by Dakota Krout
Dale began sending Essence to his hands and noticed the color of the energy changing swiftly. It had started as green but then transformed into brown… then grey. As soon as it began turning grey, Craig sliced his hand forward, somehow removing the Essence and throwing it against the far wall. A thick bramble bush was suddenly sprouting from the point of impact, and the wall cracked as roots dug into it. The bramble vanished after a moment, but the damage remained. Dale looked at the wall in horror. "What was that?"
"That, Dale, was an Essence construct. It is a representation of the Essence that created it and has no real substance. As you can see, as soon as the Essence sustaining it runs out, the construct fades." Craig sighed and looked back at the wall. "At least that wasn't your hands. Looks like you are going to have to work just as hard as anyone else at this. Let's get started. Try again."
"I have some other meetings that I-"
Craig cut him off with a slicing motion of his hands. "Reschedule. You have work to do here."
Chapter Eleven
It was hours before Dale was allowed to leave the training room. When he did, he seemed revitalized, calm, and focused. He was actually mightily struggling to maintain the regenerative aura that he was projecting, but it was very beneficial to him to continue using it. Not only did it very slowly and passively heal his body, but it also did the same for anyone that came near him. This was felt by the receiving person as a soothing presence and tended to help reduce stress and fatigue in them. This type of aura was almost exclusively able to be used by clerics, as it required significant control over celestial Essence. Even then, it was a rarity because of the requirement of being able to generate 'blood' Essence.
The ratio needed in this particular recipe was six parts celestial, three parts water and earth, and one part fire. Maintaining the balance of Essences was mentally taxing, but after it was in place, the aura would help to relieve that burden. It was a positive feedback loop that would lead to swift mastery of this type of aura, and Craig had thought he needed a rapid win to avoid depression - which in fact this aura also helped fight against. Once it was mastered, Craig asked if he would be so kind as to sit in the academy where students congregated during finals. The boost to their bodies and mental states might be precisely what they needed to survive in the high-pressure environment. For now, Dale was going to use this in any meetings, gatherings, or interpersonal event of any kind. War looming on the horizon was a significant stressor, and recently people had been snapping at each other more than usual.
"Excuse me, young man. I was hoping that you would be so kind as to help me find my way around the academy?" Dale looked over to see an older man with a massive series of bags on his back. Dale was so shocked by the size and amount that he was speechless. Why in the world didn’t he just use a spatial bag? "Young man? This burden is not getting any lighter, and I would like to be set up for classes by morning if at all possible. Oh, a regenerative aura? It’s rather weak, but… a young cleric, perhaps? Or have you found a more interesting path to take? Yes… I think it is the second option." A small smile appeared on the old man's face coupled with just a hint of impatience.
"I'd be happy to assist you, elder." Dale grinned softly as the man rolled his eyes and muttered something too softly to be heard.
"Yes, well, perhaps we go with 'Headmaster' for now. Elder seems very… almost condescending with the number of Mages in the area. I'm only in my eighties after all! I'm a spry young bird compared to those old fogies!" He hopped in place, coming down and landing with almost no noise, though the bags on his back shook and rattled.
"Ah, you must be Headmaster Artorian!" Dale smiled as the other man looked at him quizzically, as if his mind had just snapped back to reality after being absorbed in thought. "I am actually the Baron of Mountaindale, owner of this mountain and the dungeon that it contains. I was the one who hired you, and it is a pleasure to be one of the first to be able to greet you."
The man’s wizened gaze sharpened as understanding appeared on his expression. His hand rose to shake Dale’s as warmth and good cheer slowly filled Artorian’s face. "How fortuitous! As they say, it is better to be lucky than to be good! Personally, I find that being good and lucky is my preference. Would you happen to know where my personal quarters are located? I brought everything I owned with me and would like to set it down." A cursory glance was taken of his surroundings filled with the scrutiny of someone that had suddenly realized they were lost.
Artorian didn't seem to be having any issues holding his gear, but Dale understood what he was getting at. They walked through the gates of the academy, hearing chuckles every once in a while by students who didn't have as much intelligence as they should. When the Baron of the mountain and the Headmaster of the academy were walking together, respect should have been a given. Luckily, the two were deep in conversation and didn't particularly care about the derision of students.
