by J. J. Lorden
Tapping into the memories caused his pulse to race and his breathing to speed up. He felt light-headed and took a knee again. He didn’t fully generate his grounding rod technique, only partially. He had done it to keep from accidentally falling over the rail.
As he brought himself back, he wondered how long these lingering effects would last. Hopefully not much longer. This’ll get me killed in a fight.
He had left Irrienna thinking that his experience, although more concentrated than customary, was still typical. From what Nero said, the truth was far less benign; apparently, he’d almost exploded.
Carson began to wonder if the elves were being flippant with his life. He didn’t think so; why would Nero be so frank with him if they were? And, even if they were, he’d respawn. But they don’t know that, he thought bitterly. This angered him and volatility began to roll in his core again.
Carson caught the swell of emotions immediately this time, he focused on his grounding rod, left hand gripping his knee and volitility flowing from his right with each exhalation. Quickly, more quickly than before, his core energies returned to sympathetic harmony.
He cast away his bitterness toward the elves and allowed his memories of awakening to rest easy in the back of his mind. The awakening was over, it had worked, and he didn’t want to harbor any fear of embracing his path as an Elementalist.
That’s what this is, he thought. Here in Kuora, this is my path. I am a blade of essential power. I’ve got to embrace all of it.
He remembered that this wasn’t his real body, or his real life–this was a beta test. He was never in danger of really exploding. He was safe, and he had new powers now; powers he very much wanted and needed if he was going to play, and, he damn sure wanted to play.
The perspective helped settle the unsteady roiling that was waiting to ride his volatile emotions and take over.
The changes he felt were undeniable, Carson could feel the power of the world within his body. It was waiting to be used. The new knowledge was in his body. His 76-percent Elven, digital avatar knew them in a visceral way that seemed way too real.
Carson knelt for some time processing these thoughts. It was restorative, and he needed it. When his mind was well settled, he gingerly prodded the world with his new senses.
He began to get a sense of the air and forest. Energy wells were everywhere, but when he reached out to them, his grasp was a sieve. He couldn’t grip any of it. He felt like a lens surrounded by unfathomable light in every direction, but unable to focus.
Then he noted that there was a new light in the corner of his vision. System notice? Mentally, he touched the light.
Exceptionally well done, Carson Stix. You have unlocked your core resonance with the elemental essences of air, water, earth, and fire. You are now a fully awakened elementalist.
Experience gained: +2500 (+650 x 4)
Title Granted—Elementalist Prodigy: You have completed a full awakening of all four elemental resonances during a single guided session with a Master Elementalist. This extraordinary and grueling feat is rarely attempted and ends in disaster far more often than not. For those that do succeed it portends great power to come.
Effect: Access to level 1 of the Pergothian Archives
Experience gained: +1000
Well done Carson Stix, you have gained 2 levels. You are now level 3. Your 10 racial attribute points have been assigned. Your experience-based attribute point gains are as follows: +1 Constitution, +1 Agility, +3 Intellect, +5 Willpower.
You have gained 8 free attribute points.
(Equilibrium bonus restriction: Free attribute points held in abeyance until level 10 or until additional requirements met.)
The Pergothian Archives? Carson wanted to go right now. To his eyes, every other word in the notifications disappeared. It was his first whiff of white rabbit. A familiar energy, his burning passion to complete impossible quests, flared to life. He grinned.
Even though his head was down, and the Ranger couldn’t see his reaction, something in Carson gave it away.
Nero grunted. “You seem well enough recovered. Stop screwing around down there. You’re like a toddler in a field of glyph traps–keep poking about, and something might actually happen. Get up! Let’s get you trained.”
Thoughts of the archives fled. Carson needed to get powerful, that was why you trained: to learn, advance, to become unstoppable. The rabbit wasn’t going anywhere so fast he couldn’t catch up–the archives could wait.
“Unless you’re not ready,” Nero said. “Maybe you’d rather go learn the bow? I’m sure Naria would be glad to help break you in.”
