An odd adventure in a bizarre world, our protagonist will fight to survive in a world where anything is possible.
THE!: An Unrealistic Saga (Illustrated Original Science-Fantasy)
- Thread starter Shadestyle
- Start date
- Original Fantasy
THE!: An Unrealistic Saga (Illustrated Original Fiction)
- Created
- Status
- Ongoing
- Watchers
- 9
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 7
-
Statistics (7 threadmarks, 16k words)
User Total Shadestyle 7
Chapter 1: The World
- Location
- OK
This fic will contain both a main character who seeks to powergame, and a setting which is superficially unrealistic by design.
For those of you who would prefer to be spoiled than to be displeased by these things, I can assure you that both the setting's gaps in logic all have internally consistent justifications and underlying systems which will be revealed over time, and that the main character's confidence in his ability to munchkin the world with ease is unfounded.
For those of you who would prefer to be spoiled than to be displeased by these things, I can assure you that both the setting's gaps in logic all have internally consistent justifications and underlying systems which will be revealed over time, and that the main character's confidence in his ability to munchkin the world with ease is unfounded.
Crossposted on SB, a bit further ahead there in chapters.
What if the world didn't make sense?
I know what you're thinking, "Oh, but the world already doesn't make sense, have you heard the stuff going on in it right now?!"
But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the fact that you live in a world where there are firm rules that shape our existence, things that can't be changed just because someone believes or feels otherwise.
A person who seeks truth can find it through science and rationality alone. "Facts don't care about your feelings," as it were.
What if that wasn't the case?
I woke up in the middle of nowhere, as one does.
At first, I wondered if someone drugged me, looking around the barren grassy hill I found myself next to as I leaned up from where I was laying.
I tried to remember last night, screwing my eyes shut with concentration.
'I remember… playing videogames, arguing with people in the game, going on some forums, arguing there… I posted a rant about Super Street Brothers, more arguing...'
'Then… Nothing.'
My eyebrows furrowed with displeasure as I pushed myself to my feet and scrabbled my way up the hill.
From up here, I could see trees, more grass, and, off in the distance, what appeared to be a mountain. I could only chalk up its blue color to diffraction of light.
Squinting up at the sun wouldn't help me much either unless I felt like standing around for a few hours to try and measure its movement with twigs and shit.
In spite of the lack of needle-marks and me not remembering eating or drinking anything suspicious, the 'being drugged' theory started to hold more water as I got an idea of where I am, and it's nothing at all like where I live.
My house was nestled right in the middle of nowhere, yes, but it was a heavily forested nowhere, with a paved road passing right by it.
The only 'road' here is a small hiking trail, a thin ragged strip of dirt that is entirely too small for a car to drive down, stretching off towards the mountain and utterly infested with tall flowers.
A few hills, a few trees, a dinky dirt trail… It's absolutely unfamiliar.
'I've never been this far away from my house before,' I wonder, before rubbing the bridge of my nose.
"Doesn't matter. Where there's a trail, there's either people or animals, so it leads either to a town or at least a river."
I notice a rusty metal plate on the ground, one that looks like it was ripped off a sign somehow
"Nutrivatco?" I read curiously.
Whatever the hell it is, it makes me smile at least a little bit. If there are rusty signs laying around, then people can't be that far off.
I choke down the nervousness and borderline panic I had been feeling, and slide down the grassy hill. If I can just get to town, I'm sure I can figure out a way to call my parents to come and pick me up.
"God, this is going to suck," I mutter with a frown, looking at the dirt path and trying to decide which way I should follow.
'I hate walking.'
I hadn't expected to see any animals here, much less a rabbit of all things.
I ended up following the trail towards the mountain. Most rivers and streams begin in high up places anyway, so it would give me the best chance of survival.
'This thing is kinda freaking me out' I admit privately. The little rabbit had just hopped out of the underbrush nearby and straight onto the dirt path I was following, before turning to face me.
The way the animal looks me right in the eye and pretty stalwartly blocks the middle of the path, it all adds up to some incredibly unnatural behavior.
"Alright, I'm going to go ahead and… Back away," I say, holding out my hands and taking a step back.
"Go show your rabies to someone else please," I comment. The most logical reason why a wild prey animal would approach humans like this would be some kind of disease, after all.
I hear a loud noise from the rabbit as it tilts its head to the side and its nose wrinkles at me.
"What the hell?" I mouth to myself, trying to look around for the source of the noise. It sounded like this little bunny rabbit just… Cracked its neck. Loudly.
Now thoroughly unnerved, I take another step back. I make a decision then and there. If this animal gets any closer, I'm going to punt the fucking thing.
As if somehow realizing what I'm thinking, the animal scrambles for me, and I rear forward and kick the rabbit hard enough to send it flying into a tree, it feels like kicking a medicine ball, and I yelp from the sudden pain shooting through my foot as I hop backward.
"I have no clue how the hell it hurt me through steel-toed boots, but that thing is ten pounds of roadkill now, probably," I mutter, turning my attention from my foot to the tree.
The rabbit thumps down onto the grass from the tree, and I could swear the thing is glaring at me as it leans back on its hind legs again, one ear crooked and flopped over.
I see it pull its forelegs behind itself in an anatomically impossible feat and…
*Crack!*
It pops its back loudly and starts hopping towards me.
I run and don't stop running.
Elsewhere, closer to the mountain, an entirely different rabbit is getting ready for the day.
It yawns quietly, fuzz bristling as it stretches.
After a few moments blearily forcing itself to wakefulness, it begins grooming itself, licking its little paws and rubbing them all over itself.
Light streams into the dank cave that it had been sleeping in and little drops of water plop down into a white bowl it set up the day before.
Normally, this might be the point where another rabbit might join in pestering this one, as ordinary rabbits are loath to be alone.
However, no such thing happens, and the single lonesome rabbit shakes itself after finishing its solitary task. No rabbit would be willing to live in a cold cave, especially one reeking like this one does.
This rabbit doesn't seem to notice, though, its little nose blind to the disgusting odor that permeates the cave.
Shivering one last time, the little rabbit calmly hops over to a crude, purple robe, wriggling into the fur-lined cloak until it is clad in the royally colored leather vestment.
With eyes cloaked in the darkness of its hood and a wet twitching nose, the rabbit slips on another article, this one, a necklace made of something white and stiff, strung through a tiny skull.
This rabbit is a necromancer by instinct, and many living things consider such a creature to be their enemy by its sickly sweet odor alone.
It hops out into the light, nibbling at the fresh, bountiful grass that had taken up residence in front of its cave.
Suddenly, a loud noise sounds out, and a few bugs fly free from their perches in alarm.
The necrabbit hops closer to the sound, adrenaline dripping through its veins at the potential threat.
Its little eyes widen as it watches a little human shriek, ducking under another rabbit's kick. The kick buries the rabbit's foot deep in the trunk of a tree, splintering it. The other rabbit's fur waves dangerously in an invisible wind as it lands gently on the ground.
Recognition flashes through its mind at the sight, and at the familiar smell of one of its competitors, the Krav Mabbit.
"What the hell is this thing?!" the human cries, scrambling away from the enemy, half crawling, half trying to get back up, and mostly failing at both.
Regardless of any humans or lack thereof, this territory belongs to the Necrabbit, and the Krav Mabbit is not welcome.
The human's eyes turn into little pinpricks as the skull slung around the Necrabbit's neck glows with a vivid purple glow, energy flowing from its chest to its foci.
What follows is a string of honks, grunts, and clicking noises from the rabbit that turn the purple mass into a sharpened point, firing it at Krav Mabbit and slamming into the unprepared animal's back.
The rabbit skids along the grass, tearing it up as it flops over. It hops up, prepared for another attack, only to realize what it's facing off against. Several moments of tense silence pass, before with a disdainful look that promises retribution, the Krav Mabbit hops away, a patch of fur on its backside already falling out to reveal some sort of rash.
As the Necrabbit turns to the last loose end in the area, it searches its feelings and mentally shrugs. Any enemy of rabbit-kind is a friend to Necrabbit.
The human slumps to their knees as the dark magic hare runs around them in circles, sniffing harmlessly.
"What the hell is going on here?" they whisper, looking at the Necrabbit with confusion suffusing them entirely.
The Necrabbit looks up at them, tilting its head curiously like a dog as it studies their face. What a strange little human.
I stare down at the rabbit, stunned for several seconds, unable to fish up a thought from the stew brewing in my head.
Eventually, though, a few ridiculous ideas come to mind. 'Aliens? Some kind of fucked up military experiment? God, I hope it's just a drug coma or something normal…' I think, trying to process what I just saw. Goddamn energy blasts, martial arts rabbits, it's unreal.
I'm completely numb with shock as the little purple cloaked rabbit tugs on my pants leg with its teeth, clearly trying to get me to follow it.
Unwilling to get back on the trail right this minute so soon after that other one was driven off, I follow the bunny as it scampers away, stopping only long enough to make sure I'm still following it every few seconds.
It pretty much drags me all the way to a cave that sends shivers down my spine when I see small piles of bones scattered around near it. The whole place smells like wet trash and rotting fruit.
A bleached white skull glares balefully from the stone floor of the cave, with the sun beaming in just enough to reveal it.
My curiosity is piqued by the sight of what looks to be a roll of leather with red scratchy symbols on it sitting in one of the corners of the small cave, but only long enough for me to balk at the thought that emerges against my will.
"Magic doesn't exist, I don't know what I saw, but it wasn't that," I say, mostly to myself.
The rabbit looks over to me, curious about the noise, but seemingly uncomprehending as to what the words mean. It tugs on my pants leg for me to go inside, nibbling the denim imploringly.
"Fuck no," I say, backing away from the death cave. I don't care how nice the rabbit is, I'm not walking into a place like that.
The rabbit notices my obvious apprehension and stares into the cave next to me, curious what it could be that is setting me off. As if it didn't know...
I notice the sun starting to set and think about the fact that I nearly got my head taken off by whatever the hell attacked me earlier.
I don't think I want to find out what comes out at night around here.
Picking up a heavy branch off the ground nearby, I take slow, careful steps into the cavern, pinching my nose shut with one hand and holding my impromptu club with the other.
'If it wanted to kill me, it probably would have already, and it isn't like hiding in a tree would work. That thing that attacked me could crack wood by jump-kicking it,' I reason, sitting up against the wall right next to the mouth of the cave and staring at the little rabbit.
No longer caring about my presence, it daubs something red out of half-a-skull with its paws and makes seemingly meaningless scratches on the leather scroll in front of it. Drops of water drip from the ceiling into the bowl, wetting whatever macabre dye is inside it.
I waste the night refusing to sleep, watching the purple pinpricks on the cave walls, each one glowing too dimly for me to see what exactly they are.
Last edited:
LordofTentacles
Surprisingly Sturdy
- Location
- Louisiana
I like this. Watched
Chapter 2: The Warren
- Location
- OK
"Bluh?!" I muttered uncomprehendingly at the unique sensation of fuzz.
My eyes blearily open, and I realize a few things that instantly annoy me.
Firstly, I realized that no, I wasn't just having some crazy dream, (Though, I suppose I could still be dreaming, since the human brain actually experiences multiple dreams during a single night of sleep), no, I didn't manage to stay awake all night despite the threat of joining a bunny rabbit's necropolis, and no, I didn't get the nine hours of sleep that I need to function every day.
I climbed to my feet, but not before snatching up the branch I brought in the other day, holding it between me and the little rabbit that helped me yesterday.
"We're cool, right?" I asked. It's reasonable to assume that, because it wears clothing and jewelry of its own volition, (And making, judging by the smell), then it must have at least human-level intelligence.
Despite this, they just sort of stared at me as I sidled my way along the cave wall, intent on leaving and trying to get ahold of a phone to call home with.
I felt something poke me in the back and whirled around.
I jerked back with a restrained yelp as the skeleton stuck to the wall glared at me, vivid purple lights glowing in its sockets.
Weird purple energy is one thing, I can think of several rational explanations for that, even if it did come from a goddamn animal, but animate skeletons?
The skeleton turned away from me when it became obvious I had no intention of bothering it anymore, skittering up the wall as the purple goo binding it together tensed and relaxed to give the illusion of musculature.
The rabbit-necromancer-whatever it is, it bumped its head against my leg softly, and I yanked the appendage away, getting the hell out of this cave had suddenly become a priority.
I walked away quickly and without hesitation, making my way back to the path and following it.
I wanted to put as much distance between me and that as possible.
'Though, if that was actual magic, I shouldn't tell anyone. There's probably a good reason why nobody has heard of Judo-kicking bunnies and Lich-hares, and I bet it involves hapless witnesses disappearing.'
The path started to take me into more heavily forested and boulder-ridden terrain as I contemplated this.
A loud crack rang out behind me, and I turned to look. There, a ways back down the path, I see both of those rabbits again, and two others that I hadn't seen before.
The judo-rabbit seems to have come with backup this time, one of them is somehow holding what appears to be a combat-knife standing on one side, while the other one has its paws open wide, like some kind of sumo wrestler.
"These things can't seriously be following me," I groaned with dismay. I had been walking for like, an hour!
Knifey, as I'll be calling them, quickly leaps at the Necromancer, blade facing forward and ready to stab. Surprisingly, the blade bounces off the rabbit's leather cloak, skittering off of it with a raspy shriek.
Countering the failed attack, the Necromancer grabs Knifey, more of that purple energy pouring out of its skull necklace. Knifey shrieks as clumps of fur fall out, stabbing at the Necromancer over and over.
Eventually, the Necromancer is forced to let go and Knifey runs off into the underbrush. I wince at the raw-looking patches leftover after the attack.
While the Necromancer was doing this, however, the sumo-rabbit had maneuvered behind them, grabbing with both arms and lifting them into the air.
I could swear the Judo-Rabbit gives me a nasty look right before it takes a running start and kicks the Necromancer in the chest, smashing their little skull necklace and sending spittle flying from their mouth.
I wince, running back down towards the fighting. Not out of any sense of guilt or sympathy, but because after the Judo-Rabbit is done with the Necromancer, I get the distinct impression that it'll be coming after me next.
While it's distracted, I heft my branch and brain the sumo-rabbit over the head, making it drop the Necromancer.
Weirdly, it doesn't hurt nearly as much as when I tried to kick the judo-rabbit.
I shake the thought away and swing again, this time using the branch as a makeshift golf-club to send sumo-rabbit flying with a nasty bruise on its head. It thumps to the ground, unconscious or dead, I can't tell which.
The Necromancer glances at me only once before turning its attention to the Judo rabbit.
I start to see more of that purple substance, globular and flowing, like some kind of jelly. A sour smell fills the air as the Necromancer forces the bone fragments on the ground around it to radiate the glowing energy, drawing it towards itself.
At the same time, the judo-rabbit plants its feet, and I hear it grinding its teeth. Slowly, the grass around it starts to waggle violently, and its fur starts to point up in the air. A haze like heat-distortion makes the rabbit shimmer in a dangerous looking way, and I back the fuck away.
The two rabbits stare at each other, shimmering air clashing against faint purple mist between them.
The judo-rabbit hops on one foot, cracking its neck before leaping at the Necromancer and tearing up a clod of soil as it does.
The Necromancer, however, simply squeaks and grunts, the energy surrounding it taking on a barbed quality and flowing in front of it like a shield. Judo-rabbit's kick shatters through the barbs, denting the purple jelly with a deep footprint and several hairline cracks that fade away as it leaps off.
Unlike every other time the purple junk had touched something, the bunny seems unharmed after kicking it, aside from a faint smoke emanating from around the foot.
The next few moments are filled with testing attacks like these, with the Necromancer making noises and shifting the energy around as a dynamic shield, while the judo-rabbit sends out clawing kicks.
I grip my nose, noticing the horribly sour smell emanating from the Necromancer's purple energy, like BO and wet dog taken up to eleven.
Now that the fight's more even, it makes sense for me to run, and I get ready to do just that. At the same time, the judo-bunny seemingly freezes, looking at me with a sort of deadly animal-smugness.
Both rabbits charge towards me, and I take off running, glancing behind me and getting ready to try hitting the damn thing before it can tackle me to the ground.
Before I can, the Necromancer throws the purple sludge towards me as the judo-rabbit jumps to kick my head off.
I trip, tumbling to the ground as the purple wall of energy keeps the animal at bay.
This, however, seems to have been exactly what it wanted to happen.
Kicking off of the purple slime, the judo-rabbit flies towards the Necromancer and viciously slams it into the dirt.