"It simply doesn't explain the hostility and overall tendencies of these necromancers! Even if they were downtrodden, why would they not take the opportunity they had to sue for peace and perhaps start their own civilization? Is it so unlikely that they would have been left alone if they didn't initiate an assault?" Dale's voice was frustrated, and his aura wavered for a moment before he caught himself and devoted himself to holding the flowing Essence correctly.
"Young man, that is a rigid perspective. They did not want peace, and I will tell you why. It is generally believed that there are three potential goals in the philosophy of war: the cataclysmic, the eschatological, and the political goals. Now, that is not to say that there cannot be another, only that they are only three of the most common. Allow me to make this into a metaphor for you. In political philosophy, war is compared to… let's call it a game of strategy.” Artorian’s hands were flying about as he attempted to explain with his hands as much as his words.
“Political players look at war, and all they see are numbers. Numbers of troops, numbers of possible resources that they will be able to take upon winning the game. This… I think this is not what our foes are after, or their actions would have followed a different path."
"In terms of the eschatological, war is used as a means to an end. This could mean a war for freedom, for recognition, for rights. In other words, there is a clearly stated goal. If I understand you correctly, this is what you are thinking the necromancers would be pushing for. You are saying that they should take the rights and freedoms that they have now won, that they should now band together and raise themselves out of the positions that they had been in for so long. If they had only done this, the war would be over, and uneasy trade may have even started. Unfortunately, they seem to be after the third option."
Artorian took a moment to gather his thoughts, and even though they had stopped in front of the headmaster's new house, they didn't want to end their conversation. "Now, the cataclysmic theory of war tells us that war serves little purpose. That is, outside of causing destruction and suffering. The main outcome of this type of war is drastic change to society at large. This mentality arises from the idea that 'there is no other option', that the only thing that can possibly be beneficial is killing and destroying the previous order. From the ashes rises a new, 'better' society."
Dale shook his head. "It is impossible. Any society is going to have the same issues that plagued its precursor. Why… why wouldn't they try to affect change from within? Why not try to change society slowly instead of going back to square one and dealing with every other issue that society had already eradicated? King Henry, Queen Marie, they had plans for change that would have bettered the lives of hundreds of thousands over the years. Why not try?"
Artorian gesticulated as if he were about to fall into a long dissertation, and his entire pack moved, clanking and clattering. The Headmaster caught himself, remembering the time and seeing the exhaustion on Dale’s face, and decided to shorten his answer. "Sometimes the hardest thing to cultivate is not Essence but patience. Perhaps even harder tha
n bringing yourself to the Mage ranks! In all my years, patience is either the saving grace or the folly that leads to downfall.”
“In short, change from within society also requires that they have a place within society. Most infernal Essence cultivators lack this, due to how they are viewed socially. I believe your settlement is the only one in the current age where their acceptance is something that has been planned for.”
The old-looking man’s face seemed to darken. “Even then, I did notice where their particular building is positioned. Rogue comments of the clergy have also not escaped my notice as I passed earlier. I hear there’s a Father present with a keen interest in keeping an eye on them. This merely adds to what I mean about how closed off they must feel. Even here, no infernal student will be without scrutiny, and I expect strong words with at least a few of the professors to keep their biases in check. Now, Dale, this has been a pleasure, but I really need to go. I have a meeting to get to with the instructors. I'd love to do this again sometime."
"You can count on it. I am fairly certain that this is the most in-depth conversation I have ever had. I’ve been studying texts and reliving memories of others with no one around to help me understand them." Dale shook hands with the headmaster and turned away to head off, feeling much happier about the hard decisions he had needed to make recently.
He looked back to see Artorian undo a latch on his bag, releasing what appeared to be hundreds of pillows. They flowed from the bag like a river, somehow all making it through the doorway. Artorian looked over his shoulder, seeing that Dale was once again giving him an odd look. The older man shrugged. "I like pillows. I like them everywhere. All I have left to unpack now is a few dishes and clothes, so I'm going to get to it. Have a good day!"
