Fateweaver's Quest

by Kris Schnee

  That worked in his favor. Miles backed up to keep a zone between him and the guardians, and magically used the enveloping rugs to bang one statue back and forth against the doorway. The dice rolled and something snapped, making that golem stagger as though missing a leg. The other one shambled closer, to the zone just outside.

  Miles wasn't there. He backed up again and used a free application of that "Rug-Draped" advantage, to help him as he conjured another heavy rug to fall and squash the nearest enemy. It broke under the weight, and pieces of stone slid out from the impact. Stone tentacles, still twitching. Now the other statue approached. Miles backed up once more and did the same thing, just as effectively. Crunch! Suddenly battle was over and the hall was silent. Simple enough.

  He examined the broken automatons after kicking each to be sure. Under all that rug, each was like a six-tentacled starfish that walked like an insect. There was no distinct head but for a bulging center portion with a dark stripe around it. "I could call it an octopus, maybe. Hexapus." No eyes.

  The hexagonal room was labeled with "Narrow Confines", which would've made it tough to fight in. There were two doors ahead, which opened at his approach. One held a treasure chest at the end of a maze of floating platforms and visible updrafts. "Yeah, definitely a 'dungeon'." The other, though, led to a ring of tables with murals on the walls and no obvious loot or threats.

  Sensing a test, Miles went for the second one. Each table here was scaled for a short creature, like a middle-school classroom maybe. There were no chairs. Along the walls, carvings showed starfish-things hunting with spears, planting crops, and raising cities.

  Miles blinked. "You people want to show me this. Is this what you really look like?" There was no answer. He studied the images, trying to figure out how much of them was an accurate guide to an alien culture and how much, a translation meant for humans to understand. He saw towers with a triangular or hexagonal theme, a wrench and gears, a wheeled cart. Different species on different planets still faced the same physical problems and would have to invent some of the same basic devices like pulleys and levers -- or so said generations of purely theoretical talk about aliens. He wished for a camera, pen and paper, anything to record this stuff besides his memory.

  "If you're listening, Viziers; or the Hosts that they talked about -- our people would very much like to hear more about you and compare notes."

  The murals showed mechanical technology, but no mention of whatever physics-warping they were doing to impose this game on Hart's crew. The swarm of insectoid things that had attacked him suggested advanced robotics or even nanotechnology. It was understandable that the aliens, which he supposed he could call Hexapods now, wouldn't want to explain their best technology for free.

  Miles got all that he could out of studying this room, made a Notice roll to no avail, then shrugged and returned to the previous room. The only other option was the treasure-hunting maze. He surveyed the large underground space, again lit distantly from above. There were switches to stand on that caused updrafts to begin and end elsewhere in the room, or to move a floating walkway. It looked like he was meant to have two friends along to work the controls while he navigated the walkways and jumped between them. Well, he didn't have access to any right now, so he'd have to improvise. He conjured carpet. With some experimenting, he made his way past a dangerous wind jet and looked down into the disturbingly black depths where a fall would send him. He hoped that failure here would only dump him back at the entrance or something, but there was no promise of that. He shuddered and moved more carefully.

  The puzzle maze was difficult for a single player. He strained at the limits of his telekinesis range to move his placeholder rugs back and forth on the switches. Right when he was close to the treasure chest, he found he was just out of reach for the move he needed them to make. He tried moving a rug and running to hop onto the right platform before it sank, but that was both terrifying and not quick enough. He stopped just short of falling to his death.

  Maybe he could spend a fate point to extend his range temporarily. Miles sat, surrounded by localized wind and fans and inexplicable hovering platforms, to think about this puzzle and how to break it. The solution became obvious, making him grin. He summoned another sturdy, long rug and magically flung it across the gap, then weighed it down at each end. Then, steeling himself, he ran across it, yelling in fright all the while.

  He made it to the far end, shaken. To rub it in, the game explicitly gave him a "Shaken" minor mental injury. Refusing to look back or down, Miles looked at the treasure chest. It was a standard brass-bound wooden box, which didn't spring open or sprout fangs when he poked it with a conjured cloth. He approached and undid the latch.

