More than that, she felt the familiar urge to boost her CHR up past it’s abysmal 3. She knew, without a doubt, that it was hindering her socially. But it had become a calling card of sorts.
With low - but not horribly low - CHR, she always had a ready excuse for offending somebody or seeming brusque. Mostly, Elora just didn’t like people.
On that, Elaise and Elora agreed. Animals were far more preferable to people.
There was… another reason. One that she didn’t like to think of.
If she could find a way to remove her Paladin Class, she would. That, almost as much as her general distaste for societal niceties that her traitorous mother was always so fond of, made sure she would keep her CHR at 3 forevermore.
And so, like a typical Ranger, she dropped all 5 points into DEX. Not that she was a Ranger anymore. Her Class had evolved into a Fabled Class, the Wildsmaster.
It was a colossal step up above Ranger. Being able to retroactively receive traits and abilities that she would have gotten as a Wildsmaster from Level 1 was amazing.
Unfortunately, it didn’t allow her to reset any older perks, or gain any additional perk points. Though she did gain them every 5 Levels now, which was a nice bonus.
“We break cover, I show you something,” Elaise said, crouched in front of a wide pair of dark emerald bushes with golden berries. She caught Elora’s eye drifting toward them. “Know these?”
“Fool’s Joy,” Elora repeated mechanically. She had begrudgingly accepted Elaise as her tutor and was determined to be a good student. Even if she seemed scatterbrained in her approach to teaching.
[Fool’s Joy] was an edible berry, one of many in the Shiverglades. It had an effect similar to drinking too much ale without the liver disease or the hangover. In short, fun to watch people stumble about and ramble but not the best thing to eat when out in the wilds.
She told Elaise as much, and her tutor nodded in approval as she spread the wide fronds of the undergrowth aside. Elora knew it was a slight. One that Elaise had shown her many times.
Gritting her teeth, Elora stepped through without a whisper of sound. Just as Elaise had intended.
Despite her Levels in Thief and Ranger, she still paled in comparison to Elaise. A barbarian who was half-naked and with a massive greatsword strapped to her back was more silent and stealthy than the girl raised in the forests around Fallwreath.
Elora shook her head. So much of the world seemed turned on its head of late. But she reminded herself that her personal pride could be set aside for the greater good.
And right now, getting to Elaise’s scouting party to convince them to help the Bravers Guild defend their home was paramount. Her hurt feelings and wounded pride would have their day, she was certain.
Once things were stable again, she was going to deliver some delicious payback to Elaise. But not until then.
She would not risk their new home.
Elaise appeared at her side out of thin air. “Come, this way,” she said, veering off to the left. The forest thinned, becoming rocky and moss-covered. Before them loomed tall smooth stones about the size of a man.
Faint writing in a script Elora didn’t know covered the rocks, though it was hard for even her superior Perception skill to pick out. Elaise walked up to one and placed her hand on it gently.
The script glowed a faint purple-blue. A cord of red rope was strung along the tops of each stone like a rudimentary fence.
She’d seen this sort of thing before. It was a warding. But for what?
“Stones protect. Keep great darkness at bay. Many places like this. Many under water, deep valleys. No light. No air. Only death. All tribes in Shiverglades bound to protect these places,” Elaise said. She motioned up to a nearby rise that afforded them a view of a large set of ruins.
It was absolutely massive. Built along multiple shelves of stone, the ruined structures were utterly alien to Elora’s eyes. A dark miasma hung over the ruins, thick and coiling like something alive.
“What happens if we pass through?” Elora asked.
Elaise raised an eyebrow at her. “You want die? Go ahead, try.”
Never one to back down from a challenge, and hardly believing that Elaise would allow her to die, she reached out a hand toward the space between the stones.
A webbing of electrified energy, a barrier, held back her fingers as surely as if she were pressing against granite.
Grumbling, she pressed harder. Elora even leaned her shoulder into the barrier and bulled ahead as mightly as she could. All to no avail.
