Artorian's Archives Omnibus

by Dennis Vanderkerken

  The old man slapped his exposed chest to cope, eyes wide as he coughed a ‘thank you’. “I’ll admit… that axe is feeling pulled.”

  A hearty laugh escaped the Dwarven merchant. That was two birds with one stone for him. He was certain that their drink’s excellence was no longer in question, and the heaving coughs of the old man barely able to handle the drink instantly restored his honor in the eyes of his brothers. “Course it did! That there is heart brandy, goes right to yer chest and makes ya fluffy.”

  “Actually… why aren’t ya wobbly yet? Ya should be about passed out bah now. But look at ye! Standin’ without a fuss!” His smile grew three sizes larger. “Boys! We got us a drinker!”

  A mad cheer erupted from the watching crowd, and they raised their empty tankards. Another drinking buddy was always welcome! Artorian regarded them with crossed arms, getting his mind in order. His Aura was active, and… how odd. It wasn’t costing him any Essence for upkeep?

  The effect passively hung in the air and revitalized the Dwarves brawling nearby, stripping them of fatigue and mending minor injuries. It wasn’t a quick process, but their bruises didn’t remain, and nicks formed scar tissue almost instantly before smoothing over. Opening up the ‘vitality’ gate while slamming shut the ‘bright light’ gate was certainly good to keep handy.

  He did a small set of jumps on the spot. He felt spry, and already the buzz from the brandy was fading. No. Not fading. It was… building? He had a quick look. The liquid fire Essence was being negated as it tried to build up, but his Aura was fighting it off with the speedy recovery it created.

  How interesting! His weariness faded, the stains on his body evaporated, and the general surroundings even seemed to grow healthier. Even Eucalyptus had gotten back up, rubbing the sides of their heads on the inside of the open space. They were confused as to why they weren’t dead tired or asleep. They guessed the brawling Dwarf ball had woken them once more, but they’d expected exhaustion; instead, they felt pretty good.

  Just as Artorian did. “Oh, now this… this is good stuff.”

  “Aye! For only two gold a bottle, as well! Absolute steal, if ya ask me.” The merchant, still under the impression heart brandy was the topic, went right for the sell. He clasped his hands together and glimmered a money-hungry grin.

  “Two gold?” Artorian was under the impression the merchant had implied his Aura was worth but two gold, but that felt… incorrect. The brandy? Ah, yes. The brandy. These were traders after all. Still, something was off, and he looked around for what it might be. He saw that Ember was still a sculpted statue of… diamond? Quartz? Both? He could not tell.

  One problem at a time. “My good man, I do appreciate the discount on the alcohol. Sadly, you’ve caught me at a disadvantage and in a state of improper attire. I’m wearing a bearskin, for crying out loud! That aside… what are you doing here? I was under the strong impression that only Wood Elves could freely cross the outer threshold.”

  Artorian’s eyes narrowed, his no-longer-ringing brain recalling something it had heard. “What’s this about it costing you coin for a spectacle?”

  The merchant realized his attempt at making a sale had fallen flat, and his smile followed suit. Still, no reason to lose a potential future customer! It was the odd duck that could survive a shot of heart brandy and walk away sober, and those who did tended to be repeat buyers. If you can’t do it for today’s coin, do it for tomorrow's! “Depends, my friend! What’s the information worth to ya?”

  One last try! Ha! For greed’s sake, clearly, but greed wasn’t on the Dwarf’s side today. His plea for coin was directly ignored, and the old man wasn’t even looking at him anymore. Following his gaze, it seemed that the human was looking for something.

  “Hmm. Eucalyptus, my boy!” Artorian yelled it across the field, and the Elf’s thin arm came up from the floor to show he heard the man. “Good call on the Blooming Spirit! Do you know what’s going on?”

  An aggrieved response came back. Eucalyptus went straight to calling out the source of the problem. “Oak! Blame Oak!”

  That answer by itself told Artorian half the story, and he jumped as a surprise hug caught him from the side. The culprit slid from the nearby trees in a hazy bright cloud of candy-puff pink. Not from behind the tree, not from on top of the tree. From the trunk itself. Abyss! They could move through the trees?

