Bibliomancer

by James Hunter

  Moreover, his classes had garnered him five additional points in both intelligence and wisdom, and thanks to some rather rigorous training in the Basics of Offensive Spell Casters class, he’d even picked up a point apiece in strength, constitution, and dexterity. Sam’s innate class abilities had given him four characteristic points to distribute at level three and one point in both intelligence and wisdom at level four.

  But deciding how to spend his limited point allotment had been no easy choice. Sam bristled at how slow he was and how tired even relatively simple actions made him. Still, he couldn’t justify dropping points into either strength or constitution. Instead, he added two points into intelligence—his primary class attribute—one into wisdom, and the last into perception. He hated using points for non-class stats, but at the same time, his low perception was starting to cost him.

  Already, he’d been late for class once and chores twice because he simply lost track of time. He’d poisoned himself to boot by mistakenly eating a lump of sewer mold when thinking that it was some kind of new-fangled dessert. The stomach pains had lasted for hours, and he was lucky he’d survived at all. When he thought back on the incident, there was nothing that could explain why he would do that. It must have been some odd game mechanic.

  His perception deficit needed to go away as soon as possible. So, until he hit ‘normal’ levels, he’d be dumping in at least one point at every third level. Sure, Sam wasn’t exactly breaking records or making waves, but at least his progress wasn’t completely stagnated, and at this stage in the game, he needed to take his victories where he could get them.

  Name: Sam_K ‘High Five, I Tried!’

  Class: Aeolus Sorcerer

  Profession: Locked

  Level: 4 Exp: 6,003 Exp to next level: 3,997

  Hit Points: 70/70

  Mana: 270/270

  Mana regen: 7.8/sec

  Stamina: 75/75

  Characteristic: Raw score (Modifier)

  Strength: 13 (1.13)

  Dexterity: 15 (1.15)

  Constitution: 12 (1.2)

  Intelligence: 27 (1.27)

  Wisdom: 26 (1.26)

  Charisma: 13 (1.13)

  Perception: 8 (0.08)

  Luck: 15 (1.15)

  Karmic Luck: 2

  He’d also learned a new spell automatically at level three; just another perk to being an Aeolus Sorcerer. Unfortunately, Sam hadn’t been able to pick the spell, but it turned out to be a mightily effective defensive aura called Mage Armor. Thanks to his Mage Shields and You: The Art of Defensive Magic Class, he’d managed to push the technique all the way up to Beginner II, which seemed respectable, if just shy of extraordinary.

  Mage Armor (Beginner II). Mages are basically made of paper and glass—even the slightest bump is liable to shuffle them right off the mortal coil, but thankfully, Mage Armor exists! With this in place, the typical Mage will be slightly more durable than a Styrofoam coffee cup! I mean, it’s not much, but at least a strong wind won’t kill you anymore. Well… medium strength wind. Effect: For every point of Mana devoted to this spell, negate one point of damage from primary sources of magic and half a point from primary sources of physical damage. Increase conversion by 0.025n where ‘n’ equals skill level.

  Sam pushed the thoughts to the back of his head as he dropped onto a long, wooden bench positioned across a polished, wooden table in the College’s rather expansive cafeteria. Finn was already seated on the other side, picking his way through a plateful of rice and mystery meat covered in a gooey, gray sauce that reminded Sam of his time in the sewers. The flavor was almost the same as well, at least to Sam’s tongue.

  They had this same meal at least once a day, and it never got any better. Just tasteless, bland, mush, with chewy bits of meat of questionable origin. The higher-ups got the good stuff, of course—steak, lobster, foie gras, and creme brulee. Basically, dishes fit for a King. Not so much for the Novices.

  Sam was starving though, so he steeled his resolve, picked up a spoon, and ladled a heaping bite into his mouth, grimacing at the taste and texture. While he worked the goop in his jaws, he eyed Finn, who looked almost as tired as Sam felt. The Noble’s normally pale complexion was even waxier than usual, and he had deep purple bags loitering beneath his eyes.

  “Long night?” Sam dived back in with his spoon for another bite as soon as the question was out.