“Cannot get in,” Elaise said with a superior attitude. It was one of two attitudes she seemed to possess, the other being scorn. “Is Ruins of Cirta. We seal, centuries ago.
“Home of ancient mages. Broke world. Nearly destroy it. Killed selves. Many come looking for ancient secrets, want power.” Elaise shook her head sadly. “Is why we protect Black Lands. Home to much magic. Cradle of life here. Much power.”
Elora frowned at her, then at the barrier. She pulled back her hand and as the magical force faded, she swore she caught a faint geometric pattern but it was gone too fast.
Standing so close to the ridge that overlooked the ruins, Elora couldn’t argue with Elaise. There was something deeply powerful coming from that place, magic she felt deep in her bones even from more than a mile away.
And she knew that setting foot in those ruins was a death sentence.
131
“Besal,” Hal said, his voice strained with worry, “what is this place?”
They passed into the depths of one of the larger buildings, a temple of some sort with pristine white fluted pillars. Gorgeous depictions of celestial beings decorated the inner halls. Throughout it all, Hal felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise.
Something was very wrong. The problem was, he couldn’t figure out what.
“I do not rightly know,” Besal admitted. “As I told you before, I can only feel locations of strife and darkness. Only at such sites might we have our Communion.
“It is hard to find an appropriate location. It must be steeped in ever-greater conflict and hardship. Something about this place is mired in an ages-lost battle, one that I cannot tell if it was won or lost. But there is darkness here, and we shall use it to our ends.”
Hal looked over his shoulder, Shadesight showing the distant rectangle of light that was the entrance. The Rhino Beetle had refused to go inside, but seemed content to stay at the entrance.
I probably should have taken a cue from him, Hal thought.
“But you did not,” Besal said, marching through the dark. “And because you did not, we will only grow in power. Look upon this. Tell me what you feel.”
Hal turned back to see Besal standing over a dais of some sort, circular with worn etchings in the polished stone. At its center was a dark metal, almost like bronze, that was cast in a bas-relief of some long-ago war or battle.
Mages - or something close to them, Hal guessed - wearing long robes reached toward distant worlds. Perhaps they were stars, Hal couldn’t easily tell, and it didn’t much matter what they were doing.
His eyes were drawn to the Perception-illuminated marks on the back of each of their hands. A mark that Hal had. A mark that was supposed to only be given to Founders. And yet, here were dozens of people with the same mark.
Your Perception has risen to Level 22.
+2% Perception highlight chance (+44%).
+5% Awareness of magical items (+110%).
He felt a connection to the strange metallic hoops set about the forest. And everywhere he went in the Ruins of Cirta, he could feel something within the stones. A low hum of power, like standing too close to an electrical transformer.
Whenever he mentioned it to Besal, the man only shrugged his shadowy shoulders. He could not feel it, but Hal could.
And right then, he felt like stepping any closer would get him electrified.
So, naturally, he stepped onto the middle of the dais. The slightly r
aised, metallic relief depressed as if it were a large button. The entire platform began to sink into the ground.
Besal quickly stepped atop the descending ancient elevator. Smooth stone walls encircled them as they went deeper and deeper.
They were plunged into utter darkness as the stonework fell away after nearly a hundred feet to reveal a vast, velvety emptiness. There was nothing there for his Shadesight to see beside streams of water that glittered in his magical sight.
Hal could see no ground, no buildings nor crumbling ruin. All was infinite dark, with only waterfalls surrounding him. But the waterfalls made not a whisper. There was no sound from the sheets of water.
Whatever ground there might be was so far below, and the cavern so wide, that he could hear nothing of the waterfall’s impact.
The dais they stood upon was roughly twenty feet across, and it was still moving down through the cold, still air.
There was a sense of vastness about him. And for the first time, he could feel what Besal was talking about.
