At this Morgan sat up straight and paid rapt attention. “Please. I don’t want to just stumble around, fighting one thing after the next, and barely surviving.”
Moghren scoffed at that. “Tsk!” she clicked with her teeth. “The Wildlands be the wrong place for that way of thinking, granddaughter! Tis not called The Wildlands for naught. Dangers beyond counting lie in wait in the forests and mountains and swamps, and mortal peril stalks the meadows and the plains.”
The old woman shook her head grimly and continued. “All the old nightmares of the ancient tales, and new ones twisted beyond even mine own imaginings. What does not seek to devour thy flesh will want worse; to consume thy magics and power. And a few will seek to take a fertile one such as thee for breeding, such as the Nagai, far to the east.”
Morgan blanched at the last statement. She’d been travelling east before the wolves diverted her path during the chase. “That sounds more than unpleasant.”
“Aye. At least the beasts merely want to eat and grow. Most tribes of the merfolk are peaceable enough, but the Nagai would claim you for the breeding pens. Ever do they seek to spawn more magically gifted offspring. Thou wouldst make a prize for kings amongst their people, and the songs of their Sahn Rhen priestesses would have ye spreading thy legs right willingly for their hordes of mage-priests seeking to sire the next King of the Waves.”
Sudden nausea caused Morgan to shudder involuntarily. “I’d rather be eaten,” she murmured.
“Goblins would do the same, though no offspring would come of it. They would merely take thee for the fun of it, so always be wary of those nasty bastards. They cannae sire offspring on human women, but they love to try. They are rare in the Wildlands, thank the old gods. The Packmother and her children do not tolerate them, nor do any of the others who hold territories, such as myself.”
“Is there anywhere safe in this world?”
“Phtah!” Moghren made a vicious chopping gesture to the side with one hand. “Disregard such a naïve notion! Safe is a word for children and the simpletons who drool and stutter. As it was in the old world in my time, and such is it now and always in this world; the strong take unless prevented by the strength of others. I hold First Raven’s Roost by mine own might and cunning; yet, one day, another shall take it from me. This is the way of the Wildlands, and the lands of mankind far to the west be no different, no matter the fancy words they call it.”
“That sounds…” Morgan wanted to argue the point, but her words died in her throat. “No, that sounds about right. My own country on Earth pretty much does the same thing. No one can truly challenge us except for two or three countries, and everyone else usually keeps their heads down, hoping the big guys don’t have a brawl.”
“That is the way of history since the beginning, child,” Moghren replied, not unkindly. “Titans move, and the weak either serve, or hide and hope to go unnoticed, whether it be nations of men or beasts in their own lairs. But the Wildlands has its own Titan that breaks the cycle. Ye came upon the crystal grave in the shadow of the cliffs, yes?”
Morgan remembered the massive bones of the great beast with a vivid clarity, and nodded the affirmative. “Yeah, I don’t want to meet whatever killed that thing.”
“The [Crystal Titan] sleeps under the Tree. The tree withers and blooms according to its own seasons, but when it is in bloom, The Titan roams. So it has been for over a dozen centuries. He arrived in the same fashion thou didst appear, near the tree. And he, also, ate of the Fruits.”
“Wait! My bones are crystal now! Am I going to turn into some giant crystal monster?”
“Rest thy mind, child, and be easy,” said the older woman. “If that were to be, t’would already have happened. The magic I see in thy bones is calm and settled, and I suspect any changes to be wrought are done. But The Titan…”
Moghren sat back in her chair and looked at the naked Sorceress for a long, quiet moment before continuing. “The Titan arrived long ago, less than half a century after myself, although our paths did not cross until centuries later. He partook of the fruit, and he did not stop at one. These lands were not the Wildlands then. After the high king died, the lesser kingdoms under the banner of High Avalon scrabbled for his crown, and that tale is not for the telling today.”
The witch sipped from her cup before speaking again. “The Titan cleanses this land every few score winters. The beasts he leaves alone, unless they challenge, but the evils of thinking beings? The malice of dark intent? They drive The Titan mad. ‘Tis The Titan who keeps these lands unsettled with his migrations. If the Tree be awakened, The Titan follows soon. Months away at least, but always within a year of the Tree bearing Fruit.”
