Rogue Evolution

by James Hunter

  “Sensei, if you have the time, may we head back down to the School of Night Magick? I would very much like to finish today’s lesson.”

  ICK HADN’T BEEN WRONG: the Discordant Inversion and Deflection spell was difficult to master, even for someone of Roark’s formidable level and skill set.

  The problem was not the magick itself but rather that the Witchdoctor’s spells were intimately tied to the strange postures and motions they practiced, all of which were truly only compatible to those with more than two measly arms and legs. Weaving the Discordant Inversion web was a grinding, grueling trial of error and failure.

  “I have seen it performed by Witchdoctors who lost limbs in battle,” Ick replied when Roark asked, “but, now that I recall, never by any with fewer than six legs. Perhaps if you moved the few limbs you have faster.”

  Swiping sweat from his already dripping face with a forearm, Roark returned to the proper stance and threw himself into the motions once again. He’d already been moving at close to top speed, only holding back just enough to make sure he executed the postures properly. How fast would he have to move to make it seem as if he had double the limbs?

  “Better,” Ick commented, inclining his head slightly, “but still a touch slow.”

  Too winded to respond, Roark could only nod and try again.

  They practiced for what felt like hours, Ick providing instructive critiques and the barest praise to direct Roark. Though Roark quickly exhausted the little energy that remained after his battle with the Heralds, he downed Stamina potions and pushed on. Come paradise or bloody damnation, he would learn this spell.

  As they worked, it quickly became clear to Roark that although many of Ick’s martial techniques had practical battlefield applications, the motions for Discordant Inversion would not be among them. He would never be able to perform the delicate gestures and rigid postures in the heat of a real fight. But that didn’t mean the spell was useless. Far from it. Like the swordplay forms he’d learned as a child, each individual move and combination could be adapted to suit whatever the fight required. It would take a weathered, selective eye to spot the openings for deploying the spell effectively in battle.

  After nearly two hours of tedious kata forms, Roark finally managed to cast the spell for the first time, making a new notice appear in his Initiate’s Spell Book:

  [Congratulations, you have learned Discordant Inversion and Deflection from the School of Night Magick!

  Discordant Inversion and Deflection can be cast (1) time per inscription!

  Effect: Any incoming offensive spell of the previously defined magical alignment is converted to a magical alignment of the Subservient Dyad and redirected at the original caster.

  Damage: Variable. Spell damage is equal to the damage of the original Inverted Spell.

  Cooldown period between casting Discordant Inversion and Deflection and re-inscription: (2) hours!

  Restriction: Discordant Inversion and Deflection must be assigned to a sixth-level spell slot or higher.

  Restriction: Offensive school of magick to be inverted and deflected must be defined during inscription.

  Restriction: Spell has a mandatory physical ritual component required to inscribe and cast.]

  “Ah,” Ick said, his mandibles clicking with approval, “very good, Dungeon Lord.”

  “Thanks,” Roark panted. Although he knew that getting it right once out of hundreds of tries was nothing to brag about, the success did bolster his flagging spirit no small amount. Still, he’d be happier when he could perform Discordant Inversion reliably. “Again?”

  Ick nodded, and they returned to training.

  When Roark had finally run out of the time he’d asked Griff and Zyra to give him, he had managed to inscribe the spell in three spell slots. It wasn’t much, but he couldn’t take up any more of Ick’s valuable time. He would have to continue to practice and perfect Discordant Inversion in his spare moments.

  The thought made Roark chuckle to himself. His copious amount of spare time.

  Dripping with sweat and muscles trembling with exhaustion, Roark bowed to Ick, thanking the Witchdoctor both for the instruction and for his patience in dealing with Roark’s significant physical limitations.

  From there, it was straight to his private forge and workshop to begin the work he’d promised Druz and the specialty forces, who would have respawned by now. The trip over was far more eventful than it should have been. Visiting mobs and Trolls from all classes and specialties were whispering quietly about the Divine attack and just how poorly it had gone.

  “There wasn’t a mob left standing from the Troll Nation.”

