“What?”
“Your mother was an [Enchantress] and a [Witch]. The clear implication is that as an [Enchantress] I must also be under suspicion. Perhaps even for the murder of Gustaff, yes? When people look for [Witches] any powerful women must be suspect. It's the way of the world.”
“No,” said Brin.
“It’s quite alright,” said Chamylla. “Because you partook of my hospitality anyway. You must not believe that I’m really a [Witch]... no, more likely you do believe I am one, but don’t believe you have anything to fear from me. You think evil Classes can be controlled? Yes, of course, because of all people you know they can be controlled, with discipline. You did that very thing, and you think that’s what I’m doing. That’s almost touching, in a way.”
“I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything,” said Brin. “It’s just… I know so little about her. And when you brought it up…”
“I understand,” said Chamylla. “But I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’m not a [Witch], and I don’t have any way of proving that. Despite what the stories say, [Witches] don’t melt in the rain, nor are they allergic to copper, and they do have shadows like the rest of us. But I think you’re looking in the wrong direction. Just as [Scarred One] revolves around pain, [Witch] can be summarized by spite.”
Brin couldn’t help but lean forward. “What do you mean?” He’d only ever heard about [Witches] from Hogg, and while the old guy was smart, he did have some biases.
“Let’s say… you lived another way. Let us pretend that you always did what you were told you should. You never chased attributes or achievement, and only received those that you earned through the regular work of your chores. You didn’t try to get a Rare Class, because after all, even the ‘good’ Rare Classes are bad for society. The world doesn’t need more killers, it needs more normal people doing normal things. You take a normal Class.
“You choose a Class that is good for society, something the community requires even if it doesn’t value it. You detoxify the water in wells or clean floors or wash laundry. Now pretend you are also a woman, and you’re doing these things on top of bearing and nursing children. Your level is lower than it should be for your age, but that’s to be expected; you don’t have time to focus on your own levels when you’re so busy serving others.
“Everyone will see the sacrifice you made, right? Everyone will respect you for the contributions you make. Surely.
“But then they don’t. They treat you like the trash you clean up. They ignore you and demean you for being lesser, all the while applauding those who took the Rare Classes that we pretend to discourage.”
He got what she was leaning towards, but Brin decided to be a contrarian. “I suppose I would have an adult conversation with the people in my life in order to–”
Chamylla waived that away with a laugh. “No, no, no. You’re supposed to say ‘I would put itching powder in everyone’s clothes except the ones I washed. I would take a fake vacation and then sneak back and put excrement in the well that I purified.’ That kind of thing.”
Brin nodded. “So it’s about getting payback. How does that square with the rules about never accepting a [Witch’s] hospitality?”
“I believe the rule is that you must never abuse a [Witch’s] hospitality. But that’s not much of a distinction. Being what they are, [Witches] will find fault in anything, if they wish to. My point however, is that [Witches] generally arise from very lowly Classes. [Enchantress] is already a Rare Class, did you know that? A change to [Witch] would be a lateral move for someone like me, rather than a steep upgrade like it would be for nearly anyone else. I already have anything a [Witch] could desire. Respect, fortune, power. Not to say I don’t believe you, only to say that you shouldn’t use your mother as a measuring stick. When there’s so little to gain and so much to lose, why bother?”
The answer was that in Arcaena, advancement to [Witch] would also mean advancement to the country’s ruling class. Not that anyone outside of the Queendom knew that it worked that way. Even Hogg had believed until very recently that the queen aggressively weeded out any other [Witches] in her country.
“I don’t know,” said Brin. “I guess I was hoping you’d know.”
“I’m sorry I could tell you so little,” said Chamylla.
Actually, she’d told him a lot. He’d figured that [Witches] would all be high level, so a good place to start would be with high level women. Chamylla was very high level, at 49. From [Inspecting] random people around town, he knew that the average level was thirty. Even people old enough to be his grandparents tended to stall out before forty. Leveling slowed down the higher you went. Or maybe they just got comfortable? He got the feeling that you wouldn’t gain experience in your Class unless you were constantly trying new things. Most people probably did one thing very well and then became content. Or maybe, like Calisto, they needed something to advance that they couldn’t get for themselves.