Great magic had been worked here. It left a metallic tang in the air. Whatever it must have been was on a scale unlike anything Hal could imagine.
Before Hal could focus anymore on it, a heavy thump made the dais vibrate with the impact. Both Hal and Besal turned to face the source of that noise.
A robed figure stood before them, looking quite similar to the same manner of mage that was depicted in the scene at their feet. His hands were hidden within sleeves that were folded over his middle.
Eyes of steel-blue peeked out from the cowl. “You would seek to know our magic? You, who have not even unlocked the first stage of the Kol’thil. Do you think its golden ink pretty?” The man’s voice dripped vitriol as he pulled back one sleeve to reveal a coppery mark, similar to Hal’s own.
Similar, but different as well. Runes and sigils filled the empty spaces between the geometric shapes. The whole thing looked less like a deconstructed 20-sided die, and more like a 6-sided die. But the similarity was unmistakable.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hal said.
As if detecting that he was trying to lie about his mark, the golden mark appeared like a floating hologram above his forearm. Hal furrowed his brow at that.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m not trying to take anything. I’m only here to….” As he trailed off, he realized there was no way to explain that the man might understand.
How was he to explain that he was here to gain power, but not their power? No matter what he said, as long as he was telling the truth, it would sound like he was coming for whatever it was this guy was protecting.
Hal looked over to Besal, who was slowly sliding into a defensive position. He clearly felt this was a fight they could not avoid.
The robed figure gasped, staring at the shining vision of the mark. His copper-colored mark responded in kind as it floated off the back of his fist. That struck Hal as odd for several long moments as his mind desperately tried to warn him what that meant.
“You possess a Gilded Kol’thil!” the man screeched in alarm and fury. “You would profane our legacy by choosing a worthless cretin such as that? Come. I will provide you with the power to grow stronger. Render unto me your power, I beseech you!”
Hal drew out [Emissary], Splicing aberration, eldritch, and keeping shadow so he could see in the dark. Why did it sound like the mage wasn’t talking to Hal anymore, but to the mark on his arm?
“He does not know what you are,” the mage pleaded. “He is ignorant. I am one of the last of my order, we who used you to repair this broken star. But a shadow I may be, with your power we could begin again.
“I see where my brothers and sisters made their mistake. We were cast down by the jealous and fearful masses. We should have burned them all to cinder. I will not make the same mistake. You know who your true master is. He will never unlock your power.”
As crazy as the mage in front of him seemed for talking to his Founder’s Mark, Hal couldn’t shake the feeling like the mark was somehow… alive.
It started small. A dull, tingling sensation. And then it grew more severe.
His left arm began to go numb, inch by inch.
“Yes,” cooed the mage. “Come to me. You can take the power of my lesser Kol’thil. See what I have done with its power already. Meager of the Order I may be, but I am worlds beyond this neophyte!”
Hal shut his eyes and focused on the mark. He could feel it moving. As if it were slowly being pulled away from him. It was the strangest sensation he could remember feeling.
No, he thought with a resounding force of will.
The slipping sensation stopped. Everything seemed to hang on that moment. There was another violent tug on Hal’s mark, as if the mage ahead was trying to forcibly steal it now that Hal had stopped his earlier attempt.
Holding firm, Hal thwarted that attack too. It was unlike anything else. This wasn’t pure magic, but it wasn’t physical either. This was something else.
Whether he wanted it or not, the mark was part of him. Aside from its magic, it proclaimed him a Founder. Whether or not there was more to it, Hal didn’t want to lose it.
For the first time in a very long while, Hal actively wanted to keep his mark. A sense of pride bubbled up out of nowhere, and with it came a surge of anger.
How dare this simpleton try to steal what we are!
Hal paused, but only for a moment. Those weren’t his thoughts. At least, not the thoughts he knew of. Besal turned to regard him, a look of shock on his fuming crimson eyes showing that he had heard it too.
A voice that was of Hal, yet not.
