- - - -
A hard stone surface pressed against his back, while cold air touched his body. Pain was a distant fog, filled with a few unknown voices, until suddenly the world cleared, and Erick saw from his eyes, and felt from his body, and heard with his ears. Pain flowed everywhere, like a rapid tide.
“Pain response,” said a woman.
Ophiel trilled in nervous flutes.
Another woman, older, said, “Upping [Numb].”
“He’s coming around!” said a man. “My gods, what’s his Health Regen?”
“Classified,” said Poi, ever professional.
Blood and flickering magics clouded his vision, red, silver, and a slightly different silver, but the red vanished in curls of thick air, and the magic soaked in. Pain vanished, but light still clouded his sight.
Erick tried to ask where he was, but his voice was broken.
Poi said, “Don’t try to speak, or cast. I can relay your worries for now. We’re in the Church Hospital. High Priestess Darenka is here with the doctors—”
The older woman spoke, and this time Erick recognized her voice as Darenka’s, “Pain is vanishing. I’m guessing his Regen is higher than 10,000.” She said, “Tell me so I can do my job right.”
Poi said, “Higher than that.”
“Good. He’s fine, then.” Darenka’s voice turned to him. “You did some stupid shit again. The Storm Goddess is awaiting your response.”
A male voice said, “He doesn’t look fine.”
Erick tried to speak again, but nothing worked. He still couldn’t see—
Poi said, “His eyes are blind. His voice is broken.”
Darenka said, “[Greater Treat Wounds].”
Silver light flickered through his eyeballs, briefly blinding him, but the light died, and sight returned. Erick was on a stone surface in a white room, with his shirt removed. Darenka, the silverscale Head Priestess of the Interfaith Church glared down at him. She wore her usual silver, priestly robes. The doctors, Erick assumed, stood further down, wearing their white robes. There was a person behind him, but Erick couldn’t tell who it was. He couldn’t move. He tried to speak.
Behind him, Poi said, “Your voice should come back.” He said to the others, “He still can’t move.”
“It’ll come back. [Greater Treat Wounds] takes a desert minute.” Darenka said to Erick, “Try [Prestidigitation]. If you can cast that, then you should be good to return home.”
Right now, Erick couldn’t think to cast anything. He felt his mana inside of him, but it was a sluggish, weak thing. But [Prestidigitation] was one of the easiest spells he knew. Erick used it mainly for speaking through Ophiel, so he was well versed in this particular use of the spell.
He cast. Ten mana twisted into the air, leaving Erick like a bee stinging his heart, leaving pins and needles in its wake all across his chest. He conjured, “Oww.”
One of the doctors said, “He’s fine. Minor soul damage. Should heal up in a few days. Until then, no major spellwork. Don’t do whatever you did for at least another month. A week, at the minimum.”
Erick almost laughed, but that hurt, like a casual stomp to his chest from an overeager sparring partner. The doctor’s words were correct, though. He would try not to ever purposefully sing a song like that at the sky again—
He rapidly said, “Don’t tell Jane.” Tingles briefly stretched through his legs and hands.
Ophiel, who had been floating to the side of the room and as tiny as a parakeet, slipped down onto Erick’s bare chest. Erick smiled at the little guy, while everyone else glanced at him, then ignored the [Familiar].
Poi said, “Jane has not been alerted. You’ve only been out for ten minutes. Maybe twelve.”
Darenka reached over and tapped his chest with a glowing finger. Warmth spread across his body. He felt better than before, but only marginally. Good enough to sit up, though. Mostly. Erick struggled to get up while pain and needles spiked off in random parts of his body, but he managed to get partially vertical. He smiled, and sweated, as he sat there, on the edge of the stone surgery table.
Poi had to help him to stay vertical, but that was fine. And oh, hey! There’s Kiri, by the door. Erick smiled at her, and she just looked at him; worried.
Darenka looked at him with a frown. She said, “Normally, I try to leave enthusiastic adventurers to a few days of pain. Reminds people that they’re mortal.” She touched him again with a glowing finger. He felt marginally better, again. She continued, “But I ain’t stupid enough to do that in times like these.” She got up in Erick’s face. Worried eyes bored into him, as she said, “Expect a big bill.”
Erick smiled, feeling the nerves in his body tingle as he did. He spoke, with his actual voice this time, “Suurre-k.” He coughed a little. He managed to speak on his own, but his voice was a ragged mess, “Sure. Thank you.”
Darenka leaned back. She glanced to the doctors, and the two of them quickly exited the room. She turned back to Erick, asking, “So what’d you make? Sininindi is demanding you give that spell to her. She is saying that she will go to war, this time, if you either misuse that magic, or interfere with her people.”
“I had hope-ekK—” Erick coughed again.
Darenka pulsed with thick air.
Whatever was clogging Erick’s throat, vanished. He breathed easier. He said, “Thank you.”
She nodded, waiting.
Erick had hoped that he had proven himself as capable of leaving Sininindi’s interests alone. He had almost said that, too. But he changed his tactic. He asked, “Is Sininindi a good goddess?”
Darenka said, “She’s about as neutral as the rest of ‘em, and as much of a twit when she gets her sails in a twist.” She added, “But Sininindi will sink your ship if you piss her off, and you’re at the edge of the storm, Erick.”
Erick sighed. He spoke to the air, “Dear Sininindi. I ask for your assistance with keeping Candlepoint from going out of control. In exchange, I will cast the spell I made in an appropriate location or two of your choosing, once per year, for as long as friendly relations last. I will also accept gold or whatever, for more castings, as I can fit into my schedule. Or, I will accept your help in making a single artifact of the spell in question, and then deliver it to your people.” He added, “In all cases you are not getting the spell I made. No one is. But it’s already locked to Particle Mage only, and I’m sure you know how difficult that will be for others to acquire.”
A blue prompt appeared.
Special Quest!
Create an artifact of [Control Weather], and deliver it to the Priestesses of the Storm.
Reward: ???
Erick stared at the box. He looked up, asking, “What? No help to make it?”
Darenka looked away from the air, saying, “She says that she’ll give you time, and that’s it.”
Erick wondered if Sininindi thought to make him use Koyabez’s artifact creation magic in order to complete her quest. He almost added that he would not use Koyabez’s magic to fulfill Sininindi’s demands, but… Oh. But wouldn’t that be fun? Make an artifact of ‘Calm Storm’? Heh.
Eh. He wouldn’t do that. Sininindi seemed alright, according to everything he knew. A lot of sailors prayed to her to guide them safely home, and she did.
… The more Erick learned about the gods, the more they seemed like really strong, distant spellcasters, and less like ‘gods’.
Or maybe his knowledge of the world was vastly behind the curve, and he was ascribing his own notions to beings that were inherently unknowable. They seemed helpful most of the time, and all the ‘Dark Gods’ were gone, so maybe he shouldn’t think so poorly about goddesses looking out for their flock?
If people stopped praying to them for help, or something, they would turn ‘dark’, like what had almost happened to Atunir at the beginning of the fall of Quintlan, when [Create Food and Water] was a part of the Open Script—
“Ah.” Erick asked, “Controlling the weather would be a direct attack against Sininindi’s domain, and thus her, wouldn’t it?”
Darenka smiled a little. “No. You have that wrong. One man, no matter how strong, cannot ever hope to surmount a god.”
Erick did not disagree, but only to avoid an argument.
According to everything he knew, you could attack a god. You just had to attack their worshipers, or their worship itself. But since that was something that Erick would never do, except against maybe Melemizargo, there was no need to further pursue that thought with High Priestess Darenka.
He said, “Thanks for the help, Darenka.”
Darenka further helped Erick off of the stone table, keeping him upright as she said, “Steady now.” She added, “You’ll be okay.”
Erick smiled, as he managed to stand under his own power. He said, “So this is a good time to solve another problem I was looking to solve.”
Darenka asked, “What’s on your mind?”
“I want to help Spur’s Care Services. Do you have a suggested donation size?”
“We do.” She turned slightly business-like, saying, “It’s a sliding scale based on income, but adventurers can give anything they want. We suggest a single percent of whatever you take in every month, tithed to the whole Church. That’s more than enough to cover everything from Spur’s Care Service, to childcare for working parents, to healing for the less fortunate, and all the rest of our community upkeep. You won’t get bills for most healing services, either.” She added, “But if you wish to give directly to the Care Service, then a half a percent is good enough. You can get that all worked out at the Mage Guild Bank; they do that sort of thing all the time.”