  “Celestial above, don’t even get me started,” Finn groaned and stabbed his food with a spoon. “I was on library duty last night, and I swear that Octavius was up until a quarter to three. Don’t think I got into bed until close to five. Then I had grounds duty at six-fifteen! Then Advance Combat Magics until eleven-thirty. I’m working on maybe an hour of sleep, and this afternoon, I have a test in Advanced Potions and Transmutative Substances. I’m fairly sure Octavius knew that and spent extra time in the library just to spite me. Kept mumbling about a potential breakthrough, but I saw a dirty glint in his eyes. He’s out to get me, I tell you! I suppose that shouldn’t be a shock to me, but it is irksome.”

  Sam grunted noncommittally and lifted another bite to his mouth, chewing purposefully to grind the meat, tough as shoe-leather, down to something digestible. When he finally was able to swallow, he asked, “Any idea what he’s working on?”

  “Actually, yes!” Finn’s face visibly brightened. “I’ve been trying to work it out, and a bit of text from last night was the final clue. Peak Students—those on the verge of advancement to Journeyman status with the College—usually have to perform some great feat or work on behalf of the College.”

  Finn slurped down another mouthful with a grimace and continued, “Octavius is an Earth Mage class, and I think he’s constructing a massive, earth-based spell construct. Hard to say exactly what the spell will do, but based on what I’ve gleaned, it’s offensive in nature and potentially devastating. Much like Octavius’ personality really, offensive and devastating. If I had to wager, I’d say it’s likely some kind of preemptive strike against the Wolfmen. The spell at least. His personality is a strike against women for sure.”

  The Wolfmen… now that, at least, was one topic of study Sam had been enjoying. Speaking of, Sam needed to move his butt, or he was going to be late. Again. If that happened, Octavius would likely have him scrubbing toilets until it was time to log out of the game and get back to the real world. Hard pass on that front. Jamming the last bit of food into his mouth, he shot to his feet and clambered off of the bench.

  “Sorry, Finn,” he was choking down that last mouthful, “but I gotta get over to the annex for my dungeoneering class. Catch you later.”

  Sam offered the Noble a wave and hustled out of the cafeteria, trying not to lose his way through the warren of nonsensically twisting passageways and corridors, navigating via the runic system that he was still ages away from mastering. Sam picked up the pace, taking left after right, left after right. True, he didn’t want to be late because he wanted to avoid Octavius wrath, but he also wanted to make it because this was hands down his favorite class so far. The other classes—though practical—were dull as sin. dungeoneering, though, that was a whole different ball game.

  Sam rounded a bend, and the world seemed to tilt on end. A sick sense of vertigo washed through him, leaving him reeling uncertainly for a moment before everything righted itself and his balance restored. Gah. Going into the Annex was the worst. Although the whole College was one giant Rubik's Cube, the Annex was by far the most troublesome section of the enormous complex.

  The rest of the building, though confusing, joined seamlessly. There was never any significant physical or time distortion. Then there was the Annex. According to College historians, the Annex had been the first area of the College created using spatial magics—and it had come about when that particular field of study had still been largely untested and experimental.

  The results screamed amateur. Time pockets. Gravity wells. Spatial anomalies and axis inversions. The College Annex, like almost all annexes, was wh
ere they stuck the people the College loathed, which included the professors who taught the ‘adventuring’ courses. These classes were universally looked down on by all the top Mages. After all, why would any self-respecting Mage take a class of field survival, medical aid without the use of magic, or dungeoneering?

  Exploring dungeons and grinding low-level Mobs was for the unenlightened and was not the affair of a proper Mage. The professors that taught those courses weren’t Mages at all but seasoned adventures who’d worked in partnership with the College for ages. Thankfully, Sam had no desire whatsoever to be a ‘proper’ Mage; otherwise, he would’ve missed out on this gem of a class.

  Sam shot a look at a handful of the other students already at their seats—warriors, archers, and clerics, not another Mage in sight—and took a desk at the very front. Not a second too soon.

