“What?” My fairy friend shouted. “Again? Wes that makes it a BAD sledgehammer then!”
“Inside voice, dear Bree,” Guineve said calmly, looking outside as if she was making sure the babies were still asleep. “And Wes seems to be just fine.”
“Yes, but something keeps trying to kill him, and we don’t even know what it is!” Breena complained as she hovered over me.
“Yeah, but that’s true for practically everything out here,” I replied. “I was fighting the Horde before I figured out what they really were. And that’s just the very top of the list. But at any rate, Stell and Avalon’s new safeguards have been protecting me. Though I’m not sure when she got another chance to look at me.”
“It was after the Trial, and before the Tumult,” Breena grumbled. “Right when she had given me and Merada this big giant lecture about leaving you alone and not messing with you while you slept, and something about personal boundaries and harassment in the workplace. As soon as she was done with all of that, she just bee-lined over to you and started messing around with your brain while you slept. Which, according to her, was okay, because it was for your own good. Unlike the magic tattoo Merada gave you, and all the times Guineve and I put you back together after a fight. Those were all just inappropriate acts of lechery, apparently.”
“Huh,” I said. “So, wait... she’s worried about all three of you coming onto me in my sleep? Not just Merada?”
Hey, can she not worry about that? Teeth suddenly spoke up. Because I think we’ve both sorta made peace about them all doing that.
“Um,” Breena said, suddenly twiddling her fingers. “What I meant to say was… oops?”
“I thought Stell made you two literally incapable of expressing your feelings to me,” I said carefully. “Remember us talking about this earlier? How you couldn’t give me any info at all whatsoever, and how it was an extreme source of frustration for all parties involved? Has that changed?” I asked, narrowing my eyes slightly.
Breena kept twiddling her thumbs.
“Well... to elaborate… oops?” she said again in a hopeful tone, wincing slightly.
“That’s the best we can do for now, dear Wes,” Guineve said with a small smile. “But why don’t you tell us a little more about what you were saying earlier?”
“Sure,” I said, figuring that they had told me all they could get away with at present. I stood up and stretched as I spoke. “The main thing is that I got… hold on, let me do the math… 40 free skill points that I theoretically should be able to do whatever I want with…” Breena’s eyes widened, and she grunted as if she had the wind knocked out of her. I continued anyway. “...that’s on top of the eight skill points I receiver per Rise as a Dusk Era Earthborn— still gotta figure out what the heck that is, by the way— and since I gained 5 Risen levels at once, that’s actually another 40 free skill points. Huh. Should’ve noticed that sooner.”
“Gurk,” Breena said in a heaving voice. Guineve said nothing, but was staring at me intently.
“Finally, I’ve been receiving additional benefits from conquering these Tumults and Trials as a Planetary Lord. I think, since you guys are my retinue, and because of something else that happened, you’re all getting additional benefits too. Especially Val, since she counts as a Challenger. But at any rate, one of the final benefits I gained was an additional thirty skill points for any combat skills, any leadership skills, and—oddly—any crafting skills. Maybe because a leader builds up a community?”
“The reasoning behind the rewards for overcoming a Tumult aren’t always understood,” Breena said numbly. “Especially for Challengers. Wait,” she said as a blink. “Thirty extra skill points?”
“Per category,” I answered with a nod.
“Buhhhhhhhh,” the poor tiny woman responsible for my overall training and growth suddenly said, her head lolling slightly. Then she shook her head, seeming to snap out of it. “Wait. So, theoretically, if you wanted to risk the migraine and other consequences—which, so far, you haven’t wanted to, thank you— you could throw 110 points into your swordsmanship and instantly become one of the first Masters in at least a century. Ignoring the fact that you’re already at the Journeyman level at that skill.”
“I think so?” I asked, trying to remember the different rank titles for different skills in the Expanse. All I could remember is that their thresholds were at rather arbitrary points (double the starting rank plus one, usually. Meaning that I became a Journeyman at rank 13 in all of my skills).
