Artorian's Archives Omnibus

by Dennis Vanderkerken

  Artorian stopped his bubbly bouncing. That was… less good news. Good thing he’d been such a dabbler?

  “One, we can finalize Bernoulli’s principle of containment. This will properly trap, separate, and contain any energy you take into yourself. The completed version allows the inclusion of Mana and higher tiers of energy. This technique was used by prison wardens in my time, to capture and restrain the cultivation of another. Warden Bernoulli was known to hold several hundred full cultivation spirals from people locked in his prison-wing technique.”

  The mote changed colors, highlighting another diagram. “Two. You’re currently using seventh tier binding. Looks like basket weaving backwards engineered. I don’t know the middle steps, only the final version of the binding. Unlike the containment principle, the binding is similar to medical gauze. It is meant to have particles move between them. You’re currently using this to refine out the different densities of Essence and corruption.”

  “Taking the binding to its final stage will make the Bernoulli system impossible to finish, since one focuses on entrapment, and this one on measured flow. Final binding will give you exceptional control over the differences between different grades of refinement, and knowing what Essence you’re using will never be guesswork again.” The mote changed colors once more, and highlighted the third diagram.

  “Three. Rotary gyroscope, the proper design with the right measurements. Your system is warped, and looks like it constantly keeps stretching. That’s horrendously bad. Focusing on the gyro is going to increase your ability to take in and refine Essence. Both the quality and speed by which you do this is going to see some vast, tangible improvements. That it’s three-dimensional is only a problem if your mind can’t handle it, but that must never have been a problem before, so I don’t see why it would be now.”

  Ember’s mote changed color a final time, showing the last diagram. “Four. Optional. The webway is… it has a specific purpose. It is meant to shunt your cultivation progress in one direction at the full cost of the other. A finished webway captures all wayward Essence in the system, and redirects energy back into the main cultivation technique. It does this at the cost of preventing Essence from feeding your crucial connections.”

  Artorian mentally pointed at his heart, and Ember nodded. “You call them Meridians. Instead of your Essence feeding your Meridians, you will be in dire need of constant mundane sustenance. The energy that’s supposed to help keep them nourished is instead going right back to refinement. So, you will be hungry all the time, but it comes with passive power perks.”

  The mote needed to take an energizing breath, restoring its shine. “Once set up, tearing a webway down is difficult until one ascends. So, it’s generally never constructed unless you were going to make it permanent once solidification occurs. It is a choice usually made by some variant of wealthy Noble, or an individual that can afford to have their needs met without concern while they focus entirely on gaining power. In the earliest of days, a Webway is all some cultivators had. Back when the Center was considered just a storage area.”

  The mote amusedly nudged Artorian’s consciousness. “Like someone who thought that Aura was only a storage area.”

  While the metaphorical jab in the ribs made him mumble-grumble, the fact that Ember—stoic stone-queen of the seventy unmoving statues—had made a joke made him let it slide without another thought.

  “Mhm. Funny. Very funny. I’m doing three and four. I’ll figure the food problem out, as I just can’t turn down the possibility that I might get to phantom-smiting faster.” The mote bobbed in understanding, and whipped around in his system, highlighting areas that needed immediate attention for their improvements to see progress. A three-dimensional firelight diagram harmlessly overlaid atop his existing technique, showcasing where they were headed.

  “Here is what we’re going to do…”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Would you stand still?” A year had breezed past in what felt like the blink of an eye. Rosewood and Sequoia each put finishing touches on an unmoving human and stoic Ancient Elf, with Rosewood bickering about one fashion detail or another.

  All of Rosewood’s Elves sported a beautiful gown of primrose lined with lily. They were busy, working with surprising focus and determination on a human-fitted rhododendron robe. It was their passion to craft clothing with style, and each spirit that she adorned with her creations became another runway model to show off her wonders.

