised a hand to shield his eyes from the afternoon glare and squinted, trying to make heads or tails of the approaching shapes through the haze of dust. ¡°What the¡­?¡± Four so-called behemoths lumbered out of the forest, each one a monstrous amalgam of scavenged metal and wood. Their massive wheels and tracks, some taller than a man, churned through the dirt, leaving deep furrows in their wake. Totems, chains, painted symbols, and crude armor plating adorned their flanks, giving them a menacing aura. They were not fast, but their sheer size and the thunderous grinding of their engines made the earth tremble as if in fear. Riders trotted along with them on horseback, scouting the surrounding area. ¡°Fawkes, are you seeing this?¡± ¡°What of it?¡± she said, not overly impressed. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you had goddamn tanks over here!¡± ¡°They¡¯re just big metal wagons,¡± Fawkes shrugged, her gaze tracing the intricate patchwork of metal and scavenged parts.¡°Remnants of the Old World, repurposed and rebuilt. But the craftsmanship is... crude.¡± Inago, on the other hand, was almost shaking with excitement. ¡°See that first one?¡± he grabbed Hunter by the sleeve and pointed at the behemoth leading the column. ¡°That¡¯s Thunderhead! It¡¯s Elder Wroth¡¯s! And that one? That¡¯s Bonegrinder! And that smaller one, the one painted like charcoal? That must be Elder Rook¡¯s Blacktalon! I''ve heard stories about it, but never seen it in person!" Hunter''s mind reeled as he watched the behemoths rumble closer, their presence a stark contrast to the pre-industrial Brennai and the surrounding wilderness of the Weald. Elderpyre surprised him at each turn. He''d seen shamans and warriors and great beasts, and even enchanted artifacts and a godling. In a way, those felt normal. Those he expected. Giant, mechanized war machines straight out of a Mad Max movie set, though? That was new. A handful of village elders gathered at the front of the crowd, spear-wielding Brennai guards with them. They were all dressed in their best. Vanchik was wearing the richest garb of them all, an ornate tunic streaked with beads and colorful needlework. Fawkes tugged at Hunter¡¯s sleeve, taking his attention off the column of riders and behemoths. ¡°Look,¡± she told him. A figure clad in all black, a stark contrast to Hallara''s bright white garb, joined the elders. It was Brother Marten, the newcomer. Brother Marten''s arrival did not sit well with Vanchik; the alderman whirled around and spat something at him, though the roar of the nearing behemoths was far too loud for Hunter to make out what. Brother Marten remained cold and impassive. He replied something that made the alderman''s face flush with anger. A few of the elders nodded in agreement, which in turn caused a few others to bristle with belligerence. ¡°You sure you still want us to get in the middle of that?¡± Hunter told Fawkes, almost shouting near her ear. ¡°Wait till all the pieces get in place,¡± she shouted back, her gaze fixed on the approaching behemoths. ¡°Then ask me again.¡± The behemoths came to a stop a few paces away from the crowd, their rumble finally dying down. Up close, they looked even more imposing, the smallest of them no smaller than an eighteen-wheeler. A hush fell over the folken. Children clung to their parents, eyes wide with a mix of fear and awe. The warriors of the Hawk Nation stood at attention, their spears held high in a gesture of respect. The elders waited, doing their best to look important and dignified. A few of the horsemen and horsewomen that accompanied the behemoths dismounted. Ramps lowered from the behemoths'' flanks, and figures clad in patchwork armor and furs began to emerge. Hard men and women, Hunter thought, their faces painted with woad and etched with the lines of a harsh life. The leader, a giant of a man with a thick beard, descended from Thunderhead and surveyed the scene with piercing eyes. ¡°That¡¯s Elder Wroth!¡± Inago whispered in awe. The man started towards Vanchik, each stride covering twice the distance that of a normal man would. He must have been over seven feet tall - taller than anyone Hunter had seen up close and personal - and built like a Stone Age dolmen. His hair and beard were a tangled mane of silver-grey, framing a face crisscrossed with scars and hardened by the elements. Slabs of muscle rippled beneath his fur-lined armor, his bare arms adorned with intricate tattoos that seemed to writhe and shift with his every movement. ¡°Elder Wroth,¡± the alderman greeted him, suddenly looking humblingly small. ¡°Hile. May your days be many and your nights serene.¡± The Behemoth Nation elder towered over Vanchik, who was no small man by any measure, dwarfing him. Was he glowering? Hunter couldn¡¯t tell. It was difficult to read the steep granite slope the man had for a face. Wroth¡¯s shaggy gray beard split into a huge toothy grin. He threw massive arms around the alderman, grabbing him into a bear hug, lifting him to the tips of his toes. ¡°Vanchik!¡± his voice boomed. ¡°Why so grim, old friend? You¡¯ve grown too serious! You remind me of your father, Ancestors bless his spirit!¡± If Vanchik said something in response, Hunter didn¡¯t hear if. The alderman¡¯s face was buried in the elder¡¯s broad chest. ¡°Elder Wroth,¡± said Hallara with a polite smile. ¡°May your days be many and your nights serene. We are glad to welcome you, as always.¡± ¡°Wise woman,¡± Wroth nodded his head with respect, still beaming. ¡°Ancestors bless you, it¡¯s been far too long.¡± As Wroth, Vanchik and Hallara exchanged pleasantries, more of the Behemoth Nation riders approached the small crowd of Hawk Nation elders. Greetings and wishes were exchanged, arms were clasped, heads nodded in deference. Brother Marten shook a few hands himself, but his eyes remained on Wroth, sizing him up. ¡°This is the one who¡¯s going to oversee your training,¡± Fawkes told Hunter, her gaze also stuck on the towering elder. ¡°His reputation precedes him. He¡¯s some kind of warchief among the Brennai. Which, of course, doesn¡¯t necessarily mean all that much, considering, since the only warring the Brennai have seen in generations is a few skirmishes with bandit clans from the south and the east.¡± ¡°He¡¯s a great hero!¡± Inago confirmed. ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± Hunter asked, pointing at another one of the Behemoth Nation riders and elders that had come to greet their Hawk Nation counterparts. He was a tall, middle-aged man, sturdily built, but lacking Wroth¡¯s almost giant-like physique. He had a crooked, weather-beaten face framed by unkempt salt-and-pepper hair. He wore the furs and leathers of his people with an unassuming dignity, but his gaze and the wide berth the others gave him told another story. ¡°I cannot be certain,¡± said Inago, ¡°but I believe that is Elder Rook. He commands the Blacktalon. His hunters have no equal in all the Weald. Many stories and songs are sung to honor their skill.¡± Elder Rook¡¯s gaze followed the only other odd man out among the throng of elders - Brother Marten. ¡°He¡¯s sharp-eyed, this one,¡± Fawkes said, more to herself than to Hunter and Inago. ¡°What is he doing here?¡± ¡°Apologies, honored foreigner,¡± Inago shrugged. ¡°I do not know.¡± ¡°I guess we¡¯ll find out,¡± she said, frowning. ¡°One way or another.¡± Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 11 Once enough pleasantries were exchanged, the newcomers parked their behemoths in a circle just outside the village and set up a fortified camp with practiced ease. The Hawk Nation Brennai gathered around the longhouse at the village center, lighting bonfires and preparing a feast to honor the visitors. Still, the atmosphere was far from festive. What had been killing the Brennai was still at large somewhere in the Weald, lurking. Hunter had the tendency to forget that. The village people, understandably, did not. Hunter and Fawkes returned to their tent, where Fyodor had been hiding out all day. The young direwolf, a massive bundle of fur and pent-up energy, immediately barreled into Hunter upon their return, showering him with deafening barks and slobbery affection. ¡°Down, you furry oaf!¡± Hunter said, fighting not to lose his balance. ¡°Alright, alright, I missed you too. Biggs? Wedge? Everything alright?¡± The two raven familiars, who in the last couple of days had been assigned permanent guard duty, gave him their report through the mental link the three of them shared. ¡°All quiet!¡± Wedge projected. ¡°No nosy people coming close!¡± Biggs confirmed. The Brennai, not exactly fond of outsiders, gave Hunter and Fawkes a wide berth. Hunter didn¡¯t really mind it, as long as it didn''t turn to outright bigotry and aggression. It suited them. ¡°So, what now?¡± Hunter turned to Fawkes. She was sitting just outside the tent¡¯s entrance, keeping an eye on the preparations from afar. ¡°I¡¯ll take the mutt for a walk into the woods, give him a chance to stretch,¡± Fawkes said. ¡°Poor thing¡¯s been cooped up for too long. How and why he¡¯s so well behaved, it¡¯s a mystery to me. You go on and take a breather. Pop off to your side of things for a few hours, do whatever needs doing. Be back by sundown. We have an obligatory appearance to make at the festivities, such as they were.¡± *** Hunter did just that. He did his business, took a quick shower, and headed down to the cafeteria to have a quick bite. Carpenter was there, fixing herself a cup of coffee. She offered him some too. It was strong, black, and bitter - which, he supposed, was to be expected of her. Good old Penny. If she could find a way to chew nails and spit rust, she would. ¡°You¡¯re not running yourself too ragged again, are you?¡± she asked him. ¡°No ma¡¯am. Scout¡¯s honor.¡± That drew a glower from the woman. ¡°Rulin, I¡¯d bet dollars to donuts you were in the boy scouts as much as I was Miss Kansas.¡± ¡°You hurt my feelings,¡± he said and finished the rest of his coffee in a couple of gulps. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m fine. Gotta go, see you later.¡± He went for a walk to stretch his legs around Happy Motel¡¯s courtyard, which took him a grand total of five minutes, then back to his room for a power nap. Caffeine did not affect him much. He could slam two espressos and go right to bed. A decade of drinking two energy drinks a day would do that to anyone. By sundown, he was ready to put the casque back on and return to Elderpyre. *** ¡°You¡¯re back,¡± Fawkes said, opening one eye. She sat cross-legged on the tent¡¯s floor, meditating. Fyodor, sprawled beside her, rested his big head on her knee. ¡°I am.¡± He poked his head out, peered at the longhouse. A handful of bonfires were burning high around the longhouse. Small crowds of people were already gathering around them. ¡°So, what¡¯s the game plan? See everything, hear everything, say nothing?¡± ¡°More or less. The wise woman wants us to make an appearance, mingle with the Brennai, give them a chance to get accustomed to our presence. She told Elder Wroth he¡¯d have to work with me to train four Aspirants now, not two - and one¡¯s a Transient.¡± ¡°His reaction? Did he push back?¡± ¡°Worse,¡± said Fawkes with a deep sigh. ¡°He was thrilled.¡± Hunter frowned, perplexed. ¡°Isn¡¯t that¡­ good?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, lad. Is it? Overenthusiasm rarely translates to good mentorship.¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. For a while, nobody spoke. Fyodor stood up, yawned, stretched, and nuzzled Hunter¡¯s hand. Hunter scratched him behind the ears just how the direwolf liked, but his mind was elsewhere. ¡°What about your master?¡± he asked finally. ¡°Was he like that? Or was he like you?¡± He held his breath, knowing he''d crossed a line. If there was one thing he knew about Fawkes¡¯s master, it was that she didn¡¯t like to talk about him. Or was it a she? It took Fawkes a moment to answer. Hunter prepared himself for a non-answer, a dismissal. ¡°He was neither,¡± she finally said. ¡°He was¡­ hard on me. Demanding. I hated it, but in the end it did me good, I guess. Sometimes I think I should have been more akin to him.¡± Hunter saw something in her eyes that made him instantly regret opening his mouth. She looked somber. Haunted. It had been days since she¡¯d last looked like that. ¡®¡°It¡¯s alright, Hunter,¡± she said, as if reading his mind. She stood up and grabbed her saber belt. ¡°Come. Let us go. The festivities are bound to be starting anytime now. *** As far as festivities went, these were barely festive. The guests of honor, the forty-or-so Behemoth Nation men and women were the only ones in the mood to celebrate. They did so in an aggressive, warrior-like way, with drum groups and war dances. Some of the younger Hawk Nation Brennai, Inago included, also got caught in the enthusiasm. Most of the locals, though, were too grim and tense to enjoy themselves, and with good purpose. The women passed out bowls of corn, mushrooms, beans, and squash, along with wild berries and wineskins filled with some kind of mild corn beer. There was goat meat, too, but no wild game. Nobody was allowed to go into the Weald to hunt. The Behemoth Nation men passed around a few glass bottles filled with a light amber drink - some kind of plum brandy. Fawkes warned Hunter not to drink too much of it, if any at all. Not that she needed to; his friend Packman had family in Eastern Europe. Hunter had already learned that lesson the hard way. Hunter and Fawkes remained at the back of the crowd, away from the center of attention. With nothing better to do than eat squash, drink corn beer, and look around, Hunter sat back and studied the Brennai. He could tell the Hawk Nation from the Behemoth nation apart at a glance. The former were hunters, gatherers, farmers. The latter were nothing if not warriors. Even now, as they danced and celebrated among friends and kin, they still wore their nomad warrior garb - reinforced hide, boiled leather, bracers, knee pads, weapon straps, riding boots, feathers, facepaint. ¡°Do you think they know about the killings in the Weald?¡± Hunter asked Fawkes. He didn¡¯t have to specify who he was talking about. She understood. ¡°They do. That¡¯s why they are here. The wise woman told me. Wroth agreeing to train the Aspirants is just making the most out of a bad situation.¡± ¡°And they still eat and drink and dance like that?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she shrugged. ¡°To them, it¡¯s just business as usual. If it¡¯s not killings in the Weald, it¡¯s bandits in the south. If not that, it¡¯s direwolves preying on herds up in the north. Or do you think I¡¯m too gobsmacked by it all either?¡± ¡°I mean-¡± ¡°Or are you, perhaps?¡± Fawkes interrupted him and went on. ¡°How shaken are you by the horrors the Brennai face, Hunter? Do you lose much sleep over them?¡± A shadow crossed his face. ¡°Is this about me being a Transient again?¡± A slow anger was beginning to smolder in his gut.He didn¡¯t recognize his own voice. Fawkes saw it too. She turned and took a good look at him, as if surprised. ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°I was just saying. You, me, the Behemoth riders¡­ We¡¯re used to a different kind of life than these people.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± said Hunter, simmering down. They didn¡¯t talk a lot after that. Fawkes got lost in her thoughts. Not feeling especially talkative either, Hunter got back to watching the festivities. A throng of children and youths, having sufficiently stuffed their faces, had joined the Behemoth riders in their dances and songs. Soon, more of the young folken of the Hawk Nation followed. Someone waved at him - Inago. He waved back, but he wasn¡¯t in the mood for joining the celebration. Neither was the alderman¡¯s son, as it turned out. Hunter spotted him across the crowd, giving him the stink eye. Yuma, Hunter recalled. A man roughly his own age, tall and broad and stern-looking. He¡¯d tried to give him trouble the last time he¡¯d visited the Brennai village, and the two of them had ended up roughing each other up a bit. With all that had gone down in the Ghostbarrows, Hunter had almost forgotten about that. Something told him Yuma hadn¡¯t. Hunter turned his attention to the elders of the two nations, who were gathered near the entrance to the longhouse. Dwarfing the rest with his seven-foot physique, Wroth was by far the most lively of the bunch. Not that he had a lot of competition. Vanchik was too preoccupied with staring daggers at Brother Marten - who, Hunter noticed, again sat with the elders, not bothering to hide his disdain for some of the other celebrants. Hallara was looking serene, a harmless little old lady dressed in white. Looks could be deceiving, though. It was probably thanks to her occasional disapproving glances that Vanchik and Marten weren¡¯t at each other¡¯s throat even now. And then there was that other Behemoth elder, Rook. As if he sensed Hunter''s gaze, the old warrior turned and looked directly at him. For a long moment, they locked eyes. Rook, without taking his gaze off Hunter, beckoned over someone who looked like his bodyguard. Drawing him close, Rook whispered something in his ear while casting a pointed glance at Hunter. The bodyguard glanced at Hunter, measuring him, then nodded. Apart from Fawkes and himself, this bodyguard was the first person he¡¯d met in Elderpyre that didn¡¯t look of Brennai descent. If anything, he looked vaguely Mediterranean. Like the rest of the Behemoth riders, he was dressed in sensible, practical warrior garb. ¡°Transient,¡± said Fawkes, her curiosity piqued enough for her to break her silence. ¡°Or something of the sort?¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°That man over there, the one eyeing you like he''s sizing you up for a fight. He¡¯s Transient.¡± Hunter furrowed his brow. ¡°How can you tell?¡± ¡°I just can,¡± Fawkes said. ¡°Can everyone?¡± ¡°Oh, no. Not right away. But there are signs. Besides, the wise woman mentioned something about Elder Rook having a Transient in his retinue. That¡¯s why Wroth was thrilled to hear about you. As I understand, there¡¯s a bit of a friendly rivalry going on between those two.¡± As if he could hear the conversation, the man smirked and gave Hunter a mock salute, his narrow eyes glinting with amusement. ¡°Are you sure we can¡¯t just pack up and go?¡± Hunter turned to Fawkes, almost entirely serious. ¡°I mean it. It¡¯ll be late morning before they even know we¡¯re gone.¡± Fawkes chortled, a lopsided smirk spreading across her face as her eyes swept over the group of elders gathered outside the longhouse. ¡°You asked for an adventure, lad, yes? Well, next time be careful what you ask for.¡± Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 12 The celebrations went on well into the heart of night. Almost all of the Brennai gradually let themselves be swept up by the cheerful spirits of the Behemoth riders, even the elders. Brother Marten was baffled. He could not understand them. It was as if they had forgotten of the darkness waiting to devour them. Fools, any and all. Small-minded, little better than cattle. Even the old hag Hallara seemed to have let her guard down a bit. He¡¯d been feeling her watchful gaze burn holes in his back for days. If she knew what was preying on her people, how easily it came and went unseen among them, she¡¯d soil her pristine white garb piss-yellow. Marten would like to see that. He¡¯d like to see her taken down a notch or two. He allowed himself a secret smile. He was a patient man. His otherworldly guest, however, wasn¡¯t. Even now, it was testing boundaries. He could always feel its presence somewhere above, behind his back, as if looking over its shoulder. It pulsed with malignant eagerness, urging him towards chaos and bloodshed. Brother Marten was powerful in the ways of the spirit. Terrifying his dark guest as it was, he¡¯d managed to keep it in check, only letting it take over for a few short bouts of Brennai-murdering ritualistic slaughter. Back in the Vale, Sister Finch hadn¡¯t been as strong a host. She¡¯d always been his lesser. Her own guest had all but devoured her, body and spirit, and where had that gotten her? Marten would end his life with his own hands before he suffered such a fate. As if to challenge that resolve, the presence tightened its grip over his shoulder. It pushed, demanded, commanded attention. Marten would have to give in, even for a moment. And for that, he¡¯d have to get out of sight - and fast. He rose to his feet and walked away from the crowd of celebrants. He didn¡¯t bother to excuse himself. Even the elders that would eventually support him, wouldn¡¯t do so because he was cordial and well-mannered. Some Behemoth Nation idiot cracked a joke as he passed by. A couple others exploded into laughter. He tried to pay them no heed. They were enough of a thorn in his side as it was. Going around picking fights and drawing unneeded attention would do Marten no good. His dark guest became more impatient. He could feel it sneer. Writhing darkness ate at the edges of his vision. He needed a little bit of privacy. His tent was too far, he wouldn¡¯t make it. ¡°Wait, damn you,¡± he muttered. ¡°I¡¯m going.¡± He rushed towards a small copse at the edge of the village. He¡¯d duck in the undergrowth for a bit. Nobody would find him there. Was he getting too paranoid? No. Vanchik was a moron. Vanchik, he didn¡¯t fear. But the old white-clad hag had her eye on him, and so did one of the Behemoth elders. The shrewd one, Rook. Wroth was powerful, but also a buffoon too caught up in his own boasts and tall tales. Rook had eyes that cut deep, eyes harder than flint. Dangerous eyes. And then, of course, there was the matter of the foreigners, the old swordstress and her Transient companion. Someone had put an end to Sister Finch and her dark guest¡¯s eldritch whispers, deep in the bowels of the Halls. Marten was convinced it was them. He¡¯d hoped they¡¯d go away. The Brennai had scarcely given them reason to stay - or so he¡¯d thought. But now word was the swordstress would stay to help the Behemoth elder train a handful of Aspirants, and the Transient would be among them.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Why? Marten couldn¡¯t fathom. All the more reason to be wary. He found a spot among the bushes as dark as the moon in the cloudless sky would allow. He could feel the entity¡¯s impatience brewing beneath his skin, a storm threatening to burst forth. He sat down in a meditation pose, shut his eyes, and allowed himself to be pulled into the void were his dark guest resided. The space-which-was-not-a-space resembled a vast, dark cavern, walls shimmering with an eerie, pulsating light. Shadows flickered across the jagged rocks, casting twisted shapes that seemed to watch him with a thousand eyes. In the center stood an immense, ethereal cage, bars of pure willpower containing the swirling mass of malevolence and chaos that was the entity. Its form shifted and writhed, tendrils of darkness stretching out, testing the confines of its prison. It oozed ancient power, a primordial hunger that sought to unravel the very fabric of existence. ¡°I am here,¡± Marten said, trying his best to sound commanding and dismissing at once. ¡°What do you want?¡± The entity¡¯s voice echoed, a drawling chorus of discordant whispers and deep, rumbling growls. ¡°BLOOD. ESSENCE. RIPE FOR THE TAKING. WHY TARRY?¡± ¡°I told you before!¡± Marten said. ¡°Mindlessly slaughtering them is not the way!¡± ¡°WHY?¡± ¡°We must be smart, drive a splint between them, get them on our side. Have them on our beck and call. Then we¡¯ll cull the herd, and you¡¯ll have all the blood and essence you want!¡± ¡°WHY?¡± the entity insisted. ¡°Because we must be careful,¡± Marten started to explain for what felt like the thousandth time. ¡°The elders are watching. Sister Finch drew their attention, and they had the swordstress put her to the blade, along with the¡­ the whispering one. Now the Behemoth riders and warriors are all around, too, already looking for us. We must be patient. It is not safe to reveal ourselves.¡± The shadows within the cage seethed, and the shape of the entity started to settle into something more solid, something big and gaunt and antlered. It drew closer to the bars of its cage, grasped them with long-fingered, razor-clawed hands. Sickly yellow eyes burned in the dark. An overpowering stench of fresh blood and old death filled his nostrils, and Marten felt his willpower almost buckle. Almost. ¡°I COULD FIND ANOTHER VESSEL,¡± the entity reminded him in a thousand voices, each more sinister than the other. ¡°A MORE WILLING ONE.¡± ¡°And do what? Sow wanton slaughter? You do not want that. The Weald is ancient. There are powers slumbering here, spirits, godlings, Raequir-¡± ¡°I SPIT ON YOUR SPIRITS.¡± The entity reached somewhere into the darkness that surrounded it, grasped something, and flung it onto the bars of its cage. It was the spiritual equivalent of the half-eaten corpse of something weasel-like, broken and putrefying. Ishitraiy, the animal spirit that was Brother Marten¡¯s namesake. Her throat had been crushed, her flanks had been torn, her light undercoat stained with red so dark it looked black. He turned his eyes away from her. She hadn¡¯t been very powerful, but she had been his constant companion for years. He was barely a man when he¡¯d bonded to her, as it was the Cor way. They''d served each other well. It had taken his dark guest all of a few minutes to unravel her. ¡°I have a plan!¡± Brother Marten raised his voice, mustering every last bit of courage he could find. ¡°I¡¯ll find the Skaarn. Offer her a deal. She¡¯ll help me with the Brennai, and then you¡¯ll have rivers of blood shed in your name. No risk to us.¡± The entity stared at him with burning eyes the color of old pus, but said nothing. Good. That was a good sign. ¡°But we¡¯ll have to be patient,¡± Brother Marten went on, now placating. ¡°We¡¯ll have to be smart.¡± ¡°SEEK THE SKAARN,¡± the entity finally said, slowly retreating from the cage bars and back into the dark nothingness it laired in. ¡°MAKE HASTE. MY PATIENCE RUNS OUT.¡± Marten opened his mouth to say something, but his consciousness was flung out of the space-which-is-not-a-space and back into the waking world. He found himself hidden in the bushes outside the village, drenched in cold sweat, panting. Nobody had discovered him. The Brennai were still busy with their festivities. Good. He¡¯d bought himself some time before his dark guest became too impatient and did something unfortunate. But that temporary respite was just that - temporary. The encounter had left him drained, body and mind. It always did. He ached for rest, but he didn¡¯t have a single moment to spare. By the time morning came, he was well onto his way to the fleshwarper¡¯s lair. Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 13 ¡°So what now?¡± The sun was barely up, and Hunter was already back in Fawkes¡¯s tent. He¡¯d excused himself and left last night¡¯s celebration early to log out and get a good night¡¯s sleep. Today was the day his training as Aspirant would start. He had no idea what to expect, and Fawkes, still caught up in one of her moods, was being tight-lipped. ¡°Now we wait for the lad, Inago, to come pick us up. We¡¯ll head off to some training ground or something.¡± ¡°What about them?¡± Hunter cocked a thumb. Fyodor was curled up on the ground, sleeping. Biggs and Wedge were perched on the direwolf¡¯s back, being quiet for a change. ¡°They¡¯re coming with.¡± Now that was something Hunter had not expected. Fawkes had a reputation among the Brennai, which also extended to him by association. Superstitious and weary of foreigners at the best of times, many of the folken called her a witch. They spat on the ground behind her back as she passed, hands crossing their chests in a gesture to ward off evil spirits. Walking among the Brennai accompanied by ravens and wolves would scarcely win any of them over. ¡°You want to get us stoned to death or what?¡± That drew another one of her crooked smiles. ¡°Quite the opposite. We¡¯re honored guests now. You¡¯re one of their Aspirants. Enough of laying low. It¡¯s time we played a different kind of game.¡± ¡°And what game is that?¡± Hunter raised an eyebrow. Her smile grew wider and more crooked. ¡°Show these potato diggers who they¡¯re really dealing with.¡± That was quite the attitude change, but what the hell - Hunter was more than happy to go along. Prudent as it was, the whole ¡°see everything, hear everything, say nothing¡± shtick wasn¡¯t exactly the kind of experience he was hoping to get out of his stint in Elderpyre. Inago came to pick them up dressed in his best - which meant there was a modest amount of beads and decorations on his otherwise humble garb. He was beaming like it was the best day of his life. Based on what he¡¯d seen so far, Haunter suspected that might be exactly the case. ¡°Hile, Inago.¡± ¡°Hile, Hunter! Hile, Honored Fawkes! What a day, huh? The ancestors smile upon us. Come, the alderman wants to say a few words before we depart for the sacred training grounds.