Artorian's Archives Omnibus

by Dennis Vanderkerken

  Upon motioning to the youngsters hiding behind a fat Adansonia, the spry Elves swung from the branches like trained trapezists. Landing in almost exact unison. The last one dropped down on a taller root and lost her footing, ruining the entire presentation as she fell to her butt. She blinked in confusion, not understanding what had just happened.

  Artorian smiled with the usual grandfatherly poise, even if the youngest among them was still older than him. Time and aging just worked differently for them. “Practice makes perfect, my dear. Keep at it! It is better to try a thousand times, and fail a thousand times, than it is to try and get it perfect only once.”

  The girl nodded in understanding. That meant only a few more attempts to go and she’d be at a thousand failures! Artorian shook his head in minor disbelief at the interpretation written on her face. His expression brightened when the children handed over… a wrapped package?

  The philosopher had questions. A wrapped package? What sort of… when did Emby learn how to wrap things? The folding work on the foliage was superb! He looked to the children in the hope they had answers, but they shrugged and ran off to play when Birch gave them the go ahead. “She said, ‘open it like I would’.”

  Artorian had never heard easier instructions, and blew up the present with concentrated fire. No warning, no fuss. *Fwoosh-boom*. Just as Ember would do.

  The exposed Baobab-wood box made him laugh. Fireproof! Of course it was. Undoing the slightly seared lid, he pulled out a letter and a very familiar bag. This was Ember’s spatial holding bag! He already had one, why give him this?

  Unfurling the note, he read a short message that must have been attempted a dozen times, given the utterly messy wrist and palm prints on the side. He admired the hard work regardless. When the Fire Mage devoted herself to something, she really went all-in.

  ‘To my favorite fool,

  Had I a friend such as you centuries ago, the color of life may not have drained from my sight. I wish you all the best in your war. If your children are even a tenth as clever as my favorite human, who kept gushing about them over the last several years, they will be fine. Merely find them when you have the strength to do so.

  They wait for you.

  I could not bear to tell you the following to your face.

  So I wrote this letter.

  You are currently not strong enough.

  I have ceased writing the letter at this point several times, not knowing what to say further. This is the point where I would like you to open the pouch.’

  Artorian put the letter down a moment. There was more text, but effort had been put into this. Might as well follow her wishes as best as possible. Birch remained quiet and let the old man go through the motions. The texture of Ember’s pouch was scaly. It didn’t look as such, yet was bumpy like the texture of a large, sturdy fish.

  The pouch opened to his touch. It didn’t have a cinch or string, and now that he inspected it, he could not figure out how he was supposed to close it. As soon as he had the thought, the pouch closed by itself. “Well. That’s advanced.”

  Sticking his hand in, something *thunked* into his grasp. A stone tablet? He pulled the flattened rock free. A stone tablet! It contained a carved list of items? A big list. Why stone? Perhaps things in this bag decayed and stone did that slowly. Did all material in spatial bags decay? At what rate?

  Artorian shook his mind from that thought before a full hypothesis on that subject was formed. He'd have to write it down, and then he’d get distracted. “Must be everything that’s in here, I’m still not following why she needed me to check the b…”

  His voice stopped short as his eyes hovered over certain entries. She wouldn’t have… left those here. Hurriedly checking, he reached into the bag and pulled free an Iridium helmet.

  “Oh… Ember. Why did you… this is too valuable.” He frowned, but relaxed upon remembering that the armor didn’t do anything for her anymore. Anything that could challenge her was either a specialized nuisance, or a powerhouse of a Mage that could punch through this extremely heavy full plate set like pudding. He handed it over to Birch to hold a moment, but both the helmet and Birch’s hands thunked to the ground.

  “High Human! My fingers! Why did you give me something so heavy?” The rest of Birch’s Elves managed to lift the item once they worked together, but Artorian picked it from their grasp with two fingers. How incredibly odd. Birch was stronger than him in all respects. “Thank you. Why isn’t that so heavy for you? You’re lifting it easily? That root-cracked helmet almost crushed my hands!”