  A door swung open, and in strutted an ancient man, his back slightly bent, his head balding save for a ring of sparse hair clinging to the sides of his skull, his skin like weathered saddle leather. Sir Tomas was an old-timey adventurer-turned-anthropologist who had to be creeping up on a hundred. Despite that, the man moved with a spry step and always seemed to have a grin on his face which showcased the many gaps where teeth should’ve been but weren’t.

  He wore dusky leathers and a suit of finely wrought scale mail over the top; the outfit was cinched tight at the center with a leather belt which housed a mace that looked impossible large and heavy for such a small, otherwise frail man. Sam had seen Sir Tomas wield the weapon in a handful of brief demonstrations, and though he looked to have the strength and constitution of an anemic toddler, Sir Tomas used the weapon with ease and grace.

  “I have quite the surprise for you, class!” Sir Tomas cackled, rubbing wrinkled hands together. “Our past three sessions have been about language, culture, and general customs of the Wolfmen, but today we’re going to learn about Wolfman anatomy. Then… well, then you’ll get to see one of the creatures in the flesh! Or rather, in the fur, I suppose. I caught this particular specimen not three days ago. A Wolfman Scout. He was loitering around the edges of the city, and all by his lonesome no less; which is quite rare, believe you me. Generally, these fellas like to fight in packs, and they almost always have regular wolf familiars along with ’em for the action.

  “That’s one lesson you always need to keep in your head! When you find these creatures in the wild, always be on the lookout for backup. Not our guy, though. He was probably trying to probe the city defenses, find weak points in our system, and that’s pretty much the only reason I was able to bag ’im alive. If there had been others of his ilk around, I reckon I never would’ve had a chance at catching ’im.” He tsked and shook his head. “Bugger still fought like a bearcat, lemme tell you what. I’ve interrogated ’im at length, but he hasn’t betrayed ’is people or ’is purpose.”

  “Not that I really expected him to sell them out, mind you. See, that’s one of the curious things about the Wolfmen—it’s Abyss-near impossible to torture them properly, on account of the fact that every interaction they have even with their own kind has to produce pain. It’s the way of their kind. They believe pampering the flesh is weakness and that only through strength and pain can purity of purpose and mind follow.”

  “We know that what they are doing just builds up their constitution and strength, but how do you convince an animal to think rationally? So, you put the screws to these fellas, and they’ll just grin and thank you for helping them along their path. They take that old adage ‘anything that doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ extraordinarily serious. Makes ’em daunting foes on the battlefield.”

  “So far, the best luck I’ve had was with this thing.” Sir Tomas drew a long feather free from a leather pouch at his belt. “I’ve been tickling the beastman for hours at a time, but somehow, he’s held strong. Which is a good segue to our first lesson of the day—Wolfmen Anatomy.”

  He walked over to a freestanding chalkboard and turned it around, revealing a diagram of a Wolfman carefully sketched out in his neat hand.

  “Now, the Beastmen, they don’t have the same physiology as you or me. Sure, they might look humanoid, but they have joints and muscle groups we don’t. So, a lot of the things that might cripple us will only minorly hinder ’em. On the flip side, that also gives ’em unique vulnerabilities. If, for example, you can take out the hock,” he jabbed a gnarled finger at a lower leg on the diagram, “which is rarely protected since doing so restricts movement, you can cripple them something fierce.”

  For the next thirty minutes, Sir Tomas went through Wolfman anatomy, which was as dry and dusty as the Sahara in summer, but it did earn Sam a new skill and a +1 to intelligence, which was always appreciated.

  Skill increased: Wolfman Physiology (Beginner III). The foot bone’s connected to the leg bone, the leg bone’s connected to the knee bone, the knee bone’s connected to the thigh bone, now you’re doin’ that Wolfman skeleton dance! If knowing thy enemy is the key to victory, then you are closer than almost anyone. Increase damage or healing by 1n% where n=skill level. Use your knowledge wisely. Intelligence +1!