  Sequoia was tall, in fact, putting-Mahogany-to-absolute-shame tall. Those boys were massive, sported petunia and maple leaf outfits, and worked tirelessly as they fit together Ember’s Gingko-leaf battle dress. The vibrant hues of yellow complimented the fresh orange-red roots of Ember’s hair.

  She’d cut it short since it had gotten in the way, and had been pleased as a newly minted candle when she discovered some of her locks had regained their luster. It was boyish and short, but it suited her in some fashion. This was because she was an abrasive thing that stomped through problems with the elegance of a shoulder slam, but none were willing to say that out loud.

  Artorian stood still for a long moment, thinking about the children that were growing up without him to guide them. He knew that what he was doing was necessary in order to free them, but it didn’t help the non-logical heart still beating in his chest. Artorian was wrenched back to the present as he was given a direct order.

  “Spin for me. Slowly this time!” Artorian smiled from ear to ear as he pirouetted in a short circle under the gaze of Rosewood’s congregation. The first time he’d done this, he’d really put some effort into the spin, and all the binding on the petals had come loose in a spectacular fashion.

  Rosewood had chased his barely-dressed keister all over and through her private grove while the old man heartily laughed at the top of his lungs. This had been his undoing, and he’d been berated by the group for what felt like a full day. If Rosewood was good at anything aside from designing clothing, it was complaining.

  In comparison, Sequoia had all the patience of undisturbed water. Ember and Sequoia were two peas in a pod. They grunted at one another, barely spoke, and just worked while exchanging facial expressions. When they glanced at Artorian and the situation he was in, their faces became flat and expressionless. They weren’t getting involved with that, or touching it with a ten-foot branch. The old man gave the Elves professional grief; if there was something that could have gone awry with the clothing, Artorian had ‘discovered’ it.

  A minor comment to Rosewood later, and she was all sorts of flustered. Just to mute his infectious giggling, she had to use two of her Elven bodies to keep the old man’s mouth clamped shut while she edited his outfit. Unfortunately for Artorian, hours of this had grated Ember’s nerves, and the general temperature of the rough vicinity had been steadily building. The teasing had been amusing in the beginning, now it was happening just to make Rosewood rip the moss out of her head.

  Sequoia—being an intelligent set of Wood Elves—said nothing. It was by far the healthiest option. Had he not needed to be involved, all five of his Elves would have faded into the greenery at the start. They were a strong proponent of ‘nope’ when it was possible to have a serving.

  Ember’s surroundings started to spontaneously catch fire, and she cleared her throat at the old man. Either the grunt, or the literal fire she’d lit under his rear, must have done it. He found more suitable behavior in a hurry.

  “Hmmm. Hmmm. Wha~at?” His query was filled with such faux-sweetness that you could stuff a pastry. The Mage was having none of it, and snapped his attention back to something fruitful.

  “You know abyss-well what.” Artorian’s hands nearly moved up to signal defeat, but the upset hisses from Rosewood made him cease mid-budge. They had been going around to hometrees and homegroves as the seasons passed, meeting and greeting the various groups of Wood Elves. It was interesting learning their peculiarities. For being a species with a single name, each group was incredibly divers
e. Even within the same grouping of three to four cherry blossom groves, distinct personality differences sprouted. There were many similarities, but nothing was an exact duplicate.

  In meeting many of the grove’s inhabitants, they’d gotten an update on the blight’s movements and patterns, usually receiving grim news. There was an intelligence in the phantoms that had made it extraordinarily difficult for Ember to be helpful. If she left Artorian to wall off a grove, they mobbed him with intent to fully overwhelm. That death cloud even waited for her to be well out of emergency reach before swallowing the landscape, making a beeline for him.

  So far, they’d gotten out of it with only minor injuries. Unlike a normal battle where some of the damage was psychological, but most of it physical… this harm was all mental. That abyss-blight somehow knew the threat the old man posed, and they wanted it taken out as soon as possible. It had made life more difficult for the Elves and Artorian by staying far ahead of their movements, attempting to devour groves they were nowhere near since Ember couldn’t just zip off at Mage-speed to deal with it.