Whatever the case, he’d been going about this the wrong way. He needed to find people with low-power Classes who were respected a lot more than they should be. Maybe he’d start with one of the council women who’d thought that Tawna did nothing wrong. Balbi, the [Laundress].
It also occurred to him that Chamylla’s main argument for not being a [Witch] was that she was too powerful to need a Class change. Now that he thought about it, here in her own home, she was probably as powerful as a [Mage]. He surreptitiously used [Inspect] on a few of the pieces of furniture nearby. Bog Standard Armchair. This has been imbued with a defensive enchantment of some kind. Fire element. Bog Standard End Table. This has been imbued with a defensive enchantment of some kind. Unknown elements.
He’d figured that all her things were so expensive because she’d imported them from somewhere exotic, but of course it was because it was all enchanted. This home was a fortress, maybe better defended than the rest of the town put together. He’d seen some really amazing stuff on the swords Perris sold. He would bet that she saved the best stuff for herself.
One last thing, he [Inspected] Chamylla again. Nothing changed from before. That didn’t prove she wasn’t a [Witch]. She could be lying. But he didn’t think so, and he hadn’t really gotten any evidence one way or another. He’d need to commission something big and see if getting to level 50 got her any new enchanting abilities.
“No, you’ve helped a lot. Thank you for humoring me,” said Brin.
“Of course,” said Chamylla. “Now. Let’s turn our attention to the Language.”
“Now?”
“What better time? I know that Hogg knows the Language very well for a [Rogue], but I promise you that my instruction will be much more thorough.”
Two hours later, Brin left Chamylla’s house with a splitting headache. In those two hours, he’d partially learned the meaning of one single letter. One.
The letter was a kind of swervy ‘L’ with a line through it. It’s name was <<Deln>> but in some contexts it was <<Vash>>. When Chamylla spoke the Language it felt like an army of ants were biting his brain, and she’d repeated the word so often that Brin started to feel it even when he thought of the name of that letter. Which meant that he’d probably made some good progress.
She hadn’t just repeated the word. She’d also told him what it meant. It was the water flowing underground, but it also meant starlight in some cases and it also represented the intersection of different fields of air pressure in the atmosphere. It did not mean wind, that was something else.
He’d gotten a notification. Through training, you have increased the following attribute: Magic +1
With the way he was feeling, it was poor consolation. He’d be more excited about it tomorrow, but for today he just wanted to head home, steal some of Hogg’s painkillers, and go to bed early.
Zilly punched him in the shoulder. He’d been so distracted with his headache, he hadn’t even seen her approach. “Hey Brin. What’cha up to?”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Her voice felt like knives into his brain. Something about this headache really seemed to make the sound of another human voice feel like pure agony.
“Not feeling too good,” said Brin. “Could we catch up another time?”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
Brin winced. “Head hurts.”
Marksi squeaked, expecting Zilly to reach out her arms for him to jump into. She ignored him, eyes focused on Brin. She stared at him, walking alongside and studying his gaze with a piercing intensity. He didn’t mind, since at least she wasn’t talking.
“Fight me,” said Zilly. She had her same mocking smile, but there was a seriousness in her eyes that he wasn’t used to seeing.
No one else was on the street. She’d done this on purpose and ambushed him when no one else was around.
“Not now. I’m not in the mood,” said Brin.
“Yeah, that’s why we should do it now.”
Brin walked past her.
She ran around to get in front of him again, and this time moved so that he couldn’t walk past again without bowling right over her.
Marksi squeaked in alarm, looking between the two of them with extreme worry in his eyes. He didn’t know what was going on. Neither did Brin.
“My head feels like it might fall off. Can’t we do this later?”
“I need you in a bad mood,” said Zilly. “Otherwise I won’t be able to tell if you’re going easy on me.”
She tossed a wooden practice sword and he caught it by reflex, and then in the same movement smacked him with the flat of another practice sword on his scarred cheek.
“Ow! Cut it out!”
Marksi chirped and leapt off his back to scurry out of the way.