¡± So they went. A small crowd of onlookers from both nations had gathered at the edge of the village, curious to see the Aspirants. Hunter walked through them with his glaive in hand, ravens perched on his shoulders like big feathery pauldrons, and the direwolf by his side. There were quite a few oohs and aahs as the folken split to give them a wide berth. Fawkes, however, cut a more impressive figure still. She marched through the Brennai with her head held high, a gloved hand resting at the pommel of her saber. She was sheathed in an aura of boldness and pride and defiance that felt almost supernatural. Hunter was glad to see her like this. It fitted her. At the center of the crowd waited Elder Wroth, accompanied by Vanchik, Hallara, and the two remaining Aspirants-to-be. One was a woman around his own age. She was of obvious Brennai heritage, strongly built, lean and athletic-looking. Her dark hair was tied back in a practical braid, highlighting high cheekbones and sharp, expressive features. She was dressed in a simple tunic, fitted leggings and moccasins - practical, traditional Brennai attire suited for training. The other¡­ The other was Yuma Ashari, Hunter noted with a groan, the alderman¡¯s son. Because of course it had to be him. He stood rigidly by his father, his posture unnaturally straight, as if he''d swallowed a broom. He had his chest puffed out and chin held high with haughty pride, a perpetual scowl etched across his stern features. Though still practical, his garb was as rich as his father¡¯s. This was the man Hunter had to spend every day of the next few months training with. Great. That would go over like a lead zeppelin. Standing next to his son, the alderman beamed with pride. Brother Marten hadn¡¯t bothered to show up this time. Neither had Elder Rook and his bodyguard. There was some political significance there, Hunter suspected. Vanchik stepped forward, his eyes sweeping over the assembled folken, and beckoned for Hunter, Fawkes, and Inago to join him. Fyodor whimpered, scared of so many strangers gathered around him. He pressed his big body to Hunter¡¯s thigh. ¡°It¡¯s alright, boy,¡± Hunter whispered to the direwolf¡¯s ear as he was petting his head, drawing a host of incredulous looks from the crowd. ¡°It will soon be over, and we¡¯ll go run and play in the woods, okay?¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. ¡°Friends, folken, clansmen,¡± the alderman began, his voice resonant and clear, "today marks a significant moment in our history. After many years, the ancestors have finally graced us with no less than four Aspirants, a testament to the resilience and honor of our people.¡± He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "These Aspirants before you represent the best of us. They are the embodiment of our hopes, our dreams, and our future. Each one has been chosen for their courage, their skill, and their unwavering dedication to their fellow folken." Vanchik gestured towards Hunter first, whose little menagerie was already the center of attention. "Hunter of the Lodge, of the Foreign West, has proven his mettle. On behalf of the Brennai, he has risked life and limb and braved the Ghostbarrows. Thus he stands here as an Aspirant, not as an outsider, but as one of our own.¡± That was¡­ unexpected? Ripples of whispering broke out through the folken. Hunter tried to stand up straight and look confident. He could hear Biggs and Wedge chatter at the back of his mind, confused. He tried to pay them no heed. Instead, he focused on Fawkes¡¯s reassuring presence. Next, the alderman turned to Inago. ¡°Inago of the Clan Odiji, of the Hawk Nation, of the Brennai, should be no stranger to any of you. He has served the folken as a watchman with humility and dedication. Thus he is granted the chance to honor his ancestors. He stands with us as an Aspirant.¡± Inago positively glowed with pride and excitement, not even trying to suppress the wide smile plastered across his face. A middle-aged woman at the front of the crowd looked at him with adulation, looking as if ready to break into tears. Some of the surrounding folken smiled and patted her on the back. His mother, Hunter supposed. The young woman was next in line to be introduced. ¡°Tayen of the Clan Besk, of the Hawk Nation, of the Brennai, also stands with us as an Aspirant. A rarity for a woman, yes, but we should expect no less from the grandniece of Hallara of Clan Besk.¡± The wise woman afforded her grandniece a small smile as a wave of approving murmurs went through the crowd. Tayen remained serious. She acknowledged the alderman with a simple solemn nod. Finally, Vanchik¡¯s his gaze fell upon his son. ¡°And of course, Yuma of the Clan Ashari, of the Hawk Nation, of the Brennai. He stands with us as an Aspirant, a symbol of leadership and perseverance. Though young, he has shown the qualities of a true warrior, and the ancestors have high hopes for his path ahead." More than a few folken in the crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Though he made a token effort to hide it, Yuma basked in the folken¡¯s admiration. He puffed his chest even more, if that was possible, and nodded in deference. "As tradition demands,¡± Vanchik went on when the applause died out, ¡°these Aspirants will undergo rigorous training, both physical and spiritual. To guide them through it, we are honored to welcome among us Fawkes of the Lodge, of the Foreign West. Though a foreigner and a woman, Fawkes is a peerless bladestress whose guidance and wisdom will only forge our Aspirants stronger, like coal forging iron into steel.¡± The cheers of the folken quickly turned into cool, uncertain whispers. A few crossed their chests with their fists, warding off evil. Fawkes remained an unwavering beacon of poise and superiority, but Hunter could swear there was a hint of smugness to her thin half-smile. ¡°All of this, however, would have never been possible without this man.¡± The alderman took a step back and bowed his head to Elder Wroth, who really needed no introduction. ¡°Honored Elder Wroth, of Clan Ordos, of the Behemoth Nation, of the Brennai. With a long list of feats and exploits worthy of the most legendary of our ancestors, Elder Wroth has offered to shape our Aspirants with his vast wisdom and strength. Under his tutelage, they are certain to grow worthy of the Path of the White Cloud.¡± As Vanchik finished speaking, the crowd erupted in an enthusiastic roar. Folken of all ages cheered, their voices blending into a powerful chorus of admiration and reverence. The younger ones clapped and jumped with excitement. The elders nodded approvingly. The energy was electric. Wroth opened his huge arms as if to welcome it all. He flashed a toothy smile, then turned to the alderman and gave him an exaggerated wink. ¡°Let that be a sign-¡± Vanchik started to say, but his voice was drowned in the cheers. ¡°Enough! Quiet now!¡± Wroth roared, and everyone shut up like kindergarteners scolded by their teacher. ¡°Thank you!¡± ¡°Let that be a sign,¡± the alderman went on, ¡°that the ancestors are closer to us than ever. Anyone saying the opposite has forgotten the face of their father. Or, worse even, is a wolf in sheep¡¯s clothing! The spirit of the Hawk soars above us, stronger than ever!¡± That brought some cheers too, though not as many. Vanchik¡¯s jab wasn¡¯t lost on Hunter. It was about as subtle as a rhinoceros. ¡°Thus begins the journey of our Aspirants,¡± concluded Vanchik. ¡°From humility and devotion to strength and enlightenment, may the ancestors watch them as they make us proud!¡± *** What a load of horse manure,¡± said Fawkes, shaking her head. They were on their way to the sacred training grounds, which, as it turned out, were only a short half-hour hike away from the village. They walked down a woodland path in pairs. First went Elder Wroth and Yuma, apparently absorbed in some sort of conversation about the heroics of past Brennai Aspirants. Tayen and Inago followed a few paces behind. Inago was brimming with excitement, which the young woman did not appear to share. Hunter, Fawkes, and Fyodor brought up the rear, deliberately lagging behind to stay out of earshot. ¡°You think so?¡± asked Hunter. ¡°I know so. To the alderman, it¡¯s all about politics.¡± ¡°What kind of politics can there be in a village of.. what? A few hundred? I mean, what¡¯s there to be gained?¡± ¡°Oh, you¡¯d be surprised. Give a man a smidgen of power, see how he starts thinking his shit doesn¡¯t stink.¡± She was right, Hunter supposed. He¡¯d seen people start to think they were something after getting promoted to shift leaders at the local burger joint. Being the alderman out here in the middle of nowhere must make Vanchik feel like royalty. ¡°What¡¯s your take on Wroth?¡± he asked. Fawkes looked at the larger-than-life man walking ahead of them and gave it a moment of thought. ¡°He¡¯s not bad,¡±she concluded. ¡°There¡¯s a saying in old ¨¢eld for men like him, though. It translates to something like ¡®He¡¯s a lion among sheep on the slopes of dragon mountain.¡¯¡± ¡°Which means?¡± ¡°Which means that, regardless of all else, it would do him good to be reminded sometimes humility¡¯s a virtue.¡± ¡°Do you plan to do the honors? Fawkes smiled that lopsided smirk of hers again. ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡± Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 14 The sacred training grounds were this open expanse, surrounded by a grove of ancient trees. In the center, the earth was worn smooth by the passage of many feet, a testament to countless hours of rigorous training. It remained so, though no Aspirant had graced it in many, many years. Hunter could see why this place had been chosen. Or rather, he could feel it; the air itself was swimming with a quiet energy. It didn¡¯t take him more than a few seconds to place its locus. He¡¯d have to be blind to miss it. Right in the middle of the sacred grounds there was a totem pole carved out of ancient wood. He broke off from the rest of the group and went to take a closer look. The pole reached skyward for over forty feet, carved from what looked like a single, ancient cedar tree trunk. At the base, powerful animal figures were etched into the wood with meticulous detail. A bear, a boar, an elk, an owl, an eagle. Interwoven with them were human figures, too, their faces serene and dignified. The carvings and patterns went on like that all the way to the top, as far as Hunter could tell. The wood itself bore the marks of time and weather, its surface polished smooth by the elements and the reverent touch of many hands. Moss and lichen clung to the crevices, adding to its ancient, venerable appearance. He reached out and placed his palm on the pole, and he immediately felt its power tug at his core. Do you wish to anchor yourself to this Place of Power? ¡°Yes,¡± he willed. The connection he still had to the Ancient Glyphic Hollow, the underground cave back in Mir¡¯s domain in the Weald, unfastened itself as a new connection formed. His essence was now tied here. You are now anchored to this place of power. You receive the blessing of the many Aspirants that toiled in these sacred grounds. Your Skills and Abilities improve at an accelerated rate while you remain within the training grounds. That was a first. The other Places of Power he had anchored himself to so far had given him one-time blessings of Aether or Inspiration. This made more sense, considering. He now just had to see what exactly ¡°accelerated rate¡± meant. He was actually starting to get excited with this whole Aspirant thing. ¡°Alright, gather up,¡± Elder Wroth shouted. ¡°Let us get started, yes?¡± They gathered up, the four of them; Hunter, Inago, Yuma and Tayen. Fawkes stayed a few feet behind and watched, Fyodor and the ravens by her side. ¡°Come here, stand in line, yes?¡± Wroth began. ¡°Listen up. I do not know you. If half of what Vanchik said about you in his little speech is true, then you are the best the Hawk Nation has to offer, and I commend you for that. But that,¡± he pointed in the general direction of the village, ¡°was back there. Out here, things are different. Out here, in these sacred grounds, we separate the strong from the weak, the brave from the cowards.¡± Inago, Tayen and Yuma listened to the man with dead serious expressions. It made sense. To them, he was a legend. Hunter tried his damnedest to be solemn too, but seeing Fawkes¡¯s poignantly unimpressed look didn''t help. He found himself wishing Wroth wasn¡¯t about to pull a Full Metal Jacket drill sergeant routine. He wasn¡¯t too keen on having to explain to the seven-foot old warrior why he couldn¡¯t stop giggling. ¡°You see this land?¡± Wroth went on, his good-humored facade evaporating by the second. ¡°This is where legends are made. Every inch of this ground has been soaked with the sweat, blood, and tears of those who came before you. As far as Aspirants go, you are not special. You are not entitled. You are the lowest of the low, and it is my job and privilege to make sure you either rise to greatness or fall to nothing. You will train harder than you''ve ever trained before. You will push past your limits, then push some more. Every sunrise marks another day you must prove yourself worthy. Every sunset marks another chance to reflect on your failures and vow to do better. Understood?¡± Hunter wasn¡¯t certain how he was supposed to reply, so he didn¡¯t. None of the others did, either. Good. Wroth studied the four Ascendants one by one, then took a few big, ponderous steps towards them. ¡°You will learn to respect this land and the spirits of the warriors who trained here before you,¡± he said, talking to all of them but looking straight at Hunter. ¡°Their strength, their endurance, their courage¡ªthese are your benchmarks. You will respect the elders, for we hold the knowledge and wisdom that you lack. You will respect each other, for in battle, your lives will depend on the person beside you.¡± He moved on to Yuma, who was puffing his chest so much Hunter could swear his spine was about to break, then went on. ¡°Out here, there is no place for arrogance. Out here, you¡¯re nobody, save for who you¡¯ve proven to be. You will learn discipline, precision, and the value of every breath you take.¡± His gaze shifted to Tayen, you stood as still and impassive as a statue. ¡°If you can''t handle it, if you think for one second that you don''t have to give your absolute best, then pack up and leave now. If you aspire to follow the Path of the White Cloud, there is no room for mediocrity.¡± Finally, Elder Wroth looked at Inago. ¡°The path to becoming a warrior of the White Cloud is long and grueling. But if you survive this training, if you earn your place among the ancestors, then and only then will you understand the honor and responsibility that comes with it. Show me what you''ve got, and maybe, just maybe, you¡¯ll become someone worth remembering.¡± He took a good look at each of them again, studying them, picking them apart, searching for weakness. ¡°Elder Fawkes, is there anything you¡¯d like to add?¡± ¡°I will speak when it is my turn to speak, Elder Wroth,¡± Fawkes said, studying the Aspirants herself. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Good. Well, let us see what we¡¯re working with. Strip down to your smallclothes, all of you.¡± That caught Hunter unprepared. He¡¯d never been one for modesty, not exactly. But he hadn¡¯t spent his teens in locker rooms joking around buck-naked with the school jocks, either. Plus, It couldn¡¯t be more than 50 degrees, even in the sun. The other three didn¡¯t seem to have such reservations. They immediately took off their tunics, shirts, and trousers and stood in what looked like loincloths. Tayen also wore a chest band around her torso, too, though whether it was for modesty or support, Hunter couldn¡¯t tell. He took off his clothes too, revealing his Elderpyre equivalent of boxer briefs.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. All three of the Brennai Aspirants were strong and lithe, with Yuma being the strongest-looking, Tayen the lithest, and Inago somewhere in between. Hunter was neither. He wasn¡¯t pudgy and he had a bit of musculature, but that was as far as it went. Moreover, compared to their sun-kissed skin, his own looked as pale as a fish¡¯s belly. Wroth took a look at him and frowned, his lips hardening into a disapproving line. Fawkes watched the scene unfold, her expression unreadable. Hunter felt the urge to crack wise, but instead he opted to shut up. ¡°You there!¡± he barked. ¡°Hunter, was it? What¡¯s your trade, son?¡± ¡°Ugh¡­¡± ¡°Scribe,¡± Fawkes interjected. ¡°He¡¯s spent his life behind a desk. Looks like it, too, no?¡± Hunter made a mental note to throttle her. ¡°Mmm,¡± Wroth growled. ¡°And what business does a scribe have in these training grounds? Look, son, I¡¯ll tell you this once. Drop out. There is no shame in it.¡± Yuma turned his head just enough to give Hunter the once-over and a condescending look. Hunter felt his ears burn. Was Elderpyre a social horror simulator, too? ¡°Do you want to drop out, Hunter?¡± asked Fawkes. ¡°No,¡± said Hunter. ¡°Do you think you have what it takes to train along the other Aspirants, then?¡± asked Wroth. ¡°Yes, Elder. I do.¡± The large man let out a sigh. ¡°Don¡¯t say I did not warn you. Well then, start running around the grounds. Work up a sweat.¡± Yuma bolted before Wroth had finished his sentence. Inago and Tayen followed. Not believing his ears, Hunter started running too. Was this the fabled Aspirant training we had signed up for? Running laps? Up until a few years ago, he used to cut gym class to avoid exactly this kind of crap. Well¡­ He¡¯d just said he wanted in. In for a penny, in for a pound. The training grounds were roughly the same size as a soccer field, which means that it only took Hunter a few minutes to get winded and slow down, and the other three to lap him. Yuma, glistening in sweat but still running like a racehorse, didn¡¯t miss the chance to give Hunter a sneering look as he passed by. Inago, on the other hand, was far friendlier. ¡°Keep it up, sai!¡± he told him between breaths as he passed. ¡°You are doing great!¡± Hunter wasn¡¯t proud of that, but Inago¡¯s friendliness stung him worse than Yuma¡¯s scorn. A system message popped up in his HUD. You tap into a well of sheer determination and ferocity in the face of adversity. Your anger, frustration, and hatred fuel your resolve, increasing your Stamina Regeneration by 50%. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ damn¡­ right!¡± he said to himself, spraying spittle with each word, then redoubled his effort. Running didn¡¯t become any easier, but now he felt as if he might last longer before he exhausted himself. Soon, he got another notification. Your Athletics has increased to 1. He didn¡¯t know whether to get excited about learning a new skill, or to lose heart because his Athletics was just at a measly 1. In any case, he pushed on. The other three didn¡¯t look like they were going to give up anytime soon. Wroth and Fawkes were sitting by the totem pole, absorbed in some conversation. Fyodor came to him and ran by his side for a lap or three, then went to sleep at Fawkes¡¯s feet. Biggs and Wedge were watching from a nearby tree, baffled at the spectacle. Almost an hour and a half later when Hunter finally stumbled. Wheezing, he fell to his hands and knees and vomited. Not that there was much to vomit. He was parched. In the back of his mind, he heard the ravens ask if he was alright, and whether he needed them to do something. He dismissed them with the telepathic equivalent of a grunt and stayed on the ground for a long minute, trying to catch his breath. The other Aspirants ran past him. Inago stopped to make sure he was well, which made Hunter want to scream at his wide, friendly face. He had just barfed from exhaustion. He was far from well. Too spent to even talk, he just nodded a few times and gave Inago a thumbs-up, which for all he knew could be a rude gesture in Brennai culture. Fawkes came to check up on him, too, followed by Fyodor, who started licking his sweaty face. ¡°Ew¡­ stop!¡± Hunter rasped between still-labored breaths. ¡°Small sips,¡± Fawkes told him, handing him a tin water canteen and a rag. ¡°Wipe the blood off your nose, too.¡± He¡¯d been bleeding from the strain, he realized. He still hadn¡¯t recovered from the strain his last in-game death had put to his system. ¡°Think you need to get to your side of things for a while?¡± Fawkes asked, trying - and failing - not to sound concerned. No, Hunter thought. He didn¡¯t want to, if only out of pure stubbornness. He was already showing weakness. On the other hand, he really should. If the strain to his nerves was bad enough to give him a nosebleed and a pounding headache over here, he couldn¡¯t be much better on his side of things. ¡°I won¡¯t be long,¡± he managed to say, and logged out then and there, still on his knees. *** The first thing Alex did when he woke up in his bed was bring his fingers to his nose. Blood. Fuck. Not a lot of it, but still blood. He got up, washed up, plugged his nostrils with toilet paper. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? Jump right back in the game? Take some time off to cool down? The prudent, mature, self-aware choice would be to drop out of the whole Aspirant thing Fawkes had gotten him into, if not stop logging in Elderpyre for a while altogether. But that would cost him Fawkes. Fawkes¡­ There was this thought that had been buzzing in his head like an angry bee for a while now. He¡¯d been avoiding to acknowledge it for fear of getting in another row with her. What the hell had she been thinking, signing him up for Brennai special forces bootcamp? His thoughts spiraled, each one angrier than the last. How could she put him in this position? He could have said no, granted - but could he, really? She¡¯d just get disappointed and fuck off in the sunset on her own, lonesome cowboy style. If that wasn¡¯t emotional blackmail, he didn¡¯t know what the hell it was. No, she couldn¡¯t be doing it on purpose - could she? She was hurting. She was grieving. Still, that didn¡¯t give her the right to- Another wave of blood gushed from his nostrils, soaking the toilet paper plugs. He took them off, then pinched the soft, fleshy part of his nose, hoping to compress the vessels shut. And then it hit him. It wasn¡¯t physical exertion that wreaked enough havoc on his nerves to give him nosebleeds. It was emotional distress. He tried to think back to all the times he¡¯d had it happen to him. It had happened twice as he was arguing with Fawkes, and once during the fight with that owlbeast - during which he was just as startled and stressed as physically hurt. And even now, it wasn¡¯t the exhaustion that did him in - it was the embarrassment and frustration of not being able to keep up with the others. Okay, that was good. That was a breakthrough. That was something he could use. He could already feel the cogs starting to whir in his head, problem-solving. *** When he popped back in Elderpyre, the other Aspirants were still running laps around the training grounds. Fyodor rushed to greet him, tongue wagging, and the ravens bombarded him with a host of mental inquiries about his health. Fawkes was back with Elder Wroth near the totem pole at the center of the grounds, talking. She beckoned him to go closer. ¡°Feeling better, lad?¡± she asked. Hunter eyed her. She looked concerned, despite trying to downplay it. ¡°Much.¡± Wroth furrowed his bushy brow, looking troubled. ¡°Elder Fawkes informed me of your situation, son. I¡¯d hate to see you get hurt, but that¡¯s your choice. A man has to push himself. I can respect that. But them,¡± he pointed a meaty finger at the other Aspirants, ¡°them, you can¡¯t expect to slow down and wait for you. Do you understand that?¡± ¡°Yes, Elder.¡± ¡°You better do. If you got to drop out, go on and drop out. But you can¡¯t expect me to give you any special treatment, Transient.¡± So there it was. ¡°No, Elder,¡± said Hunter a bit more coolly than was absolutely necessary. ¡°There will be no need for that.¡± ¡°Good,¡± said Wroth, and walked away. ¡°Maybe this wasn¡¯t such a good idea after all,¡± Fawkes drawled when the man was out of earshot. Hunter said nothing. He wanted to be mad at her, deep down. Snap at her, shout at her. He knew he had every right. He just didn¡¯t find it as easy in person. ¡°Next time, just ask me first, yes?¡± he sighed. She frowned and looked away - as clear an apology as he was going to get. ¡°This was a mistake.¡± she said. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here.¡± Hunter looked at the far side of the training grounds, where the other Aspirants were huffing and puffing and sweating, but still at it. ¡°No,¡± he told her as he prepared to go back to running. ¡°Now that we¡¯re here, I want to see this through.¡± Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 15 ¡°Alright, enough!¡± Elder Wroth shouted. ¡°There¡¯s a stream behind those trees. Go drink some water, wash up, then come back here.¡± Hunter almost fainted from relief. For the last hour or so he was running on pure willpower and the extra Stamina regeneration his Out of Pure Spite trait afforded him. His legs were like two dead logs, numb and stiff. By his reckoning, they¡¯d more or less run a marathon. Even Yuma looked exhausted. They went and washed up in the stream, all four of them. Inago gave Hunter a weak smile, but other than that, nobody had any energy to talk. ¡°Gather up,¡± Wroth shouted again, not two minutes later. ¡°Put your clothes back on, then come back here and sit in a circle.¡± That¡¯s what they did. All six of them, the Aspirants, Elder Wroth, and Fawkes, sat in a circle around the totem pole at the center of the sacred training grounds. ¡°Do you know why you did what you just did?¡± Wroth started, looking at each of the Aspirants in turn. ¡°Do you know why you ran for hours, half naked, exposed to the sun and the wind?¡± Hunter and Fawkes exchanged looks. He had a few choice replies to that question, now that he¡¯d caught his breath, but he opted not to voice them. ¡°What you just did,¡± Wroth went on, ¡°is the heart and soul of the Path of the White Cloud. Our strength does not come from raw power alone, but from our unwavering endurance and the relentless spirit that resides within us.¡± He turned to Inago, who was hanging from each word. ¡°You know how to hunt, yes?¡± ¡°Yes, Elder,¡± Inago nodded with enthusiasm. ¡°Our ancestors chased their prey across the vast landscapes of this land, not because they were the fastest, but because they could run the longest. They would pursue tirelessly until their quarry faltered, weakened by the very endurance that defines us. We outlast. We endure. We pursue with a tenacity that no other creature can match. While others rely on sheer speed or brute force, we prevail through perseverance.¡± That had been humanity¡¯s evolutionary advantage, Hunter thought. They jogged things to death. They didn¡¯t have fur or scales or claws or venom. Humans had the ability to perspire and gravity on their side, being bipeds. They simply ran after their prey at a moderate pace until they completely exhausted them, chucking the occasional sharpened rock for good measure. If that was what White Cloud was all about, Hunter could get behind that. ¡°The Path of the White Cloud is built upon this principle,¡± Elder Wroth continued. ¡°Endurance is our greatest weapon. It is not enough to strike hard. You must also strike true. You must be the one to strike last. In battle, see, it is not always the strongest who survives, but the one who can outlast the struggle, who can push through pain and exhaustion when others fall. This endurance is what shapes us, hones us into warriors worthy of our ancestors.¡± He turned to Hunter, which was probably a very deliberate choice. ¡°You will face trials that will test your limits, pushing you to the brink of collapse. Your muscles will ache, your breath will burn, and your spirit will be tested. But it is in these moments of suffering that your true strength will be revealed. You must embrace the pain! Hold it close to your heart! Welcome it! It is a sign that you are growing stronger, that you are forging yourself into a weapon of unparalleled endurance!¡± Next he turned to Tayen, who was studying the Elder with an expression Hunter found unreadable. ¡°Remember, the White Cloud is ever-moving, never stationary, a symbol of constant progress and relentless pursuit. To follow this path is to commit to an unending journey of self-improvement and perseverance. You are not just training your bodies; you are training your minds and spirits to be unyielding, to never give up, no matter the odds.