Erick smiled, saying, “That works, too. I’ll do 1-point-5 percent, and get it worked out at the bank.”
She added, “It’s tax deductible, too!”
“Good to know.”
Erick did not mention that he still had about 5 months tax free, thanks to an ultraviolet lightward he wrapped around a stone and gave to Silverite. Darenka’s words jolted loose a bit of concern in that direction, though. How bad were his taxes going to be?
- - - -
Erick frowned a little as he sat down in his chair, in the library.
The tax rate for an adventurer was 50 percent.
It wasn’t a tax on everything made after a certain amount, either. It was straight-up, half of what you made. Erick wasn’t exactly mad at that. He saw Spur growing all around him, and he knew that the money was probably going to end up spent on the war effort, or on keeping people alive, or on normal infrastructure. He was also absolutely sure that he was fabulously wealthy.
And besides that, according to Kiri, a 50% rate on adventurers was pretty low, and there were a lot of ways to get around that requirement. The Adventurer’s Guild knew all of the monsters she killed at the behest of Mog, so those were the only ones she was officially taxed on, because it was easier to fall in line with the system than to try and avoid payments. Apparently, avoiding taxes is one of the largest ways that people got exiled from Spur, or worse, had their guild cards taken away from them. As long as you played along with the law, to the letter of the law, then you were fine—
Teressa tapped on the open door of the library. Ophiel perked up, on Erick’s shoulder.
Erick looked up. “What’s up?”
“I heard about what happened, and so did Merit, but Merit is still asking for imaging.”
“Oh, damn!” Erick got to his feet, disturbing Ophiel into flute sounds, as he said, “I forgot.” He almost summoned another Ophiel and sent him blipping over to Merit, but he could already tell that spending that amount of mana was going to hurt. As he touched upon his mana pool, his nerves and stomach fluttered around like butterflies caught in a blizzard. He said, “I’ll be better tomorrow. It’ll have to be tomorrow.” He looked to the window, and saw twilight spreading across the sky. He frowned. “I can’t even get my shipments out to Candlepoint, tonight.”
“No problem, Boss. I’ll let her know.” She added, “Dinner is ready, too.”
Erick smiled. “I could eat.”
After dinner, came bed. Maybe he could get his Candlepoint shipment out at sunrise.
The rice and beans were stacked and packaged and fully exposed, out there in the open air outside the house. There was little danger in anything happening to them, but there was a ‘Blighter’ on the loose, and word about the purpose of those goods had to have gotten around by now. So Erick had Ophiel blip out there and spend almost his entire self putting up a [Prismatic Ward] around the goods. When the little guy came back inside he was tattered and winded, but he recovered fast enough in the Restful air of the house.
- - - -
Erick woke while the sky was still purple and stars faintly twinkled in the west. It was the perfect time to get up. Ophiel fluttered up from the bed, squawking in annoyed flute sounds as Erick got up for the day.
A quick trip to the bathroom and a quick change of clothes happened first, then came coftea down in the kitchen. By that time, Erick was awake enough to try casting and making breakfast, and Kiri had joined him.
“Good morning, Kiri,” Erick said, cracking eggs into a bowl with his Handy Aura, while also flipping potatoes and onions on the flat top, and grabbing flour from the pantry a few meters away. He sipped the coftea in his normal hands, adding, “Looks like I’m all better.”
Kiri nodded. She sipped her coftea, then asked, “So what spell did you make? Sininindi seemed rather interested.”
She tried to play it cool, but Erick saw the emerald glint in her eyes. She was excited and terrified and worried, all at once. Erick had dodged every opportunity to divulge what he had made yesterday, and no one had directly asked him, but now that Kiri had directly asked him...
Erick played it cool, too, as he said, “Just a little spell called [Control Weather].”
Kiri flinched. “Oh?” Her voice pitched up. “Okay.” She returned to normal, saying, “That’s… interesting.”
Erick popped the blue box for [Control Weather] into the air, and directed it to Kiri. She almost snatched it up, but she restrained herself at the last moment. She just let the box hang there, in the air, as she read.
She said, “That could change a lot of lives.”
“Yeah.” Erick said, “But now I need to make an artifact of [Control Weather] for Sininindi to keep her off of my back, and I have no idea how.”
“You could make a large structure, like a Grand [Prestidigitation] Stove, but I don’t think a Goddess would appreciate something breakable and fixed in location like that.”
Erick paused. He could do that. But maybe he shouldn’t? He said, “I haven’t even made one of those stoves, yet. Didn’t get that far.”
Kiri nodded. “I sent Sunny out to the spot where you created the spell. I didn’t see much besides clouds, and I don’t think she wants simple clouds.”
“Oh! I haven’t done that yet.” Erick summoned an Ophiel—
His hand twitched, sending tingling across the outside of his arm as mana left his body and coalesced into another Ophiel. The Ophiel turned out fine, and the tingling went away, but Erick was not fully recovered. He flexed his hand a little. Nothing else happened. With a wordless command, Erick sent the second Ophiel blipping out to the casting site.
The sun was just barely beginning to peek over the horizon, sending gold into the sky to chase away the night, but the results of [Control Weather] were rather visible. Erick laughed a little. Clouds hung in the air, taking up half of the sky. They were not the wispy, barely existent clouds common to Crystal Forest mornings. They were strong, fluffy things, cutting sunlight into ribbons. The kind that made you wonder if they were going to open up to flood your part of the world.
Ophiel looked down, to the spot where Erick had stood when he created [Control Weather].
Dunes expanded outward in concentric circles, becoming swirls and curls after the first several indistinct circles, like a god had touched down and made a Zen garden for a good kilometer in every direction. This sandy ‘garden’ was also perfectly dry.
For all the clouds in the sky, there had been no rain.
Erick came back to himself, saying, “Big clouds! But no rain.”
“No rain,” Kiri agreed.
Breakfast was a quick affair for Erick. He just had some toast and eggs, while Kiri took over and finished what he had started.
Erick went to the library and sat down in his chair; he had to bring his supplies to Candlepoint before sunrise got too far away from him. After a quick check on his supplies, a [Cleanse] over them just to be safe, and the conjuring of his entire team of Ophiel, along with the barest bit of pain at drawing out that much mana, Erick blipped his shipment to Candlepoint.
- - - -
Candlepoint was a dark blot of walls and buildings separating the purple sky from the wavy blue dunes of the Crystal Forest.
Erick’s Ophiels had not appeared where they were supposed to appear. He had to be three, maybe four kilometers from the city. He moved the lead Ophiel forward, and discovered the problem. The air was full of buzzy, itching mana. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but it was a background problem; like drying out after going for a swim in the salty ocean. The sky seemed to cling to Ophiel. There was only one explanation: it had to be Bulgan’s [Teleport Lock].
… Erick really needed to invent that spell, too. If not that, then maybe a smaller version, that he can use to tag individuals. [Force Bolt] plus [Teleport] plus [Dispel]? Maybe stick an ‘aura’ around a person that blocked a set amount of [Teleport]s? What was ‘Aurify’, really?
Ophiels flew forward to the gate of Candlepoint, deep into the [Teleport Lock]—
The Lock faded, for whatever reason, as Erick’s nine Ophiel, flying in formation, got within a hundred meters of the gate. The guards had seen him coming for a while. As the lead Ophiel got off of his platform and floated forward, the guards inside the gate stepped to attention.
Justine appeared behind them, quickly moving out into the street, her grey and white robes fluttering around her arms and feet as she took her position near the front. She glanced behind Ophiel, and her cloudy grey eyes were full of hope, but she quickly reoriented onto the feathered [Familiar].
She was not the only one to give quiet reverence to the platforms of stone boxes floating in formation behind the first Ophiel. Justine bowed, and the other guards bowed with her.
She stood up, saying, “Welcome back, Archmage Flatt.”
“Yes yes. I don’t trust you yet. But I’m willing to try.” Erick said, “I’ve got 42 tons of bulk rice and beans here for you. I don’t know how long it will last, but I’m sure you can tell me when you get low.” He gestured with his lead Ophiel to the others. The other Ophiel each cast a few [Cleanse]s into their nearby goods. “Cleaned and dried and ready for boiling or whatever you want to do with them.” He asked, “Do you all have [Stoneshape]? Or some way to take them? Or should I drop them off somewhere inside the city?”
Justine said, “Thank you, archmage. We can take them from here. We have [Telekinesis] and [Stoneshape].” She glanced behind her at the guards.