  Artorian scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know. We’re missing something here. Also, what’s with this shape? I don’t mean the polish; it was clearly cleaned well, but the sizing is different.”

  He plopped the helm over his head, and tried to stay calm as the shape altered around his skull to fit as snug as a bug in a rug when his Auric Essence rolled over it. Closing the faceplate, he turned to look at Birch and spoke with muffled voice from behind the obscuring helm. “How do I look?”

  Birch rapped a set of knuckles on the helmet, but the human remained unphased. “You look like an angry golem. Impossible to tell what your face looks like.”

  Without warning, Snowdrop popped up like the shrubbery that she was, attracted by the *humm* the equipment gave off as her synesthesia went wild. Had Artorian’s peripheral vision not been cut short, he’d have jumped. Instead, Birch did it for him in a burst of panic. “Wow!”

  Belle whipped around like she was looking for something, and her searching gaze settled on the helmet with a big grin. “So that’s where that noise is coming from!”

  Artorian looked about until he came nose to faceplate with an albino face that was utterly uninterested in personal space. In fact, her hungry expression made him feel like this girl wanted his blood. She looked at him like he looked at honey snacks.

  He was suddenly very glad the helmet was present. “Oh. Hello there?”

  Snowdrop crawled around him like a prowling feline, using dozens of roots as additional support struts to facilitate her peculiar movement. It made him think of a kraken, if the watery beastie walked on land and was grown entirely out of bone-white vines.

  Attempting to re-establish herself as the primary conversation partner, Birch coughed loudly. Her efforts were cut short as thorned whips erupted from the ground, binding her in roots. The newcomer was preoccupied, and Birch was interfering. “Hello! I’m Snowdrop. My friends call me Silverbelle.”

  “Very confusing, thank you.” The helm made a nodding motion to show Artorian’s understanding, and the snow-white lady pushed away on her vines.

  Her fingers pressed to her lips, and she giggled excitedly as her eyes sparkled during observation. “That’s colorful. I’ve never seen a land ownership effect contained in an item before!”

  Grumbling while taking the helm off, Artorian laid the protective helmet in his lap. There had been several words in a row that he didn’t understand. Having a proper look at Silverbelle, the longbeard was confused how a five-foot-tall Elf could feel so… imposing. A glance to the side let him deduce that some hierarchy foolishness must be at play here. No one was interfering with her antics, and Birch wasn’t being teased in an elaborate fashion. He filed the thought away for the future. “Terribly sorry my dear, what was that?”

  She grabbed at the helmet so Artorian let her take it. Unfortunately for Snowdrop, it instantly *thunked* to the ground. Somehow, it was far too heavy for her to lift. She grunted; she wasn’t about to be outdone by a hunk of metal! *Hnnnn!*

  Silverbelle released the unmoving helmet. “Fine. You win this one. High Human, I have synesthesia.”

  There was no way she was making headway with the rude piece of headgear, so her attention was now fully on Artorian. “Synesthesia causes one type of stimulation to resonate with another. To me, hearing a sound also produces a color. Since I’m special, items that have been Inscribed or are Runic give off a specific sound. That sound then sh
ows me a wonderland of colors, and I can even tell what sort of ability has been placed on an item depending on the hue.”

  Snowdrop coiled around the object, studying without pausing her words. “When the Fire Soul wore this gear, every piece of her armor played a somber, lonely melody. The notes have changed; it’s so much louder now! It sings a tale of deep belonging. I want it.”

  Artorian folded his hands as he listened. “How interesting! From that information, can I guess that this helmet is keyed to a particular person? Given I can lift it, I’d say that it’s keyed to me?”

  Silverbelle pouted as she backed away from the helmet, dropping what she was doing to leer at him. She didn’t appreciate having her thunder stolen, so she glared at the unmoving metal like it had betrayed her. Artorian smiled as he regarded the petulant thief. Well… if not a thief, at least someone who seemed used to getting what she wanted.