The necromancer's cloak somehow cracks and splinters like a rock, fragments flying from the impact and rendering it useless. A particularly large fragment of the hardened leather stabs into the ground in front of me.
Honestly, this should be the part where I run, I see bruises forming on the judo-rabbit's legs, and maybe if I run now, I'll be able to escape before it finishes killing the Necromancer.
Instead, I stupidly, idiotically, do not do that.
Running around the wall of purple slime between me and them, I try to smash the rabbit with my branch, but the length of wood snaps in half over it, and it kicks the limb away without a care, twisting my wrist painfully as the makeshift weapon is thrown out of my hand.
I panic as it starts choking out the Necromancer and grab the nearest thing next to me, one of the weird leather shards that flew off the shattered cloak.
I stab the rabbit in the side, and it shrieks in pain, writhing like a wild bull and kicking away from both of us, before scrambling into the underbrush.
I drop the piece of leather when I realize it was burning my hand, rubbing the offended limb on my pants desperately trying to wipe off whatever was on it.
The Necromancer is bruised and bloodied, but alive and awake. It limps over to me and headbutts my leg softly, before walking back to its cave.
Swallowing heavily, I lean down and gingerly pick up the animal. Magic Lich-Rabbit or not, it saved me twice.
It takes another hour before I'm back at the foul-smelling cavern, setting the little rabbit down in front of it.
"Do you have like, some kind of healing powers? I'm not sure there are any vets near here," I ask awkwardly.
Instead of responding like any intelligent person would, it just hops into the cave, leaving me to scratch my head awkwardly.
The hand I used to stab the judo-rabbit itches like crazy, and I can tell at a glance that some kind of bacterial infection is covering the skin there. "God, I hope I was wrong about these things having rabies…"
As I turn to leave, the little bunny hops back out of its cave with fresh robes and a slightly different skull than it had before. As I stare, I wonder for a moment how many backup 'Tiny Skull Necklaces' it has.
"Uhh, I have to go, sorry little guy," I say, giving them a wave and walking around the bushes to find the path again.
I'm almost unsurprised to see that the rabbit somehow got there before me, this time carrying the leather skull and bone-bowl on its back. It looks at me expectantly, and I shrug.
"Uhh, thanks? I guess you can come along," I ask, not really expecting an answer by this point. I'm still not sure if this bunny has human-like intelligence, but better safe than sorry when dealing with freaky purple energy Leporidae.
I'm tempted to try and ditch them, considering my earlier thoughts on how I might get disappeared for being a potential witness to the hidden world of magical and martial arts rodents, but I'm too exhausted to really bring my full intellect to bear figuring out the best solution.
Unwilling to let the critter follow me on foot with how it's injured, though, I pick them up and just sort of walk off with them.
"If you've got a name, you should probably let me know, otherwise I'm going to have to come up with something to call you," I ask the rabbit.
They give me a funny look that I don't really comprehend.
"How about, uhh, Spooky?"
They just let out a low clicking noise.
"Ok, not Spooky then..." I respond.
I eventually decided to call them "Kickass", for obvious reasons, and not long after, I finally found some sign of people living in the area, some kind of shack built into a pile of boulders. While the architectural benefits of living under a pile of unstable rocks are questionable, the existence of a door on it implies that it is indeed used for something.
I knocked several times, rapping my hand quickly on the wooden door. "Hello? Anyone home?"
The door swung open, unlocked.
I looked around, surprised to find that there was still grass and plants growing on the bare soil inside. If this place had been here for very long, there wouldn't be any plants in it, I don't think.
On the ceiling, I also noticed several small stalactites, which struck me as strange.
There also appeared to be shelves carved into the rock itself on the walls nearby.
"That doesn't make any sense, why the hell would there be living grass, rock formations, and what has to be days of dedicated carving all in the same place?" I hiss, already annoyed and confused.
Walking up to one of the shelves, I noticed that they've all got aluminum cans in them. The cans appear to have been stripped of their paint somehow, leaving bare shiny aluminum exposed to the air.
As I picked up one of the cans, I saw that they were open, but also full of some kind of liquid.
"Curiouser and curiouser..."
I dismiss whatever's going on here, setting the can back down and leaving the rocky anachronistic hut. If there's nobody here, then this isn't exactly going to help me get home.
When I turned to leave, though, I came face to face with the hut's owner.
"Could you explain what you're doing in my tent?" she asks in a polite tone.
My eyes blearily open, and I realize a few things that instantly annoy me.
Firstly, I realized that no, I wasn't just having some crazy dream, (Though, I suppose I could still be dreaming, since the human brain actually experiences multiple dreams during a single night of sleep), no, I didn't manage to stay awake all night despite the threat of joining a bunny rabbit's necropolis, and no, I didn't get the nine hours of sleep that I need to function every day.
I climbed to my feet, but not before snatching up the branch I brought in the other day, holding it between me and the little rabbit that helped me yesterday.
"We're cool, right?" I asked. It's reasonable to assume that, because it wears clothing and jewelry of its own volition, (And making, judging by the smell), then it must have at least human-level intelligence.
Despite this, they just sort of stared at me as I sidled my way along the cave wall, intent on leaving and trying to get ahold of a phone to call home with.
I felt something poke me in the back and whirled around.
I jerked back with a restrained yelp as the skeleton stuck to the wall glared at me, vivid purple lights glowing in its sockets.
Weird purple energy is one thing, I can think of several rational explanations for that, even if it did come from a goddamn animal, but animate skeletons?
The skeleton turned away from me when it became obvious I had no intention of bothering it anymore, skittering up the wall as the purple goo binding it together tensed and relaxed to give the illusion of musculature.
The rabbit-necromancer-whatever it is, it bumped its head against my leg softly, and I yanked the appendage away, getting the hell out of this cave had suddenly become a priority.
I walked away quickly and without hesitation, making my way back to the path and following it.
I wanted to put as much distance between me and that as possible.
'Though, if that was actual magic, I shouldn't tell anyone. There's probably a good reason why nobody has heard of Judo-kicking bunnies and Lich-hares, and I bet it involves hapless witnesses disappearing.'
The path started to take me into more heavily forested and boulder-ridden terrain as I contemplated this.
A loud crack rang out behind me, and I turned to look. There, a ways back down the path, I see both of those rabbits again, and two others that I hadn't seen before.
The judo-rabbit seems to have come with backup this time, one of them is somehow holding what appears to be a combat-knife standing on one side, while the other one has its paws open wide, like some kind of sumo wrestler.
"These things can't seriously be following me," I groaned with dismay. I had been walking for like, an hour!
Knifey, as I'll be calling them, quickly leaps at the Necromancer, blade facing forward and ready to stab. Surprisingly, the blade bounces off the rabbit's leather cloak, skittering off of it with a raspy shriek.
Countering the failed attack, the Necromancer grabs Knifey, more of that purple energy pouring out of its skull necklace. Knifey shrieks as clumps of fur fall out, stabbing at the Necromancer over and over.
Eventually, the Necromancer is forced to let go and Knifey runs off into the underbrush. I wince at the raw-looking patches leftover after the attack.
While the Necromancer was doing this, however, the sumo-rabbit had maneuvered behind them, grabbing with both arms and lifting them into the air.
I could swear the Judo-Rabbit gives me a nasty look right before it takes a running start and kicks the Necromancer in the chest, smashing their little skull necklace and sending spittle flying from their mouth.
I wince, running back down towards the fighting. Not out of any sense of guilt or sympathy, but because after the Judo-Rabbit is done with the Necromancer, I get the distinct impression that it'll be coming after me next.
While it's distracted, I heft my branch and brain the sumo-rabbit over the head, making it drop the Necromancer.
Weirdly, it doesn't hurt nearly as much as when I tried to kick the judo-rabbit.
I shake the thought away and swing again, this time using the branch as a makeshift golf-club to send sumo-rabbit flying with a nasty bruise on its head. It thumps to the ground, unconscious or dead, I can't tell which.
The Necromancer glances at me only once before turning its attention to the Judo rabbit.
I start to see more of that purple substance, globular and flowing, like some kind of jelly. A sour smell fills the air as the Necromancer forces the bone fragments on the ground around it to radiate the glowing energy, drawing it towards itself.
At the same time, the judo-rabbit plants its feet, and I hear it grinding its teeth. Slowly, the grass around it starts to waggle violently, and its fur starts to point up in the air. A haze like heat-distortion makes the rabbit shimmer in a dangerous looking way, and I back the fuck away.
The two rabbits stare at each other, shimmering air clashing against faint purple mist between them.
The judo-rabbit hops on one foot, cracking its neck before leaping at the Necromancer and tearing up a clod of soil as it does.
The Necromancer, however, simply squeaks and grunts, the energy surrounding it taking on a barbed quality and flowing in front of it like a shield. Judo-rabbit's kick shatters through the barbs, denting the purple jelly with a deep footprint and several hairline cracks that fade away as it leaps off.
Unlike every other time the purple junk had touched something, the bunny seems unharmed after kicking it, aside from a faint smoke emanating from around the foot.
The next few moments are filled with testing attacks like these, with the Necromancer making noises and shifting the energy around as a dynamic shield, while the judo-rabbit sends out clawing kicks.
I grip my nose, noticing the horribly sour smell emanating from the Necromancer's purple energy, like BO and wet dog taken up to eleven.
Now that the fight's more even, it makes sense for me to run, and I get ready to do just that. At the same time, the judo-bunny seemingly freezes, looking at me with a sort of deadly animal-smugness.
Both rabbits charge towards me, and I take off running, glancing behind me and getting ready to try hitting the damn thing before it can tackle me to the ground.
Before I can, the Necromancer throws the purple sludge towards me as the judo-rabbit jumps to kick my head off.
I trip, tumbling to the ground as the purple wall of energy keeps the animal at bay.
This, however, seems to have been exactly what it wanted to happen.
Kicking off of the purple slime, the judo-rabbit flies towards the Necromancer and viciously slams it into the dirt.
The necromancer's cloak somehow cracks and splinters like a rock, fragments flying from the impact and rendering it useless. A particularly large fragment of the hardened leather stabs into the ground in front of me.
Honestly, this should be the part where I run, I see bruises forming on the judo-rabbit's legs, and maybe if I run now, I'll be able to escape before it finishes killing the Necromancer.
Instead, I stupidly, idiotically, do not do that.
Running around the wall of purple slime between me and them, I try to smash the rabbit with my branch, but the length of wood snaps in half over it, and it kicks the limb away without a care, twisting my wrist painfully as the makeshift weapon is thrown out of my hand.
I panic as it starts choking out the Necromancer and grab the nearest thing next to me, one of the weird leather shards that flew off the shattered cloak.
I stab the rabbit in the side, and it shrieks in pain, writhing like a wild bull and kicking away from both of us, before scrambling into the underbrush.
I drop the piece of leather when I realize it was burning my hand, rubbing the offended limb on my pants desperately trying to wipe off whatever was on it.
The Necromancer is bruised and bloodied, but alive and awake. It limps over to me and headbutts my leg softly, before walking back to its cave.
Swallowing heavily, I lean down and gingerly pick up the animal. Magic Lich-Rabbit or not, it saved me twice.
It takes another hour before I'm back at the foul-smelling cavern, setting the little rabbit down in front of it.
"Do you have like, some kind of healing powers? I'm not sure there are any vets near here," I ask awkwardly.
Instead of responding like any intelligent person would, it just hops into the cave, leaving me to scratch my head awkwardly.
The hand I used to stab the judo-rabbit itches like crazy, and I can tell at a glance that some kind of bacterial infection is covering the skin there. "God, I hope I was wrong about these things having rabies…"
As I turn to leave, the little bunny hops back out of its cave with fresh robes and a slightly different skull than it had before. As I stare, I wonder for a moment how many backup 'Tiny Skull Necklaces' it has.
"Uhh, I have to go, sorry little guy," I say, giving them a wave and walking around the bushes to find the path again.
I'm almost unsurprised to see that the rabbit somehow got there before me, this time carrying the leather skull and bone-bowl on its back. It looks at me expectantly, and I shrug.
"Uhh, thanks? I guess you can come along," I ask, not really expecting an answer by this point. I'm still not sure if this bunny has human-like intelligence, but better safe than sorry when dealing with freaky purple energy Leporidae.
I'm tempted to try and ditch them, considering my earlier thoughts on how I might get disappeared for being a potential witness to the hidden world of magical and martial arts rodents, but I'm too exhausted to really bring my full intellect to bear figuring out the best solution.
Unwilling to let the critter follow me on foot with how it's injured, though, I pick them up and just sort of walk off with them.
"If you've got a name, you should probably let me know, otherwise I'm going to have to come up with something to call you," I ask the rabbit.
They give me a funny look that I don't really comprehend.
"How about, uhh, Spooky?"
They just let out a low clicking noise.
"Ok, not Spooky then..." I respond.
I eventually decided to call them "Kickass", for obvious reasons, and not long after, I finally found some sign of people living in the area, some kind of shack built into a pile of boulders. While the architectural benefits of living under a pile of unstable rocks are questionable, the existence of a door on it implies that it is indeed used for something.
I knocked several times, rapping my hand quickly on the wooden door. "Hello? Anyone home?"
The door swung open, unlocked.
I looked around, surprised to find that there was still grass and plants growing on the bare soil inside. If this place had been here for very long, there wouldn't be any plants in it, I don't think.
On the ceiling, I also noticed several small stalactites, which struck me as strange.
There also appeared to be shelves carved into the rock itself on the walls nearby.
"That doesn't make any sense, why the hell would there be living grass, rock formations, and what has to be days of dedicated carving all in the same place?" I hiss, already annoyed and confused.
Walking up to one of the shelves, I noticed that they've all got aluminum cans in them. The cans appear to have been stripped of their paint somehow, leaving bare shiny aluminum exposed to the air.
As I picked up one of the cans, I saw that they were open, but also full of some kind of liquid.
"Curiouser and curiouser..."
I dismiss whatever's going on here, setting the can back down and leaving the rocky anachronistic hut. If there's nobody here, then this isn't exactly going to help me get home.
When I turned to leave, though, I came face to face with the hut's owner.
"Could you explain what you're doing in my tent?" she asks in a polite tone.
- Location
- Hervey Bay
Really enjoying this bro, looking like it's going to be a good read, also enjoy the pictures.
Chapter 3: The Dwarf
- Location
- OK
The first thing I noticed about the woman was that she was short. Incredibly short, in fact.
The other thing that I noticed almost immediately was the fact that she was clad in what looked to be heavy armor, and had some sort of strange-looking pickaxe strapped to her back.
"I, uhh," I explained brilliantly.
At her interrogating look, I continued. "I'm lost. I've got no clue how, but I woke up way back down the trail, near some hills."
She huffed with amusement. "And you were so lost you walked into my tent and rummaged around my booze, is that it?" she says, the deep flush on her face now having an appropriate culprit.
I sighed. "Look, Ma'am, I'm sorry I barged in, I'm just trying to find a town so I can call home. Do you know where the nearest one is? Do you have a phone for that matter?"
"Nah. Had a phone, but it was annoying, so I smashed it to pieces," she answered plainly.
Not giving me a chance to respond to the ridiculous statement, she continued, "I'm headed for Manortown. Shouldn't be too far off. I've got no clue if there are any towns closer."
I've never heard of a place called 'Manortown,' and responded accordingly.
"Where is it? We're in Texas still, right?"
At that, she looked at me like I just told her I smashed my phone. "No, we're in Mansion."
A certain suspicion had been bubbling in the back of my mind since I woke up here yesterday, one that I had dismissed for sheer improbability. One that, like the existence of magic, I felt a thrill shoot through me at the idea of being disproven.
Hesitantly, I asked for clarification. "That's in America, right?"
"What, like the element? No, we're in Ger-Prand. What, are you an alien?" she asks jokingly.
I laughed at this, and kept laughing, long after it had stopped being disturbing and started being annoying.
She slapped me on the side to make me stop in what I assume was meant to be a comforting gesture that instead sent me stumbling forward.
"Calm down kid, Manortown's a huge place, probably got some good wizards there, if you're actually an alien, I'm sure they can get you home. Ain't the first time some weirdo's dropped in from off-world," she says confidently.
She has no idea how hilarious her statement is. How undeniably confirming it is at the moment.
'Home? Hell no! If I'm not on Earth, then I sure as heck am not going back! Magic! Power! A whole damn world for the taking! You couldn't buy a situation this good if you had all the money in the world!' I thought to myself, trying not to burst into laughter.