That wasn’t funny. Just the thought of being under Naria’s control spawned a knot of fear in Carson’s gut. He stood up. “No, that’s okay. Let’s train.”
“That’s what I thought,” Leaning on the rail, Nero pointed to Carson’s chest. “Now, look there below the air glyph on your tunic. Do you see that smaller mark?”
Carson looked. A smaller, more complicated glyph glowed faintly below the air mark. “Oh yeah, look at that, it’s a baby glyph.”
“That is a representation of a spell weave that your body knows how to cast. Awakening your core affinity for air activated it, most Elementalists have an innate understanding of at least one. It’s there because the Initiate armor is pulling the information from your spell book.
“As you learn new weaves, your spell book will record them, and this armor will gain representative glyphs for each one.
“They’re weaving aids, activation points linked to the instructions in your spell book. By focusing your soul essence through that the associated spell will begin gathering essence from your environment to empower the weave.
“Now, ultimately you don’t need the armor for a focus. But it’s handy when you want to weave quickly. Creating complex weaves from memory is time-consuming, which is problematic in a fight.
“Weaving from memory while enemies try to impale you is a good way to get killed. Any mistake and the weave collapses or–if you’re really unlucky, you’ll complete it incorrectly, which can be much more dangerous.”
Carson regarded the little glyph in awe, “I feel like I should thank you again. This armor is just… well, it’s incredible–a huge advantage.”
Nero nodded. “You’re welcome. Now, how about you try your first weave?”
Carson fastened his chest flap back. “Hell yeah, let’s do this.” He grinned and bobbed his eyebrows, looking just a touch crazy. “I want barbequed wolf for dinner.”
“Hah! No barbeque today, Gwarn’din. Today, we start with air, your strongest elemental affinity.”
The different Elven titles kept coming up in conversation, and Carson realized he should probably learn what they meant. “What does that mean, Nero–Gwarn’din? And Irrienna had another name for you, what was it… Swarn something?”
“Swarn’gan,” Nero said.
“Yeah, that’s it, what do those mean?”
“It’s not simple to explain. The words are ancient and have many meanings. In general, they’re titles of respect that show relationship and station, same as mother, brother and the like. Simply said, Gwarn’din is similar to being called Initiate. Swarn’gan is more complex. However, I will make you a deal.”
“Okay, what’s the deal?”
“I will explain them when you get back.”
Carson frowned. “Where am I going?”
“Before I can tell you that, I need to explain the spell glyph you’re innately skilled with. It is a very powerful weave. I’ve never actually known another to have an innate talent for it.
“But training the weave properly is difficult, as I won’t tell what it is. I could, but by doing it this way you’ll get a fundamental grasp of how weaving actually works. And, we’ll be able to move through your training much more quickly if you have that foundation. Do you understand?”
Carson nodded. “Yeah, sounds like when my Uncle Mike taught me to make pepperoni from scratch
... a whole world of smoked meat opened up to me.”
Nero looked at him oddly. “Do you know much about smoked meat, Gwarn’din?”
Carson nodded. “Oh yeah... I built an old-school, dome-top, hardwood smoker from brick in my backyard. I’m always smoking sausage for the pie shop. I get a huge markup on my spicy moose links.”
Chuckling, Nero shook his head. “Yes, I believe you understand my point. And I’m interested to sample a moose link at some point. But that can wait. Channel a trickle of your soul essence into that glyph and see if you can grasp it’s purpose.”
Carson looked around the balcony. “Okay. Is it safe to do this here, though? If I screw up, I won’t hurt you, will I?”
“Bah. No. I will be quite fine. Now focus.”
Nero’s response mocked Carson’s concern; he had a mind to be offended. Then he remembered who he was talking with–a champion of the elves. Even his most dire mistake probably wouldn’t even ruffle the elf’s hair.
“Okay, focus my soul essence through the glyph and feel it gathering essence in to activate the spell weave, right?”
“Yes, exactly.” Nero nodded.
Closing his eyes, Carson felt for his core resonance.