  Artorian could hear Snowdrop’s cursing as she slinked away… something about stupid things that don't like her when she wants them to like her. It should have made music for her, and her alone! If Wood Elves had Nobility, given her behavior, Snowdrop was likely a part of that standing. Artorian resumed reading his letter as Birch got up, finally freed from the root by his friends once Snowdrop was gone.

  ‘Until you Ascend. I am gifting you my old armor.

  I have repurposed the Runes to easily resize the gear, but I cannot prevent their activation cost. If you wear it, the needed Essence will be taken to fit its new shape. I would rather you use this armor than have you attempt to copy my Ascended ability of changing the structure of my body.

  While you might succeed in changing your skin to metal for protection, it would be permanent, and you run the risk of statuification. Avoid this foolish errand. Use the full-plate. Treated Iridium is dense, and will protect you against both blade and blunt impact. Small weapons will do little to you.

  Only words should be able to hurt you, and this armor cannot protect you against those.

  We’ve spent years on your Aura, and Infusing your mind was necessary to prevent your own presence from tearing you apart. Sadly, merging your Auras cost us the time we had set aside to get you into the C ranks. You have developed great Auric skill, but are physically weak.

  Take my Spatial pouch, and use the items within it to survive your war. The tablet is a record of what remains in the pouch, and will alter whenever something is removed.

  When I have finished with the matters of my homeland, I will seek you out… my friend.

  Until the future, my dear Sunny.

  Signed, Your Fire Soul.’

  Artorian folded the letter neatly, tucking it away so it didn’t get wet from all this impromptu rain. “Terrible time for rain.”

  Birch looked up at the clear sky. If anything, there was a firework now and then. “There’s no rain, Starlight Spirit.”

  The old man obscured his face, hiding the lines running down his cheeks. His grip on the helmet tightened. “No, my friend. It’s raining.”

  Baobab handed over some newly minted umbrellas to Birch as water droplets began to sprinkle down from above. The party in their human’s general vicinity had quieted. Water Essence swirled in the air, and the sky rumbled. Rain fell.

  Artorian smiled into the crook of his robe as he heard the pitter-patter touching his new umbrella. How nice it was to have supportive friends. He dropped his arm, exposing reddened eyes as he quietly listened to the water.

  The lull in the festivity made a great number of Elves decide that this was a good moment to give Artorian some going-away presents. Not that they wanted him to go, but Artorian had always been clear about his intent. Heaps of bear rugs, plants of varied sorts, a small mountain of hookah blend and matching tool, entire clothing lines from Rosewood, and even a few boxes from the Dwarves to be opened at another time.

  Mahogany gave the human a folded-up package, silently winking as it got stuffed into the pouch without explanation. Hawthorn beamed in the background. “You should stay a week or two! Take some restful days, cheer yourself up?”

  Artorian shook his head. “I’m afraid my desire to be still has been shaken. I believe I’ll be leaving shortly; after I say my goodbyes to everyone. The Academy awaits.”

  When it became clear he wasn’t staying for the festivity after all, the young Elves mobbed their human, bowling him over and bearing him to the ground. They screeched the entire way so they couldn’t be told to stop; clearly they must have forgotten about the Forum.

  Mahogany silenced them with a single thought. Now sour and sullen, the kids who were all older than Artorian gave him a big group hug. “You’ll come back to visit?”

  The old man agreed. “I don’t know when, or how. Yet, you will see me again. Perhaps you’ll introduce me to the new saplings when that time comes around? I can’t wait to see what unique little sprouts you will create in the future.”

  While most of the young Elves were mature enough to understand what Artorian was saying, not all of them did. He held that child the longest, as the tiny Elf wasn’t willing to let go of his leg. He considered a supportive solution. “Remember that plant that made it easier to breathe?”

  The child nodded, and Artorian handed something over to him. His finger was kept in front of his lips with a silent, conspiratorial shush. “Here’s something for you to use with it. You show me what you come up with when I return, alright?”

  Gaining a purpose, the youngster perked up with a big smile. He was glad to have something to keep himself occupied, and to have a project to show off when the High Human friend came home.