Zilly jumped back, sword in the guard position. “No. I need to know. I’m not pulling the next one.”
She slashed forward, and it looked like she was moving in slow motion. She wasn’t; she was honestly pretty fast, but Brin had never fought someone close to his own Strength before. No, she wouldn’t have had time to outpace him with [Warrior’s] higher attributes. He was actually stronger than her. He’d definitely never fought someone weaker than him.
He put both hands on his sword and hit her wooden blade as hard as he could, knocking it out of her hands. She rolled backwards, and came up with the sword in her hands again.
She lunged. He moved with the lunge and grabbed her wrist, then yanked her forward, pulling her off-balance. He slapped the practice sword out of her hands, and then pushed her back. She stumbled backwards with a look of complete shock on her face.
Then he threw his own practice sword on the ground and stomped off. “I said I’m not in the mood!” he called behind him. Hopefully she wouldn’t pick her sword back up and smack him in the back.
She didn’t. Instead, something even more surprising happened. Congratulations! You have defeated: Zilly [9]
He’d only seen those notifications for things he’d killed. He turned around in panic, but Zilly was fine. She stood there with a dazed expression, looking at the practice swords on the ground. Apparently you could ‘defeat’ opponents in ways other than outright killing them. He would feel bad for not knowing that, but every opponent he’d ever faced had been monsters or undead bent on killing him. Zilyana (Zilly) Mentirose Human Age 14 Level 9 Warrior Description: Zilly is a close friend. Skills: Battle Cry - A powerful shout that increases her own and allies morale, strength and speed.
The [Warrior] Class has two optional base Skills, and [Hide Status] is obscuring her Skills and Achievements.
Blade Mastery (unlikely) - A Warrior quickly gains proficiency with any bladed weapon. This Skill also enhances damage with bladed weapons. The Skill effects depend on its level and the Warrior’s Dexterity. It’s unlikely that Zilly chose this. Her sword Skills do not reflect System help.
Iron Body (probably) - This Skill fortifies Zilly’s body, increasing her defense against physical damage.
Yeah, [Inspect] didn’t think she was dead, either. He turned back and quickly walked home before she could bother him again. Marksi followed him, looking back at Zilly sadly.
Brin was glad he’d been able to end it before things went too far. Zilly had been right about one thing–with the pounding pain in his head, it wouldn’t have taken much for him to snap and lash out for real. He’d been very tempted to throw in a punch or even a head-butt.
When he got home he knocked back a couple painkillers and then threw himself into his bed, but that just made things worse. He felt like he was on a raft on the ocean, only the ocean banged his head like a hammer in time with the beat of his pulse. He waited for the drugs to kick in, but they never did.
It was his thoughts, he decided. Words and language felt extremely painful, even if the words were only the wandering thoughts inside his brain. He tried to force his mind to be quiet, but that never worked. He needed to get out, to focus on something else and quiet his brain.
He jumped out of bed, grabbed the expensive stick Perris had sold him, and stomped out of town. He didn’t have to go far; Hogg’s new house was right on the edge of the city, so Brin could go straight out the gates to find a flat space without so many eyes on him.
There were a few eyes though. Hammon’s Bog still didn’t keep their gates shut during the day, but all the watchtowers were manned, and there were two [Hunters] on the watchtower above the gate.
He ignored them and started into the sword forms that Hogg had taught him. They worked pretty well with the spear shaft. Well enough to keep going.
He threw himself into it again and again, working up a sweat. As soon as the drugs kicked in and his head stopped hurting so much, he’d go back home and go to bed. Only, they never did, so he kept going.
Marksi tried his best, too. He must’ve gotten the idea that Brin was practicing fighting, because Marksi showed off how good he was at sneaking up and pouncing. He moved through it repeatedly, matching Brin’s determination. He wished he was in the mood to enjoy the cuteness overload.
Hogg found him after a while. Brin wanted to scream in frustration when he saw him walking up, but Hogg didn’t talk. Instead lifted a spear of his own, nearly a perfect match for Brin’s except that it had a head, and started into a spear form. “Like this.”