“Yes, like that. Now, feel the part of your core that’s uniquely yours, the part that the other essences are resonating with, the steadiest part. It’s not still, only solid. It’s the guide for the others. Can you feel that?
With just a little bit of attention Carson could feel what Nero described. It was the part of him that had been pulled to the vine when he’d intuitively opened his air essence. It was clearly the center of the chorus thrumming in his core.
He focused on it and the elemental resonances responded. They seemed poised, ready to react.
“I can feel it. It’s the central part. It’s what drew my attention to the elemental air in the vines–the part that compelled me to touch them and guided me to my essential air resonance.”
“Exactly, that’s it. Very good. Now move that resonance into the focus glyph. It should pull on the air resonance within you while also pulling the air essence around you.”
Carson did as Nero instructed; he isolated his soul essence and guided it into the glyph. Then, just as Nero had described, he felt his core air resonance bind with his central soul energy and begin to draw the elemental air around him into the glyph.
“Fantastic, can you sense the ability?” Nero asked, sounding almost excited.
Carson felt the spell weave beginning to manifest its effect, and he felt air swirling around him. The power actually wanted to do something. But, it couldn’t. It needed something more, something he didn’t know how to provide.
It seemed to be missing purpose, as if his intention was off or unclear… he lost the moment. The weave came undone. The gathered essence dispersed, and his soul link to the glyph slipped from his mental grasp.
“Damn. I thought I had it. It was right there,” Carson said, still feeling the dregs of the power slip away.
“You did.” Nero said. “That was excellent. I know it didn’t complete, but honestly, you’ve got the way of it. Mother mentioned this normally happens with this particular ability. I know it did for me when I learned to channel it. Good news, though, you are ready to leave. And the journey will guide you in understanding the nature of your spell.”
Carson opened his eyes and gasped as Nero hurled him right over the railing. Then he was falling.
“Arraahhhhh!” As the wind began to whistle in his ears, Carson heard Nero offer one last bit of advice.
He ignored it, not even grasping the words as he scrambled against panic to try and figure out how he was going to keep from dying again.
Then, though some kind of subconscious kick in the ass, the words echoed in his mind, and he heard them.
‘Use your spell weave, Gwarn’din!’
Carson cursed the Elven champion, then extended his soul essence to his spell glyph.
21
Reunion
Rolling over, Erramir kissed the bare shoulder of his lover. Silk sheets slide over his body as he curled up behind her as the big spoon.
“Umm… morning,” she said sleepily, pressing back into him as she stretched. A suggestion to start the day with something deliciously sweaty was on his lips, when–whack, whack, whack…. whack, whack, whack… whack, whack, whack.
The rhythmic noise sounded violent, and it was getting alarmingly closer. Whack, whack, whack. Erramir sat up, What the hell is… Beyond the foot of his bed, in the far-left corner, the door to his room was smashed off its hinges.
It bounced off the wall, ricocheting toward him. He collapsed into a ball as an explosion of debris blasted into his back, peppering the bed and far side of the bedroom.
He uncurled to the sound of wood bits settling and the rasping breath of something bestial in the room with him. Raising his head, Erramir’s eyes found a hulking goblin, wearing a chef’s hat, standing in the mangled opening. In one hand, it held a huge wooden spoon, and in the other it had some kind of a medieval practice sword fashioned from a bundle of thin sticks all lashed together.
Whack, whack, whack! The goblin beat the huge spoon against the sword three times in quick succession. “Time to wakes up!! Me wants to eatss humans choowwdarr fur brefftast!”
What the fuck?! Erramir threw himself back from the culinarily challenged imp, but he couldn’t move! His arms and legs were stuck with a heavy goo-like resistance and all he managed was to squirm a little. Wait, wasn’t there a sexy girl here a moment ago?
Whack, whack, whack! The threatening green-skinned horror quickly chased that thought away.
Closing on the bed, the goblin grew in size with each step. “Humans! Brefftast!” Erramir’s brain went wild with alarm. He screamed, but his lips wouldn’t part, and his voice was nothing but a whisper of air. He strained to lurch back, but a thousand pounds of constraining gelatinous resistance held him in place.