All I have to do is rationally exploit the hell out of however the magic here works, and I'll be a god before the year is out…
"Oh, right, uhh, I think I'll be fine either way, but I'd still prefer to get to some kind of civilization. You said Manortown has wizards, right?" I ask, as the woman seemingly takes my words as a sign to start packing up.
She shotgunned every one of the aluminum cans that had been laying around, leading me to assume that this might very well be a dwarf, rather than, uhh… A nonmagical dwarf. Dwarf with a capital "D".
As she shakes one of the cans before drinking it, the two fingers she held over the open mouth fail to hold in all the liquid, and it splatters on the ceiling. I notice the liquid glow as it touches the rock, and notice a faint smell of dust in the air that competes with the smell of cheap alcohol.
"I said they probably have wizards. Most places do," she comments, before letting out a soft cough as she finished the last of whatever it is she was drinking.
"They might call themselves something weird though.
As she noticed Kickass, she interrupted herself to warn, "Most folks won't like your pet though. Best be careful about that. Necromancers are nasty business," she pointed out, wrapping up the empty cans carefully in some cloth, before exiting the building with me.
"Why? Cause of the skeletons?" I asked. I suppose it stands to reason that if this is some dumb generic fantasy world, that it would have dumb generic fantasy prejudices.
"Cause of the smell. Necromancy reeks something fierce." She responded, before seemingly realizing something.
"I wonder how well that pet of yours does with yeast…" She wondered aloud, before shaking her head. I started to suspect that she might be easily distracted.
I got the impression that there's something I'm not understanding, but she doesn't explain further.
"What's your name, by the way?" I asked, almost an afterthought.
"Brunie. Yours?" she grunted, breaking off one of the stalactites from the ceiling with the ring-end of her pickaxe and examining it for a moment before tossing it on the ground.
"Theodore," I answered.
It took at least twenty minutes for Brunie to finish packing while I waited outside. Kickass seemed healthier than before but refused to be set down while the woman was near, scrambling up onto my shoulder when I tried.
She walks out of the building with a large satchel that rattles with empty cans.
"So, how did you make that building, anyway? Some kind of geomancy? Did you lift them by hand?" I wonder, excitement bubbling up inside me now that I finally have a route to take for sussing out the strangeness of the things I've been seeing.
She glances back at the hut with a dismissive look. "I just mined out some dirt around the mountain to make the rocks fall, put a door on it.
"Gotta break it down though now that I'm done camping here. Don't need any idiots taking a nap in there and having it all tumble down on them."
She gives it a soft kick, dislodging a pebble from underneath one of the walls, and the giant boulder that seemed perfectly stable on its supporting walls slides down and crushes everything inside.
I gape openly at this. "If it was that unstable, why the hell were you sleeping in it?" I half-ask, half-demand. Gentle kicks do not cause stable structures to collapse like that.
She just gives me a stupid smirk. "You don't know much about dwarves, do you? Don't worry so much."
"That does NOT answer my question," I retort.
As we start walking down the trail towards Manortown, I interrogate her as much as I'm able, asking questions about the local culture, history, and of course, magic.
My questions dry up as I quickly realize she's a bit useless for what I need to know. She only really seems to know about her own hometown and vague comments about the magic she's seen.
I'm forced to take everything she says with a grain of salt when she talks about the time one of the carpenters near where she lived produced a wooden time machine without the use of magic. Something that ridiculous instantly marks her down in my mind as an unreliable source of information.
As we walk further along the trail, it slowly turns into more of a gravel road, and as we reach the mountain, it becomes steeper.
The mountain looms over us, and I feel nothing but anticipation.
She gives me a strange look when I ask the logical question of what the most technologically advanced thing she knows of is. "You're a strange one, aren't you? You know, most folks around here ask about ordinary topics for their small-talk," she comments.
When I don't respond, she continues. "Manortown is on the other side of the mountain. I'm assuming you don't have any food on you?"
I root around in my pockets, but there's nothing there. "No, sorry."
She shrugs. "We might have to root around for something to eat before the day is through."
The rest of the trip falls into an uncomfortable silence that I try to ward off by talking to Kickass, trying to suss out if they simply don't understand English, or if they're just particularly unresponsive to people talking.
This earns me another funny look from Brunie. "You're talking to the little guy like a person. It's a bit funny is all," she explains, climbing over a small rock in the way as we continue up the rocky trail.
I scoff. "Look I saw this 'little guy' writing in a scroll, and he had a wardrobe, and can summon up freaky-ass magic, don't try to convince me they don't have some understanding of language."
She laughs, holding up her hands. "Alright, I won't. There are plenty of strange animals though."
Kickass bumps my hand demanding pets, and I idly obey while I think about what she said.
'Ridiculous. Kickass obviously isn't just some strange animal. Though I suppose it's possible in theory that they were manufactured or augmented with the information, rather than simply having it inherently,' I consider.
This requires experimentation.
Eventually, like she said we might have to, we come to a halt so she can forage in an area ripe with thick trees and brush sprouting practically out of the side of the mountain in places. I don't spot any fruits at first glance, and Brunie
"Do you know anything about surviving in the wilderness, Theodore?" she asks, and I give the question some honest thought.
"No, not particularly. I specialize in other kinds of information. I know how to test if something is poisonous though," I admit. Thank you random internet trivia, I'll never forget your contributions to my ascension.
"Not exactly useful, then. Alright, here's what you're going to do, go grab as much greenery as you can. I'll pick through it and tell you what's safe," she orders, pulling out a large jug of water and setting it on the ground before using her pick to start digging up a small hole in the ground.
I frown, but ultimately, I don't have the wilderness expertise to know what exactly seems off about that statement.
I gather up leaves from trees, pull up small shrubs, and, as if figuring out what I'm doing, Kickass digs up roots as well, nudging me towards them.
I return with an armful of random scraps and set them on the cloth Brunie laid out, while she gets started sparking up a fire with her tool and a piece of flint.
She then turns to my bounty, tossing several things into the fire right away. "I don't know how you managed to gather up this much poison, but none of the roots are safe to eat. I can boil a few of them, though," she says, making piles of "safe to eat", "poisonous", and "Too poisonous to even burn".
"How do you know which one's which? I thought you didn't know much about the area? Are plants like these common?" I ask, watching her fill up aluminum cans with water and leaves, before setting them in the fire to boil.
She shakes her head. "It's a dwarf thing. I just know how badly it would hurt to eat each one."
Refusing to let it go at that, I press her. "How does it work? Scent? Some sort of magical sixth sense for plants?"
She smirks. "You've got a big head, I'm sure you'll figure it out."
I narrow my eyes at the woman as she pours the leaves she was boiling through a cheesecloth, resulting in soggy green mush and what amounts to makeshift tea.
"I'm sure I would figure it out if you'd deign to explain it," I point out.
She laughs, amused by my frustration. "Alright, fine. You don't know what a Dwarf is, but my kind of dwarf has a special sort of power. Whenever we want, we can tell how much harm whatever it is we want to do will cause, though we don't always know who, or what, or even what kind."
Remembering something, she bursts into anecdote. "A dwarf must always be wary that she does not mistake a choking hazard for poison.
"My aunt Redscavengerdottir had screamed at a poor server at a cafe for poisoning her drink once, and when she got a new one, she nearly choked to death on an ice cube, she drank it so fast," she laughs loudly, leaning forward and slapping her knee once.
This raises far more questions than answers, and I respond accordingly. "Does it have to be something you're actually capable of doing? Can it be hypotheticals? What does it constitute as something that can be harmed? Just people? How far ahead does it predict?"
Taking a deep breath, I continue. "Couldn't you just set up a binary series of questions for your power to narrow down any answer you want, like making a machine that stabs you if you answer a question wrong, and then answering based on what your ability tells you?"
She only seems to laugh more at this. "Eat up, brainiac. There's still a lot of road to cover," she says, pointing to the food instead of answering.
Despite my hunger, I only just manage to choke down the boiled leaves and roots, and the acrid leaf water isn't much better. Brunie laughs at my reaction.
Kickass gets most of the good roots after using some especially potent begging to convince us to share.
After we finish the food and drinks, the dwarven woman spits on the ground. "I hate tea. If I had time, I'd try to make some more booze. Keep up, Theodore. I want to get to Manortown before I turn sober," she complains, standing up and wiping off her armor.
Despite her short stubby legs, the woman keeps a far faster pace than I'm comfortable with, and we quickly make our way up the mountain in mere excruciating hours.
As we crest one of the mountain's creases, she points down. "There's the place, I think."
As I stare down at the massive town, built into a stone platform jutting off the side of the mountain, it cinches it.
This is an entirely different world.
...Probably.
"Yeah, get an eyeful, kid. I bet it won't be so pretty from the inside," Brunie jokes, assessing the town for herself. For some reason, she looks particularly perturbed by the sight of a stone fortress that soars above many of the other buildings.
The other thing that I noticed almost immediately was the fact that she was clad in what looked to be heavy armor, and had some sort of strange-looking pickaxe strapped to her back.
"I, uhh," I explained brilliantly.
At her interrogating look, I continued. "I'm lost. I've got no clue how, but I woke up way back down the trail, near some hills."
She huffed with amusement. "And you were so lost you walked into my tent and rummaged around my booze, is that it?" she says, the deep flush on her face now having an appropriate culprit.
I sighed. "Look, Ma'am, I'm sorry I barged in, I'm just trying to find a town so I can call home. Do you know where the nearest one is? Do you have a phone for that matter?"
"Nah. Had a phone, but it was annoying, so I smashed it to pieces," she answered plainly.
Not giving me a chance to respond to the ridiculous statement, she continued, "I'm headed for Manortown. Shouldn't be too far off. I've got no clue if there are any towns closer."
I've never heard of a place called 'Manortown,' and responded accordingly.
"Where is it? We're in Texas still, right?"
At that, she looked at me like I just told her I smashed my phone. "No, we're in Mansion."
A certain suspicion had been bubbling in the back of my mind since I woke up here yesterday, one that I had dismissed for sheer improbability. One that, like the existence of magic, I felt a thrill shoot through me at the idea of being disproven.
Hesitantly, I asked for clarification. "That's in America, right?"
"What, like the element? No, we're in Ger-Prand. What, are you an alien?" she asks jokingly.
I laughed at this, and kept laughing, long after it had stopped being disturbing and started being annoying.
She slapped me on the side to make me stop in what I assume was meant to be a comforting gesture that instead sent me stumbling forward.
"Calm down kid, Manortown's a huge place, probably got some good wizards there, if you're actually an alien, I'm sure they can get you home. Ain't the first time some weirdo's dropped in from off-world," she says confidently.
She has no idea how hilarious her statement is. How undeniably confirming it is at the moment.
'Home? Hell no! If I'm not on Earth, then I sure as heck am not going back! Magic! Power! A whole damn world for the taking! You couldn't buy a situation this good if you had all the money in the world!' I thought to myself, trying not to burst into laughter.
All I have to do is rationally exploit the hell out of however the magic here works, and I'll be a god before the year is out…
"Oh, right, uhh, I think I'll be fine either way, but I'd still prefer to get to some kind of civilization. You said Manortown has wizards, right?" I ask, as the woman seemingly takes my words as a sign to start packing up.
She shotgunned every one of the aluminum cans that had been laying around, leading me to assume that this might very well be a dwarf, rather than, uhh… A nonmagical dwarf. Dwarf with a capital "D".
As she shakes one of the cans before drinking it, the two fingers she held over the open mouth fail to hold in all the liquid, and it splatters on the ceiling. I notice the liquid glow as it touches the rock, and notice a faint smell of dust in the air that competes with the smell of cheap alcohol.
"I said they probably have wizards. Most places do," she comments, before letting out a soft cough as she finished the last of whatever it is she was drinking.
"They might call themselves something weird though.
As she noticed Kickass, she interrupted herself to warn, "Most folks won't like your pet though. Best be careful about that. Necromancers are nasty business," she pointed out, wrapping up the empty cans carefully in some cloth, before exiting the building with me.
"Why? Cause of the skeletons?" I asked. I suppose it stands to reason that if this is some dumb generic fantasy world, that it would have dumb generic fantasy prejudices.
"Cause of the smell. Necromancy reeks something fierce." She responded, before seemingly realizing something.
"I wonder how well that pet of yours does with yeast…" She wondered aloud, before shaking her head. I started to suspect that she might be easily distracted.
I got the impression that there's something I'm not understanding, but she doesn't explain further.
"What's your name, by the way?" I asked, almost an afterthought.
"Brunie. Yours?" she grunted, breaking off one of the stalactites from the ceiling with the ring-end of her pickaxe and examining it for a moment before tossing it on the ground.
"Theodore," I answered.
It took at least twenty minutes for Brunie to finish packing while I waited outside. Kickass seemed healthier than before but refused to be set down while the woman was near, scrambling up onto my shoulder when I tried.
She walks out of the building with a large satchel that rattles with empty cans.
"So, how did you make that building, anyway? Some kind of geomancy? Did you lift them by hand?" I wonder, excitement bubbling up inside me now that I finally have a route to take for sussing out the strangeness of the things I've been seeing.
She glances back at the hut with a dismissive look. "I just mined out some dirt around the mountain to make the rocks fall, put a door on it.
"Gotta break it down though now that I'm done camping here. Don't need any idiots taking a nap in there and having it all tumble down on them."
She gives it a soft kick, dislodging a pebble from underneath one of the walls, and the giant boulder that seemed perfectly stable on its supporting walls slides down and crushes everything inside.
I gape openly at this. "If it was that unstable, why the hell were you sleeping in it?" I half-ask, half-demand. Gentle kicks do not cause stable structures to collapse like that.
She just gives me a stupid smirk. "You don't know much about dwarves, do you? Don't worry so much."
"That does NOT answer my question," I retort.
As we start walking down the trail towards Manortown, I interrogate her as much as I'm able, asking questions about the local culture, history, and of course, magic.
My questions dry up as I quickly realize she's a bit useless for what I need to know. She only really seems to know about her own hometown and vague comments about the magic she's seen.
I'm forced to take everything she says with a grain of salt when she talks about the time one of the carpenters near where she lived produced a wooden time machine without the use of magic. Something that ridiculous instantly marks her down in my mind as an unreliable source of information.
As we walk further along the trail, it slowly turns into more of a gravel road, and as we reach the mountain, it becomes steeper.
The mountain looms over us, and I feel nothing but anticipation.
She gives me a strange look when I ask the logical question of what the most technologically advanced thing she knows of is. "You're a strange one, aren't you? You know, most folks around here ask about ordinary topics for their small-talk," she comments.
When I don't respond, she continues. "Manortown is on the other side of the mountain. I'm assuming you don't have any food on you?"
I root around in my pockets, but there's nothing there. "No, sorry."
She shrugs. "We might have to root around for something to eat before the day is through."
The rest of the trip falls into an uncomfortable silence that I try to ward off by talking to Kickass, trying to suss out if they simply don't understand English, or if they're just particularly unresponsive to people talking.
This earns me another funny look from Brunie. "You're talking to the little guy like a person. It's a bit funny is all," she explains, climbing over a small rock in the way as we continue up the rocky trail.
I scoff. "Look I saw this 'little guy' writing in a scroll, and he had a wardrobe, and can summon up freaky-ass magic, don't try to convince me they don't have some understanding of language."
She laughs, holding up her hands. "Alright, I won't. There are plenty of strange animals though."
Kickass bumps my hand demanding pets, and I idly obey while I think about what she said.
'Ridiculous. Kickass obviously isn't just some strange animal. Though I suppose it's possible in theory that they were manufactured or augmented with the information, rather than simply having it inherently,' I consider.
This requires experimentation.
Eventually, like she said we might have to, we come to a halt so she can forage in an area ripe with thick trees and brush sprouting practically out of the side of the mountain in places. I don't spot any fruits at first glance, and Brunie
"Do you know anything about surviving in the wilderness, Theodore?" she asks, and I give the question some honest thought.
"No, not particularly. I specialize in other kinds of information. I know how to test if something is poisonous though," I admit. Thank you random internet trivia, I'll never forget your contributions to my ascension.
"Not exactly useful, then. Alright, here's what you're going to do, go grab as much greenery as you can. I'll pick through it and tell you what's safe," she orders, pulling out a large jug of water and setting it on the ground before using her pick to start digging up a small hole in the ground.
I frown, but ultimately, I don't have the wilderness expertise to know what exactly seems off about that statement.
I gather up leaves from trees, pull up small shrubs, and, as if figuring out what I'm doing, Kickass digs up roots as well, nudging me towards them.