  The forest was vast. Easily a hundred square leagues vast. A year’s travel had barely taken them all the way to the northern edge of the forest, where snowfall was a common sight. Luckily, Ember made concepts such as ‘cold’ more of an inconvenient truth, which didn’t remain as such if she so much as exhaled. Her very Presence warmed a whole region. Still, the journey north had been taxing, and the respite they’d found in Sequoia's grove had been a welcome affair. Artorian had quickly been in the middle of being accosted by a moment of Rosewood’s designer ‘inspiration’. Translation: ‘please help me, she won’t leave me alone’.

  The cold front coming through was slapped down by Ember’s spacious external Aura, sent back to its mother with a sore cheek and icicle-shaped tears.

  “How do you keep doing that?” Artorian was looking between Ember and the far distance where wind was spinning; pushing up and away from the heat differential. A sharp pulse-teal glow ringed about his irises as he looked with air Essence-enhanced sight, keeping track of the wind patterns. “It’s all the way out there. Your Aura reaches that far?”

  Ember flicked her finger in the direction he was looking, and the windy doldrums of motion crashed into one another for miles. Until eventually the wind slash she’d flicked through the air escaped his sight completely. From the after effects to the surroundings, he could tell it still kept going. “About there is the edge.”

  The old man grumbled. “The edge I still can’t see.”

  Ember’s smirk brought joy to both of them. “One day, you will.”

  The ‘inspired’ grumbles continued, and he couldn’t move while Rosewood was detailing. This was a good metaphorical example of being caught between a rock and a hard place. “No, really, I must know. I have at best managed to feel my external Aura as a sort of shell that coats my skin. Like a warm blanket in wintertime. The generalized cocoon of ‘me’ that determines what Essence I give back to the world. The amount I add in alters the Aura a little; it fattens it. It doesn’t extend the space yours does.”

  He received an odd look from Sequoia, who finally spoke. The voice was not what any of them had expected. A high-pitched group of chipmunks squeaked up in a response. The sounds came from the bodies of the Elves, but even Ember glanced around unmoving just to see if she wasn’t mistaken. “Easy answer, Starlight Spirit. The Blooming Spirit is how much space you believe you occupy. It can be extended wide, or retracted to the area of a fingertip. For some creatures this is meant to oppress, as a Royal might. It doesn’t necessitate filling the space physically, as one can do the opposite and obfuscate their Presence entirely.”

  Some of the tall Elves adjusted Ember’s sleeves, who was shocked silent in disbelief at the high-pitched voices. “The Fire Soul spreads her sense of self out wide and thin, so she may detect particles of Blight and discern their movement. In a sense, her consciousness occupies a space greater than her body. This is what we Wood Elves do all the time, with the limitation that we are required to be in a body of appropriate size when we do. Unlike the Fire Soul’s technique, we cannot ‘spread ourselves thin,’ as she does.”

  A moment of silence passed, and the Sequoia community decided that it would be for the best if they never opened their mouths again while in these forms. The embarrassment was palpable.

  “Is…” Artorian turned his head to look at Ember. “Is that why you’re so distant all the time, and barely present in the moment? You nod off at times, yet you’re awake. You’re present, yet not. That seems incredibly dangerous to do against a foe that saps the mind.”

  The Mage didn’t seem bothered, and answered with all the difficulty of sipping afternoon tea. “In part, yes. That is one of the reasons I am distant. I am not threatened by the blight as another may be. I vastly outrank it. Would you bite into lava simply because it was distracted?”

  His head shake was answer enough. “Unlike the wood, I do not leave my body. I merely spread out my full Presence and fill it with my consciousness. I choose not to oppress, and allow for other minds to exist freely within the space I occupy. Anywhere my space is, I can be at a moment’s notice, both in mind and power. I track heat signatures, temperature differentials, and more. I cannot be hidden from, even if someone’s Law specifically intended the purpose. My Law of flame has been honed to the bleeding edge. It will not falter even to one that rests a few tiers higher.”

