by Cebelius
I don't exactly have access to a weight room here, Hantu.
'That is true.'
I also don't know the first thing about how to 'properly' build muscle.
'Your ignorance is truly remarkable. I'm sure you have a point?'
Abram scowled, but there was no way around it. Hantu was an asshole, and he was going to make him say it right out.
I don't want to just sink points into comeliness and turn into a pretty boi. I want to look STRONG. Like, John Candy in Heavy Metal, you know? 'Mmmm, big.'
For long seconds, Hantu made no reply. Eventually, Abram thought, You're laughing, aren't you.
'I'll be done in a min- ... I mean, er ... LOADING, Please Wait.'
I'm serious, you inimitable chode!
'Such language! I'm not sorry, but ... Abram, seriously. Is that you?'
If I wanted to be ME I wouldn't be playing a goddamn game.
'Touché. You must admit that trying for a body that would place in the Arnold Classic isn't exactly following the mage trope. Yer a Wizard, Harry! Not some barbarian ready to tread the kingdoms of Celestine beneath your sandaled feet.'
Wow ... okay, you get points for all the references. Are you telling me I can't do it?
'Maxing out your constitution and strength scores would give you a considerable physique, but if you want to be the next Conan you'd get closer asking me for red hair and a bad sense of humor. Certain rewards are reserved for those who work earnestly to achieve them.'
What about a transformation spell, something like Mum-Ra uses?
'That is certainly within your power. Consider what happens to him every time he resorts to that transformation.'
He gets his ass beat.
'That is your desire?'
Abram sighed, frustrated but willing to concede. He had just been reduced to referencing a children's cartoon.
No.
'You and I see this world differently, Abram. To me, this is not a game, and I am no ordinary familiar. I do not pretend to know what ultimately will be best for us. You want to be strong, and that is fair. A certain amount of physical prowess is needed to withstand the rigors of this world.
'Yet it is plain that your true talents lie elsewhere. Just as perfect pitch would not give you a song to sing, a tremendous physique will not assure you victory in battle. Play to the strengths you already possess. Insist and I will obey you, for that is the deal. I would be remiss, however, if I did not counsel you ... and mock you for your foolishness when it is apparent to me.'
Abram held himself very still for a moment, processing what he'd just read. Irritation and anger flickered to life in him, but he was an engineer by trade and choice. Neither emotion was a rational response to what he had just been told, and those feelings died as he thought, I am sorry, Hantu. You are right. I should play to my strengths.
'Your ability to accept advice from competent advisors will serve you well when you are ruling the world, young Master. Now, how will you spend your points?'
Give me the Air, Water, and Earth affinities.
'Oof. Very well. I suppose ripping the bandage off all at once is best in this case, given the infusion of power. Congratulations, you now possess all of the primary affinities achievable absent divine intervention. Five points remain to you.'
Nodding absently, Abram considered his options. He noted the additional point in presence, remembered he'd gotten it from impressing the dwarves. The deeper darkness of his cowl had done that for him, and he could probably gain more presence as time went on by using spell effects to enhance his interactions. His unwillingness to be 'pretty' kept him from wanting to sink any more points into comeliness. Yes, he was ugly, but as a template that wasn't really as much of an impediment as one might first presume. The women on Celestine weren't human anyway, and many of them obviously cared nothing for physical appearance. He'd just literally had sex on and with a beach.
He knew he would spend at least one, probably two of his remaining points on spell slots. That left him with three to spend elsewhere.
When in doubt, utility. Give me two more points in strength, and sink a point into HP. The last two I will use to open spell slots.
'Strength, Abram?'
There's a reason. An eight strength will put me near the top of ordinary, but also give me an additional hit point. Combined with the point sunk directly into that pool, it'll bring me up to seventeen, which matches my daily regenerative ability. This gives me more survivability. If my HP goes past seventeen I'll have to spend another point in regeneration to keep up. This maximizes the point I already spent there.
'Your logic is flawed. Putting all three of the points into your hit point pool gives you the most survivability. Your desire to be able to recover from anything that doesn't kill you within the course of a single day is an arbitrary desire.'
Yes, technically. But six is still below average strength for an adult male according to what you told me earlier. Let's face it, Hantu. Magic won't solve ALL my problems. I get additional utility this way, and a certain amount of physical prowess is necessary ... right?
'I did say that, didn't I. Very well. You may slot six additional spells.'
Give me back my Images spell, along with both the normal and channeled versions of the fireball.
'Three slots remain.'
Abram glanced over his corrected status sheet, and frowned as he saw his mana pool was down to eighty-seven base points after accounting for the divination spells attached to his heads-up display. Thus far he hadn't had any fights that would completely deplete his mana, but he couldn't help but presume such fights were yet to come.
What does the conditional asterisk for mana regeneration mean?