Brin didn’t really want to have to do something that involved learning, not after Chamylla’s torture session, but honestly he was going to be miserable no matter what right now, so he might as well follow what Hogg was showing him.
He matched the movements. Hogg moved slowly, frustratingly slow, because Brin was in the mood to abuse his body until he was tired enough to pass out. Hogg moved slowly from stance to stance, and Brin followed along as best he could.
The second time through the form was a little faster. They moved through it again and again. On the tenth time, Brin had it memorized and Hogg stopped demonstrating. Instead he scrutinized Brin’s form, making small adjustments with quick pokes as he went.
They kept at it, falling into a comfortable routine. The only time Hogg talked was to whisper “slower” when Brin started speeding up too much.
By the time the sun started crawling down past the horizon, Brin’s headache had mostly subsided.
“I recognize that look. Did Chamylla start teaching you the Language?” asked Hogg. The words just felt like words. Whatever that headache had been, it was over.
“Yeah,” said Brin.
“Nice of her. She’s probably the only one in town who understands it better than me. I still don’t get why she’s taken such a shine to you,” said Hogg.
“I think I remind her of someone,” said Brin. “Is it always like this?”
“It gets better,” said Hogg. “The drugs won’t help, by the way. The pain isn’t in your body.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” said Hogg. “But stop wasting them. Calisto is too busy to make more. Are you serious about learning the spear?”
“Perris pretty much told me I was an idiot if I chose anything else,” said Brin.
“From an armorer's perspective, it makes sense. If you use glass weapons, you’ve got to assume they’re going to break all the time. Spears are easier to replace, and easier to improvise in a pinch,” said Hogg.
“So you think I should go back to swords?”
“No way. Spears are the better weapon for you, even from a practical standpoint. For the kind of fighting I did and the kind of fighting I expect you’ll do, you usually only get one good hit before they figure out all your tricks. You have to make it count. A stab,” Hogg demonstrated a full-bodied spear-thrust, “is a finishing move. If it connects it inflicts a mortal wound. It’s your best chance at piercing through armor and doing real damage.”
He swung his spear around in wide arcs. “A cut is usually a superficial wound. The goal here is usually to wear the enemy down through attrition. If your enemy is armored, this is useless. Basically, stabbing is better. A spear can cut, but its focus is stabbing, just like a sword can stab, but is focused on cutting.
“A spear also has better reach, that’s the main advantage. Just hold it at the end and keep your enemy away. Most fights aren’t really about killing the other person at all costs; you just want to stop them from hurting you. Also if I switch my grip,” he moved his hands to both be near the middle, “I’ve got a quarterstaff, which is a supreme defensive weapon.”
“Why does everyone use swords?” asked Brin.
“Well, real professionals don’t. Go meet the adventurers that got stranded here. They hang out in the Public House all day. You’ll find all kinds of weapons. But to answer your question, I’d say it’s because swords are higher Class. They’re a symbol of authority. Also, more metal can hold more enchantments, so if you’re rich you can get a weapon that does more heavy lifting. To that I say, just carry two spears then. You could also make the argument that swords are more versatile. If you’re suddenly surrounded by dozens of smaller enemies, like those spiderlings, you’d want a shorter cutting weapon.”
“So you’re saying swords are cooler,” said Brin.
“No they aren’t. Swords are not cool. Winning is cool, and I hate that you’ve got me saying that now. Since when does ‘slightly chilly’ mean good?”
“Alright,” Brin said with a grin. “Can you teach me?”
“Sure,” said Hogg. “But like I said, if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. I know I said that after you got your Class we’d slow things down, because there’s no deadline on any Achievements any more, but–”
“I want to learn. Whatever it takes,” said Brin. He hated that his strategy with the undead had been to just go full mindless berserker. He wanted his next fight to end with the enemy getting hurt while he was unharmed. To do that, he’d actually need to learn to fight for real.
“Start your workouts again with Davi in the mornings. Glass with Ademir in the first shift. Language with Chamylla after that, whenever she’ll have you. Then in the evenings, four hours of spears. Every day until you’re good enough.”
That didn’t leave him much time to do his [Witch]-hunt. He’d figure it out. He smiled, “Deal.”