  The box opened, light spilled out, and a fanfare played. Miles supposed the aliens had learned this little celebration from human games. Inside was a simple brass key large enough to use as a club. Miles stashed it in his backpack, took a deep breath, and ran back across his bridge to retrace his steps.

  In the room where the killer statues had been, he searched for a keyhole. Again the Notice skill did poorly, according to a system message. He had a tie; what did a tie mean?

  Something clicked in the blank wall in front of him. Miles' eyes widened and he hopped backward just as a spear shot out at him. [Invoking Narrow Confines.] The spear changed course in mid-flight and before Miles could even read the die roll, it gashed him along his right ribs for 4 damage. [Medium consequence: Slashed Chest.]

  Miles dropped to his knees, clutching his side. The spear had gone past him rather than sticking, but damn, that hurt! His shirt had torn to expose a long red gash mark that didn't bleed. He stared at it for a long time. What did it mean, that the aliens had the technology to hurt him this precisely and without the level of real trauma a spear should've caused? Belatedly he remembered what had happened in game terms. Failing a roll like "look for the secret door" meant succeeding at some cost, instead of bringing the adventure to a screeching halt.

  "Ow, damn! Why medium?"

  [Your minor consequence slot was full.]

  Right; even the fleeting mental/magical damage left him weakened against physical wounds. For his pain, he'd gotten access to the key's matching door. The lock was at his eye level now that he looked for it. Once he'd caught his breath he stood up and used the key. The wall split open to show him another hallway full of danger, this one with more Hexapod statues scuttling along narrow platforms.

  Fate points: 3

  Stress: Body [][], Mind [][][]

  Consequences:

  2: Shaken*

  4: Slashed Chest*

  6:

  "Is this a new 'scene'?" he asked. It would mean that the GMs got another fate point to play with, in addition to the free +2 they could use at any time because of his injury and the Shaken condition. The GMs would try to kill him on those narrow platforms.

  [New scene. The free invocation of Shaken is now removed, since that was inflicted on you without a fair defense roll.]

  He said, "I'm using that Mind skill to formally treat 'Shaken'. In other words I'm calming down about the drop."

  Dice rolled. [Success.] The "injury" was still there hogging his minor damage slot, but it was now labeled as "Calming Down". It'd go away soon.

  "Now the slash; I'm treating that with a bandage." He had several in his backpack, so he took one out and demonstrated.

  [Success. Bandaged Chest.]

  The hall was narrow and had more seemingly bottomless pits along parts of each side. Miles wasn't eager to slog through a series of fights here. He looked at the fans and updrafts in various parts of the room, and conjured himself a thick blanket. "Would gliding work?"

  [Athletics difficulty 3.]

  He needed this. He nodded and walked onto the nearest fan, holding his blanket overhead. His stomach churned as a rush of air flung him skyward... and time paused. Dice rolled. [Athletics skill 1; dice +2. Tie.]

  He wasn't sure he wanted to know what "cost" a tie wou
ld get him here. Probably dropping him right onto another statue. "Then I spend my first point for the fact that there're several updrafts. That's an aspect of the room, right?"

  [Used Updrafts. Gliding active. We are spending our fate point for the scene to invoke scene aspect "Wild Currents". Final result: Tie.]

  Time resumed. Miles soared toward the distant ceiling, glimpsing hidden skylights. He found the glider easy to control, letting him steer his way over multiple battles with killer statues and past pits and whirling fans. He came down on the far side, and stumbled to a stop. Directly in front of a Hexapod statue that had conveniently just detached itself from a hiding place near the far door. There was that Tie result!

  Miles swore as the combat system appeared. "Tangling this thing!" he said, and used his blanket to try that.

  He rolled a 6 to the enemy's 3 defense. He grinned, but before that could take effect, the statue lunged at him and slammed him with two stone tentacles to his legs, for 2 damage. [Upgraded to 4 damage due to your Bandaged Chest.]