I return with an armful of random scraps and set them on the cloth Brunie laid out, while she gets started sparking up a fire with her tool and a piece of flint.
She then turns to my bounty, tossing several things into the fire right away. "I don't know how you managed to gather up this much poison, but none of the roots are safe to eat. I can boil a few of them, though," she says, making piles of "safe to eat", "poisonous", and "Too poisonous to even burn".
"How do you know which one's which? I thought you didn't know much about the area? Are plants like these common?" I ask, watching her fill up aluminum cans with water and leaves, before setting them in the fire to boil.
She shakes her head. "It's a dwarf thing. I just know how badly it would hurt to eat each one."
Refusing to let it go at that, I press her. "How does it work? Scent? Some sort of magical sixth sense for plants?"
She smirks. "You've got a big head, I'm sure you'll figure it out."
I narrow my eyes at the woman as she pours the leaves she was boiling through a cheesecloth, resulting in soggy green mush and what amounts to makeshift tea.
"I'm sure I would figure it out if you'd deign to explain it," I point out.
She laughs, amused by my frustration. "Alright, fine. You don't know what a Dwarf is, but my kind of dwarf has a special sort of power. Whenever we want, we can tell how much harm whatever it is we want to do will cause, though we don't always know who, or what, or even what kind."
Remembering something, she bursts into anecdote. "A dwarf must always be wary that she does not mistake a choking hazard for poison.
"My aunt Redscavengerdottir had screamed at a poor server at a cafe for poisoning her drink once, and when she got a new one, she nearly choked to death on an ice cube, she drank it so fast," she laughs loudly, leaning forward and slapping her knee once.
This raises far more questions than answers, and I respond accordingly. "Does it have to be something you're actually capable of doing? Can it be hypotheticals? What does it constitute as something that can be harmed? Just people? How far ahead does it predict?"
Taking a deep breath, I continue. "Couldn't you just set up a binary series of questions for your power to narrow down any answer you want, like making a machine that stabs you if you answer a question wrong, and then answering based on what your ability tells you?"
She only seems to laugh more at this. "Eat up, brainiac. There's still a lot of road to cover," she says, pointing to the food instead of answering.
Despite my hunger, I only just manage to choke down the boiled leaves and roots, and the acrid leaf water isn't much better. Brunie laughs at my reaction.
Kickass gets most of the good roots after using some especially potent begging to convince us to share.
After we finish the food and drinks, the dwarven woman spits on the ground. "I hate tea. If I had time, I'd try to make some more booze. Keep up, Theodore. I want to get to Manortown before I turn sober," she complains, standing up and wiping off her armor.
Despite her short stubby legs, the woman keeps a far faster pace than I'm comfortable with, and we quickly make our way up the mountain in mere excruciating hours.
As we crest one of the mountain's creases, she points down. "There's the place, I think."
As I stare down at the massive town, built into a stone platform jutting off the side of the mountain, it cinches it.
This is an entirely different world.
...Probably.
"Yeah, get an eyeful, kid. I bet it won't be so pretty from the inside," Brunie jokes, assessing the town for herself. For some reason, she looks particularly perturbed by the sight of a stone fortress that soars above many of the other buildings.
Chapter 4: The Fortress
- Location
- OK
Manortown is an incredible mess, and a true delight.
Even as I made my way near the city, I could see all sorts of bizarre things. The guards near the city limits wore thick leather coats, and had bronze-colored swords strapped to their sides, short, kite-shaped blades.
As I passed one, he shifted to the side, and I saw light glint off of odd stones set around the base of the blade, held in place with delicate clasps snapped over them. One of the stones looked almost exactly like a packing peanut, but I didn't feel like pestering the guards just to confirm my theory.
One thing that did nearly make me stop was the sight of one of the guards, a green, reptilian-looking guy, snap out his neck, growing it at incredible speed just to snatch an apple off of a crate nearby.
The guard nearest to the guy applauds politely, then she goes on to slap him on the back for looking foolish a moment later.
I can't help but wonder how that works, for a bit at least, then Brunie slaps ME on the back chidingly.
"Come on Brainiac. You wanted to see the wizards, right? They ain't out here," she jokes.
As we make our way to the center of town, I see more and more. One stand manned by an old man in a robe sells blue apples, the fruits piled up on a bed of massive blue gemstones that glow with inner power and cover the wood nearby with frost. I feel the chill even from here. A child hands over a few silver coins and takes one of the apples, biting into it with a loud crackling crunch.
On the other side of the street, a glass store window features what are advertised as "Military Surplus Atlatls", long metal rods with what appear to be small pistons grafted to the sides. One of the guards stands in front of the window, looking covetously at the products. Weirdly, so does a small toddler who had forced their mother to stop in front of the store window, pointing at the weapons and making wordless noises of "I want that" in toddler-speak.
Inside, people of all shapes and sizes mill about. This seems to be a popular place.
"We'll want to find us a signboard. If there's any wizard colleges or grad-schools or whatever, they'll be posted up there," Brunie explains, slowing her pace because of my sightseeing. She seems to have realized that I'm just going to keep getting held up by all the oddities.
I nod, following her around with only a few more stops. (How could I possibly resist checking out the stall selling tiny golem?! They can understand basic verbal orders!!!)
By the time I reach Brunie at the signboard, she's frowning. "Bit of a snag. See that?" she points to where, on the billboard, there's a sign tacked to it promising "Master Dwarven Mages, devoted to Studying the Metals of the World! Come to the Fortress of the Sages! No Blood Required!" it proudly proclaims, featuring a little red cartoon person giving a thumbs up and wielding a staff covered in colorful dots.
I do, but don't see where she's going with it.
"If you see a dwarf that looks like they're made of metal, I wouldn't associate with em if I was you. They're not like my folk. Pit Dwarves, we call em." she warns. I notice her delicate accent decaying a bit at this, devolving to something cruder, and simpler.
"Anyhoo. The only real narrow magical gatherings are that one and one other, and the other's a bit of a cult. Says here they charge blood for a library card. Probably run by a vampire or something," she explains, pointing to another flier that promises free access to scrolls of magic in exchange for a small vial of blood at the "Arcanum Vitaea"
She points to one last thing, an actual sticky note taped to one corner of the board. It's just a skull with an "X" over it. "No Necromancy in the shops! Keep our town clean and fresh!"
"You'll probably want to get some perfume for your little pet at some point."
"Yeah, I got that much," I say distractedly.
After a few moments of awkward silence, she nods. "I'm going to go tie one on. Good luck, Theodore," she lazily salutes, before walking off to the pub nearby. I can't help but wonder why she came here in the first place if she just planned on getting drunk at the tavern. I was just a tagalong, after all. She already made it clear that she had her own business aside from mine.
With that thought, I'm alone in the middle of a magical town, given the choice of paying blood for books at a place creepy enough to ask for blood or ignoring Brunie's warning to go investigate the Dwarves.
I laugh sardonically. 'Great choices, I'm really spoiled for them.'
Ultimately, I decided to ignore her warnings, and find out for myself if they had any merit.
I took the time to ask a few random people about "The Fortress", and the answers were mostly positive. Good samaritans, cleaned up after themselves, no creepy torture dungeons or magic vivisection labs.
Those answers led me to the gates of the place. The building looming over me with all the ominous authority of a tax office.
As I knocked on the massive, wooden doors, engraved with glowing runes that gave off a soft light, they slowly ground open, making sounds that implied some sort of massive mechanism under the floor was responsible.
Inside, I saw a courtyard where several individuals, not all of them dwarves, were practicing some sort of magic, summoning up energies that seemed to flow out from the studs embedded in their staves and wands. Each one was wearing a robe with what I presumed to be the symbol of the association, a large ornate nail-shaped badge, stitched to the front.
They seem to be practicing something complicated, moving the energy from one stud to another, and with each one, changing the color and texture of the energy.
One person, a boy with rabbit ears and what I suspect is a rabbit-head under his robes, ends up with a sizable sphere of blue magic that spits out whistling and sparkling fireworks. Flinging it at a stone training dummy, he coats it in a layer of blue crystals.
The crystals emit a cacophony of birdsong until an older mage casts something invisible over it that melts the dummy into a pile of inert slag.
"Ahh! A newcomer! Hail, traveler!" I hear someone say in a deep booming voice. As I turn, I see the largest individual I've seen so far, a towering hulk that stood at least a foot taller than me, and with width equal to their height.
Judging from their massive beard and pale grey face, shining like polished metal, I could only assume this was what Brunie called a "Pit Dwarf". I had little intention of calling them that until I found out for myself whether the term was offensive or not.
In one hand, the dwarf held a staff that honestly looked more like a battering ram, practically a small totem pole covered with studs of all shapes, sizes and colors, and unlike the other mages here, his robe was bereft of any identifying marks, his staff also had the most studs out of any I had seen so far.
"What brings you here? Perhaps a name?" he asks, offering up his free hand to shake mine.
I gingerly grab it, expecting the worst, but the dwarf seems to have experience with shaking puny hands, as he doesn't apply nearly as much pressure as I'm sure he could.
"I'm from another world, I've somehow ended up here, and don't know how or why," I explain honestly. Best to just rip that bandaid off right now rather than beating around the bush. Just because I don't care to go back doesn't mean I don't want to figure out why I'm here.
"Oh, and I'm Theodore," I add afterwords.
"Svardson," he responds.
Svardson then begins to scratch his beard ponderously, and waves for me to follow him deeper into the fortress. We pass by hallways and climb up stairs until we reach a well-furnished office, the bricks mortared together with what looks like gold, and the furniture all made of silvery metals as well.
I see what looks exactly like a blender in the corner of the room, aside from the glass bowl of the blender being studded with jewels, and in another corner of the room, a small minifridge is left open carelessly, metal boxes of strawberries and bottles of something unknown filling it.
As he sits in his massive chair, and I scootch up onto mine, he continues speaking.
"Best to discuss such intriguing business sitting down. That's what I prefer at least, young man. It's certainly an interesting conundrum you've arrived here with. I believe there may be some scrolls… Yes, in the upper wing. I'm a bit rusty with... " he pauses.
"Oh, are you from another world in this dimension, you mean, or...?"
I shake my head. "I'm pretty sure if my world existed in the same one as this, things would be very different there."
His brow furrows deeply, and his beard shifts with his frown. "That may be a bit trickier. Not that it isn't possible mind you, but tricky. You only wish to know the hows and why's, for now, yes?"
I nod.
He stands up and walks over to his personal shelf, pushing aside a clear bottle of brown liquid, and grabbing one of the books situated next to it. "I'll give you the good news first, which is that our world is rife with visitors like yourself," he explains, opening the book and pointing to the first page.
"Our world as we know it is called the Trinity of Realities. Three dimensions near enough to bleed into each other. Earthrealm, The Divine Plains, and The Hellscape.
"And, as far as we understand, all three of our world's components draw in the detritus of the void. Where other dimensions seal out things from other worlds as best they can, like the walls of a fortress, our own acts more like the skin of an amoeba.
"It devours the things which seek passage into it, and it incorporates them, denaturing anything that would wound or infest it.
"As such, we have no shortage of experience with individuals and items from beyond our realm," he concludes.
"However, there is still the bad news, and I'm afraid our world is blameless for it, insofar as a world can be," he admits with sadness over whatever it is he's about to share with me.
"To our knowledge, only things which are annihilated from their world then briefly exist in the void between them. Things which are shredded apart, burned to ashes, reduced to atoms, or banished from existence entirely. It is only in this brief moment that something exists in oblivion, as it brushes up against it."
He closes the book. "I do not know if your journey home will have a happy ending. Unless brought here wholly by a malevolent force, it is likely that you are here because you are no longer there, and the thing which 'no longer'ed you may have been quite bleak indeed, to rend you apart until no body remained."
I digest this new information silently. This only raises more questions than answers. I still don't know how I got here, only how I could have gotten here. Only one singular theory by one singular person.
"For so long as you are here, though, I would be more than happy to offer what I am able," the old Dwarf says, attempting a small smile in the face of my blank expression.
"I wouldn't worry about it, I've got no intention of going back, so I won't stress out over it either," I say, trying to ease the guy's sympathy.
Of course, I then go on to try to exploit it a tiny bit. "But so long as you're offering, I did come here for information. Know any good magic I could learn?"
The dwarf's smile turns genuine. "All of it has the potential for good, young man, but I have indeed heard tell of a spell or two. Perhaps even three, for particularly dedicated students," he says in a faux-sagely tone.
I hold my excitement back. It wouldn't do to bounce up and down with giddy glee in front of the head honcho of this magic-diploma-mill.
"When can I get started?"
Even as I made my way near the city, I could see all sorts of bizarre things. The guards near the city limits wore thick leather coats, and had bronze-colored swords strapped to their sides, short, kite-shaped blades.
As I passed one, he shifted to the side, and I saw light glint off of odd stones set around the base of the blade, held in place with delicate clasps snapped over them. One of the stones looked almost exactly like a packing peanut, but I didn't feel like pestering the guards just to confirm my theory.
One thing that did nearly make me stop was the sight of one of the guards, a green, reptilian-looking guy, snap out his neck, growing it at incredible speed just to snatch an apple off of a crate nearby.
The guard nearest to the guy applauds politely, then she goes on to slap him on the back for looking foolish a moment later.
I can't help but wonder how that works, for a bit at least, then Brunie slaps ME on the back chidingly.
"Come on Brainiac. You wanted to see the wizards, right? They ain't out here," she jokes.
As we make our way to the center of town, I see more and more. One stand manned by an old man in a robe sells blue apples, the fruits piled up on a bed of massive blue gemstones that glow with inner power and cover the wood nearby with frost. I feel the chill even from here. A child hands over a few silver coins and takes one of the apples, biting into it with a loud crackling crunch.
On the other side of the street, a glass store window features what are advertised as "Military Surplus Atlatls", long metal rods with what appear to be small pistons grafted to the sides. One of the guards stands in front of the window, looking covetously at the products. Weirdly, so does a small toddler who had forced their mother to stop in front of the store window, pointing at the weapons and making wordless noises of "I want that" in toddler-speak.
Inside, people of all shapes and sizes mill about. This seems to be a popular place.
"We'll want to find us a signboard. If there's any wizard colleges or grad-schools or whatever, they'll be posted up there," Brunie explains, slowing her pace because of my sightseeing. She seems to have realized that I'm just going to keep getting held up by all the oddities.
I nod, following her around with only a few more stops. (How could I possibly resist checking out the stall selling tiny golem?! They can understand basic verbal orders!!!)
By the time I reach Brunie at the signboard, she's frowning. "Bit of a snag. See that?" she points to where, on the billboard, there's a sign tacked to it promising "Master Dwarven Mages, devoted to Studying the Metals of the World! Come to the Fortress of the Sages! No Blood Required!" it proudly proclaims, featuring a little red cartoon person giving a thumbs up and wielding a staff covered in colorful dots.
I do, but don't see where she's going with it.
"If you see a dwarf that looks like they're made of metal, I wouldn't associate with em if I was you. They're not like my folk. Pit Dwarves, we call em." she warns. I notice her delicate accent decaying a bit at this, devolving to something cruder, and simpler.
"Anyhoo. The only real narrow magical gatherings are that one and one other, and the other's a bit of a cult. Says here they charge blood for a library card. Probably run by a vampire or something," she explains, pointing to another flier that promises free access to scrolls of magic in exchange for a small vial of blood at the "Arcanum Vitaea"
She points to one last thing, an actual sticky note taped to one corner of the board. It's just a skull with an "X" over it. "No Necromancy in the shops! Keep our town clean and fresh!"
"You'll probably want to get some perfume for your little pet at some point."
"Yeah, I got that much," I say distractedly.
After a few moments of awkward silence, she nods. "I'm going to go tie one on. Good luck, Theodore," she lazily salutes, before walking off to the pub nearby. I can't help but wonder why she came here in the first place if she just planned on getting drunk at the tavern. I was just a tagalong, after all. She already made it clear that she had her own business aside from mine.
With that thought, I'm alone in the middle of a magical town, given the choice of paying blood for books at a place creepy enough to ask for blood or ignoring Brunie's warning to go investigate the Dwarves.
I laugh sardonically. 'Great choices, I'm really spoiled for them.'
Ultimately, I decided to ignore her warnings, and find out for myself if they had any merit.
I took the time to ask a few random people about "The Fortress", and the answers were mostly positive. Good samaritans, cleaned up after themselves, no creepy torture dungeons or magic vivisection labs.
Those answers led me to the gates of the place. The building looming over me with all the ominous authority of a tax office.