  Rosewood nudged Artorian’s arm. “You’re all done. Take some steps for me.”

  Doing as he was told, he put some drama in the steps and walked to a tree and back as if on a catwalk. Rosewood was leery and tapped her lips with at least three of her Elves. Displeased in some way. Oh no… that meant… she wasn’t done? He quickly got his mind off that thought and got to questioning the trove of knowledge. “Does this have anything to do with being an Ascended?”

  Ember’s catwalk was next. It was a sight. Her natural elven grace completely belied centuries of practice in advanced movement. She killed the expo, adding her own spotlight from the canopy as she enhanced the brightness. Artorian hadn’t known that under that stoic veneer there was a woman who could dish out some flair. He’d been around a year. How did he only just now notice this? Him, the great self-proclaimed noticer.

  Ah well. He’d not spoil her moment. When she returned, Ember spread her arms to let Sequoia make further, silent adjustments. “I was certain I had told you this. Everything is for the purpose of becoming an Ascended. The truth hiding behind all the veneer and political lies, misinformation and popular chitter-chatter is one considered the ‘noblest pursuit’. I’ve told you this path was taken for the eradication of war, but that was merely my reason for doing so. The original purpose, as my shamans once attempted to tell me, is one of universal balance.”

  Artorian perked up. If he didn’t have to once again stand still under the many folding and clothing-altering hands of a very done-with-his-antics group of Elves. He would have been in her face to pry out answers. She noticed. “You’re doing that ‘academic’ thing again.”

  He smiled at her quip, not in the least bit abated. “I am indeed! Please tell me in detail, from the beginning if possible!”

  That was a little difficult. There were many ‘beginnings’ that would qualify, and not knowing which would sate the ever knowledge-hungry scholar, Ember picked a random spot of lore. All his questions had really beaten her memory back into shape, as the codger just didn’t forget when a question had been left unanswered. He’d slide in next to you during the morning fire and repeat the same thing from the day before as if he’d never asked it at all.

  Woe was her day if she gave a conflicting answer to something he’d heard before. She was not good at this, but what was she going to do? Abandon her task? Grunting darkly, she got on with it.

  “When the world was young, in the days of my great forebears, there were things for which we had no words. Only ideas. While words could give form and shape to the ideas,
it lacked in substance. During these days, Ascension was discovered by early adopters of what is now known as cultivation. They began as outcasts, shunned for altering the manner of their being with the power of the lands. They ceased to be the creatures they were as they took in this energy, replacing themselves with it to a point where their survival depended upon energy mere sustenance could not supply.”

  Sequoia provided Ember some water to drink. While she didn’t need it, she had a drink just to not be rude today. Also, it’s possible she had needed it after all, and wasn’t about to admit that.

  “When the great conflict came, these outcasts turned the tides so one-sidedly that they were re-invited into the various cultures. No more were they nameless and shunned for their frightening practices. From that point, ‘cultivators’ have been an inescapable truth of existence. They have gone by many names and titles, but the idea of it remained the same. It was only when the first few Ascended that new understanding came to light.

  “The earliest attempts at what was called ‘the climb’ only resulted in deaths. The cultivators drained themselves internally to achieve a task none understood, and for the longest time could not accomplish. Others attempted to skip the climb and directly become the soul of an idea, but those results were… gruesome and gory.”

  Since she had the water, she took another drink. “The first recorded Ascended was Parubin, Scion of Air. His body was remade in an endless storm of ‘greater energy’. From there began the Golden Age. Knowledge of ‘air’ was suddenly far easier to grasp by nearly all. It was as if the world itself had gained an understanding of the concept, and shared it in turn. As the stars turned over in the sky uncountable times, more and more of these ideas and concepts were solidified as a cultivator ‘Ascended’ to yet another idea. The more complicated, esoteric, and difficult to grasp the concept was, the ‘higher’ the requisite climb. In the event your personal energies didn’t line up with the concept, it wasn’t available to you at all.”