The four guards behind Justine and another four guards from the other side of the gate, moved out, as Erick guided the floating platforms closer. It wasn’t long till every box on every platform floated into the guardhouses, disappearing into the shadows. When the last one went inside, one of the guards returned, carrying a small, cloth bag. He handed the bag off to Justine.
She frowned at the small thing, then looked at the guard. The guard mouthed ‘Sorry’ in Inferni, the language of the incani. Erick had gotten pretty good at both Inferni and Karstar, the language of human nobility and the angels, recently, but aside from an orcol and a blackscale dragonkin, every guard by the gate was incani. With all his eyes in the area, he saw that some of the shadeling guards were not able to hold back the shame in their eyes, as they spotted the tiny sack in Justine’s hand.
Justine turned to Erick saying, “It appears that we are accepting a little under 2 tons of foodstuffs as the equivalent of 1000 mana in rads. Meaning…” She rushed, saying, “Meaning that we have decided to pay you 21 darkchips for the whole of your foodstuffs.” She blinked, as though remembering something, and quickly rushed to pull a thick letter from the folds of her robe. “And! And we have a letter from Mephistopheles, regarding the bargain you made with him.” She held out the letter and the sack to Ophiel.
Erick brushed over their exchange rate of food to darkchips —he would calculate that all out later to see how much they screwed him— and accepted both the bag and the letter, saying, “Acceptable.” He turned a few eyes upward, to look at the large crystal in the center of Candlepoint. “So what happened with the [Teleport Lock]?”
Justine followed his gaze. “I’m not sure, but Master Shadoweater usually only spreads his Blessing for when there’s an attack on the Crystal.” She turned to Ophiel, asking. “Would you like to see the Crystal? That’s where people go to exchange the darkchips for items.”
“Nope.” Erick said, “I’m not comfortable with any of this.”
Justine straightened her back. Her white horns glinted in the early morning light, as she bowed her head, saying, “We understand. Thank you for participating in the growth of Candlepoint.” She raised her head. “Your food will help to save a lot of lives from degradation and misery.”
Erick paused. He almost offered them more help. But then he stopped, and redirected his words. “Were you waiting for me, Justine?” He asked, “How did that happen? How does this work, with you?”
“I volunteered to be assigned to host a single archmage, and when you appeared, I was assigned to you.” She said, “I will continue to be here for when you appear, if it pleases you. I live in a small house just past the guardhouse.” She pointed to the left of the gate. “Over there.”
“You have a life outside of running when I come, don’t you? It seems like you’re forcing yourself to serve my needs and I don’t like that. I’m not sure how comfortable I am with this arrangement.”
“I am active most during sunset and sunrise, like most of my people.” Justine said, “But besides that, I work with others to help people into homes and such. Please do not worry over my arrangements. I am happy with my life.”
“Moving on, then:” Erick asked, “Can I expect the same amount of darkchips for the next batch?”
Justine turned solemn, saying, “I will try to increase the payment for next time.”
“Sure.” Erick offered, “I was thinking of also giving you a hand up, instead of a handout. Do you want rain?”
Two of the guards beside the gate instantly gave a tiny, happy laugh, while others shushed them and the rest displayed open joy.
Justine’s eyes sparkled with hope, ignoring the tiny commotion around her, as she said, “It will be difficult to get others to accept, but, yes! I would like to try. Would you be willing to talk to—”
The sky shifted.
A plume of shadows swirled down next to Justine, rapidly resolving into black horned, dark haired Bulgan. He smiled. Bright white teeth flickered out of the shadows covering his body. Erick felt a chill, followed almost instantly by a radiant anger, but he kept that emotion inside.
Justine stepped to the side, as pure training overtook everyone in the area.
Erick said, “What do you want.”
“I want to see what this is.” Bulgan held up his hand, holding the bulky letter Justine had given Erick. “Seems important.”
Ophiel squawked, as the [Familiar] picked up on Erick’s indignation and disgust. How had Bulgan gotten the letter from him? Ophiel had a good grip on that letter!
Erick watched, as Bulgan opened the letter. He unfolded out five sheets of coarse paper from the interior, and flipped through. His smile got wider. He flicked the papers into the air where dark fire consumed them, turning parchment to dust and ash, as he turned his attention to Justine.
Justine’s facade was impeccable. She showed no remorse, or weakness, or anger, or anything, as Bulgan looked her over. Whatever he was looking for, he must not have found it. He turned to Ophiel.
“That should not have happened.” Bulgan said, “The price of knowing how magic works, at all, is 100,000 darkchips. Looks like at least two people need to be taught a lesson!”
Bulgan vanished in a flicker of darkness, before Erick could speak otherwise. The Shade instantly returned with his hands upon the necks of two people.
As darkness resolved, and recognition of one of the two people took hold, all rational thought fled Erick’s mind. Bulgan’s left hand was wrapped around the neck of the sequined, red-horned Mephistopheles; the operator of the Garrison, and the one who had given Erick a bit of spellwork that he never got a chance to read. Mephistopheles wasn’t the important person here, though.
In Bulgan’s other hand was the neck of a redscale man. Where Mephistopheles winced under the iron grip of his master, trying not to move, this other man stood straight and tall. Proud. Defiant. He accepted his fate with stiff shoulders and loose hands. He looked different than Erick remembered; shadows flickered around the edges of his bright grey eyes, collected in the folds of his dirty clothes, and across his shoeless feet. But the face, and the posture, and the voice, were the same.
The man said, “Just kill me already.”
Bulgan laughed loud, then released his grip on his ‘hostages’. He said, “I can kill you with a thought, so don’t even think of moving a finger.”
The man lifted his pointer finger and his middle finger toward Bulgan. “I must not be thinking.” He asked Erick, “Is my daughter okay?”
Bulgan stepped forward and with a casual, harsh push, laid both Mephistopheles and the man who was certainly not who he looked like, onto the ground.
It was a trick of some sort. It had to be, because Valok was dead.
Bulgan demanded, “A punishment game! For giving away the secrets of the Clergy for free—”
“I’m paying in rads, asshole,” Erick said, ignoring the trauma sprawled out on the sands near the gate. “If the spell works.”
“Nope!” Bulgan said, “That’s not how this works.” He gestured to the two men, saying, “Choose a man to die for the crimes of Mephistopheles.”
“I choose you, Bulgan.” Erick said, “Die for the crimes of your underlings.”
Bulgan laughed. “Do you want to play by Perfect Speech Rules?” He said, “Because I can do that.”
“Do you want me to say ‘yes’, so that you can hold off on the sentencing, indefinitely?”
“Choose anything at all, or nothing, so that whatever you say, I can twist to my benefit.”
Erick stared at Bulgan with all of Ophiel’s eyes. He glanced several eyes toward ‘Valok’. “Delia is probably fine.” As the probable impostor tensed, and clearly wanted to know more, Erick ignored the redscale man, and said, “I still pick you, Bulgan, because with the way you treat them, I don’t understand how every single Shadeling hasn’t been struck with the Slave Class.”
Bulgan smiled, but it was fake. He was ticked. He happily said, “Since you are incapable of deciding, I will pick for you.”
Bulgan raised his hand. Erick watched, suddenly frozen in hatred and fear.
The Shade pointed to Mephistopheles, then Valok, then Justine, then back to Valok, each time grinning wider—
Erick said, “Kill them all, please, so that I know that Candlepoint is beyond redemption, and that everyone deserves to die, but most of all you, Bulgan.” Erick’s voice turned hard. “As soon as a single one of them perishes, I am opening up on you and your entire city. I will start this war, right now, and it won’t end until Ar’Kendrithyst is a melted pile.”
Bulgan lowered his hand, smiling wider. “Good to know that I have a trigger on hand.” He spoke to the shadelings, “Carry on, free people of Candlepoint!”
The Shade vanished in a wash of shadows.
Valok sarcastically said, “Thank—”
“Shut up, liar.” Erick said, “I don’t know who you are, but you cannot be Valok.”
Valok sniffed then sighed, then stood up. His shoeless feet sunk into the sands that spilled into the city.
Mephistopheles got to his feet with the help of a nearby guard, saying, “Sorry about the spellwork, archmage. I did not expect that to happen. I haven’t seen Master Bulgan since—”
Erick said, “Just tell me why ‘Class: Slave’ doesn’t get slapped on all of you.”
“Mas—” Justine’s voice cracked. She composed herself, and said, “Master Shadoweater does not interfere with the workings of the city. To us, he is the dragon on the mountain, or the king in a faraway land. We cannot go against him, for it is only by his grace that we are able to exist at all.” She said, “If we leave the city, we are killed on sight by others.”