As I knocked on the massive, wooden doors, engraved with glowing runes that gave off a soft light, they slowly ground open, making sounds that implied some sort of massive mechanism under the floor was responsible.
Inside, I saw a courtyard where several individuals, not all of them dwarves, were practicing some sort of magic, summoning up energies that seemed to flow out from the studs embedded in their staves and wands. Each one was wearing a robe with what I presumed to be the symbol of the association, a large ornate nail-shaped badge, stitched to the front.
They seem to be practicing something complicated, moving the energy from one stud to another, and with each one, changing the color and texture of the energy.
One person, a boy with rabbit ears and what I suspect is a rabbit-head under his robes, ends up with a sizable sphere of blue magic that spits out whistling and sparkling fireworks. Flinging it at a stone training dummy, he coats it in a layer of blue crystals.
The crystals emit a cacophony of birdsong until an older mage casts something invisible over it that melts the dummy into a pile of inert slag.
"Ahh! A newcomer! Hail, traveler!" I hear someone say in a deep booming voice. As I turn, I see the largest individual I've seen so far, a towering hulk that stood at least a foot taller than me, and with width equal to their height.
Judging from their massive beard and pale grey face, shining like polished metal, I could only assume this was what Brunie called a "Pit Dwarf". I had little intention of calling them that until I found out for myself whether the term was offensive or not.
In one hand, the dwarf held a staff that honestly looked more like a battering ram, practically a small totem pole covered with studs of all shapes, sizes and colors, and unlike the other mages here, his robe was bereft of any identifying marks, his staff also had the most studs out of any I had seen so far.
"What brings you here? Perhaps a name?" he asks, offering up his free hand to shake mine.
I gingerly grab it, expecting the worst, but the dwarf seems to have experience with shaking puny hands, as he doesn't apply nearly as much pressure as I'm sure he could.
"I'm from another world, I've somehow ended up here, and don't know how or why," I explain honestly. Best to just rip that bandaid off right now rather than beating around the bush. Just because I don't care to go back doesn't mean I don't want to figure out why I'm here.
"Oh, and I'm Theodore," I add afterwords.
"Svardson," he responds.
Svardson then begins to scratch his beard ponderously, and waves for me to follow him deeper into the fortress. We pass by hallways and climb up stairs until we reach a well-furnished office, the bricks mortared together with what looks like gold, and the furniture all made of silvery metals as well.
I see what looks exactly like a blender in the corner of the room, aside from the glass bowl of the blender being studded with jewels, and in another corner of the room, a small minifridge is left open carelessly, metal boxes of strawberries and bottles of something unknown filling it.
As he sits in his massive chair, and I scootch up onto mine, he continues speaking.
"Best to discuss such intriguing business sitting down. That's what I prefer at least, young man. It's certainly an interesting conundrum you've arrived here with. I believe there may be some scrolls… Yes, in the upper wing. I'm a bit rusty with... " he pauses.
"Oh, are you from another world in this dimension, you mean, or...?"
I shake my head. "I'm pretty sure if my world existed in the same one as this, things would be very different there."
His brow furrows deeply, and his beard shifts with his frown. "That may be a bit trickier. Not that it isn't possible mind you, but tricky. You only wish to know the hows and why's, for now, yes?"
I nod.
He stands up and walks over to his personal shelf, pushing aside a clear bottle of brown liquid, and grabbing one of the books situated next to it. "I'll give you the good news first, which is that our world is rife with visitors like yourself," he explains, opening the book and pointing to the first page.
"Our world as we know it is called the Trinity of Realities. Three dimensions near enough to bleed into each other. Earthrealm, The Divine Plains, and The Hellscape.
"And, as far as we understand, all three of our world's components draw in the detritus of the void. Where other dimensions seal out things from other worlds as best they can, like the walls of a fortress, our own acts more like the skin of an amoeba.
"It devours the things which seek passage into it, and it incorporates them, denaturing anything that would wound or infest it.
"As such, we have no shortage of experience with individuals and items from beyond our realm," he concludes.
"However, there is still the bad news, and I'm afraid our world is blameless for it, insofar as a world can be," he admits with sadness over whatever it is he's about to share with me.
"To our knowledge, only things which are annihilated from their world then briefly exist in the void between them. Things which are shredded apart, burned to ashes, reduced to atoms, or banished from existence entirely. It is only in this brief moment that something exists in oblivion, as it brushes up against it."
He closes the book. "I do not know if your journey home will have a happy ending. Unless brought here wholly by a malevolent force, it is likely that you are here because you are no longer there, and the thing which 'no longer'ed you may have been quite bleak indeed, to rend you apart until no body remained."
I digest this new information silently. This only raises more questions than answers. I still don't know how I got here, only how I could have gotten here. Only one singular theory by one singular person.
"For so long as you are here, though, I would be more than happy to offer what I am able," the old Dwarf says, attempting a small smile in the face of my blank expression.
"I wouldn't worry about it, I've got no intention of going back, so I won't stress out over it either," I say, trying to ease the guy's sympathy.
Of course, I then go on to try to exploit it a tiny bit. "But so long as you're offering, I did come here for information. Know any good magic I could learn?"
The dwarf's smile turns genuine. "All of it has the potential for good, young man, but I have indeed heard tell of a spell or two. Perhaps even three, for particularly dedicated students," he says in a faux-sagely tone.
I hold my excitement back. It wouldn't do to bounce up and down with giddy glee in front of the head honcho of this magic-diploma-mill.
"When can I get started?"
Chapter 5: The Magic
- Location
- OK
They gave me a complimentary robe without a badge on it. Apparently, they only handed out badges to people who were actually signed up for a full education there, something which cost more money than I had. Which is to say, I didn't have any money.
Svard didn't seem to care though, politely guiding me to the library where they kept their basic scrolls. "As a school for Magecraft, I and mine specialize in the marriage between two schools, Wizardry and Channeling," he explains as we enter a hall filled with shelves bored into the walls, soft cloth spread over the bottoms of them.
The shelves are packed with thick metal blocks covered with thin seams, one of which he pulls out, examining the thick embossed lettering written across it.
"That said, we have scrolls detailing the basics of both professions. As well as ones that explore the depth of our understanding of magic in general."
"Before that, however, it would be best if you began where most others do."
Walking over to a nearby table, he sets the huge slab of metal on it, and, running a fingernail along one of the seams of the metal, it unfolds, a thin plate coming loose and folding out onto the table.
The plate is covered from top to bottom in writing and illustrations.
"Happy reading. If you need any help, simply call for Magus Squiggleheim" he says, pointing over to a small dwarf with metallic pink skin, the young man buried in another one of the metal "Scrolls", pinching plates off of the block with one hand, and reattaching them on the other side with the other.
He waves, but it's obvious he isn't paying attention.
To be frank, I'm not either, too busy staring greedily at the slab of knowledge in front of me.
"Yeah," I mutter absentmindedly, sitting down on one of the steel cylinders they seem to use for stools here.
The scroll was a massive pain in the ass to read, strong magnetic clasps holding the unlubricated hinges together between the "pages" of metal. Despite that glaring issue with their bookkeeping, I feel far more enlightened. The things Kickass did make total sense after studying the scroll simply labeled "Mana's Properties"
Mana comes from souls, can be manipulated with willpower, and changes properties when it touches matter, "attuning" to it. Mana attuned to air becomes what the people here call "Thaumic Mana", because all mana that touches open-air long enough gains the property of sound, or to put it simply, noise passing through the mana can "program" it.
As such, there are two common methods of controlling it. Using willpower to control it in the case of channelers, or using sound to control it, in the case of Wizards.
Kickass's purple jelly blasts, then, seem to be Magecraft, what Svard called a "Marriage" between the two. Willpower drew the magic into his skull necklace to make it into necromancy mana, and then the noises he made were a spell to turn it into a projectile, rather than using only willpower to make the necromancy energy and then fire it, or only using sound to transform and launch a bolt of the deathly energy.
Despite the scroll's suggestion that channeling is an easy task, it doesn't work well.
Holding out my hand, I try to follow the guided task, searching for "Clean Energy" in front of my chest, where the Soul is supposed to poke slightly out of the body, but nothing really stands out.
Focusing harder, I feel a sharp pain in my chest and immediately stop with a bit of panic. Jerking my collar down, I feel a wetness on my chest and examine my hand, which is speckled with a red glowing liquid.
As the substance dissolves into motes of light, I turn back to the scroll and flip through the panels trying to figure out what I just did, and find that I must have mistakenly drawn the mana out of my own body, rather than the Thaumic Mana that should be floating in front of it.
I feel a strange pang of hunger, but it fades quickly. 'Well, at least this proves I do indeed have magic in me,' I shrug, trying to brush off the annoyance at my failure. Kickass nibbles my ear, and I pick him up and turn him around the other way on my shoulder. I don't need distractions right now.
Kickass wiggles around until they are facing me again, despite my clear wishes to the contrary.
I shake my head. Even if I can't channel as trivially as the scroll implies the skill is, spellcasting only requires that I know the right words, and my mana in the air will do the rest.
With a hell of a lot of effort, I clip the scroll's magnetic plates back together and heft it back onto its shelf, wandering along the hall looking for something relevant.
"Er, Hey! Magus Squiggleheim, could you help? I'm looking for a magic scroll for beginners. I'd like to try casting something," I ask.
The young dwarf sighs. "Humans," he comments to himself.
"Alright. School?" he asks, standing up and walking over to a completely different shelf.
I don't know how to answer that. "What do you mean?"
He shoots me a bitter look. "I mean what I mean, what school are you interested in? Pyromancy basics won't do you any good if you're looking for Necromancy, so on and so forth."
I take a step back at his vitriol and think about this. Obviously, my next step is trying to enhance my intelligence and information processing. Got to become an ultimate being after all, and that starts with becoming smarter.
He glares at Kickass. "No, you know what, I'll get you one on Communalism. You'll need it with that Lupine Hare of yours," he says, dismissing me to dig up the appropriate scroll. Sliding out the dark green brick, he pushes it into my hands roughly.
"There. Do your research, boy," he bites, before returning to his own studies.
As I sit down and try not to make eye contact with the angry dwarf, I click open the scroll and have a look.
I close it less than a minute later with some disgust.
"Communalism, at its core, is a school of magic by which one uses mana to commune with nature, taking control of it in order to forge useful weapons, tools, and ammunition from the plants and animals surrounding them.
"It is popular among bounty hunters and police for its cost-effective use of surrounding wildlife when pursuing a target through otherwise infeasible terrain, and its ability to quickly slay or incapacitate hostile animals," the metal plate reads blandly.
Squiggleheim doesn't seem to notice or care when I put the scroll back where he got it, looking at anything else. Kickass isn't my enemy, damn it.
Latching onto that thought, I quickly search the shelf until I find a scroll on necromancy.
Upon finishing the scroll, I put it back up and walk out to the training yard. It's mostly empty by now, due to the various students having either gone inside for their own research or gone home for the day.
Despite that, the training dummies are still there, tall thick crosses made of stone and vaguely shaped like a person with their arms out wide.
The first and simplest spell in the scroll of necromancy simply produces a ball of purple energy in front of the caster. A precursor to more complex magics.
"Si Fore Bal Rech!" I uttered. With each phonem, the invisible energy in the air changed. First, it turned a pale white, then, it began to flow away from me, before twisting together into a sphere of pale white light. With the final utterance, it changed colors, turning a deep muddy greenish-brown.
Any awe I might have felt at doing real magic is quashed with the bitter sting of failure. I can't help it, despite knowing that I should be in awe right now, taking control of forces beyond anything I've ever seen, It's all ruined by one small insignificant fact.
It's supposed to be purple. It being any other color means that the spell didn't function as intended. The simplest spell I could find, one so simple it was meant for children, and I managed to bungle it somehow.
Kickass clicks several times at the sight of the sphere, nibbling my ear energetically.
"Yes, yes! I know it's wrong! I don't know why, though!" I complain, tugging Kickass away from my ear. That's twice now that even the simplest magic had failed to work correctly for me. Maybe it's because I'm from another world, or maybe I'm somehow doing it wrong.
Maybe I just didn't understand the instructions. The scrolls for both channeling and spellcasting were incredibly vague, after all.
Tempted to tell Svardson that I can't understand his crappy metal books, I restrain the urge when I see the man himself walking out the front gate. He seems to have seen my failed attempt.
With a surge of petty spite, I think hard at the ball of energy and send it flying into the ground to erase the evidence. A tiny patch of grass turns brittle and tan where the energy landed.
"For one so new to magic, you seem to have taken to it quickly," he says.
"The scrolls detail very specific things that are meant to happen when I do it right, and those things aren't happening. I need to figure out why," I grouse in response.
He chuckles at my frustration. "Magic doesn't behave as simply as we like to believe. Your results are unique, and that always leads to interesting discoveries.
He holds up one hand, tilting it back and forth. "Sometimes the discovery is that you made a simple mistake. Sometimes the discovery is that you made a larger one. It's not so terrible to learn things like that, so long as you are unharmed."
"But sometimes, you may discover, quite delightfully, that someone else was wrong instead."
I turn to look at the old mage. "There's nothing delightful about being wrong. Especially when it's someone else."
He looks a bit saddened by my response but doesn't press the matter any further.
I decide to take a walk to cool off. The cool magic guy doesn't deserve me blowing my top at him, and it will only make it harder for me to benefit from him.
When I get back, I'm going to figure out what the hell is going on, though. Right now I'm making brown magic instead of purple magic, but scaling that kind of total failure up to the spells that I'm actually interested in… Well, it's not worth the risk until I learn more.
Less than a minute after walking out the doors into the streets of Manortown, I see Brunie being thrown out the window of the pub.
Earlier, however, in the "Ale-oy Pub", Brunhilda Smashes-The-Wavesdottir had a very different learning experience to Theodore.
This whole town is run by those damn pit dwarves, from top to bottom. Or at least, this pub sure is judging by how many of them are getting drunk in it.
An aluminum-skinned bartender slides her another drink, which disappears as fast as the last three. With each drink, she can feel the danger in the air growing.
She hears some muttering from the table behind her, and chairs sliding back. Footsteps approach.
"Hey, tippytoes, where'd you get that fancy armor?" a Pit Dwarf says, poking her in the back.
When she doesn't respond at first, he continues. "Did you steal it?" he asks, smiling as his two buddies chuckle.
"I bet she did Jackknife," one of his little friends says.
She grins, swiveling around in her chair. "Nah, I forged it myself. Same with the pick. Why? Looking for pointers?" she smiles.
The lead dwarf, a thick, black-bearded individual who stood more than twice her width and height, spits on the ground. His bronze cheeks stained rose with the flush of alcohol. This one must be "Jackknife"
"Maybe you shouldn't say things so rude. Where would a little Hill Dwarf like you find metal, tottering around on top of your little rock piles? Nah, I think you're a little thief walking around trying to make fun of us real dwarves."
Sensing their harmful intentions, Brunie whips out her pickaxe, blocking the first punch.
"Now what's that for? I just wanted to test the armor out. Metal armor doesn't break like your kind's little pebbles, so don't be so worried," the bronze-faced one says, cracking his knuckles.
"Hey! Not inside!" the barkeeper yells, glaring impassively at the fight about to break out.
The bronze-faced dwarf leers at him, before grabbing Brunie's pickaxe handle and flinging both her and it through the window.
Leaning up from where she landed on the cobblestones, she glares at the robed Fortress stooge approaching her from the stunned crowd, but her apprehension turns into shock when she sees the familiar person under the robes, and the familiar, also-robed rabbit occupying the top of their shoulder with an air of lagomorphic authority.
Svard didn't seem to care though, politely guiding me to the library where they kept their basic scrolls. "As a school for Magecraft, I and mine specialize in the marriage between two schools, Wizardry and Channeling," he explains as we enter a hall filled with shelves bored into the walls, soft cloth spread over the bottoms of them.
The shelves are packed with thick metal blocks covered with thin seams, one of which he pulls out, examining the thick embossed lettering written across it.
"That said, we have scrolls detailing the basics of both professions. As well as ones that explore the depth of our understanding of magic in general."
"Before that, however, it would be best if you began where most others do."
Walking over to a nearby table, he sets the huge slab of metal on it, and, running a fingernail along one of the seams of the metal, it unfolds, a thin plate coming loose and folding out onto the table.
The plate is covered from top to bottom in writing and illustrations.
"Happy reading. If you need any help, simply call for Magus Squiggleheim" he says, pointing over to a small dwarf with metallic pink skin, the young man buried in another one of the metal "Scrolls", pinching plates off of the block with one hand, and reattaching them on the other side with the other.