“What does The Titan do?” Morgan asked, entirely enthralled by the woman’s storytelling.
“He devours malicious magic. Thy sorcery emanates the flavors of thine intent. The primal magics of the Wildlands make creatures grow strong and mighty. Enchantments and spells be wrought from things that grow here that be much more powerful and pure in magic than in most places on this world, and power draws the ambitious, both for the sake of good and evil works. If mine own domain be the Wind and the shadows of Night itself, his be Earth and righteous fury.”
“So I should definitely stay away from whatever he is…”
Moghren looked at her as if she were a silly child once more. “There be no staying away. If his wanderings bring him near thee, thou wilt either be devoured or left in peace. Neither mine own power, nor the Packmother’s, nor that of the Mountain Stag or any of the other territorial lords of the Wildlands could stop such a force. The [Crystal Titan] is other. None know the measure by which he judges, but t’was he who broke the Nagai as a people almost a thousand years ago when he devoured their last King of the Waves. Mine own belief is that it was because they were sacrificing their own children upon the altars of power, seeking blessings from dark gods.”
“So he goes after the truly wicked?” Morgan asked. “That doesn’t sound all bad. Scary, but not all bad. My dad and brothers are like that; they’re soldiers in the military back home. Or dad was before he retired; my brothers still serve though.”
“The wicked, the malicious,” Moghren agreed. “When the veil between the worlds weakens and vile demons walk the world, The Titan seems to seek them out above most others. But no one can truly predict him. There are countless sites similar to the crystal grave thou passed through below, scattered throughout these lands. He devours those who challenge him as easily and readily as those he hunts in earnest. And there are broken ruins of settlements where nations from elsewhere attempted to tame the Wildlands. You will find them, if you wander long enough. And The Titan will find thee, if he so desires.”
“So all I can do is be wary, and don’t attack him. How would I even know what he looks like?”
Moghren chuckled at the younger woman’s seemingly casual attitude about such a powerful being. “Thou hast the right of it, truly. Ye can do nothing if the [Crystal Titan] seeks the ending of thy Story. But knowing him by sight is easy. A massive man-beast he be, of twisted scars and muscle. The crystals grow out of his body, adorning his brow, his hands, and feet with armor most lethal and savage. Hunched over, he lopes on his feet and hands, as if a man were become a bear but halted the change half-finished. Three times the height of a man, and the Earth itself ripples with power for leagues when he wanders.”
Morgan’s empty belly chose that moment to interrupt their conversation with a low, rumbling growl. The climb, and the short but fierce early morning battle, had not dipped into her caloric reserves all that badly, but she was still very hungry.
“Please,” Morgan pleaded with an embarrassed look in her eyes, as she gazed longingly at the bowl of stew. “I don’t want to lick it up off the table like a dog, and I don’t think I’m gonna manage to levitate a spoon in one morning. And it smells so good…”
Moghren chuckled with low mirth before standing and turning back to one of the cupboards along the wa
ll. “If mine own nature could bear the company, t’would almost be worth it to keep ye about, if only for amusement at thy plight.”
Morgan gawked as the other woman’s hand seemed to disappear into thin air upon reaching into the cabinet, before Moghren withdrew a handful of some sort of bread rolls or biscuits.
Moghren tossed her a biscuit to sop up the stew with, then sat the others on the table. “Saw that look, did I. Storage Box enchantment, similar to Bags of Holding and other weavings that alter the shape of a space. Spend those points ye hold on thine Intellect, and perhaps we shall see if ye can learn how to weave one, an I shall try to point the way.”
Morgan let her questions wait upon that assurance, and set about devouring the stew by scooping it up frantically with torn chunks of bread rolls. She had no idea what kind of meat it contained, but the savory flavors and pieces of what seemed to be halfway between a potato and a turnip were just what she needed. Burnt lynx and roasted eel had been filling, but weren’t the sort of meal she would ever have picked had she anything else to choose from.