¡± Last, he turned to Yuma. ¡°So grit your teeth, Aspirants. Steel your hearts. Prepare yourselves. The path ahead is long and arduous, but it is a path that will lead you to greatness. Prove to me, to your ancestors, and to yourselves that you are worthy of the name you bear. Each of you has the potential to become a living testament to our heritage. To stand as warriors who can endure any hardship, any challenge, any adversary. This is your legacy, your birthright. Embrace it with every fiber of your being. Make your ancestors proud!¡± As far as rousing speeches went, that wasn¡¯t a bad one. Hunter had to give to him; Wroth was quite the big ham, but he could talk as well as he could presumably brandish a spear. The others seemed to think so too. Yuma and Tayen were both looking solemn. Inago was hanging from the Elder¡¯s every word. Even Fawkes was eyeing him, looking less detached than she lately used to. ¡°Come, now,¡± he went on as he sat on the ground cross-legged. ¡°Sit with me. Join me in meditation. Elder Fawkes, join us too, if you may.¡± She did. All six of them sat in a circle around the totem pole at the center of the sacred training grounds. Fyodor joined them too. Yuma and Tayen were still casting sidelong glances at the russet-furred direwolf with a mixture of distrust and incredulity. Wroth didn¡¯t seem to mind his presence, though, so nobody said anything. "Close your eyes,¡± the Elder said when everyone had settled down, his voice a deep, resonating rumble. "Breathe. Feel the air fill your lungs, the life flowing through you. Now, let it go. Slow and steady." Hunter followed his instructions and steadied his breathing. Peeking through a half-closed eye, he saw the rest of the Aspirants do the same, their chest rising and falling in unison. "Focus on your center," Wroth continued, his voice softer now. "Feel the strength in your core, the fire in your belly. This is the source of your power, the wellspring of your spirit. Nurture it. Let it grow."This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Hunter, initially skeptical, gradually found himself drawn into the rhythm of the exercise. His furrowed brow relaxed, and his shoulders, tense from the morning''s events, began to ease. He focused on the rise and fall of his chest, the steady inhalation and exhalation, finding a surprising sense of calm in the simple act of breathing. A notification appeared in the HUD near the edge of his vision, almost spoiling his concentration. Your Meditation has increased to 5. "Good," Wroth rumbled, a hint of approval in his voice. "Now, imagine a flame flickering within you, small but bright. It is the spark of your spirit, your connection to the land and all its creatures." He paused, allowing the image to take hold in their minds. "Feed that flame with each breath. Feel it grow stronger, warmer. Let it illuminate your inner darkness, cleanse your doubts and fears. This is the first step on your path." They sat there concentrating on their breathing until the sun was in its zenith and Hunter¡¯s Meditation Skill had reached 8. He¡¯d also gained a bunch of ranks in his Athletics and Toughness Skills earlier on. The Blessing of the Aspirants he¡¯d gained from the Place of Power was really accelerating the rate at which his Skills improved - and he¡¯d only been training for a few hours. He couldn¡¯t wait to see what wonders a few days or weeks could do. Hell, he could hardly stay put thinking about what other Skills and Abilities he could train and cultivate. A bit after noon, Daeran, the alderman¡¯s right hand man arrived. He was accompanied by the same middle-aged woman who¡¯d been cheering for Inago earlier in the morning - his mother. She was carrying a large basket. He, on the other hand, was lugging a leather-wrapped pack as long as he was tall. ¡°Hile, Elders!¡±, the woman said and waved, beaming. ¡°Lunch for our Aspirants!¡± Hunter could see the resemblance. That was definitely where Inago got his penchant for child-like enthusiasm from. ¡°Elder Wroth,¡± Daeran nodded, setting his pack down and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. ¡°May the spirits guide your path and bless your days. We brought what you asked for.¡± ¡°Hile! Welcome, welcome,¡± Elder Wroth said, rising to his feet and patting himself down. ¡°Aspirants, at ease. Fill your bellies. You¡¯ll need your strength.¡± Onatah, Inago¡¯s mother, proved to be as sweet a woman as Hunter had ever met. She had brought a small feast with her ¨C mostly leftovers from the previous night, as well as berries, flatbreads, and salted mutton. Hunter, Inago, Yuma, and Tayen attacked it with gusto. Wroth and Fawkes ate their lunch separately as the Elder and Daeran talked among themselves, and Fawkes pretended not to pay attention. ¡°What is this made of?¡± Hunter asked, stuffing his mouth with flatbread. It had a nutty, earthy taste, with just a hint of subtle sweetness. ¡°Acorn flour,¡± said Onatah with a smile. ¡°You¡¯ve never had any before, sai? It¡¯s Inago¡¯s favorite.¡± Inago smiled and nodded between bites, confirming. ¡°I didn¡¯t even know you could make flour with acorns,¡± Hunter said. ¡°What do you make flour with where you¡¯re from?¡± ¡°Uh¡­ Grains? Wheat, corn, that kind of thing.¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell us where you¡¯re from, by the by?¡± Yuma interjected, not bothering to look at Hunter. Onatah and Inago exchanged a worried glance. Tayen, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow. ¡°I guess there shouldn¡¯t be any secrets between us,¡± said Hunter, doing his best not to sound defensive. ¡°Some of you know already. I¡¯m what you¡¯d call a Transient. I¡¯m from another world altogether.¡± The only one who looked surprised to hear that was Tayen, who gave him a long, appraising look. ¡°Oh! Isn¡¯t that just wonderful?¡± said Inago¡¯s mother, trying way too hard to sound cheerful. ¡°It¡¯s alright, miss Onatah.¡± ¡°Is it, though?¡± Yuma went on. ¡°I know at least five other Brennai braves worthy of being Aspirants. Yet they¡¯re back in their village twiddling their thumbs, while you¡¯re here on these sacred grounds, too weak to even make it through the first day. Why is that, Transient?¡± Hunter had a few choice words for the alderman¡¯s son, but decided to bite his tongue. ¡°I did not ask for this,¡±he said instead. ¡°If you find my presence here disagreeable, take it up with Elder Wroth.¡± That earned him a glare. ¡°Oh, worry not. I will. If you don¡¯t decide to drop out on your own until then, that is.¡± *** After they finished eating and Daeran and Onatah left, Elder Wroth gathered the Aspirants in a circle for another meditation session. ¡°Settle yourselves and find your center. Breathe. Proper breathing will restore your strength. It will even help with your digestion.¡± They sat there for an hour. Hunter found meditating on a full stomach surprisingly hard. The pleasant heat of the afternoon sun got him so drowsy he almost fell asleep a couple of times. Elder Wroth must have noticed somehow, because every time he cleared his throat loud enough to get Hunter jolted wide awake. ¡°Alright, you¡¯ve had enough rest,¡± Wroth finally said, jumping to his fit with a burst of energy and flexibility of a much younger man. ¡°It¡¯s time we tested your mettle a bit further.¡± He walked over to the leather-wrapped pack Daeran had brought, unwrapped it, and produced five polearms. They were glaives similar to Hunter¡¯s, though of more mundane craftsmanship. Their blades were made of dull-looking iron, their edges unsharpened. Training weapons. ¡°These,¡± he said as he handed a glaive to each of the Aspirants, keeping the last one for himself, ¡°will be your weapons. They are called glaives. They are, as you may know, the White Cloud¡¯s preferred weapon.¡± Hunter exchanges glances with Fawkes. He couldn¡¯t believe his good fortune. His less-than-great shape was already proving to be enough of a handicap. Having to learn to use a new kind of weapon from scratch would make things even worse. "A glaive," Elder Wroth went on, hefting the seven-foot weapon with casual ease, "is a warrior''s best friend. It''s versatile, powerful, and can keep a horde of enemies at bay. Its balance and reach allow for both offense and defense. It can be a dancer''s blade, but also a butcher''s cleaver. It can sever limbs, crush skulls, and even trip a charging boar if you know how to use it right." He handed his glaive to Fawkes and took a step back, as if inviting her to speak. She took it, though not looking overly eager to contribute. "A glaive is a tool," she said, tracing the curve of the weapon¡¯s blade with a gloved fingertip. ¡°It is not a symbol of status or a plaything for duels. It¡¯s a practical weapon built for versatility. For brutal efficiency. I have seen a glaive cut down a charging armiger in full plate, sever the head of a troll, and even hold back a rampaging manticora.¡± She handed the glaive back to Elder Wroth, who continued his lesson. "For those aspiring to follow the Path of the White Cloud, the glaive is more than just a weapon. It''s an extension of their body, their will, a conduit for their spirit. So let me see how well you can wield it." Elder Wroth let his gaze travel from one Aspirant to the next, his lips slowly splitting into a gleeful toothy grin. ¡°You,¡± his eyes settled on Hunter. ¡°A sparring match. You will face-¡± Yuma tightened his grip on his weapon and took a step forward, eager to settle the score with Hunter. ¡°No, no, not you,¡± Wroth dismissed him with a wave. ¡°You. Tayen.¡± Impassive, the young woman adjusted her grip on her glaive, walked a few paces away to make some space, and fell into a fighting position. Hunter followed, hefting his own glaive. Last time he¡¯d checked, he had 16 ranks in Polearm Mastery, and another 19 in Close Combat. He¡¯d faced low-dwellers, low-ogres, and a spider the size of a small african elephant. He¡¯d faced Mother, for god¡¯s sake, and It That Whispers. How tough of an opponent could a single Brennai young woman with a big stick be? Tough, as he soon found out. Very tough. Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 16 He knew he was in hot water right from the get-go. Across from him, Tayen hefted her own glaive with practiced ease. Her stance was relaxed, confident. Hunter could see that this was almost second nature to her. ¡°Ready?¡± she called out, eyeing him with a measuring glance. ¡°As I¡¯ll ever be.¡± They began to circle each other, trying to get a read of each other¡¯s motions. Hunter tried to recall the basics Fawkes had taught him: maintain distance, use the reach of the glaive, don''t overcommit. Tayen moved first, a quick thrust aimed at his midsection. Hunter parried awkwardly, the force of the blow reverberating up his arms. She didn''t give him time to recover, spinning her glaive around and sweeping at his legs. Hunter jumped back, but not fast enough. He felt the sting of the dull training blade grazing his shin. Tayen Besk attacks you for 7 bludgeoning damage. This time, she gave him time to get his footing. She wasn¡¯t looking for an easy win, or to humiliate him. She was just measuring her skill against his own. Not that it made much difference. This one single exchange was enough for Hunter to know he was dead in the water. Tayen assumed her fighting stance and nodded at him, prompting him into action. Gritting his teeth, he stepped forward, feinting high before bringing his glaive down in a diagonal slash. Tayen blocked it effortlessly, the clang of metal on metal echoing around them. She swept Hunter''s glaive to the side, then thrusted towards his chest. This time, Hunter was somewhat better-prepared. He stumbled back, twisted his torso, leaned outside the thrust¡¯s trajectory, and almost lost his footing - but he somehow managed to evade. Your Evasion has increased to 8. Tayen pressed her advantage, her attacks a blur of motion. A high thrust, a low sweep, a spinning strike. Hunter could barely keep up, his arms aching from the effort. He saw an opening, a brief moment where he could strike. Hunter lunged forward, aiming for her shoulder. But Tayen was faster, stepping aside and bringing her glaive up in a smooth arc that caught him across the ribs. Tayen Besk attacks you for 9 bludgeoning damage. The impact sent him sprawling to the ground, his glaive clattering away. Before he could scramble to his feet, the blade of Tayen''s glaive was at his throat. She looked down at him, her expression impassionate. ¡°Alright, that¡¯s enough!¡± Elder Wroth called, scowling. Tayen set her weapon on the side and offered Hunter a hand. He took it and climbed back to his feet. He kept his eyes on the ground, getting red on the face as he felt the gazes of Wroth, Fawkes, and the other Aspirants on him. Wroth picked up Hunter¡¯s glaive from the ground and put it back in his hands. ¡°Show me your fighting stance.¡± Hunter assumed his best imitation of the fighting stance Tayen had used. "No, no, boy," Wroth grumbled, shaking his head. He stood behind Hunter, his gnarled hands gently adjusting Hunter''s posture. "Your feet need to be shoulder-width apart, like this." He nudged Hunter''s legs into position. "Bend your knees slightly, stay loose but grounded. Imagine you''re a tree with deep roots but flexible branches." Wroth tapped Hunter''s arms, correcting the angle of his glaive. "Keep your weapon low and ready, but not tense. You''re not fighting yet, just waiting. Always be ready to strike or defend, but don''t show it. Let your enemy guess." He stepped back, observing with a critical eye. "There, much better. Now you look a bit more like a fighter, and a bit less like a flailing child." That drew a chuckle from Yuma. Wroth threw a warning glare at his general direction, but said nothing. Hunter''s cheeks flushed, but he nodded, gripping his glaive tighter. A single drop of blood trickled from his right nostril. He wiped it with the back of his hand, turning his back to Fawkes for a second. He didn¡¯t want her to see. ¡°You have a long way to go," Wroth told him in a gruff, lower voice - but still loud enough to be heard. "You can''t hope to face the trials of the White Cloud if you can''t even face a girl in pretend-combat." At that, Tayen remained impassionate. But Fawkes raised an eyebrow. ¡°You two, now,¡± Wroth turned to Yuma and Inago. ¡°It¡¯s your turn. Show us what you got.¡± The two Brennai men faced each other and assumed fighting positions. They sparred for a few minutes, enough for Elder Wroth to get a good grip on how proficient each of them was with a glaive. Yuma was the more skilled by far, but Inago was no slouch either. Hunter would have lost to either of them. Wroth was satisfied. ¡°Enough,¡± he said. Yuma and Inago stopped and lowered their weapons at once. ¡°I might yet make proper Aspirants out of you. Now fall in line. Yes, that means you too, Transient. Make haste, the day¡¯s awasting. Pay attention now, because I¡¯m only going to demonstrate these once.¡± They stood in line side by side and watched as Elder Wroth began his lesson. He moved with surprising agility for a man of his size, his glaive a blur of steel as he demonstrated a series of fluid strikes and parries. The air whistled with each swing, the heavy weapon seeming to dance in his grasp. Fawkes watched too, her expression unreadable. "First form: The Serpent''s Coil!" Wroth roared, his glaive tracing a serpentine path, deflecting imaginary attacks with lightning speed. "Second form: The Wolf''s Maw!" His weapon blurred in a series of wide, slashing arcs, each strike aimed to disembowel or dismember. "Third form: The Hawk''s Talon!" The glaive became a piercing spear, thrusting forward with deadly precision. Hunter watched with rapt attention, his eyes tracing every movement, every subtle shift in Wroth''s stance. The sheer power and grace of the seasoned elder¡¯s display was incomparable to anything he himself - or even the much more skilled Yuma, for that matter - could hope to match. "Now you," Wroth barked, his gaze sweeping over the Aspirants. "Show me what you''ve learned!" He spent the next few drilling them mercilessly. The afternoon sun beat down on the training grounds, making the sweat drip from Hunter¡¯s brow. He pushed on anyway, fueled by a mixture of determination and the thrill of the prospect of newfound strength. A few notifications flashed at the edge of his vision, but he didn¡¯t let them distract him. He¡¯d go through them later. For now, his focus was solely on Wroth¡¯s lesson. What he¡¯d learned about handling his glaive so far, Hunter had learned intuitively and under pressure. The stances and forms Elder Wroth taught them, campy names aside, offered Hunter the structure he needed in order to put his combat experience and intuition into better use. It was as if things he was already on the cusp of realizing finally clicked in place. Still, a few glimpses at his left and right were enough for him to see that he was still lagging behind the other Aspirants. Their stance was surer, their form was better, the way they handled their weapons was more natural. Hunter tried not to think of that. He tried to focus on his own growth. Seeing Yuma execute every drill like he was a goddamn precision automaton and barely breaking a sweat, however, made that challenging. The sun was on its way to setting when the rumble of an approaching Behemoth interrupted them. It was the smallest, sleekest of the vehicles, painted the color of charcoal. Elder Rook¡¯s Blacktalon. It pulled in near the northern side of the Sacred Training Grounds, and Behemoth riders immediately jumped off and started unloading sacks and bundles. ¡°Alright, that¡¯s enough,¡± Elder Wroth told the Aspirants as he turned away to join them. ¡°Go wash up, rest. We¡¯re done for the day. Don¡¯t go wandering off just yet, though!¡± Hunter set his training glaive down and plopped on the ground to take a well-deserved breather. Fawkes came and sat next to him.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Feeling any better?¡± ¡°Sure,¡± he said, eyeing Yuma. He was still working on his stance and form, fighting off imaginary enemies. ¡°Tons.¡± ¡°He¡¯s a prick. Pay him no heed.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± Fawkes passed him a water canteen, and he drank greedily. ¡°Sip,¡± she scolded him. ¡°Don¡¯t guzzle.¡± ¡°Yeah, sure, add that to the list of things I can¡¯t seem to do right.¡± Fawkes frowned and pursed her lips. ¡°Why are you snapping at me, lad?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± Was he? He took another drink from the canteen, trying to figure out whether he was mad at her and for what reason. This time remembering to sip. The water tasted vaguely metallic in his mouth. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he finally said. ¡°Fatigue¡¯s making me grumpy. Feeling like a fat kid in a gym doesn¡¯t help much, either. Anyway, what about you? Are you planning to let Wroth do all the mentoring himself?¡± ¡°That remains to be seen,¡± she said, turning her gaze to the old warrior and the rest of the Behemoth riders near the massive vehicle. ¡°So far, it appears that my role here is merely nominal.¡± ¡°Which means?¡± ¡°Which means the reason I¡¯m here is because the girl¡­¡± Fawkes paused, searching for the right words. ¡°Well, let¡¯s say she¡¯s a spirited one. The headstrong, disagreeable lot. They elders wanted her to pursue Ascension along with the alderman¡¯s son. For political reasons or somesuch. She¡¯d only agree if they found a woman warrior to assist with the Ascendants¡¯ guidance.¡± A wry smile touched her lips. "It seems I was the only one who fit the bill." ¡°And Wroth doesn¡¯t think it a good idea?¡± Fawkes shook her head and sighed. ¡°Wroth doesn¡¯t think, period. For all his skill and exploits, the man is a buffoon. He means no disrespect, but it does not seem to occur to him I might have some sort of insight to offer.¡± ¡°Is it because you¡¯re a woman?¡± Fawkes shrugged. ¡°A woman, a foreigner, not the great hero Wroth¡­ Take your pick.¡± ¡°And you¡¯re alright with that?¡± ¡°For now. I¡¯ll let him spend a couple of weeks with you lot, hammer you into shape before I jump in. In fact, I think I¡¯ll go ranging in the Weald for a few days, see if I can find anything worth turning into a lesson.¡± ¡°Like what?¡± Hunter raised an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯ve seen how well you handle getting surrounded by three hungry low-dwellers,¡± she said, and her lips splitted into another humorless smile as she turned her gaze over Yuma. ¡°But I still haven¡¯t seen how your little hoity-toity rival over there would.¡± That gave Hunter pause. ¡°Didn¡¯t know you gave a shit.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t. It¡¯s just that he reminds me of someone else. Back when I was training Reiner to take on the climb to the Iron Rung himself, there was this other Aspirant, a young ¨¢eld-blooded princeling who thought his shit didn¡¯t stink. Watching Reiner cut him down a notch was a real treat.¡± Hunter frowned a bit at that, but tried to hide it. ¡°So you want me to cut down Yuma a notch?¡± ¡°Me? No, no, never said that. But if you did, I''d be sure to buy you a flagon of ale at the next tavern we stumbled upon.¡± ¡°And I¡¯d be sure to take you up on that,¡± Hunter said. ¡°Think you can cover for me if I pop to my side of things for a half-hour or so?¡± ¡°Go on,¡± she nodded. ¡°It¡¯s not like we¡¯re going anywhere anytime soon, is it?¡± *** As it turned out, no, it wasn¡¯t as if Hunter, Elder Wroth, or any of the other Aspirants was going anywhere anytime soon. Fawkes, however, had slightly different plans. When Hunter popped back in after his brief little intermission, he found that the Behemoth riders had set up a few tents by the training ground for the Aspirants to sleep in, had left some supplies, and were packing up and getting ready to leave.¡± ¡°You can at least stay the night,¡± argued Elder Wroth. Elder Rook was adamant. The Blacktalon¡¯s crew was to set up a forward camp in the Weald an hour or so away. Night was falling swiftly, but the Behemoth¡¯s headlights were enough for them to find their way even if it did. He didn¡¯t want to waste a single hour. Fawkes was with Elder Rook too. The other Aspirants were nowhere to be seen. ¡°There you are,¡± she told Hunter as he approached her. ¡°All¡¯s well, I hope?¡± ¡°Yeah, I got it all under control.¡± She was still worried about him almost frying his brain fighting It That Whispers, he supposed, though she had weird ways to show it. Like signing him up to be an Aspirant. ¡°Are you certain?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Good.¡± Something was on her mind, it was obvious. ¡°So, as I said,¡± she started, ¡°I was thinking of going away for a few days to scout the Weald. Elder Rook has offered to take me with. Asked for my help, actually. Him and his crew will be combing the area for any signs of whatever it is that¡¯s killing the Brennai dead.¡± She paused as if she was expecting Hunter to say something, though he wasn¡¯t sure what. ¡°Anyway,¡± she went on. ¡°It won¡¯t take me more than a few days. A week, tops. Will you be alright?¡± Hunter shrugged. ¡°You know me. It¡¯s not like I will be doing anything more dangerous than jogging around these grounds and swinging a glaive till my hand blisters get blisters of their own.¡± Fawkes nodded and said nothing more on the subject. Fifteen minutes later, she climbed atop Blacktalon, waved him goodbye, and rode the Behemoth away into the proverbial setting sun. She was running away again, that much was obvious. She needed time, granted. She needed space. As long as it was just for a few days, Hunter could respect that. Still, there was a part of him that couldn¡¯t help but feel hurt and abandoned. She¡¯d done what he¡¯d asked her not to do. She¡¯d dumped him with the Brennai and had run away, hadn¡¯t she? He felt his stomach clench, his head throb. He brought a hand to his right nostril. It came back red. Shit, why did everything have to get so complicated? He was dead tired. Exhausted, really. He tried to put all that out of his mind, to focus on the fact that, above all else, Fawkes was his friend. He respected her. He¡¯d trust her with his life. She¡¯d be back. She just needed a bit of quiet to get her head on straight. Maybe he needed to do that himself, too. With Fawkes gone, there was not much keeping him from logging out and turning in for an early night in his own, physical, real world bed. As if on cue, he felt his raven familiars tug at the back of his mind, trying to draw his attention. Then something big, heavy and furry tackled him and started licking his face. ¡°Okay, you have to stop doing this,¡± Hunter told Fyodor, pushing the direwolf¡¯s snout away with his hand in a vain attempt to save himself from getting slobbered on. ¡°Down, you big oaf!¡± Despite not having given him nearly enough attention the past few days, Fyodor looked happier, better. The woods and the open sky agreed with him more than any ancient hall or stuffy tent. Biggs and Wedge joined them, too. One landed on Hunter¡¯s shoulder, the other on the direwolf¡¯s russet-furred back. They made quite the fuss, the chattering windbags, complaining for the lack of anything meaningful to do, other than keeping an eye on the mutt. Hunter couldn¡¯t blame them, really. That¡¯s all they¡¯d done these last few days. And if Hunter was to spend most of his time training along with the other Aspirants, the ravens would have to get used to it. Somewhere on the other side of the training grounds, someone was eyeing their little get-together. Yuma. Hunter did his best to pay him no attention. Instead, he waved at Inago. The young Brennai looked every bit as exhausted as Hunter. When he saw Fyodor, though, he lit up like a Christmas tree. The direwolf liked him too. He threw a glance at Hunter, as if asking for permission, then went to lick Inago¡¯s hand. ¡°Hunter! What a day, don¡¯t you think? I can¡¯t remember the last time I had to run for so long!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever had to run for so long before,¡± Hunter grumbled. ¡°What a day indeed.¡± Still, he felt some of his grumpiness evaporate even before he¡¯d finished his sentence. Inago¡¯s earnest smile was infectious. ¡°You did well,¡± Inago said. ¡°And you¡¯re good with the glaive, too.¡± ¡°Tayen crushed me.¡± ¡°Nothing to be embarrassed about, that. Tayen has been training since she was old enough to hold a stick. I should know - I often was on the receiving end. Don¡¯t think like that. You did well.¡± Hunter started to disagree, then decided to shut up. Inago was trying to lift his spirits. He might as well let him. ¡°Thank you, Inago,¡± he said instead, forcing himself to smile. ¡°I really appreciate it.¡± ¡°Nothing to thank me for,¡± the man beamed. ¡°You really did well!¡± He petted Fyodor, scratching him on the side of his neck and behind his ears like he liked. The direwolf looked ecstatic. He wagged his tail furiously, creating a soft thumping sound against the ground, his eyes closed in bliss. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, and he let out a contented whimper, nudging Inago''s hand for more attention. Hunter took notes. He should show Fyodor more affection too, if he wanted to form any kind of strong bond with him. These past few days he¡¯d totally neglected him. Inago couldn¡¯t seem to fear the direwolf anymore. Hunter was glad. He liked Inago, and so did Fyodor. It was a good way to show the rest of the Brennai they had nothing to fear from the big pupper. One less reason for Hunter to worry. ¡°I guess we should be getting back on the road,¡± Hunter changed the subject. The trek to Sacred Training Grounds wasn¡¯t a long one, but the sooner they got back there, the sooner he¡¯d be able to log out. Or he could do so right now, he supposed, save himself the trips back and forth, and meet Wroth and the other Aspirants at the Training Grounds the next morning. ¡°We won¡¯t go back to the village,¡± Inago said. ¡°Elder Rook¡¯s men brought us tents and supplies. Elder Wroth said we should set up camp here, by the Sacred Training Grounds. It¡¯s a tradition for Aspirants to take time away from the rest of their people.¡± Hunter nodded. That suited him just fine. ¡°Say, Inago, can I ask for a favor?¡± The man raised his eyes from Fyodor, curious. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°See, me being a Transient and all means I often have to get back to my, uh, side of things. To eat, rest, stretch my legs a bit, that kind of thing. Evenings, mostly.¡± Inago''s brow furrowed slightly, his curiosity mixed with caution as he listened. ¡°I was wondering if you could keep an eye on Fyodor for me during those times,¡± Hunter went on. ¡°Make sure he¡¯s alright, gets enough food and attention, stays out of trouble. He likes you, you know.¡± Inago¡¯s face lit up with a broad smile. ¡°Of course! I¡¯d be happy to. We¡¯ve become good friends already, haven¡¯t we, boy?¡± Fyodor responded with a happy bark, nudging Inago¡¯s hand with his nose. Hunter felt a wave of relief and gratitude. ¡°Thank you, Inago. That means a lot. The ravens will be around, too, of course,¡± Hunter said, cocking a thumb at the two masses of black feathers that had been perching on his shoulders like pauldrons. ¡°But I¡¯d rest easier if I knew I could count on you, too. They¡¯re called Biggs and Wedge, by the way. They can understand you if you talk to them, though I can¡¯t guarantee they¡¯ll be much help. They¡¯re not exactly the brightest.