He waves, but it's obvious he isn't paying attention.
To be frank, I'm not either, too busy staring greedily at the slab of knowledge in front of me.
"Yeah," I mutter absentmindedly, sitting down on one of the steel cylinders they seem to use for stools here.
The scroll was a massive pain in the ass to read, strong magnetic clasps holding the unlubricated hinges together between the "pages" of metal. Despite that glaring issue with their bookkeeping, I feel far more enlightened. The things Kickass did make total sense after studying the scroll simply labeled "Mana's Properties"
Mana comes from souls, can be manipulated with willpower, and changes properties when it touches matter, "attuning" to it. Mana attuned to air becomes what the people here call "Thaumic Mana", because all mana that touches open-air long enough gains the property of sound, or to put it simply, noise passing through the mana can "program" it.
As such, there are two common methods of controlling it. Using willpower to control it in the case of channelers, or using sound to control it, in the case of Wizards.
Kickass's purple jelly blasts, then, seem to be Magecraft, what Svard called a "Marriage" between the two. Willpower drew the magic into his skull necklace to make it into necromancy mana, and then the noises he made were a spell to turn it into a projectile, rather than using only willpower to make the necromancy energy and then fire it, or only using sound to transform and launch a bolt of the deathly energy.
Despite the scroll's suggestion that channeling is an easy task, it doesn't work well.
Holding out my hand, I try to follow the guided task, searching for "Clean Energy" in front of my chest, where the Soul is supposed to poke slightly out of the body, but nothing really stands out.
Focusing harder, I feel a sharp pain in my chest and immediately stop with a bit of panic. Jerking my collar down, I feel a wetness on my chest and examine my hand, which is speckled with a red glowing liquid.
As the substance dissolves into motes of light, I turn back to the scroll and flip through the panels trying to figure out what I just did, and find that I must have mistakenly drawn the mana out of my own body, rather than the Thaumic Mana that should be floating in front of it.
I feel a strange pang of hunger, but it fades quickly. 'Well, at least this proves I do indeed have magic in me,' I shrug, trying to brush off the annoyance at my failure. Kickass nibbles my ear, and I pick him up and turn him around the other way on my shoulder. I don't need distractions right now.
Kickass wiggles around until they are facing me again, despite my clear wishes to the contrary.
I shake my head. Even if I can't channel as trivially as the scroll implies the skill is, spellcasting only requires that I know the right words, and my mana in the air will do the rest.
With a hell of a lot of effort, I clip the scroll's magnetic plates back together and heft it back onto its shelf, wandering along the hall looking for something relevant.
"Er, Hey! Magus Squiggleheim, could you help? I'm looking for a magic scroll for beginners. I'd like to try casting something," I ask.
The young dwarf sighs. "Humans," he comments to himself.
"Alright. School?" he asks, standing up and walking over to a completely different shelf.
I don't know how to answer that. "What do you mean?"
He shoots me a bitter look. "I mean what I mean, what school are you interested in? Pyromancy basics won't do you any good if you're looking for Necromancy, so on and so forth."
I take a step back at his vitriol and think about this. Obviously, my next step is trying to enhance my intelligence and information processing. Got to become an ultimate being after all, and that starts with becoming smarter.
He glares at Kickass. "No, you know what, I'll get you one on Communalism. You'll need it with that Lupine Hare of yours," he says, dismissing me to dig up the appropriate scroll. Sliding out the dark green brick, he pushes it into my hands roughly.
"There. Do your research, boy," he bites, before returning to his own studies.
As I sit down and try not to make eye contact with the angry dwarf, I click open the scroll and have a look.
I close it less than a minute later with some disgust.
"Communalism, at its core, is a school of magic by which one uses mana to commune with nature, taking control of it in order to forge useful weapons, tools, and ammunition from the plants and animals surrounding them.
"It is popular among bounty hunters and police for its cost-effective use of surrounding wildlife when pursuing a target through otherwise infeasible terrain, and its ability to quickly slay or incapacitate hostile animals," the metal plate reads blandly.
Squiggleheim doesn't seem to notice or care when I put the scroll back where he got it, looking at anything else. Kickass isn't my enemy, damn it.
Latching onto that thought, I quickly search the shelf until I find a scroll on necromancy.
Upon finishing the scroll, I put it back up and walk out to the training yard. It's mostly empty by now, due to the various students having either gone inside for their own research or gone home for the day.
Despite that, the training dummies are still there, tall thick crosses made of stone and vaguely shaped like a person with their arms out wide.
The first and simplest spell in the scroll of necromancy simply produces a ball of purple energy in front of the caster. A precursor to more complex magics.
"Si Fore Bal Rech!" I uttered. With each phonem, the invisible energy in the air changed. First, it turned a pale white, then, it began to flow away from me, before twisting together into a sphere of pale white light. With the final utterance, it changed colors, turning a deep muddy greenish-brown.
Any awe I might have felt at doing real magic is quashed with the bitter sting of failure. I can't help it, despite knowing that I should be in awe right now, taking control of forces beyond anything I've ever seen, It's all ruined by one small insignificant fact.
It's supposed to be purple. It being any other color means that the spell didn't function as intended. The simplest spell I could find, one so simple it was meant for children, and I managed to bungle it somehow.
Kickass clicks several times at the sight of the sphere, nibbling my ear energetically.
"Yes, yes! I know it's wrong! I don't know why, though!" I complain, tugging Kickass away from my ear. That's twice now that even the simplest magic had failed to work correctly for me. Maybe it's because I'm from another world, or maybe I'm somehow doing it wrong.
Maybe I just didn't understand the instructions. The scrolls for both channeling and spellcasting were incredibly vague, after all.
Tempted to tell Svardson that I can't understand his crappy metal books, I restrain the urge when I see the man himself walking out the front gate. He seems to have seen my failed attempt.
With a surge of petty spite, I think hard at the ball of energy and send it flying into the ground to erase the evidence. A tiny patch of grass turns brittle and tan where the energy landed.
"For one so new to magic, you seem to have taken to it quickly," he says.
"The scrolls detail very specific things that are meant to happen when I do it right, and those things aren't happening. I need to figure out why," I grouse in response.
He chuckles at my frustration. "Magic doesn't behave as simply as we like to believe. Your results are unique, and that always leads to interesting discoveries.
He holds up one hand, tilting it back and forth. "Sometimes the discovery is that you made a simple mistake. Sometimes the discovery is that you made a larger one. It's not so terrible to learn things like that, so long as you are unharmed."
"But sometimes, you may discover, quite delightfully, that someone else was wrong instead."
I turn to look at the old mage. "There's nothing delightful about being wrong. Especially when it's someone else."
He looks a bit saddened by my response but doesn't press the matter any further.
I decide to take a walk to cool off. The cool magic guy doesn't deserve me blowing my top at him, and it will only make it harder for me to benefit from him.
When I get back, I'm going to figure out what the hell is going on, though. Right now I'm making brown magic instead of purple magic, but scaling that kind of total failure up to the spells that I'm actually interested in… Well, it's not worth the risk until I learn more.
Less than a minute after walking out the doors into the streets of Manortown, I see Brunie being thrown out the window of the pub.
Earlier, however, in the "Ale-oy Pub", Brunhilda Smashes-The-Wavesdottir had a very different learning experience to Theodore.
This whole town is run by those damn pit dwarves, from top to bottom. Or at least, this pub sure is judging by how many of them are getting drunk in it.
An aluminum-skinned bartender slides her another drink, which disappears as fast as the last three. With each drink, she can feel the danger in the air growing.
She hears some muttering from the table behind her, and chairs sliding back. Footsteps approach.
"Hey, tippytoes, where'd you get that fancy armor?" a Pit Dwarf says, poking her in the back.
When she doesn't respond at first, he continues. "Did you steal it?" he asks, smiling as his two buddies chuckle.
"I bet she did Jackknife," one of his little friends says.
She grins, swiveling around in her chair. "Nah, I forged it myself. Same with the pick. Why? Looking for pointers?" she smiles.
The lead dwarf, a thick, black-bearded individual who stood more than twice her width and height, spits on the ground. His bronze cheeks stained rose with the flush of alcohol. This one must be "Jackknife"
"Maybe you shouldn't say things so rude. Where would a little Hill Dwarf like you find metal, tottering around on top of your little rock piles? Nah, I think you're a little thief walking around trying to make fun of us real dwarves."
Sensing their harmful intentions, Brunie whips out her pickaxe, blocking the first punch.
"Now what's that for? I just wanted to test the armor out. Metal armor doesn't break like your kind's little pebbles, so don't be so worried," the bronze-faced one says, cracking his knuckles.
"Hey! Not inside!" the barkeeper yells, glaring impassively at the fight about to break out.
The bronze-faced dwarf leers at him, before grabbing Brunie's pickaxe handle and flinging both her and it through the window.
Leaning up from where she landed on the cobblestones, she glares at the robed Fortress stooge approaching her from the stunned crowd, but her apprehension turns into shock when she sees the familiar person under the robes, and the familiar, also-robed rabbit occupying the top of their shoulder with an air of lagomorphic authority.
Chapter 6: The Deepguard
- Location
- OK
I quickly run over to Brunie, trying to help her up. "Are you alright? What happened?"
She's covered in scratches from the glass, and seems to be completely drunk judging by her bright red face.
"Back off! Brainiac!" she growls, pushing me away and standing up with her pickaxe gripped tightly.
The door of the pub jingles cheerfully as three dwarves walk out, one of them a bit taller than I am, and the other two smaller by a decent margin. All of them shiny "Pit Dwarves".
"If you want a fight you did just the right thing to get one!" she shouts at them, swaying a bit as she thrusts her pickaxe out and points at them with it.
The trio look at me with wariness, and I have an idea.
"Alright, break it up, I don't want to have to get involved here," I say confidently, channeling all the dismissive apathy I'm capable of. (Which is a lot). I hold up my hand with my palm facing upward, as if warning them that I can fill that hand with some rather nasty magic.
It's honestly the perfect bluff. The ringleader is forced to consider the cost-effectiveness of actually attacking both of us, and even if he wins, him or one of his companions might be harmed in the process.
On top of that, their reaction implies that they recognize my Fortress-styled robes, and might have mistaken me for someone strong enough to not be a student there, or, if nothing else, that attacking me might get them in trouble with the magic school.
'Logically, it makes sense for him to back off for now, to formul-'
The big one charges at me screaming his head off as raging drunks are want to do, hands outstretched to try and remove mine.
Brunie leaps up and smashes him in the head with the ball-end of her pickaxe, dazing the brute.
His two buddies don't seem keen on joining in, but slowly stalk around, presumably to attack one or both of us from behind. Kickass grows tense on my shoulder but doesn't start attacking yet, waiting for something.
I thrust out my hand at both of them, daring them to come closer.
The biggest one straightens up after Brunie's attack, leering at her as he rubs his head..
"You've got spunk, tippie-toes, but ain't no elf pickaxe going to hurt me," he says, stunning Brunie with the insight.
"Surprised?" he slurs, shaking his head at her with a wry grin. He rubs his head where the pickaxe struck him.
"A real dwarf can tell these sorts of things, you know. Puts my mind at ease to know there aren't any sissy Hill Dwarves messing about with metalworking. It'd give us a bad name, I'm sure of it."
"That elf was a better smith than any of you fools." Brunie bites out.
The tipsy drunkard lets out a loud braying laugh. "Whoever made that pick isn't a smith at all! It's all carved and ground. Makes it weak at the seams."
Brunie looks pissed, but that idiot's rambling is cut off when he sees what I've been doing.
A huge misty ball of brown energy floats in front of me, ringed with flecks of green, the result of me quietly muttering the Necromancy Sphere spell over and over.
"Leave it at that," I warn, pointing the muddy mess at him.
He rolls his eyes at me. "Go on then," he motions.
I realize my hands are shaking. I don't know what this spell does, I don't know how strong it is. It might do nothing at all to him.
While he stares at me with a bored expression, Brunie knocks out his two buddies and then leaps at him again, swinging the pick at his head a second time.
This time, however, he punches back at it, shattering the pickaxe's head in two.
"See? Weak," he points out, punching her in the chest with his other fist and sending her flopping to the ground.
He looks surprised afterward, staring at his own fist curiously.
I fire my attack at him while he's distracted.
The muddy energy splashes off of him, burning his thin shirt off but leaving the dwarf underneath unharmed. Little mushrooms sprout out of the edges of the burned-off hole, and a bright flash of light erupts from the skin where the magic impacted him.
"Yeah, I figured something like that would happen," he says casually, before turning to Brunie, who is pushing herself up on her broken pickaxe's shaft.
"Change of plans. I'm taking that armor of yours back to Deepguard," he growls, walking towards her.
Kickass begins preparing some sort of spell, but before it can resolve, a booming voice forces everyone to stop.
"Enough!" Svardson shouts, his staff whacking loudly on the pavestones as he walks towards us with an air of menace.
The big bronze dwarf takes a step back from the old mage who begins shouting in his face.
"What on earth do you think you're doing?! Have you not yet had your fill of violence? By the gods have you not had enough of it?" he roars, slamming his staff onto the ground to accentuate his point.
"Begone. This fight is over, and these two are coming with me," he insists.
Bronze-guy narrows his eyes. "So you've gone all the way around the bend, eh? Fine. We'll see if you've pushed your luck too far this time Wolfrick."
He picks up his unconscious companions and stumbles off.
When they're gone, the old dwarven mage leans down and touches the broken Pickaxe, humming with intrigue as he runs his fingers along it.
What follows is a blisteringly long string of syllables and gibberish that he speaks as if he was an auctioneer. Light swirls around the pickaxe, mana twisting in ways that hurt my head just to look at, it splits into a spiral of fractaline diamond shapes, from that point, each word he speaks seems to only target bits of mana in the spiral that match the fibonachi sequence. With a final word, the colored diamonds flow into the pickaxe, while the uncolored diamonds of mana swirl around it, causing a strange distortion in the air.
The broken pieces of the pickaxe fuse together as the spell takes hold, as if they had never been broken.
Brunie just snatches it away, realizing seconds later that a spell was cast on it.
"Thank you, Svardson. I…" I begin, but he waves me off.
"You've made a mistake. Get your friend, bring them to the fortress," he says inscrutably.
Nodding, I run over to Brunie, she struggles and fights, but between the bloodloss and the alcohol, she's too uncoordinated to stop me from lifting her up and half-dragging her to the castle.
Brunie pouts with her arms crossed, pickaxe stabbed into the floor in front of her. She refused to talk to me since we got to the castle and Svardson led us to a sitting room to wait.
The seats are far too large for the both of us, and while my legs dangle without touching the floor from my chair, Brunie's feet don't even clear the end of the seat.
After a while of her glaring at me and me awkwardly staring back, she finally deigns to speak to me, speaking slowly, presumably to avoid slurring her words. "I can't believe your first instinct was to ignore my only warning. I told you not to get mixed up with these people," she says.
"Yeah, well, that's kind of racist, so I ignored it and did my own research," I responded.
"Oh, and perhaps that research told you this castle's origin?" she retorts.
Before I can question her, Svardson returns with a large bottle filled with a glowing red liquid.
"Drink," he says, handing the bottle to Brunie, who sniffs at it suspiciously before sipping at the potion. Her wounds quickly begin to fade.
He lowers heavily into his own chair, looking exhausted.
"I can harbor you, Theodore, but not your friend She must be gone before others come to investigate the rumors of what happened today. I am sorry," he begins.
"Aren't you like, the leader of this place? I'm pretty sure you can do whatever you want," I respond hotly.
"I can do many things, but not that. You must understand, this place is afforded its library by the mages of Deepguard. Should they retract that, this place will no longer be able to share the magic of the dwarves with the wider world."
"It took a long time for me to convince King Urist to allow this much. So much knowledge is entombed within the mountain fortresses, and so little of it is shared with outsiders. I've spent a long time trying to bring our people out into the sun."
"Well, I'm not just going to let her go out there alone, so you can forget that" I retort, standing up.
"I don't need your help, Brainiac," she snarls, leaping out of her chair and wrenching up a plank of wood from the floor as she rips her pickaxe up.
"Uhh, yeah, you do," I explain plainly. "You got drunk and then you got ganged up on. You think they won't come back? Cause I'm pretty sure they will."
Svardson interrupts. "What I would like to know is why you came here in the first place. You should know full well that Manortown houses the one gate leading to the capital of the Dwarves. The very place this country is named after, the Mansion of King Urist, Deepguard."