'Mana regeneration has to do with the ambient mana present in any given location. Absent special circumstances, mana has a base level everywhere, just as air pressure at a given altitude is the same no matter where on the planet one stands. Your ability to soak up that mana is dependent on external factors which cannot ordinarily be influenced.'
Is there anything like mana potions on Celestine?
'I do not know.'
Abram's lips twisted as he thought, then asked, What happens to someone's mana when they die?
'It is released.'
Can we craft a spell to capture that mana and condense it into a useable form ... say, something I could consume at will to replenish my own immediately?
'Like what?'
Well, like manna, though I'd prefer it not spoil within a day or breed worms.
Hantu did not reply for several long moments, then finally displayed a spell formula:
Death Harvest: 4mp = If the target of this spell dies within twelve minutes, any remaining mana will be condensed into a manna pearl that may be later consumed.
Affinities: Death, Chaos
Perfect. We'll use the title of the spell as the cast activation, useable through the mini-map or line of sight.
'Two slots remain.'
Give me a variable spell that will coat a specified area within line of sight that's up to thirty by thirty feet with highly flammable, super-low viscosity fluid.
'You want a grease spell.'
Yup.
'Seriously?'
Gimmie.
A few moments later, Hantu displayed the formula:
Summon Goop: 1-24mp = Coat a given surface within line of sight with slick, flammable fluid.
Affinities: Fire, Water, Chaos
Damn, why's it so expensive at the high end? Abram asked.
'Creating something from nothing is neither cheap, nor easy. Instead, we transform. How expensive the spell is depends on the base materials of the surface you wish to coat, which will be transmuted. If it's water, the cost will be low even at the maximum permitted area of effect. If it is stone, the opposite will be true.'
Okay, modify the spell to use the hydrogen and oxygen already present in the air nearby as the base component instead of whatever I actually want to coat. Unless I'm in deep spac
e, the spell should be pretty consistent.
'That's ... actually quite clever.'
I don't get paid for my good looks.
Hantu displayed the formula again, and this time the mana expenditure was listed as one through six. Much better.
Slot that one in, and change the name to Grease, smartass. I am mighty wizard. I do not 'Summon Goop.'
'Yes, Massah. One spell left. Make it a good one.'
They're all good ones. Let me think.
The problem was there were so many traditionally useful spells that it was difficult to pick just one. The spells he had were all broadly applicable. He had Images for defense, fireballs for base damage, Dark Lightning for sustained attack and healing, his Tentacular Rune and now Grease for battlefield control.
He frowned as he thought about all the possible contingencies he had to cover, then made his decision.
Show me a spell that will harden the air around a target, immobilizing them for twelve seconds or so, since twelve seems to be the base number for everything around here.
Hantu had little trouble with this one, and almost immediately displayed the formula.
Air Prison: 2-36mp = 12 seconds of immobilization for a single creature by hardening the air
Affinities: Air
Mana expenditure is size dependent? Abram guessed.
'Correct.'
Slot it, and we're done for now. Show me the updated sheet.
Primary Statistics:
Strength: 8/20
Dexterity: 6/20
Constitution: 10/20
Soul: 20/20
Presence: 4/20
Comeliness: 3/20
Secondary Statistics:
Health: 17/17
Stamina: 20/20
Mana: 87/87 (100)
Regeneration (HP): .0123/minute at rest
(+17.712 hppd)
Respite (SP): 2/minute at rest
Renewal (MP): .2/minute*
*conditional
Affinities:
Primary
Chaos
Evil
Death
Fire
Air
Earth
Water
Secondary
Illusion
Divination
Abilities:
Template's Gift
Iron Stomach
Disease Resistance
Poison Resistance
Dark Sight (120 feet)
Extreme Pain Resistance
Spells:
HUD (4rp)
Dark Lightning
Tentacular Rune
Depthless Cowl (1rp)
Divine Nature
Mystic Radar (8rp)
Images
Fireball
Channeled Fireball
Death Harvest
Grease
Air Prison
Points Available: 0
I'm almost starting to look respectable, Abram thought with a grim half-smile.
'Certainly. As a hireling available at the tavern for the real hero,' Hantu quipped, 'which is certainly a step up from hobgoblin plaything.'
Too far, Abram snapped, anger flaring. He'd gotten used to Hantu taking pot shots at him and actually mostly enjoyed the banter, but being reminded of the Mor in such a flippant way made him genuinely burn.
To his vague surprise, Hantu said simply, 'My apologies, Master.'
Abram had to work at it, but he shoved his anger at his familiar away and closed his eyes for a long moment to force himself to calm down.
It's just a goddamn game. Just a game. Chill out. It's all meaningless in the end.
Opening his eyes to focus once more on the world around him, he noticed something on the horizon that made him blink, then gape.
No way.