¡± That drew a cacophony of indignant caws, startling Inago and Fyodor both. ¡°Oh, shut it, you windbags. You know it¡¯s true. Anyway, yes, thank you, Inago. I¡¯ll rest easier knowing I can trust you with Fyodor.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Hunter,¡± Inago said, stroking the direwolf¡¯s big head and eyeing Biggs and Wedge with a mix of caution and amusement. ¡°You can rest easy.¡± ¡°Alright then, I¡¯ll be off,¡± Hunter said, patting Fyodor one last time. ¡°Take care, and I¡¯ll be back by sunup.¡± Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 17 Logging out of Elderpyre and waking up in his bed was often awkward. After spending so many hours in bed, Alex''s body felt stiff and achy, with joints and muscles protesting against movement and a general sense of sluggishness pervading his limbs. Today was different, though. After all that grueling physical training, slipping into his well-rested real life body felt like Christmas in July. Having logged out for the evening earlier than he usually did, Alex found himself having a bit of extra time in his hands. He did some stretching exercises and went out for a run around the courtyard, musing about how easier the light exercise came to him now. The Happy Motel was empty as usual. Carpenter was in her office, busy with paperwork. In the cafeteria, there was only Beth - a forty-something guard Alex had only met a couple of times. She greeted him with a nod, then went back to reading her book. It was an old paperback copy of Cormack McCarthy¡¯s Blood Meridian, of all things. Bob or Hank were nowhere to be seen. Alex ate dinner alone, grabbed a couple of extra sandwiches and apples in a doggy bag, and headed back to his room. Soon enough, he found himself eager to get back in Elderpyre. He had a ton of notifications to go through. He also craved a beer, and he just so happened to know a place where he could have one while staring at stat screens. He put on the casque again, pressed the button on its side, and thought of his Shard. ¡°Hey there, Mort,¡± he said as he materialized in the old-timey speakeasy. ¡°How¡¯s it hanging?¡± ¡°Good evening, sir,¡± said the bartender, solemn as ever. ¡°Can¡¯t say I can complain. It¡¯s good to have you here.¡± ¡°It¡¯s good to be here. I can¡¯t even begin to describe the day I had.¡± Hunter climbed on a stool by the bar as Mort poured him a glass of water. ¡°Drink, sir?¡± ¡°A pint of lager, Mort, thank you.¡± ¡°Coming right up, sir.¡± Mort got him his beer, and Hunter pulled up his notification feed. The blessing he had gained by communing with the Place of Power at the Sacred Training Grounds helped his Skills and Abilities grow at an accelerated rate, and the cascade of messages reflected that perfectly. His newly-gained Athletics Skill had already gotten to 4. His Evasion Skill sat at 8, and his Meditation at 5. He¡¯d also gained a couple of ranks in Polearm Mastery, though not in Close Combat. As for his Abilities, pushing himself to the limit had gained him three ranks in Toughness, which now sat at 21. Good - that also meant a bonus to his overall Health too. That never hurt. To get a better feel for the big picture of how his progression was going, he pulled up the Skills and Abilities section of his character sheet. Skills: Athletics: 4 Close Combat: 19 Evasion: 8 Meditation: 5 Occultism: 11 Polearm Mastery: 18: Short Blade Mastery: 3 Survival: 23 Abilities: Augmented Familiar: 19 Conjure Familiar: 24 Craft Spirit Charm: 10 Low-Light Vision: 24 Mystic¡¯s Eye: 10 Toughness: 21 If this first day was evidence of the overall Ascension training itinerary, he could expect to see a huge increase to his physical-related Skills and Abilities over the next few months. Still, even the dopamine hit from seeing the numbers go up wasn¡¯t enough to make him forget the simple fact that, compared to the other Aspirants, he kind of sucked. Fitness and endurance were one thing. Despite having upgraded his Stamina to 130, he still couldn¡¯t catch up with the rest of the group. If it hadn¡¯t been for his Out of Pure Spite Trait triggering and boosting his Stamina Regeneration, he¡¯d simply have given up. If he continued to push himself like that, though, getting a couple dozen ranks in Athletics would be a matter of days. A week, maybe. That was bound to improve things quite a bit in that perspective. Then there was the whole sparring thing. Hunter fell short of everyone else on that front, too. He found that baffling. Even as he pushed himself to keep running, wheezing and trying not to cough up a lung, he thought that fighting would be where he¡¯d rise above the other Aspirants, prove to be better. He¡¯d squared off against low-dwellers, giant spiders, owlbeasts. Back in the Halls of the Cor Ancestors, he¡¯d managed to kill Cthulhu¡¯s little cousin, for fuck¡¯s sake. How could everyone still be better than him? He didn¡¯t like to admit it, but that vexed him to no end. ¡°How was training, then, sir?¡± the bartender asked, cutting through Hunter''s reverie and pulling him back to the present. ¡°Grueling. But you already know that, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Indeed, sir. I just wished to remind you that I am always here to lend a sympathetic ear, should you feel the need to discuss anything.¡± ¡°I think it will take more than a sympathetic ear to help me suck less. Mort. But I appreciate it.¡± ¡°As you wish, sir,¡± Mort said, not pushing. Then there was the other thing - the nosebleeds and migraines. He¡¯d died in-game no fewer than three times, each more brutal than the last. That¡¯s where the game¡¯s verisimilitude had screwed him over. The agony, the pain, the horror felt too real. It had put a massive strain on his nervous system. Now everytime he strained himself a bit too much, he got migraines and nosebleeds both in-game and in the real world. The doctor had said that unless he stopped putting himself in these kinds of situations, simulated or not, he might be facing a very real risk of a stroke or a heart attack. Hunter, being Hunter, had more or less brushed him off. During one of the headache and nosebleed episodes, he¡¯d figured out it wasn¡¯t physical strain that wracked his nerves, but rather emotional distress. It hadn¡¯t been the exhaustion of the training that had driven him over the edge, but the bitter realization of his lack of stamina and skill, paired with the resentment he still harbored towards Fawkes for putting him in an emotionally impossible situation.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Mort?¡± Hunter said. ¡°Can I ask you something?¡± ¡°Anything, sir.¡± ¡°Are bartenders still the first line of advice and support for troubled late-night drinkers?¡± ¡°Is the Pope Catholic, sir?¡± the bartender cracked a joke - a rare occurrence, though his face remained perfectly straight. ¡°How can I offer assistance?¡± ¡°I¡­ I need to find a way to stop feeling bad about things.¡± ¡°Would you care to elaborate, sir?¡± Hunter explained, and Mort listened thoughtfully. ¡°So I was thinking,¡± he concluded, ¡°If I find a way to not get all hot and bothered, that would help with the whole nerves-going-haywire thing, right?¡± ¡°That does make sense, sir.¡± ¡°So that¡¯s my question to you. How can I find ways to¡­ I don¡¯t know, care less? Roll with the punches? That kind of thing.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Mort nodded thoughtfully, his expression grave. ¡°That is a challenging ask, sir.¡± ¡°That¡¯s why I came to the world¡¯s best bartender with it, Mort,¡± Hunter offered with a feeble smile. If Mort registered the compliment, he didn¡¯t show it. ¡°I would strongly advise you to consult with a therapist or trained mental health counselor,¡± he went on. ¡°State and local correctional facilities are often governed by their own regulations and standards, which can vary widely. But the Federal Bureau of Prisons mandates that federal prisons provide mental health services. According to BOP policy, institutions must offer mental health care, including counseling services.¡± Hunter frowned, trying to process that. ¡°So, you¡¯re telling me to ask Carpenter for a shrink? Yeah, fat chance. Have you seen how the place is run?¡± Mort gave him the closest thing to a shrug his programming allowed him. ¡°Granted, the Happy Motel is a privately-owned, for-profit prison. Still, it would be worth your time to inquire about its counseling program.¡± Hunter gave it some thought. He wasn¡¯t opposed to the thought of seeking professional help. His highschool wrestling coach was an ex-marine, one of the toughest sons of bitches around. He was also a very vocal advocate for mental health. ¡°Life¡¯s like an endless series of wrestling matches,¡± he used to tell Alex and the other students in the wrestling club, ¡°and therapists are like wrestling coaches. You still have to do the fighting yourself, sure, but only a fool would train without a coach.¡± Hunter had taken that to heart, though he never had the kind of extra money he¡¯d need to get professional support. ¡°I¡¯ll ask Carpenter, sure,¡± he told the bartender. ¡°Isn¡¯t there anything you could point me towards in the meantime?¡± Mortimer frowned, as if considering what to say next. ¡°While I¡¯m not a therapist myself, sir,¡± he finally said, solemn as ever, ¡°there is a method that could be helpful. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, or CBT.¡± Hunter raised an eyebrow. ¡°CBT? What¡¯s that?¡± Mort cleared his throat and got into lecture mode. ¡°CBT is a form of psychological treatment that helps individuals understand the thoughts and feelings that influence their behaviors, sir. It¡¯s based on the concept that our thoughts, feelings, and behaviors are interconnected, and that changing one can change the others.¡± Cause and effect, then. That made a surprising amount of sense. ¡°How does that work?¡± Hunter asked, his curiosity piqued. ¡°The idea is to identify and challenge any negative thinking patterns and beliefs that are causing you distress,¡± Mort explained, his tone calm and patient. ¡°By doing so, you can change the way you feel and behave. For instance, if you often find yourself thinking that you''re not good enough, CBT would help you to challenge that thought and replace it with a more balanced, evidence-based perspective.¡± ¡°That sounds¡­ useful,¡± Hunter nodded slowly, digesting the idea. ¡°But how the hell am I supposed to do that? Where do I start?¡± ¡°A popular and proven way to start is by keeping a journal,¡± Mort suggested. ¡°Write down any distressing thoughts you have, and then try to identify patterns in your thinking. Once you¡¯ve identified these patterns, you can begin to challenge them. Ask yourself if these thoughts are really true, or if there¡¯s evidence to suggest otherwise.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Hunter said. ¡°And what if the thoughts are true?¡± ¡°Even if there¡¯s some truth to your thoughts, it¡¯s important to consider them in a balanced way. For example, if you¡¯re worried about a specific event, you can try to think of all the possible outcomes, not just the worst-case scenario. This can help you to feel less overwhelmed and more in control.¡± That gave Hunter a lot to think about. He finished his beer, then asked Mort for another. He tried to think about his current situation. What were the sources of his emotional distress? That wasn¡¯t a hard question to answer. Two came immediately in mind; one, Fawkes was acting weird and being distant, and two, he was the worst among the Aspirants by a considerable margin. For the first one, he realized he¡¯d already done most of the work. Fawkes was going through a rough patch, and it had nothing to do with him. She was grieving Reiner¡¯s death. That wasn¡¯t his fault. That wasn¡¯t about him. All he could do was to be a good friend to her, give her the time and space to do her grieving, allow her to come to him when she was ready. And if she found it hard to trust and rely on him because he was Transient, that wasn¡¯t his fault either. She was struggling to come to terms with loss, and he¡­ well, his presence was fleeting by nature. That wasn¡¯t his fault, either. Again, all he could do was to be a good friend to her. Worst case scenario, Fawkes would decide she wanted to be on her own, after all, and take off. Would that make him sad? Yes. Would he survive? Also yes. And that was only the worst case scenario. Which was to say, hardly the most likely one. As for the other thing, the fact that the other Aspirants left him in the dust¡­ ¡°Would you mind helping me with this CBT thing a bit, Mort? As you said, I¡¯m finding myself thinking I¡¯m not good enough compared to the other Aspirants. Can you help me challenge that thought?¡± ¡°Certainly, sir,¡± the bartender said. ¡°Your physical performance and skill with weapons is currently inferior to that of the other Aspirants. That¡¯s not a thought. That¡¯s a fact.¡± ¡°Gee, thanks, Mort.¡± ¡°Let me finish, sir, please. Feeling self-doubt or comparing oneself to others is a common thought. And yes, perhaps there have been moments where you''ve struggled or failed in certain tasks. It''s natural to feel inadequate during those times. Now, let''s consider the evidence that contradicts this thought. Think about your accomplishments, the skills you''ve developed, and the progress you''ve made since you began your journey in Elderpyre. You''ve survived numerous challenges, gained new abilities, and forged meaningful connections with others, like Fawkes. Is that not a fact, too?¡± Hunter gave it some thought. ¡°It is,¡± he said finally. ¡°No matter how you see it.¡± ¡°Exactly. It''s also important to consider other perspectives. How might someone else view your achievements and efforts? For instance, Fawkes, despite her grief and stoic exterior, relies on you and has seen your capabilities firsthand. What might she say about your worth as an Aspirant?¡± ¡°She actually commented on that. She said she¡¯d seen how well I can handle getting surrounded by low-dwellers, but not how, say, Yuma would.¡± Hunter felt his chest swell. They weren¡¯t rocket surgery, these realizations. They were things he already knew. Seeing them under that light, however¡­ It was as if he already felt a bit lighter. Mort saw that too, and he continued the impromptu faux-therapy session. ¡°Now use that evidence to reframe your negative perspective into something more balanced and realistic,¡± he said. ¡°Instead of thinking, ¡®I''m not good enough compared to the other Aspirants,¡¯ you might reframe it as, ¡®I have strengths and weaknesses, just like everyone else. I''ve achieved a lot and have the potential to grow even more.¡¯ Say it.¡± ¡°Uh¡­ what?¡± ¡°Repeat after me, sir. ¡®I have strengths and weaknesses, just like everyone else. I''ve achieved a lot and have the potential to grow even more.¡¯¡± Hunter felt a bit silly, but he did so anyway. ¡°I have strengths and weaknesses, just like everyone else. I''ve achieved a lot and have the potential to grow even more.¡± It felt good to hear him say it out loud, he had to admit. A few hundred times more, and he might even believe it. ¡°Very well, sir,¡± Mort offered Hunter a slight smile. ¡°Of course, some might say this is the self-reflection equivalent of holding hands around the fire and singing Kumbaya. That¡¯s why I will present you with another perspective, one even more practical and grounded. Why did you become an Aspirant in the first place?¡± ¡°Ugh¡­ To climb the ladder of Ascension?¡± ¡°No, sir,¡± Mort shook his head. ¡°Why did you become an Aspirant?¡± Hunter gave it some thought. ¡°To have an adventure,¡± he finally said. ¡°And to spend more time with Fawkes.¡± ¡°...neither of which has anything to do with how well you measure against any of the other Aspirants. The tests you have agreed to prepare for are not contests, as far as you or I know. In fact, sir, I would go as far as to say that success itself is irrelevant. Even if you fail to ascend to the Iron Rung, worst case scenario, you will still have had your adventure and you will still have spent more time with Fawkes. Which, again, is the worst-case scenario, though far from the most likely one.¡± Mort was right; Hunter had to concede that. It would be nice if he managed to prove himself and ascend to the Iron Rung. It would be nice to kick Yuma¡¯s butt in a sparring match and wipe that arrogant look from his face. But at the end of the day, none of that was a must-have. At the end of the day, all he set out to do was have an adventure with his friend. That was easy; that, he was already doing. And even if, for some reason, something went wrong, well¡­ He¡¯d survive. He¡¯d be alright. Disillusioned, maybe. Or sad. But definitely alright. He¡¯d been through far worse, hadn¡¯t he? At the end of the day, to a Transient like himself, what was Yuma, or a low-dweller, or even It That Whispers compared to things like the unemployment rate, or the ever-increasing inflation? Nothing. ¡°Thanks, Mort,¡± Hunter said, draining the last of his beer and preparing to log out. He had a lot to chew on. ¡°For an accidental, informal counselor, you¡¯re doing a bang-up job.¡± ¡°You¡¯re welcome, sir,¡± Mortimer replied, ever solemn. ¡°Anytime you need, I¡¯ll be right here.¡± Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 18 The next few days were a blur. Training began at dawn, and Elder Wroth ran the Aspirants ragged until well after midday. Hunter pushed himself to the brink running lap after lap after lap around the Sacred Training Grounds. He lifted logs, carried rocks, and did more bodyweight exercises than a fitness instructor on a caffeine binge. He was still the least physically fit of the four Aspirants, but each day felt easier than the previous one - and that, he tried to remind himself, was what mattered most. Gamification helped, too. Each message that he got renewed his courage and tenacity, and he got a lot of them. On the fifth day, his Athletics hit a major milestone. Your Survival has increased to 20. Heavily regimented physical training strengthens and fortifies the body against all kinds of hardships. Conditioning passively provides an increase to both your Stamina and Stamina Regeneration, improving endurance and physical performance. Running, panting and unable to even slow down, Hunter was tempted to learn Conditioning right then and there, just for the Stamina Regeneration increase to kick in and make his life a bit easier. The only thing that stopped him was that learning new Abilities required Inspiration, and Inspiration had proven difficult to come by. That was something Hunter had often considered. He had so far resisted spending the single point he currently had, saving it to see what new Abilities would come up during training. Conditioning sounded great, but so did some of the other ones. He waited until physical training was over for the day and Wroth let him and the other Aspirants catch their breath for a bit, then he sat under a tree and pulled up a list of all the Abilities he could learn. Abilities Available: Asymmetric Tactics Conditioning Eldritch Power Make Contact Mystical Phenomena Pathfinder Rite of the Hunt Wildcrafting Inspiration: 2 Asymmetric Tactics was the Ability he¡¯d unlocked through his unconventional approach to fighting Mother and It That Whispers down in the depths of the Halls of the Cor Ancestors. He pulled up its description and took a closer look. Asymmetric Tactics allows you to be more effective in combat against enemies that are more powerful, more numerous, or otherwise superior to you. It involves using unconventional strategies to offset your deficiencies and disadvantages. This one was situational, sure, but Hunter was definitely going to get it. It wasn¡¯t a question of if, but when. He could learn it right now and be done with it. Unless he planned to use unconventional strategies to get a leg up on the other Aspirants, though, it would probably be a while before he got the chance to use it. Maybe he should save the Inspiration point for something with more immediate benefits. Pathfinder and Wildcrafting were the Abilities he¡¯d unlocked when his Survival Skill had hit 20. He pulled up their descriptions, too. Pathfinder offers an in-depth, innate understanding of the land and those who travel it, allowing you to discover and navigate fast and safe routes through almost any kind of terrain and natural environment. Wildcrafting¨Can ability akin to Herbalism¨Cis the practice of harvesting plants, herbs, mushrooms, and other natural resources, and using them to create a variety of items, including crafting materials, remedies, and more. Both sounded useful, but neither particularly so for his current circumstances. Hunter would especially like to have the chance to try his hand in Wildcrafting at some point. For now, though, he¡¯d have to prioritize something else. The rest of the Abilities were the ones he¡¯d gotten through his Mystic class by acquiring Insight. Eldritch Power allows you to tap into your Insight quality and attack your foes with eldritch magic. Higher ranks grant access to additional forms of magical attacks. Make Contact allows you to tap into your Insight quality and commune with a spiritual being or place of power. Higher ranks increase the chance of success and reduce risks. Mystical Phenomena allows you to utilize your Insight quality to subtly manipulate the laws of the cosmos, ever so slightly affecting the outcome of events as you see fit. Higher ranks allow you more substantial manipulations, and reduce the risk these manipulations have to draw unwanted attention.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Rite of the Hunt allows you to put a mark on your prey and declare a Hunt, gaining potential advantages in tracking and hunting down that prey and creating special hunting trophies. Higher ranks increase the variety and intensity of these advantages. If Hunter had any gripe with the choice of Abilities he was getting, it was that almost all of them were good ones. He¡¯d skipped Eldritch Power so far because spellcasting wasn¡¯t a kind of playstyle that appealed to him. He¡¯d skipped Mystical Phenomena, too, because that mention of unwanted attention at the end of its description simply gave him a bad feeling. Make Contact, on the other hand, was something he planned to get sooner or later. Communing with spirits wasn¡¯t something he¡¯d had the chance to do - not after Lormenheere and his first death at the ghostly hands of Herne¡¯s host of followers. Hunter had struck an accord with said Great Spirit, though, and accords were an integral part of his class as a Mystic. That¡¯s where he¡¯d actually gained these Abilities from. Ergo, Make Contact made the short list of Abilities he should prioritize to learn. That left Rite of the Hunt. From the mention of special hunting trophies in the description, Hunter guessed that this was another Ability he should get in case he decided to make good on his accord with Herne. That wasn¡¯t something he planned to do right now, though. So Rite of the Hunt, while it did make the list, would also have to wait. On a sidenote, Hunter had acquired a ¡®Grand Insight¡¯ when It That Whispers had revealed its true form, which had catapulted his Insight quality from 2 to 5. Despite that, he hadn¡¯t gained access to any new Mystic Abilities. Why was that? Fuck if he knew. Focusing on his present predicament, Hunter considered his choices for a while. The consistent and significant improvements to his physical capabilities that Conditioning would afford him made it the most practical and immediately beneficial Ability to prioritize, given his current challenges. He could wait to see whether something better came along, but that would cost him in terms of growth. Wroth was putting them through the wringer day after day. Conditioning would start gaining ranks pretty much from the moment Hunter learned it. That decided it. He¡¯d spend one point of Inspiration on Conditioning now, and save one just in case. He willed it, and a notification popped up in his HUD. Your Conditioning has increased to 1. Your Inspiration quality is now 1. Hunter felt a tingle go through his body as the passive effects of Conditioning took effect. Was it his idea, or could he already breathe a bit better? Learning Conditioning proved to be the right choice. Its effects weren¡¯t flashy, being a passive Ability and all, but they were nothing if not reliable. As for holding on to his remaining point of Inspiration, that soon proved to be the right choice too. Afternoons were for glaive fighting training. Elder Wroth drilled the Aspirants ad nauseam, making them repeat the same forms again and again until they could perform them running on instinct alone. They did no sparring exercises. Wroth had said he wouldn¡¯t let them spar before they¡¯d proven to him they knew which end of the glaive was which - a caustic comment Hunter supposed was mostly aimed at him. As a result, Hunter was learning the forms of glaive combat, but was getting precious little in the way of Skill ranks. Coincidentally, it was the afternoon after he¡¯d decided to learn Conditioning that his Polearm mastery finally hit 20 too. Your Polearm Mastery has increased to 20. Increases precision and speed with glaive-type polearms, granting a significant boost to hit rate and critical hit chance. Higher ranks provide even greater accuracy and a chance to disarm opponents. If Hunter had any reservations about spending his last point of Inspiration on this, one look at Yuma¡¯s arrogant mug was enough to dispel them. Your Glaive Expertise has increased to 1. Your Inspiration quality is now 0. He felt a tiny jolt go through his limbs as newly-found muscle memory emerged in his brain like a forgotten memory that had always been there and had just resurfaced. He hefted his training glaive and it instantly felt lighter in his grip, more familiar, more intimate. ¡°Hunter!¡± Wroth snapped, scowling. ¡°Focus!¡± He¡¯d zoned out in the middle of executing forms. ¡°Yes, Elder,¡± he said and fell in with the others. ¡°Do you think that you can afford to drift off in the middle of a fight?¡± ¡°No, Elder.¡± ¡°Then what in the name of the Ancestors are you doing, drifting off in the middle of training? When fighting, your focus means the difference between life and death. Stay sharp!¡± ¡°Sorry, Elder.¡± Yuma, standing nearby, sneered. Throughout these last few days, he¡¯d made no attempt to hide his arrogance or disdain towards Hunter. He was the best at everything and he knew it, and he took pleasure in showing Hunter how big the gap between their skill level was. Unbeknownst to him, his scorn was often the focus of Hunter¡¯s CBT journaling attempts. Every evening, after the grueling training sessions, Alex would sit in his room at the Happy Motel, open the notebook he¡¯d asked Carpenter to give him, and meticulously document his thoughts about the day¡¯s events. He practiced cognitive-behavioral therapy exercises diligently, identifying negative thoughts and challenging them with rational counterarguments, just as Mort had suggested. In the beginning, it all felt silly. He didn¡¯t want to sit there and write down how Yuma''s arrogance was more a reflection of his own insecurities than his - Hunter¡¯s - worth. He wanted to get back in Elderpyre and wipe the bloody sneer from the prick¡¯s face. Still, he had to admit the whole cognitive-behavioral thing worked. He hadn¡¯t had one of those nosebleed-migraine combinations in days. All in all, it hadn¡¯t been a bad few days. Coach Grenier, Alex¡¯s highschool wrestling coach, used to give the team whole sermons about how hard work and discipline were good for the soul. He was beginning to think the old grouch was on to something. Elder Wroth looked like a staunch believer in hard work and discipline, too - but not like a great believer in Hunter. It wasn''t that Wroth was unfriendly; he was always fair and even-handed in his dealings. However, there was a palpable skepticism in his eyes whenever Hunter was involved. He didn''t berate or belittle him, but his overall manner made it clear. Wroth simply didn''t see the spark, the raw potential, that he believed was essential for an Aspirant. To him, Hunter was probably just another well-meaning but ultimately unremarkable trainee, lacking the exceptional qualities needed to truly succeed. It was late in the afternoon, near the end of their training for the day, when the Elder approached Hunter, arms crossed on his chest. Hunter was moving through the glaive forms absent-mindedly, his muscles remembering the motions even as his mind wandered. He was so focused on his routine that he almost didn''t notice Elder Wroth approaching. He felt the weight of the elder''s gaze on his back and straightened his posture, determined to show his best performance. As he transitioned into a particularly challenging sequence, something called the Hawk¡¯s Talon, he caught a glimpse of Wroth out of the corner of his eye. The elder had come closer, his usual indifference replaced with a keen, assessing look. He completed the sequence as best as he could, then turned to the Elder, waiting for the inevitable critique. To his surprise, Wroth''s expression softened slightly, a hint of approval in his eyes. He gave a single, curt nod. "Huh." Did his new Glaive Expertise make such an obvious difference in Hunter¡¯s performance? Or was Wroth so sharp-eyed a tutor to notice it? Probably a bit of both, Hunter guessed. ¡°Very well!