  Oak spoke with an inviting demeanor, voice lurching. “Ye~e~es? You called?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Oak giggled, full of amusement. Those in her surroundings became less amused as Oak’s smarmy grin grew. Artorian now understood why this troublemaker of a tree was held in such… questionable regard. Given that this entire set of events—even the Dwarves being here—had been set in motion by the herb-enthused tree spirit, this was all suspect.

  That abyssal shisha-smoker was far too chipper, and Artorian’s need to know grew further. The more time Oak had to continue this charade, the worse it was going to get. For everyone else. Half-nude, the old man defiantly crossed arms across his chest. Significant amounts of muscle had been added onto his frame in the last few seasons, but it was difficult to tell beneath the scarring. “What. Happened.”

  Eucalyptus gathered along with the Dwarves that approached, equally interested in the explanation. He’d been a volunteer for the last few days, so he felt that he deserved to know. The Dwarves all stood shoulder to shoulder, protective of Big Mo.

  Some joviality was fine, but when a dainty thing comes strolling out of a pink cloud straight at the caravan Dwarf holding the majority of their coin… prior experience demanded the rest of the troupe drag him away. Always be careful around beautiful people trying to sell you things; it was a spendthrift’s nightmare. This went double for any drunken Dwarf.

  Artorian spoke as he paced about, getting ever fussier as the alcoholic mixture was purified from his body. “There are visitors that weren’t introduced! Why is Ember a… that, and what in cultivation’s sake… did. You. Put. In. That. Blend?”

  He emphasized the words hard. For a side effect this egregious, he expected a very lengthy warning before he tried it. Even Ember had done better of keeping him off the path of offhand consequences like this. Curse his curiosity!

  Eucalyptus impatiently tapped his foot. He may be feeling a lot better, but when Rosewood found out what happened to all the ruined outfits… he certainly wasn’t going to be around.

  Oak danced around the topic on her cotton clouds. “Oh, it was a delight! I just couldn’t resist seeing what happened when you all got together. See it went something like this…”

  Oak danced across the hazy mass of cotton-pink smoke, waltzing through the air in a lengthy evening robe. The Elf was just far enough from the ground that the cloth didn’t drag along the recently wrecked floor of the clearing. It was clear that Oak somehow managed to keep their personalities unmerged, because no group of minds would ever let this kind of floozy be their public face.

  Artorian glanced at the sullen expression painting the merchant’s face. He guessed it had something to do with the cloth, rather than the display. The Don’s lower lip trembled, and he had to turn around to bury his face on the shoulder of one of his men. A few laid hands on him, supportively sharing their brother’s loss. They too had wished that the cloth would go to someone that had a good reputation, and other people of high standing would want to buy one for themselves. This was the reverse of good advertising. Now no one could buy something similar in this area and not be judged as following in Oak’s footsteps.

  Artorian could clearly hear the Dwarf’s hidden mumbled lament under his breath. The perks of opened Meridians. “Not like this. Not like this! That whole color is just going to have to be thrown away!”

  Artorian tried not to snort. The cultivator had to pretend he hadn’t heard that. He recalled from academy scrolls that Dwarves were big on honor and social contract. The corners of his lips turned up regardless at the merchant’s troubles. He didn’t know what the
Dwarf was so heartbroken about! That nightgown was fabulous, and this portion of Oak—while a tart—truly had the figure for it. She was lovely.

  Speaking of Oak, she’d taken to lying on a gargantuan pink cotton pillow that seemed to be made out of smoke. There was a trick that he was very interested in learning. The academic also noted that only one of Oak was present… it had been a passing thought before, but now it seemed odd. Where were the other three?

  He didn’t have the time to put much thought into it before the Elf began to monologue. She loved the sound of her own voice, that was clear. “Where to begin? Why not at the end? Nobody ever starts at the end!”

  Oak spread her arms out, and the pink cotton balls under her control formed moving shapes that mimicked her words. “So, there I was, in the midst of the greatest party my grove had ever seen. Short traders from the north, brothers and sisters from all the verdant foliage to the south, a human from the west, and an ancient from the east.”