  “Nearly wiped us clean off the map.”

  “All with no more than three of them.”

  “Way I heard it, it was one Herald, single-handed.”

  Fear and uncertainty hung in the air like the stench of a rotting corpse. Many of the whispering mobs fell silent when Roark passed by, but some didn’t. Mostly those from stronger dungeons than the Cruel Citadel. The air of the marketplace crackled with fomenting insurrection.

  Troubling, that. Another defeat would likely see the first wave of defection.

  Roark blocked out the murmurs and whispered rumors, keeping his eyes fixed to the task ahead.

  He could have stopped and tried to explain the situation to every mob who had their stories wrong, but that would do nothing to ease the growing sense of dread. Words were cheap, especially when they fell from the mouth of a leader who wanted to keep his authority. Roark knew that well from experience. How often had the T’verzet discussed ad nauseam what they intended to do about the Tyrant King, only to sit on their thumbs, doing all of nothing? It was that same impotence that had driven Roark to carry out his reckless assassination attempt on Marek in the first place. The attempt that had netted him the World Stone Pendant, though it had also nearly gotten him killed and resulted in the loss of his humanity.

  What his followers needed was to see the strength of his leadership in action. They needed results. Those Roark intended to deliver.

  When he arrived at his private forge, Roark found a Behemoth Thursr standing guard over the entryway.

  “Dungeon Lord.” The hulking Troll sprang to rigid attention, his halberd quivering as he snapped a sharp salute. “Mistress Zyra sent me to make sure no one disturbs you.”

  “Did she now?” Roark murmured softly. Then, louder to the Behemoth, “Excellent. I’m cooking up something especially nasty for those miserable Heralds, and I need complete solitude if I’m to finish it. Keep everybody clear for me, would you?”

  “Of course!” The Behemoth’s ears quivered as though the very thought of someone disturbing Roark on his watch was deeply offensive. Perfect.

  Roark slipped around the mountain of muscle and pebbly blue skin and into his workshop. With quick motions, he stripped off his upper armor and pulled on the enchanted custom leather apron he wore while working the forge. The apron, though plain looking, was far less cumbersome and boasted some powerful runes that fought against the oppressive heat of the shop—though nothing could completely dampen the waves of warmth that poured constantly from the flames.

  Roark took a deep breath, steeling his nerves with the familiar and comforting scents of soot and white-hot slag, then went to work.

  Experiments in Inversion

  ROARK HAD SOME BRILLIANT ideas about how to protect the Cruel Citadel as a whole, but that would require reworking his portal plates. The portal plates were both expensive and extraordinarily time-consuming to build, and altering the preexistent Curse Chains inscribed on them was a nightmare that could easily result in death or dismemberment—unfortunately, almost never in that order. Roark’s plan required introducing new clauses to the existing Curse Chain, a delicate, thorny undertaking. It would be best to have the spell down to a science before he made the attempt.

  Sadly, his slow progress on the casting meant it would take him untold hours or even days to perfect the spell itself, le
t alone build the new Curse Chain. After their defeat, the Troll Nation needed to see results fast, so he set aside his plans for the Cruel Citadel and focused instead on something far simpler: adding a variety of wicked upgrades to the specialty response force’s gear.

  Opening his personal grimoire, Roark consulted the Primal Creation Wheel Ick had revealed to him.

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  ROARK WAS MORE THAN a little surprised to find that the Oppositional power to the Divine was actually Necrotic energy. Odd, that. Back in Traisbin one of the primary purposes of spellcraft was to keep the bodies of the dead firmly where they belonged. Writs sealed the dead in their crypts and tombs, ushering their souls to the afterlife while preventing their decaying corpses from blundering around the countryside. If Ick’s chart was to be believed, however, the Undead chimeras scattered across Hearthworld were the most dangerous foes for the Divine.

  He would have to look into enhancing the Shambling Corpses that wandered the cemetery outside the bailey with something that would put them on even footing with the Heralds and give them a fighting chance. With the proper preparation, they could act as an excellent barrier for Lowen’s Divine forces.