¡± Elder Wroth called out. ¡°It seems you have gotten the hang of the basic forms. You can put your weapons away. We are done for today. Go wash up, eat, get some rest. Tomorrow we¡¯ll see how well you can put those forms in practice.¡± Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 19 The Behemoths weren¡¯t made for carrying passengers. Their cramped, hot cabins had just enough space for the crew that was operating them. Every inch of space was utilized for function, leaving minimal room for comfort. The air itself was tinged with the scent of oil, sweat, and a faint metallic tang. Fawkes was more than glad to ride on top of the old metal vehicle. One of Blacktalon¡¯s riders - a squat young woman with intricate face tattoos - helped her wear what the other¡¯s called a child¡¯s harness, a piece of intricate knotwork crafted from thick, rough hemp rope. ¡°We don¡¯t want you falling down, do we, sai?¡± the woman told her with a smile as she tightened the harness around Fawke¡¯s torso and fastened it to an anchor point welded on the vehicle¡¯s roof. ¡°Plug your ears with these, too. It¡¯s going to get loud as soon as we start moving. Won¡¯t be long, now.¡± She handed Fawkes two pieces of some kind or rubbery putty, which made for surprisingly effective earplugs, then she disappeared down the hatch and took her place in the belly of the Behemoth. Fawkes had to give it to Elder Rook, the man ran a tight ship. She found herself wondering whether Elder Wroth¡¯s own Behemoth crew were as well-organized and disciplined. If she¡¯d had to bet, she¡¯d bet against it. Elder Rook was a man carved from stone; sharp-gazed, strict, unyielding, always composed. His presence alone demanded respect. His sharp gaze and precise movements spoke of a mind that valued efficiency above all else. Fawkes¡¯s old master would have approved of that. From whispers she¡¯d gathered here and there, some among the Brennai found his leadership harsh, though undeniably effective. Fawkes¡¯s old master would have approved of that, too. Elder Wroth, on the other hand, was a bear of a man, his voice booming with the remnants of past glories, or whatever passed as glories in this coarse and unrefined land. He carried himself with the swagger of a warrior-hero, but Fawkes still wasn¡¯t certain whether he lived up to his reputation. His once-great muscles were now starting to soften by the passage of time. Sooner rather than later, younger men would overtake him, the next generation of Brennai braves. That would be the true test for Elder Wroth¡¯s mettle. She knew, deep down, that her feelings toward the Brennai were more than just mistrust born out of her instincts of self-preservation. They were tainted by a prejudice she couldn¡¯t quite shake. It wasn¡¯t something she was proud of, but it lingered in the back of her mind, coloring her thoughts and reactions. She told herself it was just caution, that years of dealing with people had taught her to be wary. But if she was honest, she¡¯d admit that she looked down on them, saw them as backward and stubborn. Primitive, in a way. Again, her old master would have approved. Another passenger climbed atop the Behemoth, strapped in a hemp harness just like hers. It was Elder Rook¡¯s Transient. Fawkes had spied the man a couple of times before, never more than a stone¡¯s throw away from Rook. The Elder had him on a short leash, it looked like. He was Reiner¡¯s age, more or less, no more than a few years older than Hunter. His skin was a warm olive tone, the skin of a man touched by distant, sunlit lands. He was of medium height, built like a warrior, and clad in practical traveling gear, weathered but well-maintained. He had a sturdy jaw and high cheekbones, and a five o¡¯clock shadow gave his otherwise friendly-looking face a touch of ruggedness. The man was dressed like a Behemoth nation rider, more or less, but he was not armed like one. Strapped to his back he carried a simply forged, one-and-a-half hand sword with a well-worn handle. Fawkes knew the kind - it was what every two-bit mercenary carried from here to Quortain. It had probably been mass-produced in the lands further down south from the Weald, then looted from some old battlefield. He sat down next to Fawkes and attached his harness to another anchor point. Then turned to her, flashed her a wide smile, and offered what must have been a greeting.. ¡°Can''t hear you,¡± Fawkes said, and unplugged one of her ears. ¡°Oh, right, right. Sorry. I said, my name¡¯s Muirden. Great to meet you.¡± ¡°Fawkes.¡± She shook the hand he offered her. He had a firm handshake, an honest one. ¡°You¡¯re not from around here, are you?¡± Muirden went on. ¡°You¡¯re the one the Hawk nation roped in to train their Aspirants, right?¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m not,¡± Fawkes said. ¡°And yes, I am.¡± ¡°Yeah, I heard about that. Wroth¡¯s ecstatic. Not only is he getting to train a Transient, but he¡¯s getting, and I quote, ¡®that hard-bitten swordstress witch from out west¡¯ as his assistant.¡± ¡°Assistant?¡± Fawkes raised an eyebrow. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what I thought,¡± the man chuckled. ¡°The man¡¯s got a gift for blowing things out of proportion, especially if it fits his boasting.¡± ¡°So I¡¯ve noticed.¡± ¡°Wroth and Elder Rook kind of have a friendly rivalry going on,¡± Muirden explained, leaning a bit closer as if trying to avoid being heard. ¡°Elder Rook will say the whole thing is totally one-sided, but I think deep down he enjoys getting under the big old boy¡¯s skin.¡± As if summoned, Elder Rook popped his head out of the Behemoth¡¯s commander¡¯s hatch. When he saw the two of them chatting, he pursed his lips in disapproval. ¡°Prepare yourselves. We¡¯re about to set off. Try not to fall over the side, if you please.¡± Fawkes and the Transient tightened their harnesses for a last time and plugged their ears. With a low rumble Fawkes felt in her bones, the great metal beast came to life, cogs and crankshafts and pistons and all, and they were off. She found the ride neither long nor unpleasant. To a woman who¡¯d grown up riding on horseback for days on end, just sitting on an ancient, roaring metal vehicle for a half-hour was nothing. The only thing she disliked was how loud it was. She and this new Transient had to cut their discussion short. And while Fawkes disliked small-talk, she also disliked the idea of missing the opportunity to learn more about Elder Rook and his crew of Behemoth riders.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Plus, getting to know another Transient a bit might prove to be a good way to understand Hunter better. Not to worry, she thought. She¡¯d have ample opportunities to interrogate the young man later in the following days. Their destination was a clearing of sorts, as deep in the Weald as the Behemoth was able to go - which was not very deep, truth be told. Elder Rook had shared his plan with her earlier in the day, when he¡¯d suggested that she come along. They were to set up a forward camp, then use it to scout deeper in the Weald. Fawkes was the only person that had seen the carnage left behind by what monster slew the Brennai with her own eyes. Or at least she was the only person among the eye-witnesses of the slaughter that Elder Rook seemed to have a smidgen of respect for. As such, Elder Rook wanted her along in his reconnaissance. Rook¡¯s braves worked with practiced efficiency. Not five minutes after the Behemoth¡¯s huge wheels first trampled the grass and shrubbery of the clearing, tents were being set up, firepits and latrines were being dug, guard duties were being assigned. Fawkes had never really been a part of a larger group herself, but she knew enough to tell that this was how the free companies and mercenary groups of the Wessmar Marches were trained to operate - a far cry from what she¡¯d expect from a bunch of, well, Brennai. The Transient, Muirden, was helping too. In fact, were it not for the fact that his complexion and bone structure were decidedly unlike that of the Brennai folken, she could have easily mistaken him for just any other of Rook¡¯s crew. She liked that. In her experience, there was nothing like having a common cause and facing adversity side by side to iron out any silly preconceptions about gender, bloodline, station, or whatever gods-forsaken superstitions people clung to. When death was staring you in the face, none of those things mattered a damn. All that counted was the steel in your hand, the grit in your soul, and the trust you could place in the person fighting beside you. Or at least that¡¯s what she liked to think, what she¡¯d been taught to think. Her master never encumbered himself with such trivial preconceptions, save for the purity of ¨¢eld blood running in one¡¯s veins - and the lack thereof. Not one to sit idle when others toiled, Fawkes walked up to the Elder, who himself was helping a couple of his riders set up a tent. ¡°What should I do?¡± Elder Rook looked up, frowned, took a look at the toiling throng of crewmen and women around them. ¡°You!¡± he called to the squat young woman who had helped Fawkes put on her harness. She was carrying an armload of dry sticks and branches to a firepit that was still being dug. ¡°Follow the outlander, make sure there¡¯s nothing of note a bowshot away from the camp.¡± ¡°Yes, Elder!¡± Another crew member rushed to relieve her from her load, and the young woman went straight to Fawkes¡¯s side. Elder Rook, still frowning, went back to helping with the tent. ¡°Greetings to you, outlander,¡± she said, placing a fist over her heart and bowing her head a bit. ¡°I am Haleth, of the crew of Blacktalon, of the Clan Awanatu, of the Behemoth Nation. It is an honor to walk with you.¡± ¡°Fawkes of the Lodge, of the Foreign West,¡± Fawkes replied, mimicking the girl¡¯s overly formal manner. ¡°Likewise. Thank you for your assistance.¡± ¡°You¡¯re welcome, sai!¡± Haleth brightened, then threw a wary glance at the stringent Elder. ¡°Come, let us be off. Time frittered away is a crop unplanted, or so my mother used to say.¡± They circled the perimeter of the camp, making sure the area was safe and secure. The young woman moved swiftly through the dense underbrush in a quiet, practiced manner, her eyes scanning every shadow and flicker of movement. She paused every few paces, listening intently for any unusual sounds, checking for any signs of lurking predators or hidden threats, covering every angle. Again, Fawkes was impressed. The more she saw of Blacktalon¡¯s crew, the more the better she liked them. Following the younger woman¡¯s example, she let her own senses attune to the forest¡¯s rhythm and its subtle shifts. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. The ground beneath their feet was soft, cushioned by layers of fallen leaves. The canopy above filtered the fading light into dappled patches that slowly danced across the forest floor. A faint breeze whispered through the branches, stirring the leaves with a soft, sighing sound, interrupted only by the occasional rustle of unseen creatures in the underbrush. Her mind adrift, Fawkes found herself wishing Reiner was there with her. How many times had they done this exact same thing, the two of them? How many times had they set up camp, how many forests had they combed for threats, how many leagues of road had they traveled? Too many to count. She felt her heart sink again, she felt the fingers of despair pull at the fraying edges of her psyche. That fool. That thrice-damned fool. ¡°You saw the site of one of the killings, right, sai?¡± Haleth asked Fawkes a few minutes later, mercifully pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts. ¡°One of the worst ones?¡± ¡°It was bad, yes.¡± ¡°Could you tell me what you saw, so that I better know what signs to look for?¡± Fawkes thought about whether she should consult with the Elder first, then she decided she didn¡¯t care. ¡°There are low-dwellers sneaking about in the Weald,¡± she told the younger woman. ¡°That¡¯s the first thing you should be looking out for. Know what they are?¡± ¡°The Misbegotten,¡± said Haleth, not looking very certain about her answer. ¡°Yes, I know of them. Wicked beasts made from warped flesh and bone, servants of the Skaarn witches.¡± ¡°Ever seen one?¡± ¡°Uh¡­ no.¡± ¡°They¡¯re primarily scavengers,¡± Fawkes explained, ¡°preying on the weak and feasting on corpses. They¡¯re big as men. They hunt in packs and fight with fang and claw. They''re vicious, savage, but not too bright. Just don¡¯t let them surround you or pin you down. Their tracks look somewhat human, but they walk on all fours, like badgers. You will know they are around from the smell of their spoor. Imagine a mix of rot, decay, and the pungent stench of festering wounds.¡± The young Behemoth rider was hanging to her every word, probably trying not to miss any minute detail. She would be sharing that information with her fellow crewfolk as soon as possible, Fawkes guessed. ¡°Is that what you think is killing the Brennai, then?¡± Haleth asked once she made sure Fawkes was done talking. ¡°The Misbegotten?¡± ¡°Oh, no, no. There is definitely something else out here. Something big, strong. Unnatural. Intelligent. Evil.¡± Fawkes wasn¡¯t trying to scare the woman. She was speaking in the most flat, matter-of-fact way she could - because those were all facts. If Elder Rook¡¯s crew wanted to go out in the Weald looking for the thing, they should at least know what they were dealing with. ¡°It¡¯s strong enough to pull people apart limb by limb with brute force alone,¡± she went on. ¡°Big enough to string them up on branches like sweetmeats on a Yule tree. Intelligent and evil enough to arrange the corpses in profane ways. Sometimes it leaves footprints, somewhat human-like, but bigger than any print you¡¯ve seen. Sometimes it does not. And there¡¯s more still. It can probably hypnotize people, have them follow it to their death as if sleep-walking.¡± Haleth had gone pale. She was looking at Fawkes with a mixture of disbelief and caution, as if trying to gauge whether she was being truly serious. ¡°Does Elder Rook know all that?¡± ¡°I imagine he does,¡± Fawkes shrugged. ¡°If what you say is true, sai,¡± the young woman said, ¡°then Ancestors help us.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Fawkes said and let her gaze drift at the treeline. ¡°I reckon they better.¡± Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 20 If Hunter wanted to be honest with himself, he didn¡¯t particularly look forward to sparring practice. The way he felt about handling a weapon had been a veritable emotional rollercoaster - and not the fun, Magic Mountain kind. When he first entered Elderpyre, he¡¯d never handled a weapon before, and he looked like it. Fawkes had told him he wielded his glaive much like an old maid would wield a broomstick. He¡¯d thought she was probably a bit over-judgmental. Then had come the fighting. Hunter had had to defend himself against a variety of things that wanted to separate his head from the rest of his body.He¡¯d handled himself adequately, more or less, and he¡¯d felt great about it. Granted, he never thought himself a weapon master, but at least he thought he wasn¡¯t a complete novice. And then he¡¯d met Elder Wroth and his fellow Aspirants, and realized how right Fawkes had been in the first place. And yes; compared to them, he did indeed wield his glaive like an old maid would her broomstick. Now, after spending the last few days practicing forms, he felt he had a much more solid understanding of his chosen weapon. That must have been a bit of system magic, Hunter supposed. In Elderpyre, he¡¯d found he could learn new skills and improve his abilities at a frankly astounding pace. If he had access to that kind of accelerated growth back in real life, he would have finished college by the end of his first semester. Hell, he would probably be a tech millionaire or something. And yet, he was still lagging behind. Yuma, Tayen and Inago were going through those same forms with a kind of natural fluidity that made him want to give up. There were no shortcuts to take here, he supposed, no harebrained schemes to help him catch up. His skill was simply inferior. That was what was occupying his mind as he materialized in the training grounds. The sun was barely up, and the chill in the air was biting, but Wroth and the other Aspirants were awake and expecting him. Yuma and Tayen were already doing some light exercises to warm up. ¡°There he is,¡± Inago greeted him with a smile. ¡°Hello, Inago.¡± ¡°Popping out of thin air like a khas-kraz,¡± Wroth shook his head. ¡°Ancestors preserve us, you really are from another world, aren¡¯t you?¡± ¡°And a good morning to you, Elder.¡± ¡°Gather round,¡± Wroth called, not gracing Hunter with a reply. ¡°Now, Yuma. Yes, you too. You¡¯ll have all the time in the world to practice in just a little while.¡± They fell in line near the totem pole that marked the center of the Sacred Training Grounds, waiting for Elder Wroth¡¯s instructions. He took a long look at each of the Aspirants, as if assessing them. ¡°Starting today,¡± he finally spoke, ¡°we will start to focus more on sharpening your fighting skills. Forms are well and good, but it¡¯s crossing blades that will give you a better measure of your ability to defend yourself from what¡¯s out there in the Weald, lurking in the shadows, preying on your kin. Starting today, and every seventh day, you will face each other in combat in pairs. I will judge your performance.¡± Hunter felt his stomach clench. He¡¯d spent the previous night trying his best to psychoanalyze and convince himself none of that truly mattered. Only it did, for some reason. He found himself wishing Fawkes was there with him, and at the same time feeling relieved she wasn¡¯t. He felt his stomach start to clench with stress, then tried to remind himself all he had to do was do his best. There were virtually no stakes here, after all. Were there? He put a hand to his nose. No blood. Good. He spied at the other Aspirants from the corner of his eye. Yuma looked as arrogant as ever, holding his head so high Hunter could swear he could almost see up his nostrils. Tayen looked sullen, as she often did. Inago noticed him looking and flashed him a big encouraging smile. ¡°According to the Brennai tradition,¡± Wroth said, ¡°each one of you will face off with each other in a sequence of fights, until everyone has fought everyone. Is that understood?¡± ¡°You mean, like a four-team round robin, Elder?¡± asked Hunter. Wroth raised an eyebrow, indignant. ¡°What in the Ancestors¡¯ name is a four-team round robin, Transient?¡± ¡°See, a four-team round robin is when-¡± ¡°Enough,¡± Wroth cut him off. ¡°Let¡¯s start with you. Step forward.¡± Hunter shut up and took a step forward. Wroth eyed him, then Inago, then Tayen, then Yuma, then Inago again. ¡°Inago,¡± he finally decided. ¡°Step forward. Face each other. Assume battle stances. The other two, give them some space.¡± Yuma and Tayen stepped back a few paces as Hunter and Inago did as Wroth told them. Hunter was tense, his grip on the weapon too tight, his feet shifting nervously on the grass. Inago, on the other hand, stood with a relaxed posture. They locked eyes, and Inago flashed him another one of his friendly smiles. Hunter almost found himself wishing he was facing one of the other two instead. If he was going to get his ass served to him on a platter, he¡¯d rather do so facing someone he could actually get mad at.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. He¡¯d get his wish granted soon enough, he supposed. ¡°Ready?¡± Wroth asked. Hunter nodded, his expression determined, and so did Inago. ¡°Begin, then!¡± The two Aspirants circled each other for a few breaths, neither looking too willing to make the first move - though probably for different reasons. Inago was just trying to be nice, but Hunter found the wait dismaying. He never was one for patience, and it didn¡¯t take long for him to crack. He lunged forward, leading with a thrust aimed at Inago''s midsection. The move was direct, but predictable. Telegraphed, almost. Inago sidestepped it with ease, his glaive coming up in a sweeping arc to parry Hunter''s strike as if it were an extension of his body. The clash of dull metal echoed through the clearing. Seeing an opening, Inago countered with a quick, controlled slash towards Hunter''s legs. The strike was a conservative one, more a tap than a real attack, just enough to throw Hunter off balance without causing harm. "Good form, Transient,¡± called Wroth, ¡°but you''re overcommitting. Inago, be more. You¡¯re not doing him any favors." ¡°Yes, Elder,¡± Inago said, already shifting back in a relaxed combat stance. Hunter grunted, stumbling back a few steps and recovering his own stance. Inago gave him a curt nod, as if telling him to take his time. He wasn¡¯t too keen on making the first move himself, it looked like. Trying a different approach, Hunter feinted low before bringing his glaive up in a sudden upward slash. He wasn''t fast enough. Inago tracked the movement with his eyes and reacted instinctively, blocking the strike with the shaft of his glaive. He then twisted his body, using the momentum to spin the weapon in a wide arc. The blade of his glaive swept low, aiming for Hunter''s legs once more. This time, Hunter tried to dodge. He backstepped to get some breathing room, trying to remember not to lower his guard. Inago, though, was already on him. He thrust forward with the butt of his glaive instead, going past Hunter¡¯s guard and tapping him lightly on his chest, dead center above his solar plexus. ¡°Again!¡± Wroth growled, not satisfied. ¡°Inago, you make the first move now.¡± They circled each other again. Hunter took a deep breath and tried to focus. With another overly nod to make sure his opponent was ready, Inago stepped forward with a deliberate, almost exaggerated windup. Hunter saw the glaive sweep through the air in a wide arc, coming straight at him. It was impossible to miss. His mind raced, working double time to figure out the best way to counter. Should he sidestep and counterstrike? Or perhaps block and riposte? He weighed the different options in his head, struggling to analyze each one¡¯s pros and cons in the split second he had until Inago¡¯s weapon connected with his. In the end, he decided that a block was the way to go, followed by a riposte. But the hesitation cost him dearly. By the time he¡¯d doubled down on a course of action, Inago¡¯s strike was already crashing through his half-baked defense. The impact sent Hunter stumbling backward, struggling not to lose his footing. Not missing a beat, Inago followed up with a thrust to Hunter¡¯s now-exposed torso. The training weapon¡¯s dull blade barely stung Hunter, but the realization that he had been defeated by his own overthinking bit him deeply. ¡°Shit!¡± he spat, eloquent as ever. ¡°Fuck!¡± "You''re thinking too much, Transient!" Wroth shouted, patience rapidly waning. "Your movements are hesitating because you''re trying to predict the outcome of each strike. Let your body react. Trust in your instincts. That is the way of the White Cloud! And you, Inago! Take this seriously, or I¡¯ll step in there myself and I¡¯ll give you both a walloping!¡± Hunter wiped sweat from his brow, wheezing. He knew Wroth was right. Knowing and doing, though, were two different things. Inago moved with such ease, as if the weapon was part of him. Hunter felt every ounce of the glaive''s weight pulling him down with each motion. Again, they circled each other. Hunter tried to relax his deathgrip on the glaive, let it rest naturally in his hands. Tempted to even close his eyes, he tried to set his mind not on what Inago might do next, but on the flow of the fight. When he moved, he felt lighter, the weapon in his hands more in sync with his body. He stepped forward, feinting a thrust and then pivoting, bringing the glaive around in a horizontal slash aimed at Inago''s side. Inago had no difficulty blocking the strike, but this time, the impact made him step back slightly. "Better!" Wroth roared. Inago went back on the offensive, pushing forward with a series of quick jabs and slashes. Hunter parried each one, his movements more fluid, less forced. The two glaives clashed repeatedly, a rhythmic dance of metal and skill. As if to reward him for his breakthrough, a cascade of notifications filled the edge of Hunter¡¯s HUD. Your Glaive Expertise has increased to 2. Your Polearm Mastery has increased to 21. Your Close Combat has increased to 20. There were more of those, but Hunter couldn¡¯t afford to even register them. For a moment, he felt like he was truly matching Inago, their weapons finally moving in harmony. He was transfixed. But then Inago shifted gears. His movement became bolder, more aggressive. His strikes became faster, more precise. He stepped in closer, forcing Hunter to defend more desperately. In a blur of motion, he hooked his glaive around Hunter''s, twisting it out of his hands and sending it clattering to the ground. Before Hunter could react, Inago stepped forward, the dulled blade of his glaive resting lightly against Hunter''s neck. ¡°That¡¯s more like it!¡± Wroth roared. ¡°Alright, that¡¯s enough! Transient! It was high time you showed some backbone. You¡¯ve a long way to go, but we may still make a proper Aspirant out of you. Inago! You¡¯re good, son, no doubt about it. But, by the Ancestors, stop being so soft. You think your opponents are gonna thank you for holding back?¡± Hunter said nothing, his head pounding from all the excitement and exertion. Still no nosebleed though. That had to count for something. Inago made some awkward excuse, promised Elder Wroth he¡¯d try harder. Both men gathered their weapons and stepped back as Wroth called forth Yuma and Tayen. Inago wiped the sweat from his brow, then offered Hunter a wan smile. ¡°Not bad, friend. The Ancestors smile on you.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Hunter groaned. ¡°Condescendingly. Look, Inago, I appreciate what you¡¯re doing, but you really don¡¯t have to. You¡¯re much better than I am. That¡¯s alright.¡± ¡°You are my friend, Hunter.¡± Inago shrugged, beaming. ¡°Does it hurt to show kindness to a friend?¡± It did hurt, Hunter thought, though he kept that thought to himself. It hurt his ego. Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 21 The next match in Wroth¡¯s sparring round-robin was Yuma versus Tayen. Hunter and Inago sat a few paces away, catching their breath. Inago had assumed a relaxed meditation pose. Hunter had done the same. He wasn¡¯t really interested in the sparring match itself. He¡¯d seen Yuma and Tayen train together before. It was like they were dancing rather than fighting, each exchange practiced to perfection, each clash of their weapons carrying no more or less weight than necessary. Still, it was a good opportunity for Hunter to study how each fought, maybe gain an edge he could use when he sparred with either of them himself. ¡°Begin,¡± said Wroth. The two combatants circled each other as they¡¯d done hundreds of times, neither too anxious to rush in. Yuma held his glaive with a steady grip, his stance wide and low, ready to lunge at any moment. He was the picture of aggressive readiness, the kind of fighter who believed that offense was the best defense. Tayen, by contrast, held her glaive with a loose, almost casual grip. She looked deceptively detached, almost apathetic. Her body, though, poised to move at a moment¡¯s notice. She was expecting Yuma to strike first, Hunter supposed. Yuma¡¯s first attack came quickly, a powerful thrust aimed at Tayen¡¯s chest. It was a straightforward move, one meant to get a read on her, to test her reflexes. Tayen responded with a swift sidestep, the blade of her glaive sweeping down to deflect Yuma¡¯s attack. The attack was a forceful one, but it hadn¡¯t seemed to faze her. Most of the force of the impact was absorbed and redirected by her calculated movement. There was an opening for Tayen to go on the offensive, and she wasn¡¯t going to miss it. She used the momentum from the deflection to pivot around Yuma, her glaive arcing toward his side in a wide slash. Yuma was quick to react, bringing his weapon up to parry her strike. The two weapons locked for a moment, the two Aspirants staring each other down as they pressed their weight into their weapons. Yuma¡¯s strength was undeniable, and for a brief moment, it seemed like he might overpower Tayen. But Tayen wasn¡¯t there to match strength with strength. She was already moving before Yuma could fully capitalize on the clash, disengaging and spinning away to create distance. Her glaive flicked out in a rapid, probing strike aimed at Yuma¡¯s legs - testing, teasing, looking for an opening. ¡°Nice!