  “Alright,” Sir Tomas finally slapped his hands on his legs once he was done with the lecture, “guess it’s time for the real show. Now, like I said earlier, I doubt we’ll get much out of ’im, but the way I figure it, you’ll be able to see the furry scoundrel here in the safety of a classroom and maybe even try out a little bit of your budding language skills. Stay on your toes, and make sure to keep a safe distance; these fellas are notorious as master escape artists. They’re smart buggers and will take any possible advantage you give ’em. There’s a damned good reason why they’re the biggest threat currently facing humanity. Without further ado…”

  Sir Tomas slipped from the room, propped the heavy wooden door open, then carefully wheeled a massive cage into the room. The class had been going over Wolfmen, but seeing one alive was a sobering experience. The beast was a little taller than an average man but looked far closer to a wolf than to a human.

  This one had a rather lean frame; his body was covered in coarse, gray fur and crude, leather armor adorned its shoulders and legs. The creature had wicked claws, vicious fangs, and amber eyes that seemed to take in every student, every angle, every detail all at once. So far, the deadliest threat Sam had faced was sewer Jellies, but this thing was terror on a whole new level.

  Sam could hardly believe that people were expected to fight something this daunting and obviously deadly. Sir Tomas shuffled over to one side and waved at the creature with a liver-spotted hand. “As you can see, this fella doesn’t have a weapon on him, yet he is a living weapon. Wolfmen prefer to fight with blades, axes, and arrows—all of them liberally coated in poison—but if push comes to shove, they are just as deadly in hand-to-hand combat as most of our Kingdom’s best warriors are with a weapon.”

  “I’ve never met one that wasn’t stronger or faster than a human of the same level. The real benefit we have is that the Wolfmen tend to favor light armors made of linen, leather, and hides, which means if you can land a solid blow, you’ll hurt ’em right and proper. They seem to think that mining, crafting, and forging are only respectable jobs at high levels when impressive things can be done, so most of their population heavily favors combat roles.”

  “Well, we’re not getting any younger here—especially not me! Ha! Form a line and try out some of the basic language skills we’ve been going over. Don’t be surprised if you earn a new skill here—often times, these language skills won’t take properly until you try them out on a native. If he doesn’t reply… Well, don’t think too much on it. He hates all of you and wants to see every one of us dead. So, nothing personal.” Sir Tomas paused and canted his head, a hazy look in his eyes. “Or completely personal, depending on how you look at it, I suppose. Anywho, let’s get this show on the road.”

  The class quickly lined up to get their shot at the Wolfman, but Sam lingered back. All of a sudden, he kind of didn’t
want to be here anymore. This class was fun and all—the best of the bunch really—but at the same time, this all felt subtly… wrong. The Wolfman in the cage with his feet chained to the floor was just code in a computer game; Sam knew that intellectually, but it didn’t feel like code in a computer game.

  This thing wasn’t some mindless Jelly crawling around down in a rancid sewer. It was a thinking creature with a culture and a society. Fighting something like this out in the wild as part of the broader game was one thing, but this just seemed a little cruel.

  Finally, though, Sam pushed his doubt to the back of his mind and got to the end of the line. He mentally went through the rudimentary language training they’d gone over, and in no time flat, it was his turn. The Wolfman was before him, amber eyes burning like hot coals, fangs bared in obvious hostility. Sam licked his lips nervously but refrained from smiling, knowing the creature would take it as a sign of threat, not reassurance. Instead, Sam raised his hands, palms out, fingers open, then lifted his chin, revealing his throat—a sign of trust. The Wolfman was still snarling at him, but there was something new in his eyes, something that might almost have been interest.

  That… or hope? Sam hoped not, as there was nothing he could do that would help this beast. He lowered his chin and hunched forward, making sure he was lower than the captured creature, then began working through the harsh, guttural words they’d been taught, “Greetings, fur brother. I am called Sam.”

  The creature considered him for a long moment before speaking a deluge of words. Sam had no hope of understanding everything, only catching one word in three. “We are not brothers, vragnik. Only the cruelest enemy would treat another in this way.” His ears twitched—something akin to a shrug. “My people have a saying, ‘Ruazhi noare vragnik, ibois najstarkei vragnu prinosit velichayshuyu silzha.’ It is from the eldest tongue, from before the world shattered.”