His mark flared a brilliant gold. Hal channeled Deep Magic, coating [Emissary] in a cloud of dark shadow, interspersed with motes of darkness and illuminated from within by crimson flashes of eldritch lightning.
Arcing blood-red energy crawled up and down the curving blade of [Emissary] as Hal tightened his grip on the hilt.
“You want a fight?” Hal said, gathering his [Chain of Binding] to his left hand. “Fine by me.”
Your Intimidation has risen to Level 4.
+1% Intimidation success (+4%).
+1.25% Pacification chance (+5.0%).
132
“Even when you know nothing, you braggarts with your golden Kol’thils act like you’re so superior,” the mage said with a snort.
His arms lifted skyward, streams of water reflected the coppery shining mark on the back of his hand. Arcs of copper lightning erupted from it.
Hal cast Feather Barrier on himself, spreading it to Besal as easily as he would to any of his friends. But the mage wasn’t attacking.
At least not yet.
The copper lightning shimmered and roared around the opposite end of the dais. It slowly took shape as a large, hulking monstrosity. One that towered over the small mage ahead of him and took up a good half of the platform itself.
Clad in oily darkness, its too-wide oval head split with rows upon rows of sharp ivory teeth, it was a mockery of a Morbolger. One that was larger than any other Morbolger Hal had ever seen or experienced.
Waves of malice rolled off the creature. Instead of thin vestigial tendrils atop its head, there were glowing nodules that gave off a faint sapphire glow.
The dozens of glowing ovoid things reflected a million times over in the sheets of water falling all around them as the elevator continued to descend. It looked faintly like they were in a starscape of faint, shimmering blue stars.
“I will show you the power of the copper Kol’thil,” the mage said, folding his arms calmly once more and standing in front of his summoned creature. “Once my Voidbolger has finished with you, perhaps I will scavenge what is left of your corpse to learn how a child came to be in possession of a Kol’thil.”
Besal, standing beside Hal, set his blade out wide in a mirror image of Hal. Dark lightning jumped up and down the simple [Bone Longsword]. “I don’t like being ignored,” he growled.
Before Hal real
ized what Besal was going to do, he launched himself at the mage. Black wings dusted with starlight spread wide and flapped to provide him with greater speed.
Realizing he was letting Besal wade in without him, Hal used Convergence to speed his movements and rushed after him.
The mage flickered, his image wavering as the Voidbolger slithered forward on trunk-thick tendrils. The two became one, with faint crackling copper lightning racing up and down the creature’s oily hide.
With its command of the battlefield due to its sheer size, the Voidbolger started off combat with an obvious move. It paused a moment and inhaled deeply. Strings of glittering saliva in the creature’s mouth broke and fell inward.
The orange-glow of Premonition practically coated the entire platform.
“Besal, up!” Hal shouted, though he didn’t need to.
Besal had seen the same fight Hal had back at the Settlement. He knew, perhaps even before Hal, what was going to happen.
With nowhere else to go, Hal leaped with all his might into the air just as Besal took wing and gave a glancing blow with his longsword to the Voidbolger. It hardly seemed to hurt the creature as it breathed out a noxious plume of toxic breath.
The reek of it nearly made Hal faint. As he reached the apex of his jump, he realized something else.
The elevator was continually descending. And it was going down at a much faster rate than he thought it was. The height of his jump was magnified several times over.
Besal swooped over to him, caught him about the waist, and dove after the receding platform. A whipping black vine cracked the air where Hal was just a second ago.
Without Besal, he would have been hit squarely without the ability to dodge it in any way.
Another tendril cracked through the air, then another. The Voidbolger was fast. Despite its massive size, it had an array of weaponry it could send at them at a moment’s notice with little wind-up.
The Voidbolger lifted its gigantic maw and breathed in once more, readying another breath attack. A swath of Premonition glow illuminated a wide cone of the air. It was interesting seeing it anywhere but on the ground.
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