“Layman, Initiate, Journeyman, Practitioner, and Adept, dear,” Guineve supplied helpfully while reading my mind. “Master is the rank just beyond Adept, but we didn’t tell you about it because most Challengers or mortals never reach it. The Hoarfolk King you battled wasn’t even a Master swordsman.”
“Good for him,” I said sarcastically, remembering how the jackass had mocked my work ethic just before he died. “But I was actually planning on raising either my Blood or Lightning magic by 80 points, or both by 40 points, since it seemed like a Blood or Lightning Adept would be at least as useful as a Heavy Blades Master. I would have risked the consequences for gains like that, because I couldn’t afford not to. But again, whoever was afraid of the Earthborn so long ago succeeded in restricting me from making a jump that massive. I can only exceed my Risen level in any skill by 5 ranks.”
“I’m sorry, dear,” Guineve said sympathetically.
“Me too,” Breena said with a sigh. “So instead of just one or two uber-skills, you’re going to work out a way to allocate just enough ranks to make sure you hit Practitioner in every single skill you know.”
“Well, the important ones, at least,” I said somewhat defensively. “Still not worried about Basket-weaving right now. But combat, magic, and basic survival skills? Definitely. And I need to start finding more ways to multiply all of our strengths while I’m at it.”
That made Breena smile at me for some reason.
“That’s true. You like to look out for us, too. At any rate, let’s take a look at what you want to do.”
I turned back to my mindscreen, and pulled up my status page.
Oh yay, I thought. More updates.
The Challenger has successfully consumed a small portion of a Dark Icon, as well as a number of wizards practicing the different magics of her domain. As the Challenger already has Innate comprehension in Water, Earth, and Air, the Challenger has now gained comprehension of the Subideal of Water, Ice.
Ice is the domain of cold, preservation, and rigid shape. Of objects that can preserve or slowly harm, of inflexible objects that either withstand stress or break into sharp, cutting pieces. Innate Comprehension grants the Challenger one free rank per Rise in a weapon skill of his choice, involving either blunt or edged weapons, one free rank per Rise in an armor skill of his choice, and one free rank per Rise in a construction or survival skill of his choice. These benefits are not retroactive. The Challenger also gains additional resistance to physical damage, as well as a drastically increased resistance to cold, both of which will improve over time. Finally, the Challenger will gradually gain a greater awareness for the temperature of his environment. This Subideal will increase in rank whenever the Foundational Ideal supporting it increases.
“Hey Breena?” I asked my tiny teacher. “Can you refresh me about Subideals again?”
“Yeah, but you haven't even crossed into Practitioner yet,” the little fairy said. “So why would you even need to— oh,” she realized. “Ice. That's right. You've been eating gods again.”
And their followers, Teeth volunteered unhelpfully. Also, burp.
“Anyway,” Breena continued with a patient sigh. “Subideals are specializations of Foundational Ideals, although it's not unheard of for the other types of Ideals to have them sometimes. But Foundational Ideals are so broad, it's normal to develop a focus in them. That usually happens after a month or so of becoming a Practitioner, but as usual, you're an exception. But whatever. Technically, I a
m too, since I've done this whole thing so many times. In fact…” she seemed to be pondering something about herself for a moment, until she shook her head again. “Nevermind. I’ll look at my information later. For now, let’s take a look at your status and see what you want to do.”
I pulled up my status screen, heard Breena whistle just a bit aggressively, then shrugged it off and began assigning changes.