"Oh that's easy tinman, I'm here to prove to everyone that I can work metal better than any one of you Pit Dwarves. You sit here in our castles, trying to dig up our secrets, but two can play at that game.
"I'll make fools out of all of you, and when everyone knows you're nothing special, they'll come take back what's ours," she bites out.
It becomes very apparent that that potion Brunie drank did not sober her up much.
"Could someone give the poor displaced human a cliffnotes version?" I ask politely, and the two snap their heads around to look at me.
"Well-" Svardson begins, only for Brunie to interrupt.
"Oh no, if he's getting an explanation, it'll be the real one!" she shouts, getting between him and me as if his words were a deadly weapon. I guess technically they are.
"Listen closely Braniac, I'll spell it out nice and slow so you can understand. Pit Dwarves came out of the mountains and stole our homes, and they're always trying to steal from us, our works, our knowledge, even our talents. They call themselves Dwarves but they're nothing like us. Not even the same species, much less the same people.
"They live deep in the dark caves, or they did, up until they stole our lofty castles right out from under us, that is.
"They can steal how things are made just by touching em. I didn't realize how fast they could do it, but by the gods that idiot stole my pickaxe quickly. I'll be sure to remember that next time," she rants, glancing back at Svardson.
I ignore most of her opinionated ranting, since I'm sure there are probably two sides to that story, but latch on to one particular part. "So when that guy said an elf made your pickaxe..?"
Svardson interjects "He very likely saw the pick when it was originally being crafted. My sort have a power unique to our kind. When we touch an object, we can see it being made."
Brunie shoots a glare at the old man. "Aye- Yes. Someone made it for me," she explains, her grasp on the tool tightening.
"Have fun with your little wizard buddies, I'm leaving," she suddenly announces, turning to walk out the door.
I rub the bridge of my nose. "Right, I have to go make sure she doesn't kill herself. Here, take your robes, I'm out," I say, pulling the clothing off and tossing it on the chair. Kickass somehow manages to not fall off my shoulder during this process.
"Wait, I did not just bring you here to simply banish you. You have potential, and I would hate to see that squandered by ordinary thugs."
"I would much prefer to see you grow skilled enough to attract thugs of a higher class," he jokes, reaching into his robes and withdrawing two vials of silvery liquid and a letter.
"Here. Take these to the Arcana Vitaea. I cannot harbor your friend, but they can, and they've been after a sample of my blood for a long time."
He winks. "Not even Deepguard would want to anger the 'Weird Blood Cultists'."
I can't help but smile, grabbing the gifts and letter and running after Brunie.
She's covered in scratches from the glass, and seems to be completely drunk judging by her bright red face.
"Back off! Brainiac!" she growls, pushing me away and standing up with her pickaxe gripped tightly.
The door of the pub jingles cheerfully as three dwarves walk out, one of them a bit taller than I am, and the other two smaller by a decent margin. All of them shiny "Pit Dwarves".
"If you want a fight you did just the right thing to get one!" she shouts at them, swaying a bit as she thrusts her pickaxe out and points at them with it.
The trio look at me with wariness, and I have an idea.
"Alright, break it up, I don't want to have to get involved here," I say confidently, channeling all the dismissive apathy I'm capable of. (Which is a lot). I hold up my hand with my palm facing upward, as if warning them that I can fill that hand with some rather nasty magic.
It's honestly the perfect bluff. The ringleader is forced to consider the cost-effectiveness of actually attacking both of us, and even if he wins, him or one of his companions might be harmed in the process.
On top of that, their reaction implies that they recognize my Fortress-styled robes, and might have mistaken me for someone strong enough to not be a student there, or, if nothing else, that attacking me might get them in trouble with the magic school.
'Logically, it makes sense for him to back off for now, to formul-'
The big one charges at me screaming his head off as raging drunks are want to do, hands outstretched to try and remove mine.
Brunie leaps up and smashes him in the head with the ball-end of her pickaxe, dazing the brute.
His two buddies don't seem keen on joining in, but slowly stalk around, presumably to attack one or both of us from behind. Kickass grows tense on my shoulder but doesn't start attacking yet, waiting for something.
I thrust out my hand at both of them, daring them to come closer.
The biggest one straightens up after Brunie's attack, leering at her as he rubs his head..
"You've got spunk, tippie-toes, but ain't no elf pickaxe going to hurt me," he says, stunning Brunie with the insight.
"Surprised?" he slurs, shaking his head at her with a wry grin. He rubs his head where the pickaxe struck him.
"A real dwarf can tell these sorts of things, you know. Puts my mind at ease to know there aren't any sissy Hill Dwarves messing about with metalworking. It'd give us a bad name, I'm sure of it."
"That elf was a better smith than any of you fools." Brunie bites out.
The tipsy drunkard lets out a loud braying laugh. "Whoever made that pick isn't a smith at all! It's all carved and ground. Makes it weak at the seams."
Brunie looks pissed, but that idiot's rambling is cut off when he sees what I've been doing.
A huge misty ball of brown energy floats in front of me, ringed with flecks of green, the result of me quietly muttering the Necromancy Sphere spell over and over.
"Leave it at that," I warn, pointing the muddy mess at him.
He rolls his eyes at me. "Go on then," he motions.
I realize my hands are shaking. I don't know what this spell does, I don't know how strong it is. It might do nothing at all to him.
While he stares at me with a bored expression, Brunie knocks out his two buddies and then leaps at him again, swinging the pick at his head a second time.
This time, however, he punches back at it, shattering the pickaxe's head in two.
"See? Weak," he points out, punching her in the chest with his other fist and sending her flopping to the ground.
He looks surprised afterward, staring at his own fist curiously.
I fire my attack at him while he's distracted.
The muddy energy splashes off of him, burning his thin shirt off but leaving the dwarf underneath unharmed. Little mushrooms sprout out of the edges of the burned-off hole, and a bright flash of light erupts from the skin where the magic impacted him.
"Yeah, I figured something like that would happen," he says casually, before turning to Brunie, who is pushing herself up on her broken pickaxe's shaft.
"Change of plans. I'm taking that armor of yours back to Deepguard," he growls, walking towards her.
Kickass begins preparing some sort of spell, but before it can resolve, a booming voice forces everyone to stop.
"Enough!" Svardson shouts, his staff whacking loudly on the pavestones as he walks towards us with an air of menace.
The big bronze dwarf takes a step back from the old mage who begins shouting in his face.
"What on earth do you think you're doing?! Have you not yet had your fill of violence? By the gods have you not had enough of it?" he roars, slamming his staff onto the ground to accentuate his point.
"Begone. This fight is over, and these two are coming with me," he insists.
Bronze-guy narrows his eyes. "So you've gone all the way around the bend, eh? Fine. We'll see if you've pushed your luck too far this time Wolfrick."
He picks up his unconscious companions and stumbles off.
When they're gone, the old dwarven mage leans down and touches the broken Pickaxe, humming with intrigue as he runs his fingers along it.
What follows is a blisteringly long string of syllables and gibberish that he speaks as if he was an auctioneer. Light swirls around the pickaxe, mana twisting in ways that hurt my head just to look at, it splits into a spiral of fractaline diamond shapes, from that point, each word he speaks seems to only target bits of mana in the spiral that match the fibonachi sequence. With a final word, the colored diamonds flow into the pickaxe, while the uncolored diamonds of mana swirl around it, causing a strange distortion in the air.
The broken pieces of the pickaxe fuse together as the spell takes hold, as if they had never been broken.
Brunie just snatches it away, realizing seconds later that a spell was cast on it.
"Thank you, Svardson. I…" I begin, but he waves me off.
"You've made a mistake. Get your friend, bring them to the fortress," he says inscrutably.
Nodding, I run over to Brunie, she struggles and fights, but between the bloodloss and the alcohol, she's too uncoordinated to stop me from lifting her up and half-dragging her to the castle.
Brunie pouts with her arms crossed, pickaxe stabbed into the floor in front of her. She refused to talk to me since we got to the castle and Svardson led us to a sitting room to wait.
The seats are far too large for the both of us, and while my legs dangle without touching the floor from my chair, Brunie's feet don't even clear the end of the seat.
After a while of her glaring at me and me awkwardly staring back, she finally deigns to speak to me, speaking slowly, presumably to avoid slurring her words. "I can't believe your first instinct was to ignore my only warning. I told you not to get mixed up with these people," she says.
"Yeah, well, that's kind of racist, so I ignored it and did my own research," I responded.
"Oh, and perhaps that research told you this castle's origin?" she retorts.
Before I can question her, Svardson returns with a large bottle filled with a glowing red liquid.
"Drink," he says, handing the bottle to Brunie, who sniffs at it suspiciously before sipping at the potion. Her wounds quickly begin to fade.
He lowers heavily into his own chair, looking exhausted.
"I can harbor you, Theodore, but not your friend She must be gone before others come to investigate the rumors of what happened today. I am sorry," he begins.
"Aren't you like, the leader of this place? I'm pretty sure you can do whatever you want," I respond hotly.
"I can do many things, but not that. You must understand, this place is afforded its library by the mages of Deepguard. Should they retract that, this place will no longer be able to share the magic of the dwarves with the wider world."
"It took a long time for me to convince King Urist to allow this much. So much knowledge is entombed within the mountain fortresses, and so little of it is shared with outsiders. I've spent a long time trying to bring our people out into the sun."
"Well, I'm not just going to let her go out there alone, so you can forget that" I retort, standing up.
"I don't need your help, Brainiac," she snarls, leaping out of her chair and wrenching up a plank of wood from the floor as she rips her pickaxe up.
"Uhh, yeah, you do," I explain plainly. "You got drunk and then you got ganged up on. You think they won't come back? Cause I'm pretty sure they will."
Svardson interrupts. "What I would like to know is why you came here in the first place. You should know full well that Manortown houses the one gate leading to the capital of the Dwarves. The very place this country is named after, the Mansion of King Urist, Deepguard."
"Oh that's easy tinman, I'm here to prove to everyone that I can work metal better than any one of you Pit Dwarves. You sit here in our castles, trying to dig up our secrets, but two can play at that game.
"I'll make fools out of all of you, and when everyone knows you're nothing special, they'll come take back what's ours," she bites out.
It becomes very apparent that that potion Brunie drank did not sober her up much.
"Could someone give the poor displaced human a cliffnotes version?" I ask politely, and the two snap their heads around to look at me.
"Well-" Svardson begins, only for Brunie to interrupt.
"Oh no, if he's getting an explanation, it'll be the real one!" she shouts, getting between him and me as if his words were a deadly weapon. I guess technically they are.
"Listen closely Braniac, I'll spell it out nice and slow so you can understand. Pit Dwarves came out of the mountains and stole our homes, and they're always trying to steal from us, our works, our knowledge, even our talents. They call themselves Dwarves but they're nothing like us. Not even the same species, much less the same people.
"They live deep in the dark caves, or they did, up until they stole our lofty castles right out from under us, that is.
"They can steal how things are made just by touching em. I didn't realize how fast they could do it, but by the gods that idiot stole my pickaxe quickly. I'll be sure to remember that next time," she rants, glancing back at Svardson.
I ignore most of her opinionated ranting, since I'm sure there are probably two sides to that story, but latch on to one particular part. "So when that guy said an elf made your pickaxe..?"
Svardson interjects "He very likely saw the pick when it was originally being crafted. My sort have a power unique to our kind. When we touch an object, we can see it being made."
Brunie shoots a glare at the old man. "Aye- Yes. Someone made it for me," she explains, her grasp on the tool tightening.
"Have fun with your little wizard buddies, I'm leaving," she suddenly announces, turning to walk out the door.
I rub the bridge of my nose. "Right, I have to go make sure she doesn't kill herself. Here, take your robes, I'm out," I say, pulling the clothing off and tossing it on the chair. Kickass somehow manages to not fall off my shoulder during this process.
"Wait, I did not just bring you here to simply banish you. You have potential, and I would hate to see that squandered by ordinary thugs."
"I would much prefer to see you grow skilled enough to attract thugs of a higher class," he jokes, reaching into his robes and withdrawing two vials of silvery liquid and a letter.
"Here. Take these to the Arcana Vitaea. I cannot harbor your friend, but they can, and they've been after a sample of my blood for a long time."
He winks. "Not even Deepguard would want to anger the 'Weird Blood Cultists'."
I can't help but smile, grabbing the gifts and letter and running after Brunie.
Chapter 7: The Cult
- Location
- OK
"Hey! Brunie! Wait up!" I shout, running after her.
She sighs as I approach. "What is it, Brainiac? I don't need your help," she points out helpfully.
"Yes you do," I insist. "Look, I've got some vials of blood, Svardson said the Arcana Vitaea could keep us safe. I'm not going to hang around with the Fortress if they're going to be a bunch of racist pricks. I mean, that doesn't include Svardson. I still think he's cool, for what it's worth."
She halts, staring at the two bottles of blood with an intense expression. She looks at me with the same expression, and I flinch. After a while, her expression softens, and she rolls her eyes at me. I wonder what she had been thinking.
"Fine. Next time I warn you, Brainiac, you should heed it,"
I shrug. "If the warning makes sense. Also, those guys at the fortress are mages, not wizards."
She shakes her head, huffing with amusement.
"Ok Brainiac."
The Arcana Vitea building was strange. The part of town it was in seemed livelier. Fewer tiled streets, more grassy lawns. Everything just seemed brighter as we approached the building.
It put me on edge as we approached the wooden house in a way that neither the imposing stonework of The Fortress nor the glowing red veins intertwining the building in front of us had managed to do so far.
The entire place seemed entirely too eager to receive visitors.
Energy flowed through the veins in places, while other parts of them seemed inert, and uncharged. Cursory reading back at the fort led me to believe that the energy flowing through it was mana drawn from blood. Or maybe just mana attuned to blood after the fact.
A large welcome mat sat in front of the building, more of a welcome-rug, due to its size. Next to the door, peeking out from under an inert black vein, a plain white doorbell poked out in defiance of the building's aesthetic.
Brunie nudged me to go ring it, and my need to not annoy her outweighed the oppressive peppy aura in the air. I walked up to the door and pressed the bright red button.
"Meow meow!" the doorbell chimed.
"I'll get it grandma!" a voice sounded out from inside the building, followed by rapid footsteps.
The door creaks open, revealing a smiling old cat-lady in a blue sweater and sweatpants.
"Hello, sir, and hello to you as well, miss, are you here for game night?" she asks, smiling warmly.
"Uhh," I respond intelligently.
She titters. "Ahh, you're here for the boys, my mistake."
Standing aside, she waves for us to enter.
Sharing an uncertain look with Brunie, we both walk into the building, the old cat-lady following behind us. Inside the foyer, I notice a shelf filled with what look like movies and videogames, and a second shelf with a variety of what I can only assume are game consoles.
A cardboard box next to that contains a variety of gaming controllers and cables, several of them made of a bright red substance that shines like plastic.
Brunie looks at a life-size statue/action figure of what looks like some kind of anime chick posed in the corner of the room, and shudders with unease. Around it, a ton of anime posters are tacked up.
"I can see why this place disturbs the locals," she says.
"Grandma I said I'd get the door! Come on!" the same voice from before whines, followed by the loud sound of clattering on wood.
Around the corner, a figure in a blood-red robe clops towards us on all fours, a small goat.
She clasps her hands together. "Sorry Urfheim, I was just closer to the door is all. You can go back to your card game now if you like."
"No, it's fine grandma, I'll need to address these visitors anyway," he says, looking at us imperiously.
"Greetings. I am Urfheim, master of the Arcana Vitaea and Grand Researcher of the secrets of Lifeforce, of Vitae."
He points his nose at the cat lady. "This is Mrs. Dalv Sepet, and you are to respect her while you are here. You may also call her Grandma if you like.
"Lastly, if you are here to partake of our library, then an offering is required." the tiny goat explains.
I glance at Kickass "If a goat can speak English then why don't you?" I mutter. Kickass softly headbutts me in response, and Urfheim's ears twitch with annoyance.
Brunie elbows me in the side, and I manage to ignore the oddities long enough to remember why we came here.
"My name is Theodore and this is Brunie. Svardson sent us here, he said you could keep us safe from Deepguard?" I explain, holding up the letter.
"Brunie here came to show off her metalwork, and some of the dwarves here really did not take it well," I elaborate.
Another red-robed cultist walks in, wearing bright-red headphones. "Oh, sorry, uhh, Grandma, do you know where my copy of Ultimatum is? I think Jerry had it last," he asks, pulling his headphones off and hanging them around his neck.