  A few hours later, Artorian stood at the edge of the forest. Hawthorn had been hanging around the man, apparently simply lounging. In reality, the Elf was holding Artorian up. The old man was reeling from his first ever tree-step travel. For someone without nature Essence, calling it an ‘experience’ didn’t do the journey justice. The bizarre method of movement had been worth the earth corruption. “How… far did we just…”

  Hawthorn laughed at the usually wordy human’s lack of cohesive thought. “Far. Did you like it? They’ll never let me live it down once they find out I took you the quick way. Everyone wants you to stay, and they think that travel on foot would convince you to remain.”

  Artorian rubbed his eyebrows, still not used to how it was evening where he’d been, and bright afternoon where he was now. “This might be a good time to open that Dwarven box. They said this was to help with bright light, correct?”

  Reaching under his robe, Artorian pulled the carved stone box from Ember’s spatial pouch. A pleasant grind of stone made the back of his neck tingle as the lid smoothly slid open. The gift contained several pairs of… darkened goggles! Artorian picked one up and rolled it around between his fingers before sliding the spectacles onto his nose. His smile warmed to a smug grin. “Even better than I dreamt of!”

  Artorian glanced around, and the sun-blocking glasses prevented the orb in the sky from stabbing him so deeply. Success! Staring directly was still a bad idea, but heavens did this help. For all the grief Oak had given him, this crazy idea had been fabulous!

  Sunglasses on his nose, he recalled that Haw had asked him a question. “If I had to describe that trip… it was like being pulled through a root system at a velocity I couldn’t comprehend. That’s saying something. I couldn’t discern color or sight, only humidity, heat, depth, and a rough sense of direction. I sort of knew we were going south. I recall there being lines of Essence that we zipped through, but I thought those were traps when I first saw them!”

  Hawthorn nodded. “They are! When triggered, the break in travel stops you cold. It’s not difficult to replace the trap lines, since the network will prevent you from swift-traveling further. I’m warned when a line breaks somewhere, and arrive on-scene shortly after. Now that I’m no longer the only one watching the border, I may even have company. Especially if a large amount of connections break at once. That’s what Ember used to do to warn us about Blight. W
e knew to stay away from that area, and it prevented us from getting trapped mid-transit.”

  Artorian looked at the mountains far, far away in the distance.

  Haw followed the gaze. “Is that where you’re going?”

  The academic pointed, “There and past there. I know how to get where I’m going. I may bounce along and test some of my new techniques on the way. You know… jump around some, speed up the process of getting to the Academy. I really want to copy Elm’s ‘jump good’, Oak’s ‘solid Essence’, and Eucalyptus’s ‘wall’; perhaps see if I can’t find anything interesting.

  “Also, as much as I want to do so, it would take me years to replicate your ‘trap lines’. Mahogany’s ‘Sonic Voice’, Bao’s ‘fire immunity’, Cherry’s ‘petal dance’, Cotton’s ‘fluff expansion’, and Purple Heartwood’s ‘Instant Bo’. Even Rosewood’s ‘flash tailoring’ is going to take me a decade. No amount of seeing that over and over made it any easier.”

  Hawthorn held out a wrapped gift bundle to stop the academic.

  “What’s this now? At this rate you’re going to fill up my spatial bag!” Unwrapping the sizable bundle, the end of an oversized bow and arrow fletching poked through. Artorian was bewildered at the gift. “No… isn’t this your bow?”

  The Elves shook their heads in unified denial. “Only the arrows are ours. The bow is… *ahem*… it was Sequoia’s. Bao wanted you to have it.”

  They swallowed back their emotion, watching a touched Artorian glide his thumb over the wood. He nodded quietly, then made an Ember-inspired quip. “Sturdy. Strong willed. A memorable companion. Ha! Thank you, my friend. You and your family have given me many memories. Never would I have thought that those burning eyes of yours would ever look at me with such sadness. You don’t wish me to go either, do you?”

  Hawthorn’s Elves embraced Artorian tighter than the children had. The old man didn’t fight it. “When you return… let’s have that party, Artorian.”