Mephistopheles said, “Some of us have tried to kill him. Those people died for their sins against the Clergy.” He brushed off his red tuxedo, which was made of scales this time instead of sequins, and said, “And now, if you will excuse me, I am not dead today, and I cannot fulfill my end of our bargain, archmage, so I need to get back to the Garrison.” He asked the nearby guard, “Will some of you fine people please escort me home? I’m not walking through that crowd alone.”
Erick had seen the morning crowd before now, of course. Armored groups and penniless shadelings walked the main street, about a block from the gate. It was just like the last time Erick had been here, but this time, some people were watching from this side of the road. Shadelings and otherwise both waited for something else to happen at the gate. It was highly doubtful that they hadn’t already overhead everything that had happened.
Two of the guard immediately jumped at the chance to escort Mephistopheles back to the Garrison.
Mephistopheles turned to Erick, asking, “A [Cleanse], please, if you’d be so kind. I pissed and shat myself a little.”
Erick obliged, catching everyone by the gate in thick air. Sweat, dirt, grime, and more, floated away from every person.
Mephistopheles sighed, thick air curling out of his mouth, as he said, “I miss that spell the most. Nothing else can get you quite as clean.” He turned to his guards, saying, “Come along, you two! We have a breakfast buffet to keep orderly, and a morning show to resume!” He walked off, down the road, his guards rushing to catch up, and surround him.
Erick turned to ‘Valok’, asking, “When the fuck did you get alive? Or— What the fuck— No. Fuck you. What happened? No. You’re not real. Nevermind.” He turned to Justine, saying, “Rains? Yes? No?”
Valok stepped forward, saying, “Rains yes. North of the city. I’ll grow everything and organize others who want to participate.”
Justine frowned. She turned to Valok, rapidly saying, “You are not cleared for interacting with people your eyes are cloudy and you most especially do not have the political weight necessary to—” She stopped herself. She turned away, saying, “Go back to the homes and wait your turn. Meditate. Reconnect with your previous life in a respectful—”
“Fuck your respect! Fuck you! You did this to me, and you’re going to make it right!” Valok said, “I’m a gods damned farmer! Let me farm!” Shadows bubbled from his eyes, like dark smoke, as his mouth turned to sharp fangs. “You let me farm or so help me gods—” He cried out in pain as shadows bubbled from his mouth like crude oil.
Erick had successfully cut off all his emotions before this scene between Justine and not-Valok played out. He watched, impassionately, as not-Valok crashed to the ground, and began thrashing. Justine muttered curses as she and three guards restrained not-Valok on the ground as the false man thrashed out his seizure.
When Valok was still, and silent, two guards loaded him onto a stretcher and took him away, down the street a little, and then down an alleyway.
Justine’s voice brought Erick back to the moment, as she said, “He has a very strong connection to his past, but he is much too young to be out here. Hopefully, he will recover.”
Erick said, “He got worse as he called out to the other gods.”
Justine flinched rigid for a moment. “That’s not… Not exactly true. That’s not what happened, there.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
Justine said, “The souls that are gifted rebirth as shadelings are not truly alive until they are centered and fully severed from Death. It is a process akin to necromancy or incarnation or embodiment, or conjuring a life from [Conjure Force Elemental], or growing up from child to adult.”
“Call out to a god right now.”
Justine stood strong, saying, “I will not. It is highly disturbing to my shadeling self to call attention to my half-living nature, and I do not wish to be lost in the dark, ever again.”
“Fine.” Erick said, “Have a plan for growing your own food the next time I’m here. It might be a few days.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Justine’s strong countenance remained, as she said, “Thank you, archmage.”
Erick dismissed his Ophiel at Candlepoint, and came back to himself, sitting in his chair in Spur. Rage and burning need coursed through his veins as his heart pumped hard and angry. He focused on everything that had just happened, calming his rage, trying to pick out the best path forward.
Certain people would need to be involved, now that something looking like Valok was there.
Erick quickly landed on a plan. It would make a certain young girl rather angry, but right now, Delia’s need for space was not a concern. A thing that resembled her father was being used against Erick, and therefore she would be used against him too, if she wasn’t already. If she wasn’t tainted by Shades, then Erick needed Delia to come back into the fold, right now, before she caught wind of the lookalike in Candlepoint.
Teressa sat across from him, sipping her morning coftea, looking up from her book at him. She asked, “Rough reception?”
“Yes.” Erick asked, “Where’s Poi? There was a lookalike shadeling in—”
Teressa shuddered. She gripped the cup in her hand too hard, cracking the porcelain, dropping hot liquid all over her book and her lap. “Ah. Shit.” She looked down, but did not move. She just let the coftea steam on her lap and the book. After a moment, she [Cleanse]d the mess away, and [Mend]ed the book. She looked up to Erick saying, “They hardly ever do that.”
Poi appeared in the doorway, as though summoned. He said, “Here’s the bad news: Valok will be—”
Teressa gasped, then got angry. “Valok? Really?!”
Pain bubbled up in Erick’s chest. “Yes. Valok. Others too, no doubt.”
Teressa breathed deep.
Poi continued, “He’ll be a mouthpiece for the Shades as long as he remains a shadeling.” Poi smiled a little, as he said, “The good news, is that with the recent revelation that shadelings can turn back into their original race, maybe he won’t always be a mouthpiece for the Shades.”
Erick felt some weird, bubbly kinda way, as Poi’s words sank in. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or sink into a deep depression. He was certainly not going to accept Poi’s idea as actually possible, though. Not right now.
Teressa’s feelings were quite obviously not like Erick’s. Her lips turned downward into a frown, revealing huge fangs that seemed even larger than normal. Her eyes flickered with grey light as she breathed deep, trying to control her anger.
She could not control her anger.
Erick had never seen it before, but he had read about the Rage of the Orcols. It was a magical affliction that was imbued into their entire people when trolls and orcs became one, that caused widespread, global wars, that destroyed so, so much, as the Horde killed everything that was not them. But then Aloeth, the Goddess of Beauty and of the Elves, became the Goddess of Beauty and Brutality, transforming herself to survive the death of her original people, wrapping her divine might into the orcols, subduing their Rage. To this day, those with orcol blood in them still produced Ragers that had to be put down before they got too old to be controlled. But almost every orcol had a bit of the Rage in them. Usually, it never came out.
Other times, a perfectly normal orcol would experience an event so traumatic and defining, that the spark of Rage they carried within them would catch fire, turning into an inferno.
Erick knew this, intellectually. He did not know what it meant, though.
But as he saw grey light flicker across Teressa’s skin, turning pink, then red, he knew the Rage for what it was.
Erick’s library was trashed in two short seconds as Teressa and her scream filled the space. His [Personal Ward] was ripped down to nothing. His right arm hung loose in its socket, for he had foolishly reached out to her as she transformed.
As orange rock rained down, Erick revoked Teressa’s [Prismatic Ward] permissions.
She froze in the middle of killing Poi. Her magic color had changed to bright, yet dark, neon red. She had grown armor of the same color, that did not really look like armor at all, but like swords and hatred hammered into place across her body.
Locked to the dense air all around her, she could not breathe, she could not move, and her horrible scream turned to nothing. But her eyes were balls of red radiance, and her Rage was a palpable force pushing out from her bladed body, ever so slightly carving into the [Prismatic Ward] that held her immobile.
Three seconds had passed.
Erick quickly dipped the stone floor out from Poi, to pull him off of Teressa’s long claws. He was bleeding from five different gut wounds, but he was alive. Erick had Ophiel blip to the other room and blip back with a rod of [Treat Wounds]. Poi got his emergency healing and Erick repaired his arm back into its socket, all while Teressa hung frozen amid dense air.
Kiri spoke from beyond the hole in the library’s ceiling, “FUCK!”
“She—” Poi coughed, “She’ll live.” He held his chest, wincing, as he admitted, “I should have— Shit. This is my fault. I hadn’t considered...”
Erick asked, “What was that?”
“Trauma, untethered.” Poi said, “She can still hear and see us, and has access to all of her normal skills and spells, except Spatial magic. She’s going to remember all of this, too.” Poi stood up with Erick’s help, saying, “After she drops off from lack of air, you need to leave her there, Erick. She’s going to try and trick us into letting her go early, but we cannot. Keep her alive with the rod of [Treat Wounds].” He stood a bit straighter. “When her magic goes back to grey, and she actually falls asleep, she’ll be okay.”