WHACK, WHACK, WHACK! “BREFFTAST!” The goblin bellowed then jumped, landing on the bed, knees first. The whole bed tilted down under its weight. His heart hammered a frantic staccato beat as his feet pushed uselessly on the blanket and sheets bunching them up against the goblin.
The foul green thing loomed over him with dark, eyes wild and greasy tendrils of hair falling loose from beneath the dirt smeared hat. Its mouth hung open, sucking breath that caused its body to swell then shrink. Rivers of drool ran between huge pointed teeth and over cracked grey lips, dripping into the pile of blanket and sheets.
It inched forward and stuck out a black tongue, pimpled with puss, lolling it about while rolling its head in little circles.
In absolute terror and with a herculean effort, he finally pushed himself through the gelatinous force, scooching to the headboard and flattening his back against it. Out of real estate, Erramir tried to climb the headboard and found himself once again mired by unseen bonds.
He strained against the invisible gag and managed a barely audible “Unnngghhh.”
The monster’s face began to shed itself. Starting below the hat band, its green, wrinkled skin began to roll down in wide strips, like a banana peeling itself. Erramir’s whole being recoiled in revulsion as broad sickly curls fell away, revealing festering pinkish flesh covered with boils.
Its mouth corners began moving backward, tearing the raw skin apart and making the mouth wider... and wider.
More teeth grew through bloody gums, and the freakish maw nearly bisected its entire head. Then the jaw cracked and jerked down, dislocated, and began to distend–lower and lower–as row upon row of stacked teeth filled the revolting cavern.
Hot, rancid breath washed over him. The massive opening was now a black hole of fetid death wide enough to swallow him whole. The horrid monstrosity raised the huge spoon and bundle of bound sticks above its head.
WHACK, WHACK, WHACK! Its unnatural lips flapped sickly as it bellowed, “YEESS, BREEFFFTAASSTT!”
Erramir finally wrenched his
mouth open. “Buuahhhhh!” It was like screaming through playdough. He swung his hands out wildly, trying to smash the horror away. Then... it was gone.
His eyes sprang open and beheld a forest. His flailing arms slowed, then stopped as his panicked howling cut off. Erramir stared into the wood for a long moment before his mind accepted the reality shift.
When it did, his voice returned. “Unhh… fucking hell.” He slumped back into the tree he was propped against, collapsing his arms as he tried to settle. “That was horrible.” Slowly Erramir came back to himself and breathed, relaxing from the nightmare. Then he rolled his head to crack his neck. “Ugh, what a messed-up dream.”
Sweat ran into his eyebrows and Erramir raised a hand to wipe it away, and froze–his hand was huge, his skin was dark, and he had huge, pointed black nails. “Whaat the…”
The unfamiliar hand wasn’t just dark, it was coated in a dried layer of something. Recognition flashed, the darkness covering his hands wasn’t just his skin; it was dried blood–lots and lots of dried blood. In a rush, his memory of fighting the colossal cat flooded back, and the sequence of events played out like a movie on fast forward.
He looked around again, his tree-pillow was huge, several times wider than he was tall. Judging from the shadows and overnight dampness that still clung to the ground, it seemed like early morning. A light breeze stirred the hair on his arms and neck; he wasn’t wearing any kind of a shirt, and his pants were pretty torn up.
Then he remembered the holes in his chest, he clutched at where the cat had ripped off huge chunks of flesh. His hands found no holes, only smooth skin. The area lacked hair, and the skin was sensitive and soft.
“I’m in Kuora. I’m Erramir. And, I killed that huge cat.”
“Yes. You did, didn’t you.” The voice was female, sarcastic, and familiar. “Do you want a cookie?” He could hear her smirk.
Erramir knew that sass. “Rach… ahhh, Valerie?” His brain bumbled around the names of the same person who existed in two realities now. Here, to call her anything but Valerie just felt off.