  "Oh, you bastards." The seemingly minor impact suddenly got more painful, like a broken thighbone. "No, I'm a Fateweaver and I'm in the act of tangling this thing, so spend a point; I should get +2 to that defense."

  The injury faded to its lesser intensity again, becoming a 2. The GMs didn't object. The upshot was that he was standing there with the statue, which wasn't moving for the moment, while the game informed him that his status now looked like this:

  Fate points: 1

  Stress: Body [][X], Mind [][][]

  Consequences:

  2: Calming Down

  4: Bandaged Chest

  6:

  Any more physical damage and he'd have been forced to take a major wound, since his 2- and 4-point injury slots were in use. Now the action timer was starting again, and the killer statue was now wrapped up in a blanket with two free invocations marked with the words [Wrapped Up**] floating above its head. Miles said, "Magic-shove it into the pit. One use of the aspect! Save the other for defense."

  The monster attacked first, scoring a 3 against him, but his 1-point stress box and the Wrapped Up aspect blocked the damage. In return, his shove threw the statue over the ledge into a bottomless pit, where it made no sound. "Good riddance!" he said, and sat down heavily.

  A door opened beside him. He peeked into a large round chamber with a pyramid of platforms in the middle, like stairs, leading up to an altar. "I'm really not up for a boss battle, if that's what's in there. I might have to turn around and complete some other quest just to get healed up before proceeding."

  "There is no final battle here," said the voice of a Vizier.

  Miles looked again. One of the cloaked figures had emerged from behind the raised platform to beckon him in, adding, "You have completed the Wind Shrine's conflicts."

  Wearily, Miles stood up and conjured a red carpet to spill out in front of him, rolling up to the altar. He took some magic stress but apparently a new scene was starting; all his stress and his minor consequence went away. He wished his actual anxiety had faded too.

  When he was halfway up the dais, and about to talk, the door behind him slammed shut. Text announced: [Challenge! Altar of the Wind. Complete a difficulty 4 Mind puzzle and a difficulty 5 Magic test, before time runs out!] There was a boom from above, and a ceiling full of spikes appeared.

  Miles said, "You said... no conflicts. Right. Challenge. But you're still a jerk."

  The Vizier had no visible smile, but it twitched as though laughing. "Good luck. The limit is not time, but three rounds before increasing danger." The creature faded out.

  A wise man once said, If I had three hours to cut down a tree, I'd spend two sharpening my axe. Miles ran up to the altar and said, "Studying this for an advantage."

  A pattern of holographic symbols appeared. Alien writing? Dice appeared, showing him a net roll of 2, giving him a [Hint*]. Though the symbols were unfamiliar, they were like a common type of sliding tile puzzle. Several marks lit up in green, suggesting a pattern to try touching.

  Above him, the spikes dropped a short distance with a rattle of metal, like a falling chandelier.

  Miles applied himself to the puzzle, trying to align the right icons. The GMs granted him an extra +1 for his real effort on the Mind roll, and he used the Hint aspect, giving him a 5 in total. Good enough! But hidden fans in the floor whirred to life, creating a gentle updraft and a warning about what was coming.

  One more round before "increasing danger". So, not immediate death. Miles called up his magic interface and sighted a whole array of spell-like nodes along the walls, basically another puzzle in the form of a very specific spell he needed to invent and cast. "Studying this as well." His Magic roll was a net 2, also good enough to create a [Hint*] aspect on it.

  After this third round, the fans roared louder, and he felt himself starting to lift off of the floor. Miles hunkered down against the altar. "Solving the Magic puzzle!" he called out over the wind. He tried to concentrate on the nodes he had to connect, but messed up and got no bonus. The dice popped up in his vision: [Skill 3, dice -3.]

  "Using my last fate point for 'Fateweaver' and the Hint for a +4... no, wait." Even that wouldn't get him up to a 5. "I can buy a reroll instead of a +2, right? Do that with the fate point!"

  The dice spun and showed him: [Skill 3, dice -2.]

  "Oh, come on!"