Erick looked to Teressa. She was still very red, and still fully locked in an attack position in the air, one hand made of swords pointed at a space that no longer held a target, the other hand made of shields. She had taken her [Conjure Weapon] and twisted it into something primal, something that covered her whole body, and continued to shift a little under the dense air holding her aloft, trying to cut into the air around her, and failing.
She flickered brighter every now and then, but four minutes passed safely enough. The fire in her eyes faded. Erick tapped her with healing magics and her color returned, brighter than ever, flare red and hateful.
She nodded off after a minute, her light dimming. Erick tapped the rod against her shielded arm, but she had tricked him. The shields on her arm turned to jaws, but as soon as they opened, dense air flooded the space, locking those jaws open. She had been faking her fall to unconsciousness.
Erick asked Poi, “Is she going to be okay?”
“She should be okay. But. Shit. I should have seen that coming.”
“What happened to her?”
Poi looked up at Teressa while Teressa glared down at him, her eyes going from hateful to hurtful in a split second. “Yeah. You understand.” Poi said to her, “So if you don’t want me to tell them why this happened, then come down from this.” He paused. He said, “I can break protocol in certain situations, and this is one of them.”
Teressa flared red again.
Erick watched as her sword armor cracked into the dense air around her, like knives being driven into steel. Her knives were winning.
And then she dimmed again, darker this time. She had spent herself struggling, and failed. Erick tapped her with the rod of [Treat Wounds].
It took an hour to get her to calm. When that happened, her armor dissipated, leaving her covered in bleeding wounds. Half an hour after that, when her wounds finally healed over and blood stopped welling up onto her skin, there was an almost-mistake, but Erick quickly rescinded her permissions when her grey magics turned pink and she lunged at Poi.
Another half hour and she was down. Her eyes were back to emerald, her skin was back to a healthy green, and her magic was grey.
Erick dropped her out of the air, onto a waiting bed. A quick floating brought her to the third story classroom, where the walls were covered in dense air, but the center was not. Erick rescinded her permissions again.
When she woke up, hopefully she would be herself. She had gone almost two hours without a proper breath of air.
Erick asked, “I’m tempted to ask about brain damage, but she’s regrown her head. So… I don’t know.”
Kiri watched Teressa from the doorway, next to Erick and Poi. She asked, “Brain damage?”
“From lack of air,” Erick said. “From being stuck in the [Prismatic Ward].”
Kiri said, “I don’t think it works like that.”
“It killed a lot of people in Odaali.”
“Those people died, though.” Kiri said, “Teressa certainly did not die.”
Poi said, “She’ll be groggy. She might come back bubbly, like the last time. She might come back fully aware of what happened.” He said, “Every case of Rage is different.”
Kiri whispered, “What set her off?”
Poi breathed deep. He said, “She can tell you, if she comes back.” He spoke louder, projecting his voice into the classroom, saying, “If she doesn’t come back, then I’ll tell you.”
- - - -
The Forest bloomed all around, in pinks and reds and yellows, while strong trees reached up to the green, leafy sky. Rich brown dirt crunched underfoot, as a breeze wound through the ferns and the flowers, bringing with it the smell of fresh rain, the sounds of countless animals fucking or trying to fuck, and the touch of cold, endless death.
A bone cropped up from a shallow burial at the base of two trees. Three skulls stared sightless out into the Forest. A ball of snakes slithered out from a ribcage, as Teressa stepped down nearby. For a brief moment, the snakes were intestines spilling out into the open, and that brought Teressa a stretch of joy to see a familiar sight in an unfamiliar way.
… Feeling joy at seeing spilled intestines brought a small pause, but whatever.
Teressa walked through the Forest—
She stopped. She looked around. “Why am I in the Forest?”
The trees and the soil, the bones and the birds, they were less solid than mist. The canopy was a green sky. The ground was brown marble. Trees were flickering lights shining down from above, that were brown one moment, and then deep, deep red. The world was awash in the colors of Rage.
Teressa said, “Shit.”
Memories flooded back, as red light became red liquid, became blood, became a flood, sweeping Teressa off her feet, carrying her down, down—
She fought the river. She discarded her armor with a thought; it dragged her down. She discarded her clothes with another thought; they dragged her down. She discarded her—
NEED TO KILL
HAVE TO KILL
KILL THEM ALL
The River of Rage pulled Teressa along for the ride. Red got in her eyes and blinded her. It got in her lungs and stole her breath. Her hands turned to jelly, then to water. Her feet became one with the river. Her eyes fell in step with the rest of her drowning self.
THEY LIED TO ME
YOU CAN TURN A SHADELING BACK TO A PERSON
I’LL NEVER FORGIVE THEM
KILL THEM ALL
KILL EVERYONE
Teressa lost herself to the Rage.
But she was not lost. Another saw her plight. They reached down with a firm grip, and pulled a thread of red from the river.
“There you are.” The Goddess said, “So feisty. You didn’t get a chance to vent your Rage, did you?”
The ribbon thrashed in the grip of the Goddess; it did not want to acknowledge her power, it did not want to be free of its anger.
“Listen to your thoughts. You’re not thinking like yourself.” The Goddess playfully chided, “What is this ‘it’? You are not an ‘it’.” The Goddess’s voice became power, “You are Teressa Rednail, of the Journeyed Tribes.”
The red thread thrashed and bent, getting blood everywhere. Arms popped out, then legs, then the rest of her. The Goddess held the raging orcol by her left arm, for the Goddess was a hundred meters tall while the orcol was so much smaller. But the orcol was still red; still wet with the waters of Rage. The hands of the Goddess were thick with red, too, but that coloring was more permanent, for her.
The immense being smiled a little, and red flaked from Teressa’s body, revealing green skin, and pale blond hair. Teressa blinked, and all she could see was the white stone visage of her unwanted Goddess. All she could feel was the grip upon her arm, holding her aloft above an unknown infinity.
The Goddess said, “That’s a harsh term. ‘Unwanted’. But I’ll forgive you since I’m like that, and you’ve got blood in your eyes.” She set Teressa down upon an invisible ground, level with her face. Teressa, for her part, collapsed to her knees, spent and drained of all emotions. “Let me just—” The Goddess brushed a bloody finger the size of Teressa’s body across the orcol’s face and down her back, pulling off every single stray red flake from Teressa’s body like iron to a lodestone, perfecting the body as she went. The flakes coalesced into a tiny red orb, that joined the red upon her hands. “That’s better.”
Teressa looked up. Her eyes were clear again.
Aloethag, the Goddess of Beauty and Brutality, stood before Teressa like an alabaster mountain of an orcol. A thick halo of red waters hovered behind her head, like a minor ocean, and clung to her hands like she was a butcher. In some ways, she was. If one were to compare the Goddess to an unequaled Blood Magus, they would only be wrong in the scope of her power. And if some were to look closely, they would see that her ears were just a bit too pointed. She had never gotten over the loss of her elves, and it showed.
When she lost the elves in the Sundering, she had moved on to the orcols and drained them of themselves, leaving behind weak shells—
“Oops.” Aloethag tapped a bloody finger four times the size of Teressa, across Teressa’s arms and head, faster than the eye could see, leaving behind nothing, and dragging out everything. “There. All better.” She smirked, as she pretended the part of a caring mother, saying, “Now you be careful with that Rage, Teressa. I rescued you this time, but—”
Teressa, clear headed, said, “Don’t pretend to have done me a favor. I know your Truth. No one would worship you, so you took what you could where you could, leaving behind your touch to infatuate those who didn’t know any better.”
Aloethag smiled. “Here. Have a Quest.”
Teressa cursed loud and unhappy as a blue box appeared.
Divine Quest!
Spill 1,000,000 Health worth of monsters for your Goddess!
Slackers get a punishment Quest, so don’t slack off!
“A million Health!?” Teressa shouted, “Fuck you!”
The alabaster mountain shrugged. “I could make it two million?”
Teressa frowned. “I want to wake up now.”
Like a gurgling river, Aloethag’s laugh filled Teressa’s ears. She said, “Wish granted!”
The pulse of blood beating in Teressa’s ears was the first thing she experienced, as consciousness returned. Then she opened her eyes. She was laying on a bed, in a stone room. In the classroom on the third floor. She was nude, but someone had thrown a blanket over her and set out a change of clothes nearby.
All of her memories came rushing back.
She curled up into a ball, hiding her quiet tears from the world, as she thought about her friends. Her family.