Soon the stew was devoured and washed down with a hastily levitated globule of the herbal tea-like concoction Moghren had served earlier. Lulu happily scrubbed the remaining mess from Morgan’s fingers, and then set about cleaning the table and the bowl, as the loofah’s mistress had still managed to spill some when she tried to hold the bowl with one hand to facilitate scooping.
“That is a fascinating creature,” said Moghren wistfully. “How did ye come to acquire such a pet? I have never seen its like in all my years.”
“Um. This is Lulu. She came here with me. But she wasn’t alive then; that didn’t happen ‘til I ate the fruit and burned all night. I woke up and had notifications that my scrubby had gained sentience. Something about ambient Mana and local conditions. And then the messages asked if I wanted to adopt it as a pet, and I did!”
Lulu purbled and preened at the attention, while its Mistress recounted the scrubby’s origins. If cleaning was the puffball’s first and highest calling, then adoration and attention ran a close second.
“A new kind of creature, then, and the first of its kind. There be Classes that tame or talk with beasts and creatures of all sorts that could help thee learn more from it. Beware when thy pet spawns a brood, for an Originator gains blessings from the Mystic, that which ye named System. It will breed unchecked for a time, until a steady populace be achieved.”
“Uh…I think she kinda—” Morgan stuttered. “She already did. It gave her a title and everything, Loofah Prime. For spawning ten thousand descendants, I think? Yeah…”
Moghren laughed with genuine mirth at that admission. “Precocious puffball indeed! I shall keep an eye open for such as thy Lulu’s offspring. I spend most of my time as the raven, but someone to talk to from time to time is a blessing I shan’t turn down. At least it did not appear edible to mine other eyes, unlike thine own pretty self.”
“That is so creepy!” breathed Morgan. “What is it about eating people?”
“People be food like any other to the denizens of the wilds, and mine feathered form is no different. I do not control the Raven, girl-child. It is a partnership. Our bodies may be one since I consumed the Heart, but I have mine own needs, and so doth she.”
“I think I understand. So that’s why I can’t stay here?” asked Morgan.
“Indeed. I shall leave to hunt and feed this eve. T’will be safe enough in this abode, but risk not a jaunt outside until I return in mine own form. Tomorrow thou must be gone from this place. The Crone sees all that moves upon or near the Roost, and she was denied her rightfully hunted meal when thy blood proved ye kin. I will not be able to turn her from the hunt a second time so easily.”
Morgan sat deep in thought for over a minute, absentmindedly petting Lulu as the loofah polished and cleaned the tabletop while emanating contented purbles. “Well,” she said as she plucked the scrubby off the table and returned it to her shoulder, “I guess I’m ready to try to learn that storage enchantment before you go hunting. I wish I could stay longer, but I understand.”
Moghren stood, once again draping the feathered cloak about her shoulders before plucking a small leather pouch off of a shelf above the fur-covered bed. “All I can give ye be a night of safe rest, child. I suggest thy heading be westerly on the morrow. A few thousand leagues to reach the mountains, and on the other side, the nations of men still squabble. At least, it was so last I were able to travel beyond the Roost.”
“So that’s where people are?” Morgan asked as she followed the older witch outside. “And a few thousand leagues? That could take me years to cross! Is there any way I can get wings like you? The class avatar when I made my choice had wings! But she said I had to find them on my own. That trolling bitch!” She spat the last words, remembering her shocked disappointment.
Moghren snorted again as they walked toward a broad intersection that opened up where several stone-paved avenues met. “There be many ways to gain such a thing, but none be easy, nor simple. An Angel’s Feather could grant ye the gift ye wish for, or a Demon’s Bargain, but the price of either be great and terrible upon one so young as thee.”
“Do I even want to know what I would have to give up for either of those?”
“The Angels would have thy Soul bound to light an no longer serving thine own will, and a Demon powerful enough to grant thy wish would demand ye rut with him and his brethren. Thou wouldst be granted wings to fly, ‘tis true, but birthing a demon’s spawn would end thy Story right quickly.”
Morgan crossed her arms and shivered out of horrified reflex. “Those can’t be the only ways! Surely the Class thing wouldn’t have teased me like that!?”