  He stared in disbelief for a moment too long. The wind howled, and flung him into the air. Pain ripped through his chest. A hazy red text notice told him, [6 points of stress. Unable to block with stress boxes, or minor or moderate injury. Result: major injury "Spiked".]

  He hardly saw it, because he was focused on the steel ceiling spike that had impaled him. He coughed, choking out the words, "The dice hate me."

  Miles was above the altar, dazed, but he had a puzzle to solve. This round he gestured feebly for the magic interface again, tried his best to flick threads of energy around, and hoped for the best.

  [Skill 3, dice +1.]

  "Use... use the hint thingy."

  [Success! Challenge complete.]

  The fans ebbed slowly, causing him to drop off of the spike with a sickening squelch and gently descend to an awkward position on the stairs. His head lay on the red carpet and his feet up against the altar. A throbbing pain highlighted the red yet bloodless hole in his chest.

  "Am I dying?" he said, wheezing.

  [You have taken moderate and severe wounds. Your stress boxes and minor injury will now clear, but you will be taken out by any further injury worse than 4 points.]

  Fate points: 0

  Stress: Body [][], Mind [][][]

  Consequences:

  2:

  4: Bandaged Chest

  6: Spiked*

  Only now did the Vizier show itself again. "But your status is about to improve."

  Miles stood up slowly, bracing against the altar. "Where the hell were you? Aren't you trying to help me?"

  "There's only so much we may do."

  "You jerked me around with that wordplay about 'no conflicts'. I would have rested more, otherwise. You owe me one." He tried not to think about the fact that there was a bloodless hole through the center of his chest, right next to his other injury.

  "This 'owing' is a strange concept."

  "You're such a keen observer. What do I win?"

  "First, information. The rule your Hosts had applied was that anyone completing the magic canyon would receive basic spells allowing them to enhance tools, and that anyone completing the Wind Shrine would get self-enhancing spells. In your case, you have earned a major milestone for character advancement."

  "So, the chance to swap skills around, rename an aspect, gain a skill point and what, get another stunt?"

  The Vizier said, "And to begin recovery on your major injury right away." Miles' bandages adjusted, revealing that his medium chest wound was gone now. The bandages instead wrapped tightly around his ribs to represent binding the new wound. "The Hosts w
ill waive the free use of that injury since it's being treated immediately. Now, technically you gain one point of 'refresh', ie. one more fate point per session, but you can and perhaps should immediately spend it to get another stunt."

  "Instead of this self-enhancing magic thing?"

  "The Hosts have decided that you should stick to your own form of magic instead of learning another. Yours is more useful anyway."

  Miles sighed painfully. "Okay. First, I want a point of the Toughness skill. Which gives me a 3-point physical stress box, I think?"

  [Granted], said the GMs.

  That alone might save his life next time, since it meant he could absorb another 3 points of physical harm without actual injury. "What are my stunt options?"

  [New stunts available:

  -Veil Piercer: See remotely through any cloth you've handled in the last week.

  -Seven Veils: A spell to surround yourself with a shield of whirling cloth, granting Armor 2 for a scene.

  -Stately Pleasure Dome: Summon/banish a large tent with aspects Camping Gear and Sturdy Walls. Counts as an obstacle of 3 to break in.]

  He ogled all three. So there was his first armor option; it'd reduce any hit by 2, though a successful-but-blocked hit would still count as a "boost" against him. He'd just gotten a defensive bonus though. With Veil Piercer he could spy on the fort. The Dome was a basic utility power, except... "That last one: does that mean I'll have a big tent I can consider home, that can get resummoned even if it's abandoned or wrecked or something?"

  [That seems reasonable.]

  "I want that one."

  The Vizier said, "Surprising. We would have expected the defensive choice."

  Miles grinned. "What can I say; humans like comfort." He yanked the tent he'd been carrying around off of his backpack and let it bounce down the stairs. "So, you found a copy of that old poem with the 'pleasure dome' reference? The text is drug-addled nonsense but it has a basis in historical fact. Now, tell me about finding Eva."

  "The friend you seek is a few days' journey to the north, beyond these hills." The Vizier tilted its hidden head. "At the lair of a powerful monster."