Eventually, she dried her tears, she got up, and she put on her clothes. She went to the dense air separating this room from the rest of the house. She breathed deep. She touched the edge of the [Prismatic Ward]—
—her hand passed through, into the space.
She was allowed back in. After another minor cry, she went to see the damage she had done, to tell some uncomfortable truths, and to tender her resignation.
Her trip back to the library was quickly waylaid by other events.
Delia was in the foyer, along with Erick, Poi, and Kiri. The young pinkscale was bawling her eyes out. At that moment, Teressa’s own floodgates threatened to break, her heart beating in time to the girl’s, but she held it together. It wouldn’t have been a Rage, anyway, not since Aloethag drained her dry. It would have been more normal tears, because right now, Delia was no doubt going through something very similar to what had happened to Teressa.
- - - -
Hours ago, after putting Teressa to bed, Erick began working to find Delia.
This first order of business was asking Poi for help.
Poi easily agreed, and set about finding the young girl. Both he and Erick had their own ways of searching. Erick’s was sending Ophiel out and trying to telepathically connect with Delia. Poi’s methods were not much different, but perhaps he asked others of his nebulous organization for help. Poi’s methods worked. Erick was connected to Delia.
After calmly explaining some of what had happened, Delia went ballistic, denying what Erick had seen. Then she calmed. Then she got angry again.
And now she was in the foyer of Erick’s house.
Around the same time, Teressa woke, and Poi said she was okay, so Erick readmitted her to the house.
And now he had two crying women in the foyer of his house. Both were doing very well holding it back, but both also had watery eyes. So perhaps they weren’t actually crying, but instead just thinking, and feeling.
Erick’s own feelings felt numb. Like a callus.
Teressa turned to Erick, saying, “Sorry, Boss. I didn’t mean for that… It was...” Her voice trailed off.
Erick said, “It’s okay. We’re all alive.” He tried a tease, “But aren’t you supposed to be all bubbly and joyful right now?”
Teressa smiled, a tiny bit. Then it was gone. “No.”
“Okay. We can talk privately, later. Or we can talk now.”
Teressa looked to Delia, and said, “I’d like to talk to her, and you, because what is happening with Valok happened to my old team and I’ve spent a long time dealing with… that.”
Delia’s eyes watered. But she stiffened, breathed deep, and tossed off those emotions.
Erick looked from Teressa to Delia, and said, “Okay. We can do that. I’m going to make some sugar cookies, and coftea, or regular tea, and we can all have a sit down in the kitchen, and a talk. I don’t want what’s happening in Candlepoint to fracture my people like it almost did today, and how it will certainly fracture others going forward.”
“Aye,” Teressa said.
Delia sniffled. “Understood.”
Erick led the way into the kitchen. Poi followed close behind, keeping himself between Kiri and him. It was not lost on Erick that Teressa did the same. Kiri mumbled something about making the cookies, and that was fine. Erick started brewing a fresh pot of coftea, while Teressa and Delia sat at the kitchen table, and everyone waited for someone else to speak first.
So Erick started. He relayed the full story of what had happened when he delivered the rice and beans to Candlepoint, coloring the tale with how it made him feel, and what it made him want to do to everyone there. He especially focused in on how he was completely sure that everyone was fake, and how everything had been a test to break him in whatever way Bulgan could. He had gotten coftea made and served, while he spoke. Kiri’s cookies were already golden brown and ready to come out of the oven, by the time he finished.
Delia and Teressa listened, silently subdued. Teressa nodded occasionally, like she had seen it all before. Delia just sipped her heavily sugared and creamed coftea.
Silence descended, once again.
Delia broke the silence, “And this Justine shadeling… really said that someone could give up the Taint of Melemizargo… and come back?”
“I don’t know if it’s true.” Erick said, “There’s an archmage Syllea up in the Wyrmridge mountains asking for help transforming shadelings back to people. I had Poi check with his sources, and he says that, according to Anhelia, who rapidly checked with Syllea, that yes, she is still looking for help. Meaning that whatever methods Candlepoint has to accomplish this feat are not known methods.” Erick added, “Apparently they do this to some people, sometimes. Bring them back as shadelings, I mean. The notion of transforming them back into people has always existed, because the Shades like to torment others in this way occasionally, but until now, it was always used as a threat and a lure and a torment.”
Teressa sat very still for a long moment; her eyes glittering grey.
Delia, ever the 16 year old, did not notice Teressa, and asked, “Why would they tell you this, then?”
“Because,” Erick said, “Bulgan has it out for me and my daughter. He thought this was a nice way to throw a wrench in the works.” At a few confused faces, Erick added, “He thought this was a way to mess with me and mine.”
Delia’s face dropped. She stared into her cup of coftea.
Kiri laid a large plate of sugar cookies onto the center of the table. Erick took one. It was good. He said as much, but his attempt at keeping the mood light went unnoticed by everyone except Kiri. Kiri just nodded.
Teressa began, “When I first starting out adventuring—” She paused, roughly. She resumed, “I had a group of friends, and family. My brother. My cousin. I mean… Even the other two…” She restarted, and her words came like a flood released, “My friends growing up in my tribe, where everyone was related to everyone else, except for those who married into the family… My friends became my partners on the battlefield. They became the swords and the staffs and the daggers to my shield.”
“There was the Healer, a rough kid from four trees down who always broke other’s bones because he played too rough. Hence his duty to become a Healer. He took to it rather well. He would always say that it felt better to not need to be so careful around others.
“There was my brother, one of the best people I ever knew, but also one of the smartest, and that made him hurtful when he never meant to be. He became the main power behind our party. He focused on water and stone. He was angling to become a Druid, to seed Arbors across the Forest, and expand our tribe.
“My cousin wanted to become a Hidden Dagger. Many of us thought it odd. Girls like her don’t become Hidden Daggers. She was one of the best people you’d ever meet, always helpful, always caring, always doing the best thing for other people. It wasn’t an act, either. But when people brought up her odd adventuring choice, she’d always say that being Good was good, but not enough to make the world a better place.
“She was smart.
“Then there was the other kid. He wanted to become an archmage, but he was more like a Scribe. He had some good spells, and he ran out of mana way too fast. He was the outcast, but he tagged along, and we endured his company.
“We started our journey in the Forest around the tribe, after Wyrm Season was over. We wanted to be fully prepared for the next one, so we went out into the world, and got prepared. Before we knew it, we’d finished our Rookie Year, killing wyrms and otherwise. We were not as successful as we would have liked. We were all level 48.
“But Wyrm Season was over. If we wanted to break 50, and get a Class, we needed to wait another year, or, there was another option.
“We did not wait.
“We were at the perfect level to start our journey into Ar’Kendrithyst. So we came to Spur.
“We were excited. We had heard so much about the Dead City. We thought we knew what we were getting into, so we filled out the paperwork and passed the tests, and we were in.
“We got to the Dead City, and it was magnificent. We even greeted Fallopolis in an appropriate manner. She gave us some pointers. The only thing we trusted from her, was her advice to not go near the Spire, or too far down. Those were all known truths of the Dead City, but Spur had prepared us better than that. Everyone in town said not to go near the Spire, but they also said that as soon as you meet a monster that gives experience enough to count, you’re already dead, you just don’t know it yet, so get out if you can.
“We met and killed a nesting pair of Vampiric Krakens. They were about as dangerous as wyrms. But we killed them. For the first time in half a year, we leveled.
“Level 49. All of us, all at the same time.
“You can probably guess what happened. It’s a tale told a thousand times, that we had heard a thousand times before. But we were stupid kids. We decided we were invincible.”
“We were not."
Teressa forced her next words to come. “Cursed Babblers. If you don’t know what they are, they’re slime variants birthed in shadow and raised on curses. What they do, and how they spread, is to infect a person with a progressive disease. This disease first cuts off your sense of smell and annoyance at traveling conditions, along with making everything taste really good. It does this so that you do not feel the need to [Cleanse] yourself, which would disrupt the progression of the curse. [Cleanse] won’t cure you, but it will deny progression to stage 2.
“Stage two is when you start talking and you can’t stop. This is where the name of the monster comes from.” For a long moment, Teressa was silent. Then she said, “This is the longest I’ve ever spoke about this and it just makes me… Kinda itchy. So.” She threw a [Cleanse] into the room. As minuscule threads of thick air seeped from her body, and the rest of the room, she breathed easier. She said, “At the time, we failed to notice what was happening.