  That was a thought for another time, Roark reminded himself. Zyra may have provided him with a guard to ward off external intrusions, but Roark needed to guard his own mind against getting off track as well. Reluctantly, he decided to empty his cup before he began in earnest, taking a few minutes to work through the various stances Ick had taught him—inhaling alertness and attention to the present and exhaling all of his cares and distractions. Banishing them to make room for the natural flow of Hearthworld’s potent magicks.

  Once he was centered—body at ease, mind focused—Roark retrieved one of the many Peerless Tower Shields residing in his vault. The shield was of the same variety used by the specialty forces, handcrafted from a mixture of silver, copper, and powdered diamond dust, which made them exceptionally hard. The fact that they were mostly silver also made them ideal protection against creatures of the Divine. From the WikiLore page in his grimoire, Roark had learned that Heralds and other high-level Divine chimeras were partial to gold, but weak against moon metals such as mercury, silver, and pearlescent plate. Still, despite the basic enchantments bolstering Strength and Holy resistance, the shields had performed far less than ideal in their first skirmish.

  Time to rectify that.

  Roark spent a few minutes reviewing the Undead WikiLore entry, then laid out one of the bulky shields upon his Enchanter’s table and pulled a jeweler’s loupe over one eye to help him better discern the runes. Carefully, he set to work with his bone-handled awl. He canted his head and hunched over the shield, sweat rolling down his face as he etched precise lines of magical script into the reverse side, binding them to the shining metal with an effort of will.

  After ten minutes, he straightened and reviewed his handiwork, marveling—not for the first time—at how easy it was to create magical items here in Hearthworld.

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  Peerless Cold-Forged Shield of the Damned

  Defense: 73

  Durability: 65 of 65

  Level Requirement: 27

  Strength Requirement: 33

  Equipping this item casts Spectral Hands on the wielder, anchoring the shield bearer in place for 30 sec – (1 sec x opponent’s character level), in exchange for 1 HP x wielder’s character level; Cooldown: 10 minutes.

  Equipping this item casts Discordant Inversion and Deflection; Spell Definition: Divine; Cooldown: 2 hours.

  On contact: +45% chance of triggering Fortifying Strength for 10 seconds.

  On contact: +30% chance to trigger Bone-Aura, conjuring a ten-foot-radius aura that moves with the caster. Enemies take .25n Undead Damage (where n equals character level of the shield bearer) for 15 seconds.

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  Roark swiped the trails of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand as he read over the item’s impressive stats. With the addition of Spectral Hands and the possibility of spawning Bone-Aura, the shields would be far more effective against the Heralds. Plus, adding Discordant Inversion had the potential to radically alter the outcome of any future engagement, even if the spell could only be triggered once per engagement. Satisfied with the item, he set to work etching and imbuing the new runic marks onto the other shields in his vault.

  When he finished with those, Roark moved on to a new batch of the specialty hooked halberds with their signature loop of razor wire.

  Unfortunately, the weapons refused to support the inscription for Discordant Inversion or Bone-Aura, but Roark was able to augment them with the Spectral Hands feature. To make up for the loss of Bone-Aura, he added a Touch of Undeath spell, which had an 11% chance to inflict an additional 50 points of Undead damage on contact. It wouldn’t be enough to turn a battle on its own, but enough small changes could make a major difference over time.

  It took him several hours to work through the spare gear, but once he had the process down, it was a simple matter of repeating it over and over again, though it still required extraordinary attention to detail. Even a single misstep when it came to runic etching could mean death and the loss of time and levels he couldn’t afford.

  Once the last one was complete, he stood and stretched his stiff back and neck before returning the newly enhanced weapons and shields to their place. Only another battle would tell how effective the improvements would be against the Heralds.

  With the—relatively—easy work done, he turned his attention to the touchier chore.

  After successfully practicing the proper form for Discordant Inversion more than a dozen times, Roark was ready to try the spell on the portal plates scattered throughout the dungeon. He’d nowhere near perfected it, but the postures and speed were as good as he would get them in a single day.