  The story ended abruptly. Or rather, ended expectantly… as a certain mention made Artorian’s eyebrows jump a full inch. “Oh dear. You shouldn’t have done that.”

  Golden rings surrounded the old man’s irises as he watched the troupe of shouting Dwarves toss themselves into the air as living artillery. The shattering of rock beneath the ground accompanying their stout battle cries.

  Long pillars of stone pushed the Dwarves into the air at a steep angle. Based on the manner of launch, the stone seemed designed to be optimal for attacking or oppressing a creature larger than the technique’s user. How… hmm. Best not to mention it. Oak’s faux pas was lesson enough.

  He watched Essence spike into the earth from each of the merchant’s boot heels. The energy was driven down like a tent stake being hammered to the ground, then grew outwards like a fern, pulling the stone beneath the user’s feet together into a stout pillar. The branches of the fern had then collapsed inwards while the main spike of Essence changed direction, slamming the other direction.

  Earth Essence. Definitely wasteful. Expensive too from the look of it, but honor was worth the price, as evidenced by the beating Oak was currently receiving after being snatched out of the sky. Ah! That’s why the other three weren’t present. They’d be collateral, and likely knew this was in the cards.

  The Dwarves clearly expressed their displeasure, and Artorian thought it best to keep his Aura up and running. No reason he couldn’t help the Dwarves with an extra few opportunities to land a punch on someone that could benefit from a… learning opportunity.

  “We warned ya twice already, ya sparkly goat! Ya bought the product fair and square, and we won’t speak ill of a customer. But that was the last pebble in the pond! Who you callin’ short, ya lanky earthworm? The terms be stout and girthy!”

  *Thud*! Another Dwarven punch landed on Oak’s cheek, and no one was pausing the beatdown. Eucalyptus was not-so-silently relishing in schadenfreude, and Artorian had to admit that this was indeed an excellent show. Good job Oak, now wiggle more enthusiastically! Those pink clouds didn’t seem good for much.

  He’d checked the Essence pattern on them, and found that they were just a plane of air Essence with some odd technique on it. Causing it to pull together and form a cotton-like solidity. There was fire, earth, water, and air present in this cotton. To his surprise, there was a good amount of corruption keeping it all stuck together.

  How it was floating… Artorian had no idea. Yet. Noticing was his thing, so he squinted at the cotton Essence.

  Additional Essence was piled into his vision as he cycled view modes to glean additional information. When the academic cycled in an air view, he took a step back. That was beautiful! The ‘air’ comprising the fluff wasn’t the type they were breathing; it was lighter than air! Significantly so. The difference caused the puffy ball to stay afloat, and the concentration of Essence in the cloud remained responsive due to tethers that connected to Oak’s fingers. Were there only ten clouds that formed the large pillow?

  He counted and confirmed that was correct. His studies were interrupted when Hawthorn wrapped arms around his neck. As before, this friendly hick-bundle of Elves was all smiles.

  “High human! How are you, Starlight Spirit? I see you’ve uncovered the Oaken ploy to deter you from the main event.”

  Startled, the Essence to Artorian’s eyes slowed, seeping away at a snail’s pace. Oh, this was awful. Why had he thought this was a good idea? His eyes felt dryer than a sandpaper pillow. He shook off his discomfort, needing answers to other topics. “Hawthorn, my boys! I’m well enough, though filled with unanswered questions.”

  Artorian motioned all around him at the scene still playing out. Oak had wrestled free and was now dashing around the clearing with a pack of displeased Dwarves giving chase. He whispered under his breath to one of the Elves. “Oak called them short, put a serious stick into the conversation plans.”

  The cheerleading hunter squad nodded in unison. “About time. Oak’s trickery was getting annoying.”

  Their voices unified and their movements ceased being as individualized as the moments passed. Artorian looked at them and wrapped one of his own arms around an Elven neck. “Haw? Are you alright, my boy?”

  The Elves all shook their heads and shook in harmonized unison, their voices equally paired and matched up. “Wood Elves do… poorly in social spaces. Only around those we know well, or find comfort with, can we put effort into distinguishing ourselves. Otherwise we are forced to be one. The dissent between thoughts only functions so long as there is comfortable cohesion, and if that falls. We realign.”