“We talked about everything any of us could possibly think to say. That lasted a few hours. Stage three led to hard arguments and joyful tears and spilled blood, but we came out of it okay. Then came stage 4. We made camp for the night, inside Ar’Kendrithyst, right there in the middle of a skyroad. We all decided that laying right down where we were was good enough, even though shadows were watching, and laughing.
“I was the only one who woke up. The Witch, the one who makes the Cursed Babblers, she had done that on purpose.
“Everyone else was dead.
“But they woke up, too. Their eyes were black hollows and their voices were full of hate and lies.
“I spent three weeks running around the Dead City, trying to get back to Forward Base, to safety, while my family harried me, trying to kill me at every turn. When I got the upper hand on them, they devolved into hurtful truths, or hateful lies, in order to stay my sword. They pretended to be real. They pretended to be the people I loved.
“If the Witch had attacked me directly, I would have failed to escape. But she didn’t. She sent my family after me, forcing me to kill them to survive, while she watched and kept me in her [Teleport Lock]. The worst part, at the time, was when they tried to convince me that if I let them kill me, then they’d be set free. That they could go home.
“None of them had the same abilities they had in life. Each only had the power of their physical self, and some minor magics to them. But don’t discount the power of [Shadowblend], or [Conjure Weapon], or even a well-made, simple illusion [Ward].
“The easiest one to kill was the Scribe. Emotionally, I mean. Physically, it was tough. There were four of them and one of me, and they knew every way I fought. I didn’t even have time to recognize that I had killed the Scribe before the other three used that opening to lunge in for the kill.
“The Dagger was a difficult killing. I loved her like a sister. A day or three after I killed the Scribe, the Dagger had come at me all alone, asking for help to get out from under the Witch’s power. But I knew what was happening. I had seen her do the same thing to some bandits, one time.” Teressa said, “Looking back on it, I think she might have come at me like that, just so I could end her. Maybe a part of her was her. She pulled her dagger at the last moment, and mine kept going.
“Killing my brother was easy, at the time. I focused on some awful, stupid things he had done while we were both young, in those stupid years before either of us knew how to be decent people to each other. Before he became the almost-Druid who wanted to throw his sword into the ring, to decide who would become the next leader of the tribe.
“Killing the Healer… Killing him was the hardest thing I had ever done. He loved me, and I loved him. He had really nice hands. Loving. Gentle. Strong.
Tears fell down Teressa’s face, as she said, “It wasn’t till I had killed the last one that I found out I had been circling Forward Base this whole time. Either the Witch’s illusion [Ward]s had faded, or she had planned it, but I found my way across the line that declared me ‘safe’, with her floating right behind me.
“She huffed at me, like I had touched an artpiece at a museum. It was a disdainful sort of noise.
“The Army took me in and took me back to Spur. At the time, I had not noticed that they were unusually quiet.
“Back in Spur, Silverite immediately grilled me about my time in there. I was an emotional wreck, but all she could talk about was my tribe.
“Two days later, when I finally crawled out of my fugue long enough to talk to other people and comprehend what was being said, I discovered that Silverite had employed a Mind Mage to pry me open. I was offended at first, but then I found out why she had done what she did, and why the Mind Mage had agreed. But it was already too late.
“My tribe had been reduced to shadelings and survivors, by the time Spur showed up to help.
“The Witch had not failed to kill me. She had let me go on purpose, because that was a part of her plan. She leafed through our party like a noble picking out paintings, deciding who would be the most fun to torment.” Teressa said, “I was the Anvil. I was happy. During stage 2 of the curse, I held the party together, like I always did. I beat down hard feelings with easy words. ‘We’re a family. We’re a tribe. So what if this or that happened. We’ll hammer it out and get through this, together.’ So she picked me to break.
“And then she broke me.”
The cookies sat uneaten. Coftea had gone cold. Delia looked down at her mug and would not raise her head. But she was not crying.
Erick’s own emotions were all over the place, but he kept an even facade.
“Say something, please,” Teressa asked.
Erick immediately said, “The Witch targeted you because she is evil. Don’t blame yourself. It had nothing to do with you. I never used to believe that ‘evil’ was real before I came to Veird, but what she did to you… That was Evil. I’m sorry that happened.”
Teressa faintly smiled, then said, “She told me, in detail, why she picked me.” She said, “We had killed her latest generation of Vampiric Krakens.”
Erick said, “She was just making excuses for her actions, as all narcissists do.”
Teressa’s smiled widened, then fell. “Yeah. It took me a long time to realize that.” She added, “Many years of trying for revenge and failing at every turn, taunted and harmed and then dumped back off at Forward Base. Years more in the Army, looking for ways to kill her and failing. Finally, more years just accepting what had happened.” She said, “And now we’re here, where the shadelings of Candlepoint are taking the forms of our friends and family, claiming— They’ve claimed that they could become real people, again.”
Poi said, “I’m sorry, Teressa. I could have broken that news better—”
“No. Poi.” Teressa said, “It’s my fault I fell to the Rage. That’s completely on me. You shouldn’t have to worry about upsetting an orcol.” She sighed. She stood up from her chair. She stepped away from the table. She turned to Erick saying, “You shouldn’t have to worry. We take a lot of steps as a people to ensure that the Rage does not happen… It should not have happened. But it did. I apologize, sir, but I am a liability right now. I could Rage again. I cannot remain here. I resign. I apologize.”
Erick frowned. “No.” He rapidly added, “Take some time if you need it, but I don’t want you to quit over this.” He controlled himself before he shouted, and said, “Why does everyone do that! The first sign of trouble, and you bail! Poi tried to do it. Rats succeeded because that jerk just left without telling me. And now you! No. I won’t have it.”
“Thank you, but I am a liability right now.” Teressa steadfastly said, “Aloethag has given me a million Health quest to complete. If I don’t, she might not help me the next time I Rage.”
Erick noticed Kiri’s eyes going wide, as Delia finally lifted her face, only to show disbelief. Erick said, “I seem to be the only one who doesn’t know what that means.”
Teressa said, “It means I must kill a thousand Crystal Mimics in her name.”
Erick said, “Look. I am dealing with a lot of stuff right now, but it seems like your Rage is something I can actually help you with. What do you need? A percentage on a kill? If that’s the case, then you can do like, a buff or a heal on me and I can throw a few [Withering Slime]s out into the Crystal Forest. Simple!”
Teressa smiled. “Doesn’t work that way. The million Health is a measure of the degree to which I Raged. It’s the amount of power I took from my heritage; that I took from her, and must return, ritually.” She said, “I don’t want to leave, but I must.”
Erick tried, “So is this Quest based on percentage of Participation? Or not?”He added, “And a ‘million’ seems rather damn arbitrary. It’s way too round of a number.”
Poi said, “She could help you and get Quest credit.”
“Fuck, Poi!” Teressa briefly turned to Poi. “Stop helping.”
Poi shrugged.
Teressa said, “If I don’t do it right, then she’ll make it two million. She’s a lot of a dick, like that.”
“So it is possible for me to do this quest for you.” Erick stood from the table, saying, “We’re going to do that, then. Right now.”
A blue box appeared.
Divine Quest!
Spill 10,000,000 Health worth of monsters in Aloethag’s name!
<And Teressa must help in some fundamental way. Good luck!>
Teressa blinked red glints out of her eyes. “Damned Goddess. Now it says ten million!”
Erick said, “I got the same box.” He asked, “So what kind of enhancing spells do you know? Rifts? If not, I can give you a rundown on how to make one. I still haven’t made one myself, but we can work on that together.”
Teressa clenched her jaw, then said, “I don’t know any.” She said, “I mean… I can take monster aggression from you?” She shook her head, and said, “Sir. None of that matters right now. We have much bigger problems. You have bigger problems.” She looked to Delia, then back to Erick. “Now you know the score, and how I’m probably going to be used against you too—”
Poi interrupted. “Any person who the Army sent in to take your place would face a slightly different scenario of hurt and spreading harm. You are not special in this regard, Teressa.” He added, “The Shades are very good at this level of perversion and torture.”
Erick briefly pointed at Poi, adding, “What he said.”
Delia, who had been silently watching this whole time, finally spoke up. “Sir.”
Erick turned to the young girl. “Yes?”
“I would like to accept your offer of Oceanside enrollment. I cannot be here, and I will not face that. Not yet.” She looked up to Teressa, and said, “Thank you. I’m out of my depth. I need to not be here, or involved in this.” She looked to Erick. “When whatever happens, happens… Please let me know… If … If... Valok—” She said, “If that man turns out to be something other than a trap.”