  The real question was, how exactly would he utilize his newfound knowledge to protect the Citadel? Enchanted shields and enchanted weapons were excellent for an individual combatant, but they would never be enough to turn away a full-scale Divine invasion. And simply inscribing the same basic Discordant Inversion spell he’d used for the shields onto the portal plates wouldn’t be sufficient, either. The Heralds were too numerous and too powerful for such a small-scale setback to turn them all away. What he needed was a way to keep the winged menace out of the Cruel Citadel entirely.

  Unfortunately, because of Hearthworld’s arbitrary and ridiculous rules, that was impossible. Any adventurer or mob had to have a viable pathway to reach the Dungeon Lord’s throne room. Roark could make it exceedingly difficult—lining the way with monsters, traps, curses, illusions, and false doors—but he couldn’t make it impossible.

  But, Roark wondered, what if there were a way to trap the invading Heralds in a sort of temporal loop, transporting them to a distant location whenever they entered the Cruel Citadel proper? He used a variation of the portal plates to connect with other dungeons, so surely he could do something similar in this instance.

  He pushed away from his worktable and broke into a restless round of pacing, his boots clacking on the floor, his leathery wings rustling behind his back as he moved.

  The idea of a temporal loop was certainly an intriguing prospect. He hadn’t had much time at the Academy to study the toric geometry behind such magicks, but he didn’t need to know the theory to execute the spell. In truth, the biggest question was how he would get around Hearthworld’s bloody rules.

  With a thought, Roark pulled his Initiate’s Spell Book from his Inventory. Instead of turning to a particular spell slot, Roark flipped to the binding pages at the back of the tome.

  Once upon a time, those pages had been blank and devoid of script. No longer. Now they were filled with his tight, precise script, annotating the various Hexes and Curse Chains he’d invented over the past several weeks. The conditions for each spell were laid out and marked with a stylized rune, which acted as a form of
shorthand and could be inscribed on any flat surface.

  Roark turned to the page on which he’d painstakingly described the requirements for a Curse Chain called The Hero Sieve, the real magick behind the various portal plates scattered throughout the Citadel.

  [Any hero who meets the conditional requirements set on {Destination Plate 1, 2, 3, 4, 5} is instantly transported from the Prime Transportation Plate (designation = Nirn!) to the corresponding: {Destination Plate 1, 2, 3, 4, 5};

  {Destination Plate 1: If any hero of level 7 to 12 steps on or over the Prime Transportation Plate, then they are instantly transported to the corresponding plate, equaling the value of Rihuk, and are Stunned! for 20 seconds.};

  {Destination Plate 2: If any hero of level 13 to 18 steps on or over the Prime Transportation Plate, then they are instantly transported to the corresponding plate, equaling the value of Figrua, and suffer 20 points of Fire damage!};

  {Destination Plate 3: If any hero of level 19 to 24 steps on or over the Prime Transportation Plate, then they are instantly transported to the corresponding plate, equaling the value of Letho, and slowed by 10% for 20 seconds!};

  {Destination Plate 4: If any hero of level 25 to 29 steps on or over the Prime Transportation Plate, then they are instantly transported to the corresponding plate, equaling the value of Wuurk, and suffer 20 points of Frost damage!};

  {Destination Plate 5: If any hero of level 30 or above steps on or over the Prime Transportation Plate, then they are instantly transported to the corresponding plate, equaling the value of STORM OF ICE AND FIRE, and suffer the effects of: (Existent Curse Chain) Storm of Fire and Ice!};

  If any person, mob, or hero, other than a Troll native to the Cruel Citadel, tampers with this plate, it triggers an explosion causing 150 points fire damage (+10 burn damage/sec for 25 seconds) to any targets within a twenty-foot radius.]

  The spell was a masterpiece, allowing Roark to break apart parties and whisk players into deathtraps perfectly suited for any given character. His Cursed! Enchantment Specialty had swelled to level 13, so he felt confident that he could add a new designation plate into the mix without destabilizing the Hero Sieve spell, but what exactly would he etch onto such a plate?