  “You will rarely see a group of Wood Elves act with non-unison should you meet them outside their grove or their home forest. Given the visitors, and the large gathering… we’re sinking back into our old ways. We cannot do much about this when so many of us are gathered.”

  Artorian wrapped his other arm around a second Elf, though it didn’t appear to matter. One Elf receiving the care was equivalent to all of them receiving it, with their unity being the way it was. They did smile at him in appreciation for the attempt. “Haw, why is there a gathering?”

  The academic—who was still in research mode—got right to the point. Hawthorn nodded their heads over at Oak’s main grove in response. “The news of the changes in the tide have spread. Where previously it was better to remain spread out so it was more difficult for the blight to catch and find us—given that it can keep track of areas where thought occurs—now it is best to do the opposite.”

  They all beamed at the old man. “Word of the Blight’s defeat travels swifter than a bird’s flight, my High Human friend. So, for the foreseeable future, rather than require you to march around attempting to avoid pockets of blight. We now all hide beneath the canopy of your protection.”

  Artorian was instantly concerned. “But… your groves? Aren’t your trees vulnerable?”

  His friends nodded, because that was certainly correct. “Yes, however, our groves do not emit thought, only the forms we occupy do. The Blight cannot detect what cannot think. So, while yes, our groves are extremely vulnerable, the Blight has the task of finding the correct, single tree in an endless forest.”

  A heavy sigh of relief left the old man as he leaned into the Elven support. He motioned at Ember’s sculptured form. “Do you know what that’s about?”

  The Wood Elves shook their heads, “We do not, but expect Mahogany may when they arrive. We are instead looking forward to assisting with your progress, as we have promised. Some Blight does lurk around our grove, attempting to pin us down. We are quite the thorn in its side since we lure away and scatter potential food sources. Traps are our specialty!”

  They sounded awfully pleased about that statement. Were they trying to show off? With a free flow of such answers, Artorian capitalized on the questions. “Oh? I thought your specialty was the skewed identity Essence-imbued eyes?”

  The look he received as response told him they had understood maybe half of that sentence. “W
e… don’t follow what you said there. If you meant that we take nature’s flow and apply it to sight… yes. We’re not as versed in the terms of cultivation as you are. Like most of our kind, we do not delve deeply into the basis of our abilities. We merely sharpen and hone their use with practice. As I have seen with many of the border humans that have the gift; what the power is, and where it comes from… just doesn’t matter. It’s all about how effectively one uses it.”

  The Elves started to relax, becoming more comfortable for a reason they couldn’t discern. Artorian knew why: he’d added a dollop of starlight Essence to his Aura to increase the soothing effect. “Speaking honestly, you are the first of the humankind to delve into such topics that we know of. Even among the Elven-wise, only the eldest who become stuck in their ways of progress begin considering such avenues of thought. It… I apologize, High Human, it is simply not something that is done. It requires time and effort that could be better spent on abilities to protect oneself in this hostile, unforgiving world. The practices you follow… they are suicide.”

  Artorian nodded along, this perspective wasn’t a mystery or a secret. He was very well aware that he was cruising on the tailcoats of those more powerful than him, and he’d just gone along with the tide. But… it wouldn’t stay like this.

  He’d leave when the task was done, and then… then progress would be all him again. Old Man Sunny against the world. He perked up for a moment as he considered the new naming convention the Elves were using.

  “What’s a High Human?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hawthorn stilled, having forgotten that the topic of a High Human hadn’t actually been discussed around Artorian. Each Elf made a motion to pull something from a satchel that only one of them was carrying. It was awkward, but the package was handed over to him. A real package, bound in waxed paper and string.

  “It has been discussed and decided that you aren’t just a human, but rather a highly favored human. Against the grain of the actions the rest of your species follows, you follow a way of life that doesn’t fight against nature. Not once in the entire last rotation have you acted against our rules, and while we have seen your difficulties through the animals of the land, we are aware of your efforts. Thus, High Human. It is a title of positive repute.”