Wes Malcolm
Origin: Earthborn (Dusk Era), Avalonian (Challenger), Woadfolk (Elder). Other bloodlines unknown
Rise Level: 23rd Rise (Candle)
80 spare skill points
40 spare Rise points
Saga: Unconquered Hero
Act 2: Unbowed Bones. +5 Con, Will, Str. General resistance to crushing damage and pressure-based attacks
Strength: 306
Dexterity: 306
Constitution: 308
Intelligence: 312
Wisdom: 311
Charisma: 308
Speed: 347
Deftness: 343
Wits: 333
Will: 366
Paths: War, Kings, Archmage
Skills (averaged): Weapons (28), Ideal Magic (28), Saga Magic (28) Misc Skills (20)
Profession: Leader (Rank: Baron)
Art: War (Newly Gained)
Science: Forming
Craft: Forming
My extra Rise points were a pretty easy decision, since my Charisma had recently lagged behind the rest of my Traits. I doubted that would last, but I went ahead and fixed it anyway, especially after all of the negotiating I had to do in this world. I had no idea how I was going to be framed in the future, or who else I’d need to impersonate next, or what new army I’d have to be the figurehead for, but at this point, treating Charisma like a ‘dump stat’ was a horrible-no-good-very-bad-idea. My people skills could be the turning point between whether the Icons on the next world trusted me enough to help me save their world.
At this moment, though, I was starting to drift away from the mindset that I needed to be perfectly balanced in every category. Some Traits, like Strength, I could probably get away with never spending another point in and still be fine, since by now my dragon pacts and Ideals would ensure it grew with me, letting me focus on something like my Dexterity or spellcasting Traits, which could probably never be high enough. But the truth of the matter was that every single Trait of mine was higher than someone of my same Risen level who had chosen to specialize in that same Trait. An Elder Woadfolk who had the Ideal of Earth and had chosen to invest all of his Risen points (they get 4 per Rise, apparently) into Constitution still couldn’t even match the inherent bonuses I received just from my pacts, bloodlines, and Ideals. Every part of me was already advancing to the limits, especially with the restrictions some alien race had put into my DNA.
But I still needed every edge, and that meant finding a way around this inhibiting nonsense, especially in regards to the skills I needed to keep learning. Oddly enough, after a number of skills reached Practitioner, I could feel the restriction strain, as if it was struggling to hold me back. I hoped that meant I’d be able to break through, eventually.
At any rate, I was able to break through to Practitioner in all of the skills I needed, and most of the ones that I wanted. Especially since Shaping Magic counted as a ‘craft’ skill somehow, and Song Magic counted as a ‘leadership’ skill, probably because it could influence crowds the easiest. I could already feel the power gained from breaking through such a threshold, like I had become a black belt in over a dozen different martial arts at once.
It would have to do for now. But I would have to keep finding ways to get stronger, and I needed to find ways to help my comrades keep up with me. That last idea was probably one I should explore more, according to recent messages. I turned my attention away from my mindscreen and back to recent events.
“Can I see the newborns?” I asked.
Truth be told, I usually wasn’t that interested in babies, but since I had poured my literal blood, sweat, and tears into ensuring their survival, I wanted to see the results.
“They’re sleeping right now,” Guineve answered me, getting up. “But as long as you’re quiet, it should be fine. Right this way, dear.”
The elegant, beautiful woman led me to the next room over, while Breena trailed behind us. The smell of Ball-ee’s healing mist hit me as I entered, faintly reminding me of mint and vapor-rub ointment. To my right, on the room’s largest wooden bed, the mother—whose name I still didn’t know—slept, with one of the Ball-ees on a small wooden stand next to her. To my left were the two tiny newborns, resting within two more of the larger Ball-ees. The miracle heal-jellies had turned themselves into basketball-sized cushions, wrapping themselves protectively around the sleeping infants and sending more mist into their nostrils and mouths in a way that reminded me of a breathing apparatus. Their tiny chests rose and fell in steady breaths, and despite the twinge I felt at seeing newborns in magical medical equipment, they seemed to be doing as well as Breena and Guineve had said they were. In fact…
“Guineve,” I said quietly. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”
“Yes, brave Wes,” the tall woman said quietly. “They’ve both already undergone their first Rise. Their mother Rose as well.”
“But that’s not everything,” I added, my eyes picking up tiny wisps of magic from the infants.