Erick said, “Of course.” He summoned a few Ophiel and said, “I’ll make a [Teleporting Platform] for you just outside, and have you there in thirteen [Teleport]s. I’ll work out the details with you later, but I want you to enroll normally. Try for the scholarship, first, and I’ll make up the difference in tuition and board.” He added, “I’ll check up on you occasionally, okay?”
Delia got up from the table and bowed to Erick. “Thank you, sir.” She stood up. She nodded. She turned around, and walked quickly out of the kitchen, out of the house, and onto a platform Erick had already made with Ophiel.
She was eager to be gone.
Erick turned to Kiri and Teressa, and said, “Figure out a buffing spell, while I take care of this.”
Kiri started talking. After a minute, Teressa reluctantly started talking, too.
Erick spent a minute getting his Ophiel and Delia ready for the short, long flight. In another minute, Delia stepped off of the stone platform, onto the main intake zone for all people blipping into the great Oceanside Academy, where the sun was already setting, painting cream colored towers in oranges, reds, yellows, and shadows. People milled everywhere, of all sorts, some with goods for sale, others wearing student robes.
While Delia stared at everything happening around her, at people flying on carpets and floating platforms and in the sky, Erick had Ophiel point at a large building down a short road.
He sent, ‘That’s the intake office. Apply for your scholarship there. You might not get one and that’s okay. It’s a thousand gold a month in your first year, and that’s easy, but if you fail that first year, the cost goes up by the amount you fail. But that shouldn’t matter.’ Erick added, ‘A little bit of failure is fine, and good for growth, but you’re here to learn how to be the person you want to be, to hunt those who took your father. You’re here to learn how to succeed despite profound horror.’
Delia’s eyes welled up, but she did not cry. She just nodded. ‘Thank you, archmage, sir.’
‘Just a warning: they’re gonna give you a real hard time about not having the full suite of magic you’re expected to have before enrollment.’ Erick sent, ‘I encountered some of that, too, but I was only there for two months and as an archmage.’
Delia’s eyes hardened. ‘I can learn. That’s why I’m here.’
‘Good.’ Erick sent, ‘I’ll open an account for you on my end after I get through with this business, here. There shouldn’t be any problems with you actually getting enrolled, though. If there are, let me know.’
‘I can rough it for now, sir. Thank you.’
‘You won’t have to rough it, but good on you.’ Erick sent, ‘Talk to you later. Oh. And I’m telling my daughter you’re there. Good luck with that!’
Delia nodded, and walked forward, into the city of magic.
Erick cut their mental connection, as he blipped Ophiel over to Windy Manor.
Erick briefly turned his attention to Jane, but got no response. That had happened a few times in the last few days, but Erick already knew the problem, and it was not a matter of life and death. Jane was probably just a slime at the moment, as she usually was. That girl needed to make a [Familiar], to get around this issue. Erick said as much in a quickly jotted note he left on the kitchen table of Windy Manor, along with a brief mention of Delia’s current plans to enroll in Oceanside, and Erick’s sponsorship of her tuition. When the letter was done and placed, Erick dismissed the furthest Ophiel and ordered the closest ones to come back home, as he came back to himself.
“Thank all the gods and angels and demons; a problem has been solved before it turned into cancer.” He turned to Poi, “She wasn’t a secret sleeper agent of the Shades already, right?”
“She was not,” Poi said.
“Good.” Erick turned to Kiri and Teressa. “Got a solution for this Aloethag problem?”
“Maybe,” Kiri said.
“Great!” Erick said, “Lay it on me!”
Teressa said, “I was on the track for it… years ago. But I kinda… stopped trying.” She just came out and said, “It’s shouting magic. [Warcry]. But it’s not who I am anymore. And it never did much, anyway. I don’t think I can do this.” She turned away, muttering, “This is dumb. I shouldn’t be here anymore.”
“Stop talking like that.” Erick said, “Treat yourself better, Teressa, because you’re the only one who can treat yourself the way you deserve to be treated.”
Teressa kept her back turned to Erick. Her shoulder sagged, and then solidified. She lifted her head, and said, “Yeah.” She turned to Erick, “Sorry.”
“Not your fault! It’s the Witch’s fault. It’s the Shades’ fault.” Erick said, “So let’s go out and ritually kill a plague species for a goddess to get you back into her good graces. And then I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna get piss drunk. So how’s that sound? A night on the town! Because I don’t know about you! But I need a FUCKING break from THIS SHIT and these constant problems! Let’s solve some more fucking goddamned problems!”
Teressa smiled wide. “Okay.”
Erick injected as much enthusiasm and joy into his voice as he could, as he said, “I can’t hear you!”
Teressa chuckled, and said, “Okay!”
Kiri smiled, while Poi looked on.
“Okay! Just okay!? Can I get a [Shout], or something!”
“OKAY!”
Erick chided, “That didn’t seem very magical! Or Health-ful. What’s a [Shout] cost anyway?”
Teressa breathed deep, then thrummed the entire house, shouting, “OKAY!”
Grey light flickered from her body, spreading out in a flash, washing over Erick, Poi, and Kiri. Erick suddenly felt very, very awake, and at that same moment, a minor notification appeared to the side of his vision. It was a simple up-arrow, but as his heart beat hard and he focused on the arrow, a blue box appeared. It was already counting down.
Warcry!
+2% Damage done.
-2% Damage taken.
12 seconds remaining.
Erick laughed. “Holy shit! That’s a good buff, right?”
Poi looked away from the air, saying, “That’s not really a buff—”
Teressa smiled, as she said, “I can do a lot better than that, Poi!”
“—but you’re gonna come down hard from that, anyway.” Poi finished, “Buffs of any kind should only be used sparingly.”
Erick sent his nearest Ophiel, who had been hanging out on the roof of the house, regaining Mana, out into the Crystal Forest, each in a different direction. He had them all cast a [Cascade Imaging] into the air, searching for people. None of the searches overlapped.
While he was doing that, he said to Teressa, “We’re gonna get this solved in the next few hours. Okay?”
Teressa nodded, saying, “Okay.”
And they did.
Erick cast [Withering Slime]s out into the Crystal Forest, along paths that would not meet any people, while Teressa Shouted for power and prestige. She called out to Aloethag, telling the Goddess to accept her bounty, while Erick followed her script, and her words.
Erick’s Quest chimed done, first. Because of course it did. Teressa was buffing him, but he was doing all the damage.
Divine Quest Complete!
10,000,000/10,000,000 Health worth of monsters slain in Aloethag’s name!
Reward: ? ? ?
<Well aren’t you just so industrious! I’ll figure out the reward later.>
Teressa was Shouting for +21% power, so she took almost five times as long him. But five times Erick’s five minutes of spellwork, was still only 25 minutes.
His plan worked. Faster than he would have thought it could work, too.
And then, just like Poi predicted, coming down from Teressa’s Shout sucked, hardcore.
But beer and hard liquor in orcol bars made everything better.
Oh! Those orcol bars! Where the men had arms as big as Erick’s whole torso and the women’s assets were large and in charge and bouncing oh so well on the dance floor.
Erick cheered with a huge stein of beer at Teressa, “To problems solved, and worries set to rest!”
Teressa crashed her mug against Erick’s, saying, “To foes laid deep in stone!”
An afternoon of drinking turned into an evening of drinking. Somewhere along the way, Erick drunkenly visited the bank, and got Delia a 5000 gold line of credit to draw upon at Oceanside. And then there was more drinking.
And the orcols started losing their shirts. Erick’s shirt went away, too. So that was fun.
Al and Mog got involved, somehow. Erick wasn’t sure on the details, but Erick saw the Adventurer’s Guildhouse all around him, for sure. They had probably blipped into the fourth floor of the Adventurer's Guildhouse, and that led to a whole mess of fun. Probably too much fun. There were some moments in there that felt like giving into pleasure and joy. Was it sex? Possibly. Erick recalled jokes about expertly crafted [Cleanse]s and the liberal use of slippery plants, and moments way too fun and reminiscent of his college years. Erick was certainly in control of himself, but his decisions? Maybe not 100%, but certainly 85%, and that was good enough for him.
It was a good night, and though Erick and Teressa participated in rather different parts of it, she certainly seemed better, which made it all the worse when she wasn’t home when Erick made breakfast the next morning.
Erick almost blew up something, but Poi said that Teressa had just gone to the Guardhouse, to get an early start on the day.
Erick found himself giggling a little, as relief spread throughout his body. He sipped his coftea.
Today was going to be a good day.