The cat lady takes the letter out of my hands as she turns to address the cultist. "Sorry dear, I haven't seen it. Didn't you leave it at Consumes-The-Blood's house?"
"No, I… Don't think I did? I'll go check though," he says, walking out the open door.
Mrs. Dalv doesn't actually read the letter, despite taking it. Instead, she just cuts the envelope open with a small pen-knife, taking the letter out and laying it on the floor in front of the goat.
His eyes narrow at the paper as he scans over it quickly, before turning to look at me again.
"Very well, let me see the blood. He's right that we've been seeking it for years. The blood of a dwarf born of mercury is bound to prove useful to our research," he says.
I frown at the mention of mercury but pull the vials out of my pockets and offer them up.
In a flash, the little goat hops up and snatches them out of my hand with his teeth, tromping off into a back-room that opens automatically as he approaches, the wood paneling sliding away to reveal a tiled laboratory.
"Gran-ah, cou ou tae dese two to the tea roo?" he asks.
"Sure thing, dear. Come along, I'll get you both some tea, or soda if you like," she offers, guiding us to a small sitting room with a dining table surrounded by wooden chairs.
One of the walls is dominated by a television displaying some kind of cartoon in which businessmen dramatically argue over stock portfolios, complete with shrieking metal guitar stings whenever one of them makes a good point and the other melodramatically flinches with shock.
The television has a massive crack in it that seems to have been patched with more of that odd red plastic.
The couch in front of the tv is packed with red-robed cultists who hoot and cheer at the tv.
As we sit down, Mrs. Dalv offers a soft smile "Don't mind them, they're simply wild over that show of theirs. Would you prefer tea or soda?" she asks us.
Hesitant, but thirsty, I choose the superior option "Soda please."
"Got any booze?" Brunie asks politely.
"Don't give her any, unless dwarves have a biological need for alcohol, she really needs to sober up," I interject, causing her to glare at me. I see her mouthe something that looks suspiciously like "Blasphemy".
Dalv laughs. "I'm afraid I don't have anything but cooking wine. If you'll be staying here, though, I could pick something up for you the next time I go out," she offers.
Brunie nods. "Thank you. I'll just have water then."
I sigh with annoyance, while the old lady walks into the nearby kitchen, filling up two glasses with ice before searching the cabinets.
I watch Brunie sit with her chin in her hand, staring idly at the TV.
Finally, I decide to just come out with it. "Look, I don't mean to be a dick, but I seriously have no clue what you were thinking. If both kinds of dwarves hate each other that much, why come here alone? Er, that is to say, if I hadn't run into you that is," I pause, before continuing
"My point is, unless there's something I'm missing, what you did makes absolutely no sense. Not exactly smart to just sort of walk into the enemy capital to show off how much better you are than them. So why did you really do it?" I ask.
She looks offended. "What do you mean, 'why did you really do it', I did it for my honor! To prove myself! To bring back proof to the dwarves that they can stand up and fight for themselves!"
I feel a twinge of disgust at her reasoning, but shrug it off. "Alright, so, first off, honor basically just amounts to a code of conduct, and the only thing those are good for is making you predictable. Honor is literally less than useless for getting any sort of advantage.
"Secondly, one person running around provoking fights and getting drunk at a bar isn't going to prove anything to anyone, you want to start a revolution, you do it with weapons," I continue, only for Dalv to return with our drinks and interrupt my 'Thirdly'.
She sits down at the table as well and gives me a soft disappointed look. "I'm afraid she has a better point than you, Theo. The dwarves of the stone are very well-armed. With their natural talents, a dwarf can produce fine weapons from pebbles and stones, engraved with powerful runes of magic.
"The dwarves that live within their deep caverns can produce incredible works of metal with their own skills, but the secret to the most powerful runes escape them still."
Brunie listens to the old woman with rapt attention.
"Indeed, I'm sure the Dwarves of Stone could retake their homes from the Dwarves of Metal, if they put forth a true effort. But, then, that's the problem, now isn't it?"
"Even now, they seek the secrets of masterwork runecraft, and with their ability, with the Metal Dwarf's power to see with a touch the process by which an object is made, they intend to succeed.
"Why would the Dwarves of Stone fight with their greatest works if they fear losing them to their enemy?
"Perhaps Brunhilde has made poor choices in pursuit of her goal, but surely, if she proves to the world that she can steal the secrets of metal, just as her enemies strive to steal the secrets of stone, it would cause an upset."
...Dalv winks at Brunie, a gesture that is difficult to spot with how she squints, "Sorry dear, I just saw you were having a bit of trouble. Couldn't help myself," she says.
I start to get the feeling that this woman is the brains of this operation.
I choke down the bitter rush of being-contradicted-adrenaline by sipping at my soda, some kind of dark cola that doesn't taste as sweet as I'm used to.
"So, Mrs. Dalv, Sorry if this is offensive to ask, but, why is a goat running this place?" I say, changing the subject. Brunie shoots me a smug look as she presumably interprets that as me admitting defeat in our argument.
She smiles. "Well, that's a fun story," she begins, I see her look at something behind me.
"Oh yeah, real fun story," a guy says, planting his hands on my shoulders. I look back and see a chubby human in standard-issue cult garb, along with a headset and an edgy-looking cross necklace.
I hear the rapid pitter-patter of Urfheim running into the room.
"Don't say a word!" he shouts, having somehow heard the conversation from the other room. This only prompts the cultist to explain even faster.
"We call him a reverse were-goat. He ate a bunch of electrum dust he stole from his old day-job so now he turns into a goat under a full sun," the cultist explains.
'Isn't every sun a 'full sun'?' I think helplessly, trying to navigate which part of his statement is the most ridiculous.
Before I can catch my mental second wind, Urfheim starts talking again. "The term is Capranthrope, and no I did not! I was working at an electrum factory and my respirator didn't keep out the dust!"
The human leans in and whispers. "His dad's half-dragon so he thought eating precious metals would make him stronger, we keep him around in case we ever need to summon a demon," he jokes(?)
The goat leaps onto the table. "Do not listen to him! The reason they 'keep me around' is because I'm the guild leader and I run this place! I'm the founder for gods' sakes!" he insists.
I try to process everything while Brunie laughs her head off and Dalv holds a hand demurely over her mouth.
"What?" I cleverly deduce.
She sighs as I approach. "What is it, Brainiac? I don't need your help," she points out helpfully.
"Yes you do," I insist. "Look, I've got some vials of blood, Svardson said the Arcana Vitaea could keep us safe. I'm not going to hang around with the Fortress if they're going to be a bunch of racist pricks. I mean, that doesn't include Svardson. I still think he's cool, for what it's worth."
She halts, staring at the two bottles of blood with an intense expression. She looks at me with the same expression, and I flinch. After a while, her expression softens, and she rolls her eyes at me. I wonder what she had been thinking.
"Fine. Next time I warn you, Brainiac, you should heed it,"
I shrug. "If the warning makes sense. Also, those guys at the fortress are mages, not wizards."
She shakes her head, huffing with amusement.
"Ok Brainiac."
The Arcana Vitea building was strange. The part of town it was in seemed livelier. Fewer tiled streets, more grassy lawns. Everything just seemed brighter as we approached the building.
It put me on edge as we approached the wooden house in a way that neither the imposing stonework of The Fortress nor the glowing red veins intertwining the building in front of us had managed to do so far.
The entire place seemed entirely too eager to receive visitors.
Energy flowed through the veins in places, while other parts of them seemed inert, and uncharged. Cursory reading back at the fort led me to believe that the energy flowing through it was mana drawn from blood. Or maybe just mana attuned to blood after the fact.
A large welcome mat sat in front of the building, more of a welcome-rug, due to its size. Next to the door, peeking out from under an inert black vein, a plain white doorbell poked out in defiance of the building's aesthetic.
Brunie nudged me to go ring it, and my need to not annoy her outweighed the oppressive peppy aura in the air. I walked up to the door and pressed the bright red button.
"Meow meow!" the doorbell chimed.
"I'll get it grandma!" a voice sounded out from inside the building, followed by rapid footsteps.
The door creaks open, revealing a smiling old cat-lady in a blue sweater and sweatpants.
"Hello, sir, and hello to you as well, miss, are you here for game night?" she asks, smiling warmly.
"Uhh," I respond intelligently.
She titters. "Ahh, you're here for the boys, my mistake."
Standing aside, she waves for us to enter.
Sharing an uncertain look with Brunie, we both walk into the building, the old cat-lady following behind us. Inside the foyer, I notice a shelf filled with what look like movies and videogames, and a second shelf with a variety of what I can only assume are game consoles.
A cardboard box next to that contains a variety of gaming controllers and cables, several of them made of a bright red substance that shines like plastic.
Brunie looks at a life-size statue/action figure of what looks like some kind of anime chick posed in the corner of the room, and shudders with unease. Around it, a ton of anime posters are tacked up.
"I can see why this place disturbs the locals," she says.
"Grandma I said I'd get the door! Come on!" the same voice from before whines, followed by the loud sound of clattering on wood.
Around the corner, a figure in a blood-red robe clops towards us on all fours, a small goat.
She clasps her hands together. "Sorry Urfheim, I was just closer to the door is all. You can go back to your card game now if you like."
"No, it's fine grandma, I'll need to address these visitors anyway," he says, looking at us imperiously.
"Greetings. I am Urfheim, master of the Arcana Vitaea and Grand Researcher of the secrets of Lifeforce, of Vitae."
He points his nose at the cat lady. "This is Mrs. Dalv Sepet, and you are to respect her while you are here. You may also call her Grandma if you like.
"Lastly, if you are here to partake of our library, then an offering is required." the tiny goat explains.
I glance at Kickass "If a goat can speak English then why don't you?" I mutter. Kickass softly headbutts me in response, and Urfheim's ears twitch with annoyance.
Brunie elbows me in the side, and I manage to ignore the oddities long enough to remember why we came here.
"My name is Theodore and this is Brunie. Svardson sent us here, he said you could keep us safe from Deepguard?" I explain, holding up the letter.
"Brunie here came to show off her metalwork, and some of the dwarves here really did not take it well," I elaborate.
Another red-robed cultist walks in, wearing bright-red headphones. "Oh, sorry, uhh, Grandma, do you know where my copy of Ultimatum is? I think Jerry had it last," he asks, pulling his headphones off and hanging them around his neck.
The cat lady takes the letter out of my hands as she turns to address the cultist. "Sorry dear, I haven't seen it. Didn't you leave it at Consumes-The-Blood's house?"
"No, I… Don't think I did? I'll go check though," he says, walking out the open door.
Mrs. Dalv doesn't actually read the letter, despite taking it. Instead, she just cuts the envelope open with a small pen-knife, taking the letter out and laying it on the floor in front of the goat.
His eyes narrow at the paper as he scans over it quickly, before turning to look at me again.
"Very well, let me see the blood. He's right that we've been seeking it for years. The blood of a dwarf born of mercury is bound to prove useful to our research," he says.
I frown at the mention of mercury but pull the vials out of my pockets and offer them up.
In a flash, the little goat hops up and snatches them out of my hand with his teeth, tromping off into a back-room that opens automatically as he approaches, the wood paneling sliding away to reveal a tiled laboratory.
"Gran-ah, cou ou tae dese two to the tea roo?" he asks.
"Sure thing, dear. Come along, I'll get you both some tea, or soda if you like," she offers, guiding us to a small sitting room with a dining table surrounded by wooden chairs.
One of the walls is dominated by a television displaying some kind of cartoon in which businessmen dramatically argue over stock portfolios, complete with shrieking metal guitar stings whenever one of them makes a good point and the other melodramatically flinches with shock.
The television has a massive crack in it that seems to have been patched with more of that odd red plastic.
The couch in front of the tv is packed with red-robed cultists who hoot and cheer at the tv.
As we sit down, Mrs. Dalv offers a soft smile "Don't mind them, they're simply wild over that show of theirs. Would you prefer tea or soda?" she asks us.
Hesitant, but thirsty, I choose the superior option "Soda please."
"Got any booze?" Brunie asks politely.
"Don't give her any, unless dwarves have a biological need for alcohol, she really needs to sober up," I interject, causing her to glare at me. I see her mouthe something that looks suspiciously like "Blasphemy".
Dalv laughs. "I'm afraid I don't have anything but cooking wine. If you'll be staying here, though, I could pick something up for you the next time I go out," she offers.
Brunie nods. "Thank you. I'll just have water then."
I sigh with annoyance, while the old lady walks into the nearby kitchen, filling up two glasses with ice before searching the cabinets.
I watch Brunie sit with her chin in her hand, staring idly at the TV.
Finally, I decide to just come out with it. "Look, I don't mean to be a dick, but I seriously have no clue what you were thinking. If both kinds of dwarves hate each other that much, why come here alone? Er, that is to say, if I hadn't run into you that is," I pause, before continuing
"My point is, unless there's something I'm missing, what you did makes absolutely no sense. Not exactly smart to just sort of walk into the enemy capital to show off how much better you are than them. So why did you really do it?" I ask.
She looks offended. "What do you mean, 'why did you really do it', I did it for my honor! To prove myself! To bring back proof to the dwarves that they can stand up and fight for themselves!"
I feel a twinge of disgust at her reasoning, but shrug it off. "Alright, so, first off, honor basically just amounts to a code of conduct, and the only thing those are good for is making you predictable. Honor is literally less than useless for getting any sort of advantage.
"Secondly, one person running around provoking fights and getting drunk at a bar isn't going to prove anything to anyone, you want to start a revolution, you do it with weapons," I continue, only for Dalv to return with our drinks and interrupt my 'Thirdly'.
She sits down at the table as well and gives me a soft disappointed look. "I'm afraid she has a better point than you, Theo. The dwarves of the stone are very well-armed. With their natural talents, a dwarf can produce fine weapons from pebbles and stones, engraved with powerful runes of magic.
"The dwarves that live within their deep caverns can produce incredible works of metal with their own skills, but the secret to the most powerful runes escape them still."
Brunie listens to the old woman with rapt attention.
"Indeed, I'm sure the Dwarves of Stone could retake their homes from the Dwarves of Metal, if they put forth a true effort. But, then, that's the problem, now isn't it?"
"Even now, they seek the secrets of masterwork runecraft, and with their ability, with the Metal Dwarf's power to see with a touch the process by which an object is made, they intend to succeed.
"Why would the Dwarves of Stone fight with their greatest works if they fear losing them to their enemy?
"Perhaps Brunhilde has made poor choices in pursuit of her goal, but surely, if she proves to the world that she can steal the secrets of metal, just as her enemies strive to steal the secrets of stone, it would cause an upset."
...Dalv winks at Brunie, a gesture that is difficult to spot with how she squints, "Sorry dear, I just saw you were having a bit of trouble. Couldn't help myself," she says.
I start to get the feeling that this woman is the brains of this operation.
I choke down the bitter rush of being-contradicted-adrenaline by sipping at my soda, some kind of dark cola that doesn't taste as sweet as I'm used to.
"So, Mrs. Dalv, Sorry if this is offensive to ask, but, why is a goat running this place?" I say, changing the subject. Brunie shoots me a smug look as she presumably interprets that as me admitting defeat in our argument.
She smiles. "Well, that's a fun story," she begins, I see her look at something behind me.
"Oh yeah, real fun story," a guy says, planting his hands on my shoulders. I look back and see a chubby human in standard-issue cult garb, along with a headset and an edgy-looking cross necklace.
I hear the rapid pitter-patter of Urfheim running into the room.
"Don't say a word!" he shouts, having somehow heard the conversation from the other room. This only prompts the cultist to explain even faster.
"We call him a reverse were-goat. He ate a bunch of electrum dust he stole from his old day-job so now he turns into a goat under a full sun," the cultist explains.
'Isn't every sun a 'full sun'?' I think helplessly, trying to navigate which part of his statement is the most ridiculous.
Before I can catch my mental second wind, Urfheim starts talking again. "The term is Capranthrope, and no I did not! I was working at an electrum factory and my respirator didn't keep out the dust!"
The human leans in and whispers. "His dad's half-dragon so he thought eating precious metals would make him stronger, we keep him around in case we ever need to summon a demon," he jokes(?)
The goat leaps onto the table. "Do not listen to him! The reason they 'keep me around' is because I'm the guild leader and I run this place! I'm the founder for gods' sakes!" he insists.
I try to process everything while Brunie laughs her head off and Dalv holds a hand demurely over her mouth.
"What?" I cleverly deduce.