“There are other ways, but thou hast chosen to forego all clothing. Ye cannot wear a winged garment or enchanted robes, not even the [Sandals of Hermes]. Even Divine Artefacts are barred to thee and shall never cover thy skin. I can see the etching upon thy Soul, even if ye cannot, and thou art Clad in Sky from now ‘til time’s own ending. Rarely have I witnessed such absolutes, yet it is become as much a certainty for thee as it is for the sun to rise in the east.”
Moghren stopped in the center of the intersection, as far away from the ancient buildings as was possible to stand. Morgan stepped closer to watch the old woman open the small leather pouch and turn it inside out before continuing her own questions.
“So what are the other ways? How did you strike your bargain to become a raven? Can I learn shapeshifting magics?”
“There be scant few who can truly shapeshift ,” Moghren responded after a moment’s thought. “Less than a score I have ever met in all my years. Some older [Druids] manage to learn it, but without assistance from greater beings, it requires giving up a portion of thy sense of self. Ye could take mine own wings, were ye strong enough and willing to be bound to the Roost.” She paused, then shot Morgan a poisonous look. “If ye intend such rudeness, however, speak now, and my Raven shall feast on thy bones this night.”
“Oh God, no!” Morgan backed up a step. “No, I don’t want to fight you or anyone else! Or be bound anywhere! And I really don’t want to be dinner, please…”
The old crone looked at her descendant and through her, her gaze ranging back through uncounted centuries. “With wearing an enchanted artefact barred to thee, I can think of only two ways ye could achieve such a thing. For wings on thy back, t’would needs be grafted directly into thine own flesh and Soul. Such a weaving of Magic and Soul thou would find only agony in the doing.” She shook her head, as if banishing the thought. “Thou art far too new to thy class, too young. T’would scar thy mind and leave thee broken and drooling. With time and another dozen levels or so, perhaps, possible. But not soon, not by any measure.”
“And the other way?”
“A Divine Blessing. I…cannae help ye there. Moghren bows not to the godlings of this world, not even after all these centuries. Now,” said the [Midnight Crone] as she held up the leather pouch, “enough of wi
ngs ye cannae make use of. Spend thy hoarded points upon thine Intellect, and pay attention as I weave the workings for an enchanted pouch. Thy first attempts shall likely prove volatile failures, but I have faith in thy blood, if nothing else.”
Morgan did as the old witch requested, and waited for her head to clear from the rush of increased Stats. Once done, she checked her status menu, waiting for her Mana to swell to match her new capacity.
Status Information for: Morgan Mackenzie
Level - 10
Primary Class: [Skyclad Sorceress]
Secondary Class: [Locked]
Health - 250/250
Stamina - 280/280
Mana - 310/310
STR - 20
AGI - 20
CON - 20
VIT - 28
INT - 31
Stat points available to distribute: 0
Current Skills:
[Primal Instinct]
[Acceleration]
[Athleticism (Lvl 3)]
[Regeneration]
[Fade Presence]
[Spell Surge]
[Resistances]
-[Pain Resistance (Lvl 9)]
-[Heat Resistance (Mastered)]
-[Frost Resistance]
-[Lightning Resistance]
-[Mana Resistance (Mastered)]
[Affinities]
-[Mana Affinity (Lvl 6)]
-[Frost Affinity]
-[Fire Affinity (Lvl 2)]
-[Heat Affinity (Lvl 2)]
-[Water Affinity]
-[Lightning Affinity (Lvl 2)]
-[Earth Affinity (Lvl 5)]
[Spell List]
-[Mana Pulse (Mastered)]
-[Spell Channeling (Lvl 5)]
-[Lightning Bolt (Lvl 3)]
-[Frost Bolt]
-[Flame Bolt]
-[Water Bolt]
-[Hailstone]
-[Wind Barrier (Lvl 2)]
-[Candleflame]
-[Earth Sculpt (Lvl 8)]
-[Earth Wave]
-[Plasma Glaive]
[Runic Enchantment]
-[Candleflame Rune]
[Living Runes]
Skyclad (Fate's Anvil Book 1) Page 23