Aloft to Murder
It began, the herculean struggle between man and beast, the test of patience and timing, of placement and cunning, a contest of wills as much as of strength. Prey and predator were united by hunger as well as happenstance: the fish, to nibble at bait without surrendering its life, and the man, to seize his prize before the lure dissipated.
Overcome by the moment, defiant against the fates and the world, he spent of himself recklessly, drawing forth every iota of power to bend lake and denizens to his will. His instincts pierced the waters like a great refulgent eye, and the tantalizing gleam and dance of his bait was as a thing of gold, made precious and inescapable by the will of his spirit.
"I-is all this really necessary?" Letrizia shouted, barely audible over the circle of winds that whipped around him, an intemperate halo.
"Go Hunger! Feed us, yay!!" Gisena cheered, bouncing lightly in place. She'd come over to witness the spectacle, pausing her ominous work on Verschlengorge's missile array. Hair and dress alike fluttered crazily in the wind; he wasn't sure how she could see.
There. A sharp tug and jerk on his line, sudden force as if to pull the rod from his hand.
A big one.
He stabilized, setting one foot against Verschlengorge's finger to resist his opponent's strength. Hook, line, rod and man bowed taut under the strain, a single parabola of exertion that bound them to the leviathan below. Pressure alone held line and rod together against the forces transmitted; in mortal hands they would long since have snapped.
This was no ordinary fish. He, who had the strength of ten men on a poor day, whose line and rod and hook were infused with the power of ruin, was being pressed to the uttermost limit. He sensed deep power here, vigor beyond the limits of muscle and scale. Down below, beneath the windblown chop of the lake surface, he caught a glimpse of movement, an opalescent shimmer that tugged the eye even as it fled.
"Gisena!" He roared. "A magical beast!"
She came up beside him, pressed between the fingers of the Armament. Indiscriminate fire would dispel his Pressure and the rod would snap immediately. Carefully she raised her arm and found an angle, open palm launching Null bolts rapid-fire into the depths below.
Moments passed. Gisena shook her head, hair trailing distractingly across his nose and cheek. "It's shrouded by some supernatural murk. I can't get a good lock on it."
He grunted, arm livid with strain. The steel wire of the line was beginning to fray visibly, and the wood of the rod was shot through with cracks. Sheer will held them together. He needed a plan.
"I'm going to pull up," he said. "The rod won't last much longer regardless. When I do, fire a wide area attack into the lake. As soon as it passes, I'll give you the rod. Hold the line as long as you can."
"Okay," she nodded, not bothering to ask for an explanation. An orb of concerted Nullity formed around her hand, a thrumming distortion that cleared the appearance of the air rather than twisting it.
"Now!" He heaved upwards, arm and implement pressed to the breaking point, the hollow, scraped-out reserves of his personal might rallying one last time. The fish resisted him, it tugged and thrashed with a congealed river's worth of force, but was pulled skywards in the end, at last visible beneath the waves.
Gisena swept her arm, Nullity in an arc released before her, catching wind and wave and fish alike. As that rippling translucence passed through, the beast spasmed once and began struggling even more fiercely, but the strength of its movements was lessened, now mere muscle and sinew.
He handed over the ravaged rod and plunged into the water.
It was a great iridescent creature, near serpentine in length, fanged maw snapping impotently at the waters around it. Striations of texture and color crossed its body in thick bands, pearly scales of amber, violet and pale blue that contrasted with the glittering mass of its main body.
His hook had dug deep, disappearing down its gullet, and dark crimson blood plumed steadily from its mouth. Even now, denied its supernal primacy, it raged in furious consternation, without a hint of fear in its ruby eyes.
He smiled. It was overlord of this idyllic stretch, the biggest fish in this inland pond. As had been the Tyrant himself, in light of such beings as the Accursed.
Hallowed energies swam about as it began to recover from Gisena's assault. Swiftly he drew the Forebear's Blade and in one fluid motion plunged it into the creature's gills. Its scales were dense, layered and overlapping like lacquered armor, but physical necessity left these unguarded. As it writhed, he sent a pulse of chopping force out through the blade and into its internals, then twisted cruelly, sending a second strike towards its brain.
It flailed once, desperately, and went still.
Moments later he emerged from the lake's surface with the beast strewn across his back. Its bulk was heavy across his shoulders, head flopping down to his elbow, while its muscular tail dragged sullenly against the ground.
"You did it!" Gisena exclaimed, running down to join him.
"Not... going to take credit... for this?" He panted.
"No," she replied, eyes bright. "Unless you want me to. It's only been a few hours; did you miss my teasing already?"
"I... am going... to lay down." He said, walking up the grassy incline. Upon reaching level ground, he set the fish atop it and sprawled out beside, breathing heavily.
He should not have done that. It had been an almost completely pointless endeavor. The purpose of this jaunt had been to rest, not to tire himself further. And yet, as he looked at the magnificent catch beside him, he couldn't help but feel that it had all been worth it.
Fuck. He still had to get in the robot after this.
Gisena peered down at him, amused, while Letrizia came around to admire the catch.
"You find this... funny?" He asked, still breathing heavily.