¡± Wroth called, watching the exchange closely, far more interested than he was in the previous sparring match. Yuma, not one to be outdone, responded with his own chain of quick, aggressive attacks. He swept through the air with his glaive in powerful arcs, each swing aimed to force Tayen back, to keep her on the defensive. If she really tried, she could probably find an opening to retaliate, Hunter thought, watching from the sidelines. Yuma¡¯s longer reach, however, made that a risky proposition. Tayen thought so too, apparently. She weaved around his strikes with a level of agility that looked almost supernatural. Each move was deliberate and calculated, her feet barely touching the ground as she stayed just out of reach. From an outsider¡¯s perspective, it might seem like she was retreating. She wasn¡¯t, Hunter knew. She was merely conserving her energy, waiting for the right moment to strike. And then that moment came. Yuma, growing impatient, committed to a heavy overhead strike. He was aiming to break through Tayen¡¯s defenses once and for all, to put an end to the sparring match by sheer brute force. It was a strong, decisive move, but it left him open, if only for a split second. Tayen saw the opportunity and took it. As Yuma¡¯s glaive came crashing down, she stepped inside his guard. Her glaive flashed upward as she launched a swift, controlled thrust aimed at his exposed ribs. Still, she was off by just a fraction of a second. Yuma barely managed to twist away, the tip of Tayen¡¯s glaive grazing his side as he spun to face her again. For the first time in the match, Yuma¡¯s eyes widened slightly in surprise. Tayen had been conservative in her aggression, and now she¡¯d shown him just how formidable she could be when she decided to press the attack.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. But just as quickly as she¡¯d struck, Tayen withdrew, her expression neutral, almost impassive. She resumed her defensive stance, ready for whatever Yuma would throw at her next. ¡°She¡¯s holding back,¡± Inago whispered, his eyes fixed on Tayen. Hunter wondered why. Was it restraint? Good sportsmanship? Or was it something else? Whatever it was, Wroth had sensed the subtle shift in Tayen¡¯s approach too. ¡°Yuma! Next time, watch your flank!¡± he shouted, frowning. ¡°And you, Tayen! Don¡¯t be afraid to press on!¡± ¡°Yes, Elder,¡± the young woman said, her voice flat and her expression unreadable. ¡°Continue!¡± The next exchange was a blur of motion, the two fighters moving with such speed and precision that it was difficult for Hunter to keep track of their movements. Yuma pressed the attack, his glaive a whirlwind of steel, but Tayen was always one step ahead, her evasions perfectly timed, her counters precise and measured. To him, they looked evenly matched.Yuma¡¯s aggression was balanced by Tayen¡¯s agility, his strength was countered by her finesse. The match went on as Hunter had expected, with neither fighter claiming a clear victory. A few exchanges later, Wroth decided he¡¯d seen enough. ¡°Alright, stop,¡± he called. Yuma, breathing heavily, lowered his glaive and offered Tayen a nod. Tayen returned the gesture, her expression still calm, her breathing controlled. ¡°You show promise, both of you. You are worthy of the title of Aspirant of the Path of the White Cloud. I am pleased. Take a breather.¡± The two of them took their places on the ground beside Hunter and Inago, also assuming a meditation pose. Hunter glanced at them from the corner of his eye. Yuma looked very satisfied with himself. Tayen, on the other hand, looked as aloof as ever. Glaive-fighting skill aside, Wroth was obviously playing favorites. He didn¡¯t even make an attempt to hide it. Hunter didn¡¯t like that one bit - but on the other hand, being looked down on was nothing new to him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, tried to empty his mind. I control my response, he reminded himself. Not the world around me. That was one of a handful of affirming, mantra-like phrases Mort had taught him as part of his role as the first line of advice and support for troubled late-night drinkers. Hunter had initially found them corny, but if they were to help him keep his nerves from going on the fritz, so be it. If it worked, it worked. Wroth sat with the Aspirants and prompted them to meditate for a while before moving on to the next sparring match. Mantra or no mantra, however, Hunter was too excited to properly concentrate. A few minutes later, he gave up altogether - though he continued to pretend to meditate - and pulled up his notification log. He¡¯d gained three Skill increases - Close Combat, Polearm Mastery, and his newly gained Glaive Expertise. This confirmed a suspicion he¡¯d held for the last few days. Practicing forms was a very slow way to actually increase his Skills and Abilities. It was a good way to lay foundations, but actual progression was much more likely to come from actual field experience, so to speak. The other thing that drew his attention was that his Close Combat Skill had finally hit 20. That meant new Skills, and lo and behold, there they were. Opportunist allows you to exploit an opponent¡¯s mistakes with increased efficiency. Attacks capitalizing on weakness, mistakes, or openings have an increased critical hit chance and may inflict additional status effects. Higher ranks increase the chance of success. Adaptive Defense allows you to gain an intuitive understanding of an opponent¡¯s combat style, allowing you to adjust your defenses on the fly. Successfully blocking or dodging an attack may grant a temporary boost to defense against similar attacks from the same opponent. Higher ranks increase the chance of success. Two choices, one aggressive, one defensive, both conditional. He read each description a couple of times, making sure he had a good grasp of what each Ability did. The options before him confirmed another of his suspicions: the new Abilities that gradually became available as his Skills increased were tailored to the tactics he had already been using. They were designed to allow him to double down on his preferred strategies. Normally, he¡¯d be delighted to slam an Inspiration point into either of these Abilities right away. Both looked potentially amazing - potentially being the operating word. And therein lay the problem. What he felt he needed was a more straightforward boost to his overall power level, so to speak. Sparring with Inago had felt like a stat check in a role-playing game. Cunning tactics and finesse weren¡¯t going to make the cut here - not when he lacked the pure power to back them up. Now matter how adaptive or how opportunistic he was, Yuma was still going to kick his ass before noon, and so was Tayen. Not that he could learn either Opportunist or Adaptive Defense right now. His Inspiration currently sat a disheartening 0 - which meant he couldn¡¯t learn any new Abilities until he found a way to gain some. Would he have made different choices, had he gained access to these Abilities a couple of days earlier? Probably not. The Conditioning and Glaive Expertise Abilities he¡¯d gone for offered him a much more straightforward boost. And in his current situation, straightforward was good. There was only so much one could do while constantly being on the back foot. Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 22 Hunter spent another quarter-hour trying to focus and meditate. He¡¯d almost succeeded, too, when Wroth stood up, patted himself down, and turned to the Aspirants. ¡°Hunter. On your feet. Tayen, you too. Grab your weapons and assume positions.¡± Hunter almost wished Wroth would finally pit him against Yuma and be done with it. He didn¡¯t expect to win against Tayen either, but Tayen wouldn¡¯t try to crush him. Probably. Yuma definitely would. They faced off a few paces away, glaives in hand. There was no sound around them but birds chirping and the stiff morning breeze rustling the leaves of the nearest trees. Hunter tried to find some measure of peace in that. Whatever happened, it would be okay. He would be okay. In stillness, he told himself, I find my strength. Another of Mort¡¯s corny mantras. He tightened his grip on his glaive, feeling the familiar weight in his hands, the ash wood of the shaft grounding him. Across from him, Tayen stood still, her expression as unreadable as ever, her glaive held lightly at her side. She looked almost relaxed. She was a mystery to Hunter. They¡¯d barely exchanged a handful of words during these few days, despite spending almost every waking hour training together. There was something standoffish about her, which made him want to, well, stand off. ¡°Begin!¡± Wroth said, already watching them with arms crossed. Hunter seeked Tayen¡¯s eyes, as if to ask her whether she was ready. She simply gave a small nod, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. It was all the confirmation she was going to give. Hunter took the initiative, lunging forward with a half-hearted thrust. He knew she would dodge, but he wanted to force her to move first, to set the pace of the match. As expected, Tayen sidestepped effortlessly, parrying Hunter¡¯s strike with a quick flick of her glaive and redirecting it harmlessly to the side. Hunter meant to follow up with a second thrust, but before he could recover, she was already on the move. She circled around him, her feet light as the wind, probing his defenses with quick, precise strikes. He tried to match her, turning to keep up with her movements, but it was like trying to catch smoke. Every time he thought he had an opening, she was already gone, her glaive a blur as it darted toward him from unexpected angles. ¡°Too slow!¡± Wroth shouted at him. ¡°You need to anticipate, not just react. And you, Tayen! Stop playing cat and mouse and be done with it!¡± Hunter gritted his teeth and adjusted his stance, trying not to fall behind. He knew Wroth was right, even if he did not like it. He needed to adapt, to figure out how to counter her relentless mobility. He found himself wishing he had learned that Adaptive Defense ability and made a quick mental note to take another look at it. He waited for the next strike, then moved to intercept it, bringing his glaive up in a sweeping arc. Again, too slow, too clumsy. Tayen was already in motion, her weapon slipping past his guard and forcing him to backpedal to avoid a solid hit. She didn¡¯t press the attack, though, instead dancing away to maintain distance. ¡°Tayen!¡± Wroth roared, frustrated at her lack of aggression. If she heard him, he didn¡¯t show it. Her expression remained as impassive as ever. Frustration began to mount in Hunter¡¯s chest. He was used to facing different kinds of opponents, where cunning and quick thinking could tip the scales in his favor. None of that would work on Tayen. Her fighting style was different - fluid, evasive, always just out of reach. Hunter pressed forward, hoping to catch her off guard, but she was too quick, too precise. Every attack he launched was met with a flawless defense, every attempt to close the distance was thwarted by her superior speed. In fact, she was lucky she just dodged and evaded. His own stance was full of openings, he knew, opening she could exploit anytime. Hunter took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He forced himself to slow down, to stop reacting to every feint and movement.He had to somehow find a way to make her come to him. Instead of pursuing Tayen, he planted his feet, glaive held ready in a defensive stance, and waited. Tayen circled him for a few moments, her eyes studying him, weighing his intent. ¡°Don¡¯t hold back, girl,¡± Wroth barked from the sidelines, his tone hard. ¡°He won¡¯t learn if you keep coddling him. Finish it!¡± Tayen¡¯s expression remained unreadable, but just for a moment, there was a flicker of reluctance in her eyes. That was what Hunter had been waiting for. Hefting his glaive in an overhead guard position, he planted one foot closer to Tayen and launched his weapon¡¯s butt at her head. When she quite predictably dodged, Hunter took another step closer and swung again, the business end of his glaive descending on Tayen blade-first. She raised her weapon to parry, locking it with his, and for a split second Hunter thought he had her. Then their eyes met, and he knew he was screwed. Tayen disengaged and simply stepped to the side, too quick to follow, leaving Hunter overextended and off-balance. With a quick, decisive movement, she swept his legs out from under him, the shaft of her glaive hooking behind his knees and sending him crashing to the ground. Hunter landed hard on his backside, the impact jarring.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Enough,¡± the Elder called. Tayen took a step back, her glaive held loosely at her side once more, her face a mask of calm. ¡°That¡¯s more like it,¡± he told her, all but ignoring Hunter, who was still on the ground. ¡°In a real fight, you can¡¯t afford to hesitate. And you¡¯re not doing the Transient any favors either. You¡¯ll only sparing his feelings, for all that¡¯s worth.¡± Seeing that nobody was going to offer him a hand, Hunter climbed to his feet, clinging to his glaive and patting himself down as best as he could. ¡°And you,¡± the Elder turned to him. ¡°Ugh¡­ good job. You¡¯ve got some fire in you, I give you that.¡± ¡°...but?¡± Hunter asked. He could see a but coming from a mile away. The Elder just shrugged. He¡¯d still have preferred it if Hunter had dropped out, it seemed. The storm passes, Hunter reminded himself. I remain. As they walked away to take their place on the sidelines again, Tayen caught up with him. ¡°Pay the Elder no heed, Transient,¡± she told him, her voice barely louder than a sharp whisper. ¡°You fought well. You¡¯re improving fast.¡± Surprised, Hunter turned to thank her, but she¡¯d already walked past him. ¡°You two!¡± Elder Worth called at Yuma and Inago. ¡°Your turn!¡± The two Aspirants stood up, grabbed their weapons, and headed to the patch of ground near the totem pole that had become the unofficial Sacred Training Grounds dedicated sparring area. They squared off, assumed fighting stances. Inago offered his opponent a friendly smile and a nod, which Yuma refused to even acknowledge. ¡°Begin!¡± Elder Wroth called. Behind his bushy beard, his face remained expressionless. His eyes, though, flicked between the two Aspirants with keen interest. For a moment, nothing happened. Yuma locked his eyes onto Inago¡¯s own with predatory intensity, as if trying to demoralize him. It worked, too; nervous, Inago adjusted his footing. That¡¯s when Yuma chose to strike, aiming to catch the other man off-balance. He exploded into motion, launching into an aggressive assault without a shred of hesitation. He swung and thrusted and whirled his glaive with precision and power, a flurry of strikes aimed to push Inago''s defenses to a breaking point. Each swing was calculated, relentless, designed to overwhelm rather than simply outmaneuver. His approach to this sparring match, Hunter noted, was wildly different from the previous one. Against Tayen, had been more reserved. More civilized. Against Inago, each strike came with a force that made it clear Yuma was going to hold nothing back. To his credit, Inago parried the first few strikes, his arms straining under the force of Yuma¡¯s blows. He stepped back, trying to create distance, gain back his footing. Yuma, however, pressed forward with the ferocity of an enraged beast. Every time Inago tried to shift the momentum, Yuma was there, his glaive already in position to counter, to push harder. ¡°Is this all you¡¯ve got, Inago?¡± Yuma taunted, his voice low, dripping with disdain. He swung his glaive in a wide arc, forcing Inago to frantically step back to avoid the blade. ¡°I thought you were better than this.¡± ¡°No talking,¡± Wroth warned. Hunter felt his anger mounting as he watched from the sidelines. Yuma was making it clear that this wasn¡¯t just about practice - this was about putting Inago in his place. It made no difference that Inago wasn¡¯t one to seek the spotlight, to challenge for dominance among the Aspirants in any way. Which made Hunter shudder as he wondered how much more brutal Yuma was going to be in their own upcoming fight, given their past grudges. Yuma¡¯s assault continued unabated, his attacks becoming more and more forceful, as if he was determined to batter Inago into submission. He didn¡¯t seem to tire, either. Inago¡¯s breath, on the other hand, was coming in short, ragged gasps. He was still able to block or dodge almost everything the other man threw his way, but the merciless pace Yuma was setting was clearly taking its toll. Finally, he switched to an overhead guard stance and swung his glaive in a massive downward strike. Inago barely managed to block, the impact driving him to one knee. He gritted his teeth, trying to push back, but Yuma didn¡¯t give him the chance. He followed up with a swift kick to Inago¡¯s chest, sending him sprawling backward. Wroth decided he¡¯d seen enough. ¡°Stop,¡± he called. ¡°Lower your weapons.¡± Yuma put his glaive on his side, lips curled with grim satisfaction. He walked to Inago, who was still on the ground, looked down on him for a breath, then offered him a hand. ¡°Well fought,¡± he said as he helped him back to his feet. ¡°You too,¡± Inago offered, smiling weakly despite very obviously being in pain. Wroth walked up to the two of them too. ¡°Are you alright, son?¡± he asked Inago. ¡°Yes, ugh¡­ fine.¡± ¡°Good, good,¡± the Elder patted him on the shoulder with his massive paw. ¡°Well fought.¡± He turned to Yuma, eyes narrowed slightly. ¡°Want to explain yourself, Yuma?¡± ¡°How are we to become the best that we can, Elder,¡± Yuma said, returning the stare, ¡°if we do not push each other to the limit?¡± ¡°Hmmm,¡± Wroth grunted. ¡°Just remember this is not a competition. We¡¯re brothers in arms, not enemies. Sisters, too. Tell me you understand that.¡± ¡°Yes, Elder.¡± Wroth put his hand on Yuma¡¯s shoulder, looked him in the eye. ¡°A good leader is one who uplifts his companions. Not one who subdues them. Remember that.¡± ¡°Yes, Elder.¡± ¡°Good. Go rest for a while now. We¡¯ll continue with the final sparring matches in a bit.¡± As Hunter watched Yuma¡¯s sudden show of humility, he felt a cold rage beginning to mount in his stomach. He shouldn¡¯t be surprised, he supposed. The Wroths of the world would always have a soft spot for the Yumas of the world - regardless of what world that was, Earth or Aernor. He glanced at Tayen, who was also watching the exchange. She did a good job masking her own disapproval behind a mask of impassivity. The furrow of her brow betrayed her, though, and so did the thin, pale line of her tightly pressed lips. That came as a surprise; Hunter had thought the two of them tight. Inago came to sit next to him, all but collapsing on the ground. ¡°Are you alright?¡± Hunter asked. ¡°Yes, yes!¡± Inago flashed him an unconvincing smile. ¡°The man¡¯s an asshat.¡± Inago said nothing, acting as if he hadn¡¯t heard that. ¡°No, seriously,¡± Hunter went on. ¡°We¡¯re supposed to be sparring to get better, not trying to murder each other.¡± ¡°It is as Yuma said,¡± Inago shrugged, still wearing that stressed smile. ¡°How are we to become the best that we can, if we do not push each other to the limit?¡± ¡°That¡¯s bullshit and you know it. Why are you defending him?¡± ¡°Quiet,¡± Wroth cut him off as he took his place with the Aspirants. ¡°Meditate. Focus your mind. The day¡¯s training is not over yet.¡± Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 23 The next sparring match, the second-to-last one remaining, was the one between Inago and Tayen. To Hunter, it was what every friendly sparring match should be; two roughly evenly matched opponents performing to the best of their ability, with skill and good sportsmanship evident in every move. Which meant, however, it was also a bit boring. Inago and Tayen took turns going on the offensive, neither pushing the other too far. Inago was stronger and had a longer reach. Tayen was faster and had a slightly better grasp of the basic White Cloud glaive fighting techniques they¡¯d been taught. If it came down to a real fight, though, Hunter¡¯s money would be on Tayen. Inago¡¯s friendly nature ended up being an impediment to his effectiveness as a fighter. Wroth let the match drag on for a few minutes, probably trying to see how the two combatants measured against each other in terms of stamina. Tayen seemed to have a slight edge on that front, too. When he finally called the match, both of the Aspirants were panting and drenched in sweat. ¡°Good, both of you,¡± he said with a satisfied nod. ¡°Although you could both use a bit more fire in your attacks.¡± ¡°Yes, Elder,¡± Inago said, offering Tayen a friendly, if weary smile. Tayen, still catching her breath, did her best to return it. As the two of them left the sparring area, Hunter was trying to prepare himself mentally for what was to come. Only one sparring match remained - his, against Yuma. The tension was almost suffocating him. He glanced at the other man, who somehow managed to look arrogant and poised even when meditating. For no other reason than him being an outlander, Yuma had it out for Hunter since the moment they first met, back when Hunter passed through the Brennai village for the first time. They¡¯d ended up brawling, with Hunter coming on top - something that Yuma wasn¡¯t likely to have forgotten. Or forgiven. Learning that Hunter was a Transient had only deepened Yuma¡¯s resentment. And finding out they would train together as Aspirants had soured it even further. Hunter felt a knot tightening in his stomach, the weight of the upcoming fight settling more heavily on his shoulders with each passing second. That thing would go down like a lead zeppelin, he knew. I control my response. Not the world around me. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get this done with,¡± Wroth finally called. ¡°Yuma, Transient, on your feet.¡± ¡°Good luck,¡± Inago whispered as Hunter got up on his feet. Hunter nodded. He had a feeling he¡¯d need it. The two Aspirants took their places and faced each other under the watchful eye of Elder Wroth. Hunter decided to be the bigger person. He greeted his opponent with a solemn nod, trying to look respectful but not subservient. Yuma returned the gesture with a thin, inscrutable smile. ¡°Remember,¡± Wroth warned. ¡°This is just a training match to help each other improve. Is this clear?¡± ¡°Yes, Elder.¡± said Hunter. ¡°Yes, Elder.¡± nodded Yuma. ¡°Begin, then.¡± Hunter tightened his grip on his glaive and assumed a conservative battle stance. Against an opponent like Yuma, a measured, balanced approach would serve him better. Instead of going on the offensive, as he often did, Yuma mirrored him. They circled each other for a few breaths in what Hunter felt was a game of cat and mouse. Was Yuma trying to break his composure? To bait him into attacking first? Yuma ended up making the opening move himself, though, and it was surprisingly sensible. Not veering from the forms they¡¯d been practicing, he took a bold step towards Hunter and launched a thrust at his midsection. Muscle memory kicking in, Hunter parried the attack with relative ease. He swept his opponent¡¯s weapon to the side, then launched a thrust of his own. With a perfectly by-the-book defense, Yuma sidestepped out of harm¡¯s way, then put some more distance between himself and Hunter for good measure. Impassive, he twirled his glaive in the air a couple of times, as if inviting his opponent to make the next move.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Wary, Hunter lifted his glaive into a high guard stance and advanced on Yuma. But instead of delivering the expected overhead slash, he abruptly shifted tactics, aiming a quick strike with the weapon¡¯s butt directly at Yuma¡¯s face, hoping to catch him off guard. As expected, Yuma sidestepped the attack with ease, his movements smooth and controlled. Rather than retaliating with the aggression Hunter expected, however, he kept his distance. He kept his glaive in a defensive position, not looking to press the attack. There was no trace of the overly aggressive, domineering fighter Hunter had seen in Yuma¡¯s previous sparring match. It was clear Yuma was playing it safe. Hell, he was playing nice, even. Had he really had a change of heart, or was he simply toying with Hunter, gauging his reactions and biding his time? The two Aspirants went through a series of textbook exchanges, attacking, blocking, parrying, evading, countering with the easy rhythm and precision of practiced forms. It felt almost like a well-rehearsed drill. From the sidelines, Wroth was watching them with arms crossed and a satisfied expression on his face. If it were anyone other than Yuma, Hunter might have found the sparring match pleasant. Maybe even fun. Not wanting to be lulled into a false sense of security, though, he remained on edge, fully expecting the other shoe to drop at any moment. And before long, drop it did. As they engaged in yet another exchange, Hunter moved to parry a low strike from Yuma. He braced himself for the impact of the colliding weapons, already planning his counter. But this time, Yuma¡¯s glaive didn¡¯t simply rebound off Hunter¡¯s defense. Instead, with a sudden twist of his wrist, Yuma redirected the momentum, his blade sliding down the shaft of Hunter¡¯s glaive. Before Hunter could react, Yuma¡¯s weapon slammed into his hand - the one that gripped the glaive¡¯s haft closer to the blade. Pain exploded through Hunter¡¯s fingers as the edge of Yuma¡¯s glaive, dull as it was, bit into his flesh and mangled his hand. His grip faltered, and the glaive nearly slipped from his grasp as blood began to seep between his fingers. ¡°Stop!¡± Wroth roared, jumping in between the two Aspirants, though he didn¡¯t have to. Yuma was already frozen in place. Gasps echoed from the other two Aspirants, who were watching the scene unfold from the sidelines. For a moment, the world seemed to slow. The training grounds went eerily silent as Hunter staggered back, trying to process what had just happened. Had he held the glaive wrong? Had he misjudged the angle? Or had Yuma deliberately aimed to cripple him, taking advantage of the opening with cold, vicious precision? Yuma¡¯s face was inscrutable, giving nothing away. Whether it was a calculated strike or an unfortunate consequence of Hunter¡¯s own faulty grip, it was impossible to tell. But the damage was done. His hand was a bloody mess, fingers, torn skin and broken bone jutting out at weird angles. It throbbed with dull pain, pulsing with every heartbeat, painting the ground at his feet red. Letting his glaive fall to the ground, he brought his other hand to his nose. It came crimson, too. Not that he¡¯d needed to; he could feel the blood flowing freely down his lower face, hot and slick. As Hunter felt the darkness closing in, he turned to Yuma, puzzled. Yuma looked shocked, his face paler than a piece of paper. But he made no move to help. *** ¡°Ancestors preserve you, son,¡± Elder Wroth shook his head as he bound Hunter¡¯s ruined hand in strips of some kind of white cloth. He clearly had a lot of experience taking care of wounds. He¡¯d washed and cleaned it, then sent Inago to fetch him a satchel of medical supplies from his tent. He¡¯d given Hunter some herb to chew on - an analgesic, for all the good it would do him - then had gotten to work stitching and bandaging. ¡°Are you right-handed or left-handed?¡± he asked. ¡°Right,¡± Hunter hissed through gritted teeth. ¡°Do injuries in our world also affect your body in yours?¡± ¡°No.¡± He wasn¡¯t in the right headspace to explain to the Elder how injuries did not carry over, but trauma frayed his nerves nevertheless. ¡°Thank your Ancestors for small miracles, then,¡± Wroth said as he tied the ends of the bandage in a knot near his wrist. ¡°Because you won¡¯t be doing much with this hand in this world from now on, it looks like.¡± Inago and Tayen stood a couple of paces away, watching Wroth patch Hunter up with faces pale as wax. Yuma was sitting by the tents, meditating. Hunter didn¡¯t know whether he did so out of guilt or indifference, neither did he particularly care. Standing guard on his side stood Fyodor, making feeble attempts to lick his good hand. Biggs and Wedge were perched on the direwolf¡¯s back, looking as solemn as undertakers. They¡¯d been fooling around somewhere in the surrounding woods, the three of them. Hunter¡¯s pain and anguish had carried through the mental link he shared with his raven familiars, summoning them to his side post haste. Fyodor had followed, too. The blood flowing from his nostrils had stopped to an occasional trickle. He didn¡¯t even want to imagine what he¡¯d feel like when he returned to his side of things. He had an intrusive thought of himself lying on his bed, casque covering his face, linens around his head stained with a crimson halo as blood slowly flowed down his throat to his lungs and choked him. Shit. ¡°I have to go,¡± he pushed Wroth off, trying his best not to panic. ¡°Wait, sit down,¡± the Elder tried grabbed him by the shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ve lost a lot of blood. Where-¡± But before he could finish his sentence, Hunter had vanished into thin air. Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 24 While Hunter had been spending his days training and sparring, Fawkes had been ranging over the Weald along Elder Rook¡¯s braves, combing the forest for signs on what had been preying on the Brennai. They¡¯d found precious little. Blacktalon, Elder Rook¡¯s Behemoth, was apparently equipped with some ancient machine that allowed its crew to communicate with the crews of other Behemoths. Their voices traveled through the air, heavily distorted but faster than the fastest wind. Fawkes had heard of machines like that before, but had never seen one up close. She had tried asking Haleth about it. She and the young woman were practically joined at the hip these days, as Elder Rook had assigned her to be Fawkes¡¯s escort. Fawkes didn¡¯t mind her. She was pleasant enough, as escorts went. Jolly, talkative. When it came to discussing the Behemoth and its secrets, however, Haleth clammed up. So did the rest of Blacktalon¡¯s crew. Vexing as it was, Fawkes approved of the secrecy. According to reports from Bonebreaker¡¯s crew, who were still stationed in the village, there had been no other attacks. This wasn¡¯t saying much, necessarily. The alderman and his council of elders had decided venturing into the Weald was too dangerous, so none of the Brennai dared to go past the treeline. Whatever the thing killing them was, at least it wasn¡¯t bold enough to do so outside the woods. The other thing that vexed Fawkes was that Elder Rook had apparently been trying to prevent her from getting any proper chance to talk to Muirden, the Transient. After the little talk they had before departing for the forward camp, they¡¯d spent precious little time in the vicinity of one another. Elder Rook had made sure they were never posted in the same scouting party or lookout post. That was also part of his tendency to only divulge information about his crew on a need-to-know basis, and an outsider like Fawkes didn¡¯t need to know much. What had piqued her curiosity most about the Transient was that he didn¡¯t seem to need to pop off to his own side of things like Hunter did. He¡¯d expected him to spend nights away, retreating to his own home world. To Fawkes¡¯s best knowledge, however, he did not. Fawkes had at least managed to get Haleth to open up about that. In the end, her curiosity and impatience got the better of her. Late one night, after most of the crewmen and women had retreated to their tents, she went out to find Elder Rook. She found him studying a bunch of hand-drawn maps of the area under the cold, heatless light of a glowstone. A pair of eyeglasses were perched on the bridge of his crooked nose, under eyebrows arched like the wings of a bird of prey. The man had little need for rest, or so it seemed. ¡°What is it?¡± he asked, not bothering to raise his eyes from his maps, his tone edged with irritation at the interruption. He was clearly not happy to be disturbed. ¡°I think it¡¯s time we had a sit-down, Elder.¡± ¡°About?¡± ¡°Your Transient.¡± ¡°What about him?¡± ¡°I get the feeling you¡¯ve been keeping him away from me.¡± Elder Rook raised an eyebrow as he slowly turned to face her, his interest finally stirred. ¡°Come in,¡± he told her. ¡°Sit with me.¡± She did. His tent was like any other Brennai tent she¡¯d seen, a construct made from sturdy animal hides sewn together meticulously and supported by wooden poles. A thick layer of woven mats covered the floor, providing minimal comfort but effective insulation against the cold earth. A few simple wooden crates served as seating and storage, their surfaces worn smooth from years of use. A single, low table stood in the center, its surface cluttered with maps, scrolls, and a few utilitarian tools. Unlike the more permanent setups she¡¯d seen back in the village, though, the Behemoth nation¡¯s tents had no fire pit. Fawkes took her place by the low table across the Elder. ¡°Well? Out with it,¡± he said.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°As I said,¡± Fawkes started, ¡°you¡¯ve been doing your best to keep me from getting an opportunity to talk with what¡¯s-his-name. If you believe I need your permission to do so, I¡¯m here to ask for it.¡± Elder Rook reached for a leather pouch made of rough leather and produced a cigar and small metal contraption. With a flick of his hand, a small, controlled flame leapt to life from its mouth, and the Elder used it to light his cigar. Fawkes waited for him to be done, unfazed. If that was some tactic to amaze or intimidate her, it fell flat as a poor man¡¯s pancake. It was far from the first time Fawkes had seen a lighter. ¡°Who put you up to this?¡± Rook sneered, blowing aromatic smoke. It smelled earthy, woody. Slightly sweet. ¡°Was it Wroth? Was it that bandit lout, Jack?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know any bandit called Jack,¡± Fawkes told him, matching his sneer. ¡°And, with all due respect, I don¡¯t give a rat¡¯s arse about Elder Wroth or the little rivalry you two share.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no such thing.¡± ¡°Whatever. As I told you, I don¡¯t give a rat¡¯s arse.¡± Another Brennai Elder would have taken her manner as an insult. Not Rook. Instead, he looked at her with mild interest. He was ready to talk shop now, it looked like. ¡°And what do you give a rat¡¯s arse about, Fawkes of the Lodge?¡± Fawkes frowned, searching for the right words. ¡°As you probably know, I¡¯ve taken a Transient under my care myself.¡± ¡°So do the rumors say,¡± Rook took another big drag from his cigar. ¡°All I¡¯m interested in is learning more about their nature.¡± ¡°To what end?¡± ¡°He¡¯s my apprentice,¡± she shrugged. ¡°And a friend, to boot. Is that not enough of an end?¡± ¡°He¡¯s also one of Wroth¡¯s Aspirants,¡± Elder Rook said. ¡°Or so he¡¯s boasted.¡± ¡°If anyone¡¯s, he¡¯s my Aspirant, not his. The big buffoon actually tried to persuade him to drop out.¡± ¡°Why so?¡± Again, Fawkes took a moment to find the right words. ¡°If your Transient is anything like mine, then you probably know they are of different stock. Their world is not like ours. I can¡¯t imagine many of them measuring up to Wroth¡¯s expectations of what an Aspirant should be.¡± ¡°Wroth is short-sighted,¡± Elder Rook agreed. ¡°Small-minded.¡± ¡°Exactly. A man who loves the smell of his own flatulence too much.¡± That drew a chuckle from Elder Rook. ¡°He does, does he not? Wise is not the man who grows to believe his own tall tales. Was he disappointed in his shiny new Transient Aspirant, then?¡± ¡°Very.¡± ¡°And what do you think?¡± Fawkes reached out with a gloved hand, took the cigar from the Elder¡¯s fingers, and took a big drag herself. If he was bothered, he did not show it. ¡°I see that you and your crew do not share some of your compatriots¡¯ shortcomings, Elder, so I will be frank. What do great Brennai warriors like the oft-celebrated Wroth get to face in battle? Deer? Boars?¡± Fawkes chuckled and blew a ring of smoke. ¡°The occasional bandit?¡± ¡°Mostly,¡± Rook agreed. He was quick to catch Fawkes¡¯s drift. Good. ¡°Wroth wouldn¡¯t know a worthy Aspirant if he danced before him buck-naked.¡± That drew another chuckle from the Elder. ¡°You are quite a character, Fawkes of the Lodge.¡± ¡°So I¡¯ve been told.¡± ¡°In any case, you are correct. I guess that man that got Vanchik¡¯s feathers all ruffled-like is right about a few things. The one who claims to be of the Ghost Nation. What was his name?¡± ¡°Brother Marten,¡± Fawkes said. ¡°That one. He¡¯s right about one thing. The Brennai have forgotten the Old Ways. Most days, that¡¯s a good thing. Other days¡­¡± the Elder frowned and glanced outside, towards the dark Weald beyond the tent¡¯s flap. ¡°Other days, not so much.¡± ¡°In any case,¡± Fawkes handed Rook his cigar back and changed the subject, not too keen to get involved in Brennai politics, ¡°I need you to let me have a talk with your Transient.¡± ¡°Muirden is indentured to me and the Blacktalon. He possesses information it would not be prudent to share with an outsider like you,¡± said the Elder. ¡°With all due respect, as you said.¡± ¡°Naturally.¡± What the Elder was not saying was that yes, he was willing to let Fawkes have a sit-down with the Transient. But first he wanted to have his Behemoth¡¯s wheels greased, so to speak. That was good, Fawkes thought. That, she could work with. ¡°Of course, I would be willing to provide you and the Blacktalon with some form of, let us say, honorarium. As a token of goodwill for your trust and acceptance.¡± The Elder nodded, satisfied. They were on the same page at last, speaking the same language. They might as well skip forward to the ask he wanted to make of her. ¡°That would surely help.¡± ¡°What would you require that I might possess?¡± ¡°You may start by recounting the events of your visit to the Vale of Shadows. And spare no detail, if it pleases you. I am particularly fond of a good story.¡± ¡°What I could share, I already shared with the other elders, as you may already know. The rest¡­ I¡¯m afraid I am under oath.¡± He expected that, of course. But he still acted as if he was slighted by her response. All part of the old dance, Fawkes guessed. ¡°I see,¡± he said, giving her the cold shoulder. ¡°Then I guess it comes down to a matter of priorities.¡± That, it did. She¡¯d given her word to Sister Peregrine; she''d never breathe a word of what she saw and heard down in the Halls of the Cor Ancestors. But then, Sister Peregrine had given Fawkes her word she would take him to Reiner, fully aware that Reiner was dead. ¡°Make yourself comfortable, then,¡± she told Elder Rook. ¡°There¡¯s a lot to cover. And light one of those cigars for me, too.¡± Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 25 Alex was sitting at the Happy Motel¡¯s cafeteria, nursing a cup of bad coffee and looking sullen. It had almost been a whole day since Yuma had mangled his hand. He¡¯d woken up in his bed drenched in cold sweat, nose bleeding profusely. It hadn¡¯t been as bad as he feared, thank god. But it had been bad. He could still taste the ferrous tang of blood in his mouth. The really bad part was the splitting migraines. They came and went like the tides, making his head throb so intensely he sometimes felt the urge to slam it against the nearest wall. The doctor had told him to hydrate, take something for the pain, sleep a lot, and stay the fuck off Elderpyre. Alex had listened - kind of. At some point late in the evening, he¡¯d logged in the game to test the waters. A wave of mild nausea had hit him as soon as he materialized in the Sacred Training Grounds. Then came the pain. His hand felt as heavy and as dense as a dying sun, radiating a dull kind of agony that clouded the rest of his senses. He only stuck around long enough to tell Inago he was taking a few days off, give Fyodor a quick pet, and leave Biggs and Wedge with instructions for handling things while he was away. The hand injury itself didn¡¯t worry him too much - not in terms of permanence, at least. He¡¯d find a way around it. His Transient body had recovered from worse. He could ask Fawkes from some trollblood salve to help him regenerate the damage, or he could go and find Arjen, the bear godling. His healing magic was powerful. Fixing a ruined hand should be nothing for him. If it came to that, he could even find a painless way to kill himself again. Every time he¡¯d kicked the bucket so far, he¡¯d returned feeling brand new. His mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with other matters. Elderpyre had done a number on his nerves. He should drop it altogether before things got even worse. Even the doctor had more or less suggested so, and the man was being paid by the developing company, for fuck¡¯s sake. That should say a lot. After the first time he¡¯d been killed in-game, somebody had slipped a note under his door. ¡°This is not a game,¡± it read. He¡¯d tucked it under his mattress and more or less forgotten about it. Now it was burning a hole in his pocket. He was considering showing it to Carpenter, now that she¡¯d warmed up to him a bit. As if summoned, the officer walked into the cafeteria. She was a few years older than Alex, probably in her early- to mid-thirties, though she sometimes looked older. She had the weathered look of someone who¡¯d had a hard life. She was of vaguely nordic descent, tall, lean, athletic, always dressed in a practical, private-security-chic kind of way - combat boots, tactical pants, fitted jackets, that kind of thing. There was an air of severity about her, all was part of her cold, analytical, hardass Officer Carpenter persona. She had her platinum blonde hair pulled back into a tight, no-nonsense ponytail, undoubtedly meant to highlight her angular face and cold, calculating, piercing blue eyes. Spending some time with her, though, had revealed another, softer side of her - the Penny persona, as Alex thought of it. She was funny and caring in an older sister kind of way. That day, despite her frown, she was in that older sister mode. She walked over to Alex¡¯s table and handed him an 150-caplet jar of generic brand Tylenol. ¡°Here. All yours. Go crazy.¡± ¡°Thanks.¡± Alex popped two in his mouth and chased them with a swig of coffee. He watched her walk to the old coffee machine, pour a cup for herself, then walk back to his table and sit opposite of him. ¡°Feeling any better?¡± she asked. ¡°Getting there.¡± ¡°Should you be drinking that?¡± ¡°Nobody should,¡± he took another sip of spectacularly bad coffee, ¡°but here we are anyway.¡± She stared at Alex, thin worry lines splitting her forehead in two. He took the folded note out of pocket, left it on the table before her, and said nothing. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± ¡°Someone slipped it under my door a while back. After I kicked the bucket for the first time in-game.¡± She picked it up, read it, frowned some more. ¡°Why are you showing me this?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Alex shrugged. ¡°Frankly, I¡¯d forgotten about it.¡± She stared at the piece of paper for a few moments. Alex could swear he could almost see the thoughts percolating behind her eyes. ¡°That¡¯s Bob¡¯s handwriting,¡± she finally said. She crumbled the note in her hand, put it in her pocket. ¡°Probably his way to tell you to take care. Or maybe a prank Hank put him up to. Wouldn¡¯t be the first. Think nothing of it.¡± Alex raised an eyebrow. ¡°What, that again?¡± Carpenter snapped, annoyed. ¡°If you have another conspiracy theory about what¡¯s really going on with the game, take it up with Grimm. I¡¯m not getting paid enough to care about that, too.¡± ¡°Okay, okay, chill out. I¡¯m not starting any of that, again, I promise. Thanks for the pills.¡± ¡°You¡¯re welcome. I paid for those out of pocket, you know, so you owe me.¡± ¡°You¡¯d expect a covert government psychic warfare operation black site like the Happy Motel to have a bigger budget,¡± Alex quipped. ¡°Tell me about it.¡± ¡°So¡­ read anything good lately?¡± They sat there for some time, shooting the breeze, talking about the kind of old books and old films Carpenter liked. Nobody brought up anything about Elderpyre. She refused to talk about it because of the NDAs they¡¯d all signed. At the beginning, Alex had found that vexing. Now he didn¡¯t mind. It was a refreshing change of pace.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Anyway, break¡¯s over,¡± Carpenter finally said, ¡°gotta get back to it. Good talk, Rulin.¡± ¡°Before you go,¡± Alex said, ¡°there¡¯s something I wanted to ask you. You know, in an official capacity. Is there any way I could have internet access?¡± ¡°No.¡± It took her only a second to slip back to her hard-edged Officer Carpenter persona. ¡°Is that why you¡¯re buttering me up?¡± ¡°Hey, no. You know what? Forget I even asked.¡± ¡°What do you even want internet access for, Rulin?¡± Alex thought about it a bit. It was an idea he¡¯d been toying with for days. ¡°Martial arts manuals,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯d like to study a few, if possible.¡± ¡°You mean, like, kung fu and stuff?¡± Carpenter asked, looking confused. ¡°What? No, what I had in mind was historical books about weapon techniques, swordsmanship, the Italian masters, that kind of thing. Polearms, mostly. Glaives, specifically.¡± ¡°Shit, Rulin,¡± she shook her head. ¡°You know what? I¡¯ll pass it along to the big man. Let him sort it out.¡± "Much obliged, officer," Alex said with a mock salute, earning a well-deserved eye roll. "Truly, much obliged." *** The call came the same afternoon. Alex was in his room, staring at the ceiling, bored out of his mind and trying to resist the urge to log back in the game, migraines and fried nerves and mangled hands be damned. Then the phone on the wall next to his bed rang, sharp and loud. ¡°You have reached the church of the Elder Pyre, Happy Motel branch, Reverend Alex speaking.¡± ¡°Very funny, Rulin,¡± said a bored-sounding Carpenter. ¡°It¡¯s your lucky day. Grimm greenlit your request. Well, kind of.¡± ¡°Kind of?¡± ¡°You¡¯re not getting internet access, of course, but he told me he had a hand-picked collection of the kind of manuals you asked for delivered to your Shard.¡± ¡°Gracious of him.¡± ¡°I believe he found the whole thing entertaining. Anyway, my shift¡¯s over in ten minutes. Don¡¯t do anything I wouldn¡¯t do.¡± ¡°I¡¯d never.¡± ¡°Yeah, right. Bye, Rulin.¡± ¡°Bye, officer,¡± Alex started to say, but the line had already gotten dead. Delivered to his Shard, huh. He¡¯d hoped for a tablet loaded with the PDF files of the books he¡¯d asked for, or even some physical copies. Something he could study while away from Elderpyre. Granted, his Shard, Mortimer¡¯s old-timey speakeasy bar, would be a great place to do some studying. Still, there was the little issue of his crippling injury and the constant pain it caused him to consider. Cautious, he glanced at the casque that had been sitting on the nightstand next to his bed. Should he give it a try? He should, he decided. At worst, he¡¯d grab a quick double whisky of Mort¡¯s finest and log out again. He definitely needed it. He put the casque on, settled onto the bed as comfortably as he could, hit the button, and focused his thoughts on his Shard. After the now-familiar deep-dive through darkness, distant bells, and the smell of ozone and camphor, Hunter found himself materializing in the middle of the speakeasy. No pain. Good. He raised his left hand - the one Yuma had nearly split in half - and saw it was whole again. He flexed his fingers a few times, just to be sure. ¡°Good afternoon, sir,¡± Mortimer greeted him from behind the bar. ¡°Terribly sorry for the hand. I took the liberty of restoring it. I hope you don¡¯t mind.¡± ¡°You can do that?¡± Hunter asked, surprised. ¡°Only for the duration of your visit in your Shard, I¡¯m afraid. Every aspect of you defaults to its ur-form while you are here, should you so choose.¡± ¡°Ur-form?¡± "In this case, your original, uninjured state," Mortimer explained. "The way you were before any... unpleasantness." ¡°That¡¯s still amazing. Thank you, Mort.¡± ¡°You are most welcome, sir. The manuals you requested have arrived, by the way. I also took the liberty of creating a reading nook for you. I believe you¡¯ll find it more comfortable than the bar.¡± Mortimer gestured smoothly toward the back, and Hunter turned to see where he was pointing. The reading nook sat tucked away in the back corner of the speakeasy, a cozy retreat from the main bar. A deep, worn leather armchair was angled toward a low, dark wood table. A brass lamp with a green glass shade cast a warm, gentle glow over the space, its light just enough for reading without being harsh. On one side, a small bookshelf was stocked with the manuals Mortimer mentioned, alongside a few well-worn classics. The walls around the nook were paneled in dark oak, giving it a snug, inviting feel. A thick, patterned rug completed the space, adding to the sense of peace and quiet. ¡°Wow, Mort, that¡¯s¡­ You know what? I think this is one of the nicest things anyone has done for me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad you like it, sir. Can I get you something to drink to go with your reading? Have you ever tried a Manhattan, or maybe an Old-Fashioned? I believe you¡¯d enjoy those.¡± ¡°If you say so, I¡¯ll try both. Thanks, Mort.¡± ¡°It¡¯s my pleasure, sir.¡± As Mortimer mixed him his drinks, Hunter made himself comfortable in his new reading nook. It was a dream come true - a dream he didn¡¯t even know he had. He turned to the bookshelf and started going through the titles, trying to decide what to start with. "Found anything interesting, sir?" Mort asked as he approached with two drinks on a tray¡ªone in a sleek, stemmed glass and the other in a short, heavy-bottomed one. ¡°I¡¯m trying,¡± Hunter said. ¡°Half the titles are in Italian.¡± ¡°If you require assistance, sir, I would be glad to provide it. I also took the liberty to study the books in your absence, so that I could better assist you in your studies.¡± ¡°Is there anything you don¡¯t do, Mort?¡± Hunter looked up. ¡°I¡¯m afraid so, sir, my limitations are many.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what I¡¯ve done to deserve you, but I really appreciate everything you do. Thank you.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no need to thank me, sir. It¡¯s quite literally my job.¡± ¡°Still. I want you to know I appreciate having you by my side. Nobody¡¯s been this good to me¡­ well, ever.¡± ¡°Duly noted, sir. Should I provide you with a brief overview of the manuals you requested?¡± ¡°Please do,¡± Hunter said. ¡°My mastery of the Italian language does not extend far beyond ¡®gelato¡¯ and ¡®mama mia¡¯. Oh, and ¡®gabagool¡¯, of course.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Mortimer said as he put the glasses on the table and turned to point towards the bookshelf. ¡°There¡¯s ¡®Opera Nova¡¯ by Achille Marozzo. Marozzo was an Italian fencing master, and his ¡®Opera Nova¡¯ covers various weapons, including polearms like the spear and halberd, which can translate well to glaive techniques.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a good start.¡± ¡°Then there¡¯s ¡®Fior di Battaglia¡¯ by Fiore dei Liberi, which translates to ¡®The Flower of Battle¡¯. It¡¯s considered one of the essential treatises of the Italian masters, covering techniques for a variety of weapons, including the lance and poleaxe. The methods taught can also be adapted to the glaive. Those are the two I would personally start with.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Hunter said, eyeing the leather-bound tomes. ¡°What about the rest?¡± ¡°There¡¯s also ¡®Dell''arte di Scrimia¡¯ by Giovanni dall''Agocchie, which focuses primarily on the sword, but it also includes training for the spear,¡± the bartender went on. ¡°This one, ¡®Le Jeu de la Hache¡¯, or ¡®The Play of the Axe¡¯, is a French text on fighting with poleaxes. The principles can be adapted to glaive combat, especially in armored situations.¡± Those sounded great too, but Hunter didn¡¯t expect to have to fight armored enemies anytime soon. ¡°Last but certainly not least,¡± Mort went on, pointing towards a few thinner tomes, ¡°there¡¯s this collection of teachings by various Kory¨± schools of Japanese martial arts, both classical and modern. The Tend¨­-ry¨± and Jikishinkage-ry¨±, for example, focus heavily on the naginata, a polearm that¡¯s not too different from the glaive you favor.¡± Mort pronounced those names with a flawless Japanese accent, because of course he would. ¡°As I said, sir,¡± he concluded, ¡°I would personally start with either the ¡®Opera Nova¡¯ or the ¡®Fior di Battaglia¡¯, then work my way through the rest.¡± Hunter took a sip from the short, weighty glass, the smoky sweetness of the drink hitting his tongue with a bite of bitters and smooth whiskey. Setting it aside, he turned to the bookshelf and picked the tome titled ¡®Opera Nova¡¯. If Mort said so, it was as good a place to start as any. And if he wanted to wipe the floor with Yuma on their next sparring match, he had a lot to cover. Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 26 The Skaarn witch had made her lair deep in the darkest, oldest parts of the Weald. Brother Marten doubted if he could have sniffed her out on his own, much less get past her morbid sentries. Brother Marten was far from alone, though, and the flesh-witch¡¯s wards and constructs of warped flesh and bone were nothing compared to the power of the otherworldly entity he carried within him. His dark guest. The fiends that roamed the deep woods around the fleshwarper¡¯s underground lair had simply cowered away at its mere presence. That was good. Marten didn¡¯t want to have to undo any of the Skaarn¡¯s grotesque handiwork. No - he wanted to use it for his own purposes. The mouth of the cavern that swallowed him was pitch-black, unnaturally so. He found it oddly fitting that the flesh-witch would choose it for her lair. What had been interred there, deep under the Weald, was ancient. Baleful. Powerful. Even if the Brennai strived to forget the Old Ways, there would always be those who wouldn¡¯t shy away. Not that the Skaarn had been foolhardy enough to poke at it. Not yet, at least. The dark, twisting tunnel took him deeper underground, to the cavern the flesh-witch called home. It was a crude, sprawling space carved out of rock and dirt, with jagged walls that seemed to close in on themselves. Flickering light came from makeshift torches jammed into cracks, their flames sputtering weakly, casting long, twisted shadows over the cavern. Not that he needed their sickly illumination. His dark guest¡¯s gifts made the darkest night look as bright as a spring morning. In the center, a large stone slab served as a workbench, stained dark with old blood. Around it, rusted tools, mismatched bones, and decaying flesh were scattered haphazardly. Strung-up animal hides and patchwork curtains separated sections of the lair, where half-finished abominations lay in various stages of creation. The air was thick with the stench of rot and sweat, as the witch''s twisted magic clung to every surface. ¡°Show yourself, Skaarn,¡± Brother Marten raised his voice. ¡°We need not be enemies, you and I.¡± With the heightened senses granted by his dark guest, he could feel several of the Skaarn¡¯s creations skittering along the ceiling above. Their long, sinewy appendages were coiled like scorpions'' tails, poised to strike at any moment. He acted as if he hadn¡¯t noticed their presence. The Skaarn herself emerged behind one of the curtains. She wasn¡¯t what Marten had expected. She stood tall and imposing, with broad shoulders and muscled arms. Her body, though warped by her craft, still carried the weight and presence of someone used to hard labor. Her skin, though altered, retained the deep, earthy tone of one born in the far south, now marred with faint scars and patches of rough, uneven texture from her magic. She had a strong jawline and a face framed by wild, short hair streaked with silver, though what her age was, Marten found impossible to place. She wore piecemeal armor and rough-spun fabric, likely the remnants of an old life stitched together with new, cruder materials. Her hands, thick-fingered and calloused, were lined with faint scars, but the fingers now ended in thick, claw-like nails - functional, not decorative.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. ¡°Speak your piece, shaman,¡± she spoke in a deep and gravelly voice. Her accent had a lilting, foreign edge, the vowels stretched and the consonants softened. The Skaarn¡¯s very presence oozed something unsettling, acrimonious. Brother Marten felt his dark guest stir with excitement. Would the entity betray him, toss him aside in favor of another host? Marten steeled himself, angered at the thought. ¡°You trespass,¡± he told her, voice lined with thinly-veiled menace. ¡°Is that so?¡± she squinted, studying him. ¡°What of it?¡± ¡°What is your business here?¡± ¡°What is it to you, shaman? I¡¯ve left your people be. I suggest you turn tail and do the same.¡± ¡°My people?¡± Marten raised an eyebrow. ¡°You misunderstand.¡± ¡°Get to the point, shaman. Do not waste my time.¡± Marten started to slowly walk toward the stone slab at the center of the cavern, giving the fleshwarper a wide berth. He had to make his point. She glared at him, ready to unleash who-knew-what at a moment¡¯s notice. Hovering over the blood-drenched stone, he poked a rusty butcher cleaver with the tip of a long finger, as if in disgust. She took a step closer, but she didn¡¯t strike. Good. He rifled through a few more grisly gimcracks - bits of wire, knitting needles, embalming tools scavenged from some old tomb. Everything was caked in blood, fat, and grime. ¡°By the Ancestors, woman. Is this how you do your work?