Chapter Twelve
I felt good about my actions over the last… oops, three days? I hope Dani had been managing to run everything smoothly in my absence. I felt good as I lifted myself back to my Core. I felt strong, clear-headed, and… oddly powerful. What the… I ranked up! I was rank B-three now! When did that happen? How? What did I do to become more powerful? All I had been doing was creating a new level… and making it as close to perfect for my specific goal as possible. That… alright, would that work again? I almost dove right back down, but Dani somehow knew I was poking my mind up here; she jumped on the opportunity.
"Hey! You! Cal, you… you can't just run off for days at a time! I thought we were past this!" Dani was whizzing around frantically, and I knew right away that something else was bothering her.
"It's Grace! She's playing hide and seek, even though I told her that it was time for lessons on dungeon management!" Dani flew over to a Cat and stared at it, but it merely stared back unblinkingly. I figured that Dani didn't know how much Cats liked staring contests.
A quick scan of myself revealed the location of the tiny Wisp, and I almost laughed out loud.
"She is? Grace, get out from behind that door this instant!" Dani flew over, but the door slammed shut with a tremendous *bang*. The thing weighed over five tons, so the sound was quite impressive. Dani flew backward with a startled squeak, and I laughed out loud.
I laughed at the uncomprehending look I got. I pulled with a thin strand of Essence, and Grace popped out of the stone.
Grace had turned a light yellow, which I took to be her sulking.
"As well you should be." Dani collected Grace and went flying off. "Minya is looking for you!"
She glanced up with glazed eyes and a vapid smile. "Oh, he is so cute! Why is it that I never get to see them get made?"
"I'm not doing anything to him. He's just such a good boy!" She pet the scales under her hand hard as she said this, causing Manny to purr loudly. Maybe I had left too much feline in him. Minya looked up again, her eyes sharpening. "I'm here for my reward. I did a lot of work for you, and I think it's time that I get something more out of it."
"I started a… following. People that want to work for you, for the dungeon, in return for becoming powerful servants." Minya was beating around the bush too much for my liking. "Unfortunately, there are people on the surface that are seeing us as heretics, betrayers, and the like. They don't seem to think that the leaders working with you is as bad as working as a part of you. Basically, they need somewhere safe to live and work."
Minya smiled and thanked me, unhooking a keygem from Manny's claws before exiting the room. The Manticore jolted and hopped to his feet, looking around and growling menacingly.
A raspy, growling voice came from the massive Beast, "Petting. Tricked out of treasure by petting."
Although, until Mages started arriving, there would be nothing for them to do except for getting settled in and learn their new jobs. I worked on moving my Core and the Silverwood tree next, but I decided to have some fun with the Elves that were assigned guard duty. First, I had an Essence-rich steam pour out of the ground around my Core, obfuscating what I was doing. Then I quickly dropped the entire section and replaced it with a duplicate so that the Runescript around
the room would remain fully active. As I sensed the Elves trying to get closer through the fog, I ignited the gas that had laced the mist. There was a blast and billowing flame for a few long moments, and when the smoke cleared, there was only a small mound and ashes remaining where my Core and the Silverwood tree had been.
They lost it. The Elves began freaking out, shouting at each other in their language and dropping their invisibility. One was crying, and I started to feel a little bad about my joke. Hmm… oh. Right. Without the tree, their race was going to become extinct. So… this joke made them think that they were all dead. Lovely. Well, to be fair, they shouldn't have burned all their bridges. Really, this tree wasn't even mature yet. Wasn't there a saying about eggs in a basket? I did hate to see grown Elves crying like this, though. It… was getting uncomfortable. Elves were not pretty criers. We're talking big sobs, blotchy faces, and bags under their eyes. That was just the males! Woof.
Before they went and told on me, I let the door I had created slowly and loudly grind open. The Elves looked at the new opening, tears drying quickly and facial expressions shifting to total embarrassment. I knew that if anyone saw how they had been acting, they would be mortified… I think I had some new statues to make and display. They walked down the stairs, apparently hopeful that they would find a new level with the Silverwood tree intact. Well… that was what they were going to get. Unfortunately for them, the new floor wasn't open for business right now. They walked along the houses, carefully searching for the threats of this level. Finding none, they eventually gathered around the tree, talked to each other a short while, shrugged, and returned to 'invisibility'. Too easy.