'Yes way, Ted. I told you Sube was special. What she wants, she typically gets.'
Coming toward them, and getting larger by the second, was the citadel barge he had seen briefly at the village Lygi had brought him to. He didn't know how, but he couldn't deny that it was headed their way, and there was only one possible reason.
Sube had called them, and they'd come running.
21
Highly Sought
The barge lived up to its type, which is to say it seemed to take forever to get from the horizon to an anchorage about a hundred yards offshore. From there a smaller longboat was launched to retrieve them.
By then the deadly light of the crystal had faded, and Abram was joined in his vigil by Sif and Angie. The latter swept him up into an embrace that would have been considerably more comfortable had she not been wearing armor, but Abram took it for what it was and enjoyed the attention. Once she held him at arm's length, Angie said, "You fell asleep, didn't you."
He glanced at Sif, who had folded her arms across her chest as she looked back, her expression studiously bland.
"Yeah," he admitted. "And I paid for it."
"So did we," Angie said quietly. "Abram-"
"I know, I know, I'm sorry," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "You don't need to say anything. If I can make it up to you in a way other than not being an idiot, let me know."
"Why, do you intend to continue being an idiot?" she asked.
Sif snickered. Abram winced.
"I suppose I deserved that," he said.
"There is something you can do for me, if you want to make it up," Angie said after a moment spent staring down at him.
"Sure, what?"
"When we're alone, take down the hood? It's a good show for others, but I like being able to see your face."
Abram immediately reached for his cowl, only to have her stop him as she nodded toward the boat approaching from the barge.
"Not now, but thanks."
"Sube?" Abram asked.
"Yes?"
He still wasn't used to the way the entire beach seemed to whisper, but he couldn't afford to let it bother him. The boat would reach the beach within the next couple minutes.
"What did you tell them?"
"I simply commanded them to appear, and to take on passengers destined for Sidastrgeil. They will ask no questions and will not charge. Should they not execute my will, they will be destroyed, and know this well. These are my waters and they are allowed to ply them only on my sufferance. Do not be concerned."
"Then … again, thank you."
"I approve of your gratitude. I do hope you survive long enough to speak to me again, template. Farewell."
The sands fell silent. It was obvious that both Sif and Angie were somewhat intimidated by Sube, and neither spoke while they waited for the longboat to arrive.
When it did several of the lizard-looking people got out and hauled it further up the beach. Once it was close enough for the three of them to get in without getting their feet wet the crew, all five of them, bowed low.
They didn't bow to Abram though, or his companions. They bowed to the beach.
Abram glanced back at Sif and passed a hand across his body as he bowed slightly and said, "After you, Lady of Svartheim."
Sif blinked at him, then smiled faintly and stepped into the boat. Angie chucked his shoulder and murmured, "Smooth," as he followed the bergsrå, with the giant proxy bringing up the rear.
Within moments, they were disembarked and heading back toward the barge. The crew, four of which were rowing while the fifth sat on the gunwale just off the prow, said nothing at all to them and it was an eerily quiet trip to the barge.
Even when they were aboard no one spoke to them. Abram couldn't help but gaze around in wonder. The barge was essentially a floating castle, or so it seemed. The deck was broad and flat, but the majority of it was taken up by four stories of wooden construction. They entered through a heavily reinforced door and turned immediately to ascend a switchbacked stairwell that took them to the highest floor of the barge. There, they found two more of the lizard-like crew, though these were obviously better dressed. Both were armed with falchions and wore target shields on t
heir right arms.
One of the two wore a black sash over white pantaloons, or so Abram guessed. All of them were operating on dark sight, and he suspected the colors only because the contrast between them was so stark. The other was also wearing white pantaloons, but instead of a sash, he wore a baldric that hung to his left hip.
The one with the sash dipped his head slightly as he spoke.
"These will be your quarters until it is time to disembark. We ask that you remain here for the duration of the voyage. Food and drink will be provided. Speak well of us to Sube, should the opportunity present."
The one with the baldric made a sharp gesture, and the crewmen escorting them turned and left, followed a moment later by both the two who'd been waiting for them. The door to the stairwell was closed and Abram, Sif, and Angie were left alone.
Abram looked around, blinking at the luxury surrounding them.
The top floor of the barge was open plan, and the furniture was gilded and ornate. A round table dominated the middle of the room and centered on it was a bowl filled with a variety of fruit. A platter nearby was covered with bread slices, and another next to that had several different cuts of meat. Carafes filled to the brim were lined up next to three goblets. It was obvious that their hosts had made every effort to see to their comfort.
"What were those guys?" Abram asked.
"They are troglodytes," Angie replied as she stepped over to the table and perused the food. "They are seldom seen aboveground, but have vast territories in Subterranean Celestine, and even a few holdings in the Everdark."
"Trogs, huh? I'd have guessed they were lizard men."