¡± ¡°In case you hadn¡¯t noticed,¡± she spat at him, ¡°this place is hardly one of the Royal Laboratories of Lillevac. Not that any of you sheep-diddlers would have seen the inside of one.¡± ¡°Your words wound my heart of hearts, Skaarn. Still, it is a pity. Your talent is obviously considerable.¡± A lie. Marten was no fleshwarper himself, but had seen enough of the Carmine Art to know that any half-baked Skaarn able to follow simple instructions could craft Misbegotten like the ones guarding her lair. Sister Finch had, and she was no sage. Still, it was the time to placate her. ¡°Imagine what you could achieve, for example,¡± he went on, ¡°if you could get your hands on the Crucible of Morwain.¡± That instantly drew a reaction from the Skaarn, though she did well trying to hide it. Morwain, the Carmine Sage, had been the original Skaarn, the one responsible for the creation and spread of the art of fleshwarping and its various related Paths. ¡°Yes,¡± the flesh-witch snorted. ¡°And maybe Ul-Taugh¡¯s tools too, no? If you knew half as much about the Art as you think you do, shaman, you¡¯d know the Crucible was lost to the ages.¡± ¡°...or so its keepers would like you to believe,¡± Marten said, flicking a tiny bit of rotten flesh off his fingernail. The Skaarn studied him for a few long moments, trying to decide whether to listen further or to sic her creations on him. ¡°You jest,¡± she finally concluded, but her tone left ample room for wiggling. ¡°Jest? Hardly. It¡¯s locked away in a hidden vault, not three days away. I know how to get it. Help me accomplish my own goals, and it¡¯s yours.¡± In Marten¡¯s eyes, followers of the Paths of the Carmine Arts were an imprudent lot by definition. Their knowledge came at a cost. Their hunger for power trumped their common sense, or they would never have bartered their essence over to the Carmine King, Him Who Basks in Blood. A bunch of fools, the lot of them As it turned out, this one was no different. ¡°Talk,¡± she told him, dark eyes shining with greed. His dark guest stirred, satisfied. And Marten started talking. Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 27 It had been nearly a week since the Blacktalon crew set up their forward camp in the Weald. Fawkes was running point on a patrol, as she often did. Haleth, the cheerful young woman that had been shadowing for the last few days, covered her right flank. Some other Behemoth Nation brave whose name Fawkes kept forgetting covered her from the left. Muirden, the Transient, brought up the rear. They moved fast, covering more ground than almost any other patrol. They¡¯d been more careful in the first couple of days, more thorough. They¡¯d found nothing of note, except for a half-dead low-dweller. It had been pinned under a fallen log, its leg crushed. Fawkes would wager it had been there for two weeks or more - unable to escape, unwilling to just die. She¡¯d put it out of its misery, which angered Elder Rook. Apparently, he¡¯d like a chance to vivisect it. That kind of cruelty didn¡¯t sit well with Fawkes, even towards a mindless monster like a low-dweller. Still, she said nothing. They had reached a kind of mutual understanding, the two of them. She¡¯d told him everything she¡¯d learned about the Halls of the Cor Ancestors; the vaults, the dancing mummies, the deranged Sister. In exchange, he¡¯d agreed to let her speak to Muirden, Blacktalon¡¯s resident Transient. They¡¯d been on a couple of patrols together, but so far she hadn¡¯t gotten the chance to have a proper conversation with him away from Haleth¡¯s prying ears. She liked the young woman well enough, but she had no doubt that she reported everything she saw and heard straight to Elder Rook. Fawkes had the sneaking suspicion that both her and Muirden would be able to speak more freely if she wasn¡¯t around. Fawkes finally got her shot at some privacy when the fourth member of their patrol group stepped on a rotting branch, lost his footing, and sprained his ankle. The injury was nothing serious, but it would slow them down. As the unofficial leader of the patrol, Fawkes made an executive decision. She took out a few clean bandages from the spatial storage of her Arsenal Bracer and handed them to Haleth. ¡°You know how to make a splint?¡± she asked her. Haleth took them and nodded. ¡°Good. Get his foot wrapped, then help him back to the camp. I don¡¯t want to leave anyone back alone. Muirden and I will finish the last leg of the patrol and meet you back there. Alright?¡± Haleth opened her mouth to say something, but Fawkes¡¯s manner left little room to argue. She started working on the splint right away, while Fawkes and Muirden took off to continue their patrol. After about ten more minutes, they reached a natural outcrop. Fawkes climbed up to get a better view of the surrounding area, then motioned for Muirden to follow. ¡°Let¡¯s catch our breaths here for a bit,¡± she said. ¡°Good idea,¡± the Transient said. ¡°Maybe we¡¯ll finally get a chance to talk without Haleth straining her pretty little ears to eavesdrop.¡± Fawkes raised an eyebrow. ¡°What? You know it¡¯s true.¡± ¡°What I don¡¯t understand,¡± Fawkes said, frowning, ¡°is why Elder Rook would be interested to know what you and I talk about.¡± ¡°Why does water flow downhill?¡± Muirden shrugged. ¡°Why does night follow day? Why do socks vanish in the laundry? Elder Rook loves his secrets. He¡¯s just like that. I¡¯m surprised he even let you tag along the Blacktalon crew.¡± ¡°He does have a tendency towards being paranoid, I reckon.¡± ¡°Tendency?¡± Muirden scoffed. ¡°The man makes the Stasi look gullible in comparison. Don¡¯t know what that is? Don¡¯t worry, just a bit of Transient humor. Ask that friend of yours, that Hunter guy. I bet he¡¯ll get a chuckle out of it.¡± ¡°Actually,¡± Fawkes said, ¡°that¡¯s what I wanted to talk to you about.¡± ¡°...and by ¡®that¡¯, I doubt you mean the Stasi. Yeah, I figured. I¡¯ll try to be as honest as I can without breaking my oaths to Elder Rook.¡± ¡°Oaths?¡± she asked, incredulous. ¡°Lad, what in Grimnir¡¯s name do you think I¡¯m going to ask you?¡± ¡°Uhhh¡­ the Ascension?¡± They stared at each other for a moment, both equally baffled. ¡°What do I care about the Ascension?¡± she finally asked. ¡°I thought¡­ You know what? Forget it. Ask me anything you like.¡± ¡°Oh, I get it,¡± Fawkes rolled her eyes, catching on. ¡°Let me guess - Rook assumed I was fishing for intel to help Wroth in their little pissing contest, right?¡± ¡°More or less,¡± Muirden smiled sheepishly. ¡°Wroth¡¯s a boor and a bore to boot. Couldn¡¯t care less about any of that. I promised I¡¯d give a hand with training the Aspirants, sure, but I doubt he¡¯d let me do much.¡± ¡°Different teaching styles?¡± ¡°You could say that,¡± Fawkes nodded with a slight smirk. ¡°Among other things.¡± ¡°Anyway,¡± Muirden shrugged, pulling out a pipe. He packed it with a mix of dried, aromatic herbs, then snapped his fingers, igniting it with a small spark. He took a slow drag and exhaled. ¡°So, how can I help you?¡± Fawkes glanced toward the forest, her gaze distant, the lines on her brow deepening as she frowned. Her thoughts churned. Now that she finally had the chance to do so, the actual questions she wanted to ask Muirden eluded her, stayed just out of reach. ¡°What I really want to know,¡± she said at last, her words slow and measured, ¡°is how to understand someone who is Transient. How to connect with them... better.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Muirden said. ¡°You mean your friend, right? Hunter. Yeah, sure, ask me anything you like.¡±Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Tell me about your world, for starters. There¡¯s many of them, or so I gather. Are you from the same one, you and Hunter?¡± Muirden blinked, clearly taken aback. He rubbed his chin, the pipe still smoldering in his other hand. ¡°Yes? I mean, I think so. I suppose we are, but it¡¯s hard to tell sometimes. Things sometimes get... blurry.¡± He shrugged, baffled. ¡°I guess I never really thought about it like that.¡± Fawkes nodded slowly, her eyes drifting back to the trees as she mulled over his answer. ¡°What¡¯s it really like, living in that world of yours?¡± she turned back to Muirden with her next question. ¡°You¡¯ve got comforts, right? Is it all as soft as I imagine, or do you have your own troubles, too?¡± Muirden¡¯s expression darkened, and he seemed to weigh his words carefully, like he was sifting through memories. ¡°Oh, yeah, we''ve got comforts, sure. Most of us got cars, hot water on demand, roofs that don¡¯t leak, and food pretty much whenever we want it. Compared to this world, it sounds like a dream, right?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t say that it doesn¡¯t.¡± Muirden chuckled, though there wasn¡¯t much humor in it. ¡°Well, it¡¯s not all soft like you¡¯d think. Survival''s different back home ¨C no wolves or monsters to fight off, but there¡¯s this... constant grind. You¡¯re always running, always working just to keep up. Bills, bosses, deadlines... it¡¯s like a slow grind on your soul. Sure, most days you don¡¯t have to worry about where your next meal¡¯s coming from, but it wears you down in other ways. Some days, it feels like the world¡¯s crushing you just as much as any fight would here.¡± Fawkes considered his words. They made sense, in a way. They made some things clearer, things she¡¯d been wondering about. ¡°Is that why you Transients are this eager to dive into danger like it¡¯s a grand adventure?¡± she asked next. ¡°Or is that just you lot thinking you''re the heroes of some tale?¡± ¡°A bit of both,¡± Muirden said. ¡°Depends on the person, really. Some would treat their time in this world like a story or a game. Those are the people that give us Transients a bad rap. Tell a man he can do what he wants with no real consequences, and you¡¯re bound to see his ugly side.¡± ¡°Consequences,¡± Fawkes repeated slowly, as if turning the word in her mouth, tasting it. ¡°Not even death will touch you. That changes how you see the world, I suppose.¡± ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a common misunderstanding. Death touches us plenty. Sure, it doesn¡¯t usually stick. But it feels every bit as painful as¡­ well, the more permanent version. Do it enough times, and it¡¯s bound to break you.¡± ¡°Can that affect you back in your own world?¡± That gave Muirden pause. ¡°Long story short, yeah. Of course. The physical stuff doesn¡¯t carry over between worlds, but the psychological sure does. Full transparency, though - I¡¯m not talking from experience here. I¡¯m a bit of a, ugh¡­ special case.¡± Fawkes raised an eyebrow. ¡°How so, if you don¡¯t mind me asking?¡± ¡°Most people hop back and forth. They log into this world, spend some time here while their original bodies are sleeping, then log out and wake up again. Like a dream of sorts.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I thought, yes.¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± Muirden seemed to struggle with how to express the next part, so he fumbled with his pipe some more. ¡°See, I got into a rough spot. Before, I mean. In my own world.¡± He paused, taking another drag, clearly not used to talking about this. ¡°There was a... situation. Things got heated, fists flew. Cops showed up, and it didn¡¯t end well for me. I took a hit ¨C hard one. Next thing I know, I¡¯m waking up here. My original body? Still lying in a hospital bed, as far as i know, hooked up to machines.¡± ¡°Sorry to hear that,¡± said Fawkes, and meant it. In her eyes, that painted the man in a new light. ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± he shrugged. ¡°So yeah, that¡¯s why I¡¯m in this place. My body was done for, but my mind... Well, it was still running. So, they offered me this world. Figured it would be better than rotting away in some hospital while the real me was stuck in a coma.¡± ¡°Is that why you seem to never pop off to your world, like Hunter has to do every few hours? I was meaning to ask you about that.¡± ¡°Initially, yes. I was too scared to log out, to be honest. If I went back, even for a second, I might have gotten stuck there for good. Now I¡¯ve gone full native, though. No going back for me even if I wanted to.¡± Fawkes blinked, taken aback. ¡°You¡¯re telling me that¡¯s even possible? Just¡­ staying here? Permanently?¡± Muirden leaned back, staring into the distance as he mulled over how to explain it. ¡°You know, I have this theory. Being a Transient is kind of like¡­ well, like a gestation period. Know what I mean?¡± He took a slow drag from his pipe. ¡°We Transients, we¡¯re like babies growing inside the womb of this world. Our minds, they get copied over here, bit by bit, while the old body¡¯s still ticking away back home.¡± Fawkes tilted her head, eyes narrowing. ¡°Once that copying¡¯s done,¡± Muirden went on, ¡°once you¡¯re ¡®born¡¯ here, so to speak, you get to make a choice. You can stay tethered to both worlds, kinda like a kid hanging onto the umbilical cord. Or you can cut it and fully live here. Split yourself. But once you make the choice - cut the tether - there¡¯s no going back.¡± Fawkes leaned in slightly, skeptical. ¡°And you''re sure about that?¡± Muirden took another slow puff, blowing the smoke out lazily. ¡°That¡¯s just my theory,¡± he shrugged. ¡°But I¡¯ve seen enough to think it¡¯s more or less accurate. The ones who keep popping back and forth? They¡¯re still baking. But you can only stay half in, half out for so long. Sooner or later, you¡¯ve got to make a choice.¡± ¡°And you think that¡¯s true for all Transients?¡± ¡°Technically? Yeah," Muirden said, his tone casual but thoughtful. "But I don¡¯t think just anyone can choose to stay over here, easy as that. My theory is it takes effort. The more you treat this world like it¡¯s your world - the more ties you build with its people, the more you care about what happens here - the easier it gets. Like, the more you put into it, the more it pulls you in. Again, just a theory. Wasn¡¯t much of a choice for me, anyway, what with being stuck in a hospital bed back home, playing vegetable, so your mileage may vary. But for most folks? I figure they¡¯ve got to want it, and I mean really want it, to make the leap.¡± He was about to say more when a quartet of Behemoth Nation braves emerged from the treeline - another patrol. ¡°One other thing, before we get our party crashed,¡± he quickly changed the subject. ¡°Elder Rook forbade me to talk about the whole Ascension thing, but what the hell. See, Transients like us, we¡¯re wired differently. We¡¯ve got this thing called the System, and all the Skills, Abilities, and whatnot that come with it.¡± ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± Fawkes said. ¡°Here¡¯s the thing. There¡¯s things your friend can learn from Wroth and the way he trains his Aspirants. Discipline, technique, maybe a bit of grit. But having him stick to a Path like that is trying to teach a bird to climb a damn tree. Sure, you can make ¡®em do it. But the bird¡¯s got better ways of getting to the top. Wings, for one. Catch my drift?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Fawkes said, eyes narrowing as she considered his words. ¡°I believe I do.¡± *** Their talk cut shorter than she would have liked, Fawkes and Muirden joined the other patrol and set off toward the camp. There¡¯d be time enough for deeper talks later, perhaps, if their patrolling duties allowed it. Still, Muirden''s words had already sparked something deeper in her thoughts. There was a way for Hunter to stay, should he choose to, overcome the impermanence of his nature. For reasons she couldn¡¯t quite name, that shifted something inside her, something that made her view the road ahead, and Hunter, in a different light. There was something else too, though. Fawkes couldn''t shake Muirden''s gestation analogy from her mind. The idea of Transients being reborn in this world brought to her mind what the Wise Woman predicted the night she¡¯d read the ashes for her. ¡®You¡¯re thick with child,¡¯ Hallara had told her. ¡®A son, strong and wild, destined for greatness. But beware, for if you carry this child to term, it will come at a great cost. You will die in childbirth.¡¯ A shiver crept up Fawkes''s spine, but it had nothing to do with the cold bite of the Weald¡¯s air beneath the trees. Those words unsettled her more than she cared to admit?. Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 28 Four hours, an Old-Fashioned and three Manhattans later, Hunter was still no glaive master. The ¡®Opera Nova¡¯ was by no means a long book, but he¡¯d found it to be an endless source of both fascination and frustration. There was a mind-boggling amount of precision and discipline behind the techniques described and depicted - his copy included the original 1536 woodblock illustrations, digitally restored and colored. Their level of complexity, however, was daunting. Every move and countermove had a specific, highly mechanical purpose. The ¡®Opera Nova¡¯ was nothing like the fluid White Cloud combat style Wroth had been teaching him and the other Aspirants. Just trying to decipher it felt like trying to learn a new language. Hunter only skimmed the First, Second, and Third Books, which were respectively dedicated to fighting with sword and buckler, various one-handed edged weapons, and two-handed swords. Instead he skipped straight to the Fourth Book - the one about polearms. There were sections for fighting with various Renaissance polearms, like the partisan, the pike, the spiedo, the bill. Unfortunately, there was nothing in there for specifically fighting with a glaive, but Hunter was confident that many of the techniques would translate well to it, too. Well, once he¡¯d managed to understand how to perform them, and once he¡¯d drilled them endlessly until they were second nature. Deciding that was more than enough for one day, he turned to Mortimer, who¡¯d been discreetly sitting behind his bar, doing whatever it is bartenders do when nobody¡¯s looking. ¡°I think I¡¯ve had enough for now, Mort. Thanks for everything. I guess I¡¯ll drop by again tomorrow.¡± ¡°My pleasure, sir.¡± Hunter stood up slowly, feeling the stiffness in his legs and back after hours of sitting. He stretched, rolling his shoulders and flexing his arms. It felt good to shake off the stillness. ¡°Mort?¡± ¡°Yes, sir?¡± ¡°What¡¯s going to happen to my hand now? I mean, crippling injury and all.¡± ¡°Your Transient body regenerates flesh wounds at a highly accelerated pace, sir. But limb injuries like that are currently beyond its natural healing capacity, I¡¯m afraid. My suggestion would be to seek help of the transmundane kind.¡± ¡°Which means?¡± ¡°I suppose you would call it alchemical or magical, sir.¡± ¡°Like Fawkes¡¯s Troolblood Salve, or like how that bear godling healed my wounds?¡± ¡°Exactly, sir.¡± ¡°I see. Thank you, Mort.¡± ¡°Again, sir, it¡¯s my pleasure.¡± Hunter weighed his options for a moment. Fawkes would likely return in a few days. He could wait, hoping she¡¯d have more Trollblood Salve or something similar. Another option he had was to seek out the Aspect of Mir and ask for help. That, however, was quite a trek, and he had no way of knowing that the bear godling wouldn¡¯t simply maul him to death instead of helping. Similarly, he could make his way back to Lormenheere, present the Great Spirit there with proof of his hunts, and ask for boons in return, including healing. That was something he meant to do sooner or later anyway. Again, though, he had no way of knowing that Herne wouldn¡¯t sic his Mist Stalkers on him again. The last option was to find a painless way to, as they say, step off. If he did it right, the strain to his nerves would be minimal. He¡¯d wake up in his bed, log back in, and bounce right back as if nothing happened, good as new. Well, save from an unsettlingly grim notification about his dwindling ¨¦lan. Option A, waiting for Fawkes to return from her little field trip, was by far the most rational thing to do. For all he knew, she could already be back, waiting for him to decide to log in, mutt at her side. In fact, maybe he should quickly pop in and check. It was only quarter to nine in the evening, as good a time as any. He turned towards the speakeasy¡¯s exit - a door that would lead him straight to where he¡¯d been when he last had logged out. ¡°Bye, Mort. See you tomorrow.¡± ¡°Goodnight, sir. And good luck.¡± Hunter sighed, thinking about his mangled hand and how much it had hurt. He¡¯d probably need all the good luck he could get. *** Hunter materialized in the middle of the Sacred Training Grounds, near the totem that marked the Place of Power. It was night already. A surprisingly cold and damp breeze was blowing from the northern parts of the Weald, chilling him instantly. It had been some time since he¡¯d logged in during the night. He¡¯d forgotten how cold it could get. His hand didn¡¯t hurt as much as expected, he realized. The pain was there, dull and constant, but somehow distant, like a memory of something worse. His Toughness Ability must have been working double time boosting his pain tolerance. The hand itself, though, still looked like a torn mess. Hunter unwrapped the bandages and took a closer look.The actual wounds were healing at an accelerated rate, but there was some structural damage there even his Transient regeneration couldn¡¯t fix. Not on its own, at least.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Hunter turned and looked towards the small camp the Brennai had set up for the Aspirants at the edge of the training grounds - three tents around a big campfire. As expected, the fire was burning. He could see four - no, five - silhouettes huddled around it, trying to get warm. Shivering, he reached out through the mental connection he shared with his two familiars. Their response was immediate, a rush of excitement flooding the link as if they had been waiting on edge for his return. Two dark, feathered shapes peeled away from the top of a nearby tent, cutting through the air like shadows with wings. One of the silhouettes that sat by the fire jolted into action too - Fyodor. Biggs and Wedge swooped down toward Hunter, cawing with excitement. They landed on his shoulders, as they often loved to do. The direwolf bounded toward him, legs scrambling over the dirt, yipping like he''d been left alone for a lifetime, tail wagging furiously as if trying to make up for the lost time. Hunter felt a pang of guilt. It¡¯d been a while since he¡¯d paid the mutt the slightest bit of attention. The two feathery windbags and Inago had been taking good care of him, he knew, but he still felt bad. The past few days must have felt like an eternity to the direwolf. ¡°Who¡¯s a good boy?¡± he called. ¡°Who¡¯s the best boy in the whole Weald?¡± Fyodor hurled himself at Hunter, a ball of fur and unbridled energy totally unaware of his own growing strength. The impact nearly knocked Hunter off balance, but the mutt¡¯s eager affection was impossible to resist, his paws scrabbling for purchase as if trying to climb right into Hunter¡¯s arms. Which, of course, was impossible; the young direwolf was as big as a Tibetan mastiff, and growing. ¡°Yes, yes, I¡¯m happy to see you too,¡± Hunter said, ruffling the thick fur behind Fyodor¡¯s ears. ¡°Now stop with the licking, you dolt. Your breath stinks. What the hell have you been eating, carrion?¡± Biggs and Wedge confirmed his guess with a flicker of shared memory through the mental link - a flash of bones picked clean and the unmistakable stench of decay. Hunter grimaced as the image settled in his mind, too vivid. ¡°Really?¡± he asked, wrinkling his nose at the thought. ¡°Damn, I was half-joking! I should be taking better care of you.¡± A wave of amused agreement pulsed back through the link as the two ravens made themselves comfortable on his shoulders. Even without words, the message was clear: Yes, he should. ¡°When did you two feathery fucks get so wise?¡± Again, he was only half-joking. As his Conjure Familiar and Augmented Familiar Abilities progressed, Biggs and Wedge had been steadily growing smarter and more reliable. Still very excited, Fyodor tugged at Hunter¡¯s sleeve with his teeth, then darted toward the Aspirants¡¯ camp. He glanced back eagerly with wide, expectant eyes, his tail wagging furiously. ¡°Alright, I¡¯m coming, I¡¯m coming.¡± As eager as Hunter was to warm his bones by the fire, he wasn¡¯t exactly looking forward to coming face to face with Elder Wroth and the other Aspirants, especially Yuma. He still hadn¡¯t decided whether his mangled hand had been a training accident or an act of bad faith. One of the figures near the campfire rose slowly, glaive glinting in the firelight, eyes narrowing in the dim glow to make out who was approaching. Inago. ¡°Is that you, Hunter?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Hunter called out. ¡°Ugh¡­ hello!¡± The glow of the campfire grew warmer as he approached, the familiar faces around it becoming clearer. Wroth, Yuma, Tayen. They all sat huddled by the fire, woolen blankets draped around their shoulders. Hunter raised his good hand in a half-hearted wave. ¡°Hunter!¡± Wroth welcomed him, voice booming in the night air. ¡°We¡¯d almost started wondering whether you¡¯d left us for good!¡± ¡°No such luck,¡± Hunter said. ¡°Hey guys. Good to see you.¡± Tayen greeted him back. With some hesitation, so did Yuma, though he avoided Hunter¡¯s eyes. His sullen expression was inscrutable. Inago, still standing, stepped forward with a nod and a smile and clasped Hunter¡¯s good hand in a firm grip. There was a trace of relief in the gesture, as if he was glad to see Hunter back. ¡°Welcome back, friend. Sit by the fire. Let me get you a blanket. It¡¯s cold tonight.¡± ¡°Thank you, Inago,¡± Hunter nodded back. He took his place by the fire next to Inago¡¯s spot, as far from Yuma as possible. Fyodor plopped down next to him, resting his big head on his lap. ¡°How¡¯s the hand, then?¡± asked Wroth. His voice was a little too mirthful, as though he was trying to mask his worry, or maybe the awkwardness of the situation. Hunter had been his responsibility, after all. ¡°Still all kinds of wrong,¡± Hunter raised the bandaged hand. ¡°That¡¯s what I came to check. The pain¡¯s better and the wounds are healing, but I don¡¯t see myself picking up a guitar anytime soon.¡± ¡°Ancestors bless you,¡± Wroth frowned, mirth evaporating, ¡°That was a very unfortunate turn of events.¡± ¡°It was,¡± said Hunter, throwing a glance towards Yuma, who still refused to meet his eyes. ¡°Wasn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°We¡¯ve been very worried,¡± Inago said as he returned with an extra blanket, draping it over Hunter¡¯s shoulders before settling back by the fire beside him. ¡°All of us. Thank the Ancestors you¡¯re back and looking better.¡± ¡°Yeah, well,¡± Hunter shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter around him, ¡°I figured it was time to drop in and see how bad things are. Thank you for taking care of the mutt, by the way.¡± ¡°My pleasure,¡± said Inago, giving the direwolf a gentle pat on the head. Fyodor cracked open one eye, huffed softly, then lazily licked Inago''s hand before settling back down, content. ¡°We were very worried, yes,¡± Tayen echoed, her tone carrying just enough emphasis to nudge Yuma, as if expecting him to chime in. ¡°We¡¯re happy to see you¡¯re back, Hunter.¡± Yuma, arms crossed and staring into the fire, refused to take the hint. It was clear he wasn¡¯t ready to confront what had happened, even if Tayen¡¯s pointed remark had been aimed right at him. ¡°Thank you,¡± Hunter said, following Yuma''s lead and sidestepping the unspoken tension. ¡°Though I won''t be here long. Has Fawkes returned, by the way?¡± ¡°Not yet, no,¡± said Wroth. ¡°Though she should probably be back any day now. We¡¯ve received news from the Blacktalon. Whatever¡¯s been butchering the Hawk Nation folken, they didn¡¯t find so much as a trace.¡± He poked at the fire with a stick, the flames crackling as if punctuating the news. ¡°I see,¡± said Hunter. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll leave you back to it, then. Tell Fawkes I¡¯ll check back in in a couple of days if she shows up, alright?¡± ¡°Do you have to leave so soon?¡± Inago asked, frowning. ¡°Stay a while. You¡¯ve barely shared a fire with us these last few days, even before the accident.¡± That was true. Kinship and bonding was supposed to be part of the Aspirants¡¯ training. But since Fawkes had taken off, Hunter had been logging out as soon as the day¡¯s drills were done, avoiding what nightly camaraderie the others were slowly building. Hunter hesitated, weighing the thought, then gave a slow nod. The pain in his hand was manageable now, a dull throb rather than a sharp ache. He didn¡¯t see a reason to avoid staying a couple of hours longer. Well, besides Yuma. ¡°Alright. So¡­ How have you all been doing, then?¡±