The Sorceress smoothed out her dress and sat down beside him. "You tell me, hero. What part of this isn't funny?"
He grunted, raising himself on his elbows, but Gisena placed one delicate hand on his chest and pushed him back down. "Oh no you don't. Rest now, you've earned it."
She smiled slyly. "Or... would you prefer to lay your head on my lap? Fellow Sorceresses tell me it's very comfortable. Our standards are the very highest!"
"Hmph." He closed his eyes. "Arrogant and a liar too. Why do I put up with you?"
She laughed. "Using my own lines against me? How shameless, hero!"
"You don't deserve original lines."
"Hm? And what would one do to earn such an honor?"
"First, catch a legendary fish."
"Well then." She stretched prettily, then got up and stalked around to the other side of the fish. "Perhaps I'll take credit for this one after all."
As Gisena inspected their catch, he let out another deep breath, staring upwards at the sky.
Twilight had come to their corner of the Voyaging Realm. The sun dipped slowly down the horizon, incandescence like molten wax pooling atop the waters. Above was the first encroachment of the evening dark, faint tracery of the moon and stars, the world grown hushed and still like an expectant audience. Atop his finger the ring of power shined, a burning jewel, a wound in the world from which no recovery was possible, light like blood spilling into the slowly dimming dusk.
Scraps of shadow, like inverse fireflies, fluttered around the ring-light, orbiting it steadily. Residue of the pirate captain's armor, the Astral equivalent of blood on his knuckles.
He frowned, thinking slowly. Was there some way to capture that power? Harness it, as he'd done to the Forebear's Blade and Tyrant's Ring? He needed some form of supernal protection. The armor's abilities had been impressive, even if its loyalty had been lacking.
But he was unusually skilled at abducting the artifacts of others and binding them to his cause. It was the only field where he'd surpassed the Tyrant definitively. Ring and Blade were willful items both, difficult even to command. And yet he'd succeeded completely, united his will with theirs until there was no distinguishing them. Physically they were discrete objects, but in the realm of spirit they were one being, free of discontinuity. Were his physical form to perish, would he live on in them as a remnant?
Probably not. He was too weak still. Something to strive for in time. Couldn't let death impede his vengeance.
Exhausted as he was, he focused again. Remembering how it had felt to lure the tyrant-fish to him. The shape of the Pressure he'd had to exert, its tenor and form. He remembered the hue and spill of that pirate's armor, ink the violet of midnight that rose in steady streamers.
The night sky's incursion against sun and blue.
Evening approached; there was no better time than this. He clenched his fist, and the ring that bore his name flared red, light so bright as to rival the setting sun, and slowly the scraps of shadow surrounding him began to multiply, drawn by the gravitation of the one who had defeated them.
He grasped them, wove them together with his magic and will, usurped them and made them his own. From the jewel of his ring burst forth a cloak, wrapping up and around his arm to rest upon his shoulders. It was the stars and the evening sky, a texture like billowing clouds, the fall of its drape a velvet window into night. Power infused him, boundless and inexorable as the evening itself: against which mundane force could find no purchase, and resilient against stranger assaults.
Contentedly he closed his eyes. Properly outfitted at last. He recalled the final dictates of destiny, hours before the Tyrant had slain its oracles -
Treasures numbering three,
Ought hero's panoply be.
Crown, Saber and Orb,
Shield, Symbol and Sword,
Blade, Mantle and Ring;
Aloft to murder a king.
It was a childish rhyme, and meaningless. But a cloak - a mantle - was more comfortable than armor, and its magic protected all the same. Let this be their victory as well, they who had first given themselves to shield him from the Tyrant's regard.
---
You have gained [X] Fell-Handed Stroke and the [X] Evening Sky.
Having overcome the King Fish, a feat of great, prowess, you may choose a benefit:
[ ] Crown - +.25 Astral Rank. Your Astral Rank is now 3.75, though see Exhausted, below.
[ ] Saber - Restore a fraction of the Forebear's Blade, extending its reach and sharpness with all the advantages that entails. Once per battle, may defer the cost of Fell-Handed Stroke until the fight concludes.
[ ] Orb - Gain title, [Master Baiter]. ++Manipulation when provoking enemies to attack you, or ++Bait Quality for Fishing and fishing-analogous tasks.
You are currently Exhausted, unable to exert Pressure in most circumstances, though the abilities of your panoply remain active. Needless to say, if attacked you will be at a significant disadvantage. A day's rest will render you merely Tired.
And yet, a hero's work is never done. What now to do?
[ ] Dress the Fish - Help Gisena clean, dress, and investigate the King Fish. Its magical power was immense. What secrets lie beneath its treasure-laden scales? [+Gisena, +?]
[ ] Get In The Robot - Investigate the Armament and its connection with your Curse. Praehihr, it called you. Have the Foremost encountered Cursebearers before? You can, of course, get in the robot later, while the King Fish may be decomposing now. But matters regarding your Curses must take higher priority. Affects characterization.
[++Letrizia, +?, -Gisena]
[ ] Pass Out - This mantle is comfy. +1 Arete; 29 days of A Hunger Sated remain. Wastes the night.