“No, Wes,” Guineve answered softly. “Somehow, their full bloodlines have awoken. They will be the first Elder Woadfolk to have been born in centuries, as well as possibly the youngest to have ever performed a Rise. And from what I can tell, they both have a high affinity for the Ideal of either Water or Earth. They’re too young for their minds to make use of it yet, but when they grow older, they’ll probably both gain Innate comprehension. Already, despite not being able to understand much of anything right now, they’re the two healthiest, strongest, well-developed children any of us have ever seen, despite being born so early. Thanks to what you sacrificed, these children will thrive where they shouldn’t have been able to survive at all.”
They will be whole despite their harms, a voice whispered in my mind.
As will you.
I shook my head, trying to focus on my surroundings instead of a voice I still didn’t fully trust. I remembered the conversation I had in my dream with the supposed previous Lord of Avalon, and motioned that I wanted to step out of the room so we could talk louder.
“Di-rec-tive?” one of the little jellies whispered at me from across the room. I don’t know how it managed to do so without waking up the infants, but maybe I was underestimating how tired they were. “Care? Grow? Love? Di-rec-tive?”
“Yeah, Ball-ee,” I whispered back. “All of those things. You got it.”
“Di-rec-tive!” the little ball whispered back in affirmation, as Guineve and I walked out of the room. When nothing else tried to distract me, I turned to face Guineve and Breena.
“Do either of you know if Merada is awake? I need to talk to her about something.”
“Why are you asking us?” Breena replied. “Just message her through that magic link you have.”
“If I do that, and she’s sleeping, she’ll wake up,” I pointed out. “I like keeping her happy, because she’s really, really nice to me when she’s happy. And she kinda gets stabby when she gets mad, and I don’t want to risk getting her mad.”
Breena tittered.
“I always knew you were a smart one, Wes,” Guineve said with a smile. “She should be awake. She’s probably going for a morning hunt.”
“Thanks,” I replied, then turned to head out the door, since I needed to go meet her anyway.
Hey, Merada, I sent to the beautiful huntress. Do you have a minute?
Alert to the Woadlord, a rustling voice said in my mind. Several Pathways into the Woadlands have activated by beings with Earthborn and Malus-tainted imprints. Hostile Intent suspected. Requesting permission to restrict entry.
Permissio
n freaking granted, I growled back in my mind. And at that moment, Merada answered me back.
Sure, handsome, just goin’ for a mornin’ patrol. What do ye need?
A break, to be honest, I replied. Woadhome, or whatever the Woadlands chooses to call itself, says we’re about to be invaded.
Merada had several colorful words for that.
I know, I grumbled back. Believe me, I was trying to message you for something much more fun. I’m trying to restrict their entry, but we’ll see what happens. Head for the center of the clearing while I get my people ready. We’ll meet you there. In fact, I said after a minute, Can the Icons come too?
No reason why they can’t, the Woad Princess replied after a moment. Though their power diminishes a bit near the Pathways.
Wait, really? I asked. Why?
Icons be vulnerable when they travel between worlds, Merada explained. They lose most of
their power in the process, unless they already be vestiges, or arrive with most of their worshippers. Otherwise, an evil one’d be risin’ up every week, makin’ us put them down all the time.
Right, I replied, finally remembering Stell’s explanation. It didn’t explain how Raw-Maw was able to show up on my doorstep so easily, but then maybe that was because the Horde counted as his worshippers somehow, and because his power wasn’t tied to a world yet.
They can linger in the vicinity, then, I decided. But we need eyes on the ground, so let’s bring a team to meet them at the gates. Assuming Woadhome can’t shut them out completely.
Negative, the planetary intelligence replied. Invaders can be delayed, but there is insufficient power to obstruct them completely without manually closing the Pathways, unless the Woadlord wishes to divert newly gained Tumult power from other projects. Invaders will take a minimum of several hours to obtain entry.
Lighting Distant Shores Page 5
