Fallen Ambitions

by Vann, Eric J.

  “Ah, I’m glad you asked!” he replied, brightly. “Wervins are creatures of the earth, and their blood is an adequate catalyst for the type of earth crystal enchantments required to strengthen Soul’s Rest’s walls. I can use their blood and mix it with a little D’grit root oil the Grauda have already collected. The combination will form a suitable ink, which I can use to draw the Fortify enchantment runes directly on the earth crystals.”

  Vhal grinned at her and Celia swallowed at what that grin represented.

  “Well, alright then,” she said quickly, turning on one heel to make her escape into the village. She knew that look. It was the look Vhal wore when he wanted to launch into an in-depth explanation of some sort of obscure magical theory. Celia didn’t want anything to do with that, no sir. Not about Wervin blood, at least.

  * * *

  Issac was nowhere to be seen. With the immediate threat neutralized, Celia needed to discuss the future of his people and their relationship to the Fallen. As she entered the village’s central square, she noticed the majority of the human fighters were gathered around the hall.

  A voice called out to her. She turned to see Issac and another human male hurrying in her direction.

  “We defeated them,” Celia announced as they reached her. “And we should hopefully find their lair soon.”

  Issac smiled. “News has already spread, they are practically dancing in there,” he replied, pointing the main hall. “Thank you, truly. Good news is hard to come by these days.”

  Celia let out a deep breath. Her Master had not ordered her to recruit these humans, and in fact she suspected he might have preferred her not to interact with them at all during this mission, but the situation had made that impossible. Celia was certain that having humans join the Fallen would be of great benefit—after all, she reasoned, he hadn’t ordered her to recruit the Grauda either, and that had worked out quite well for all involved.

  “You’re welcome, Issac,” she said with a gentle smile. “But there is something I wish for you to do for my Master.”

  “Of course. What might the humble people of Git do to repay him for this service?” Issac asked, but Celia could tell he already knew the answer.

  “Swear yourselves as his followers, and serve as members of the Fallen,”

  “I see,” Issac said as he straightened his back. “I’m sorry, if it were up to me alone then I would do so without a second thought. Unfortunately, I don’t have the authority. Only a meeting at Fes could make such a declaration for all of us settling here in the Wilds.”

  “Meeting?” Celia asked.

  “A gathering of the mayors of the all the settlements within the Central Wilds. We meet in the town of Fes to discuss any issues. It’s the closest thing to a government we have.”

  Celia frowned, and Issac flinched at the sight of it. What he was describing sounded awfully like a guild, and yet it had not been identified as one to be pacified in order to gain control of the Central Wilds—or if so, her Master hadn’t told her of it.

  “This guild of humans in the Wilds, who does it answer to?” Celia asked.

  “Oh, no,” Issac answered with a shake of his head. “We are no guild. We are unaffiliated with any other faction and therefore have no charter, and we are certainly too few to be a human racial guild.”

  Celia stared at the mayor blankly, utterly lost. “How many people does a guild require?”

  “More than we have here, that’s for certain. There also has to be a will to form a single group amongst the people, which is certainly not how things are.”

  Celia raised her right hand to her forehead and began massaging it. Between Vhal and this, she was definitely beginning to get a headache. “And the charter?” she asked.

  Issac smiled. “There are two types of guilds. Chartered guilds are establishments officially recognized and formed within a faction by using a faction’s limited number of charters. A racial guild is just a grouping of a sufficient number of a single race under some semblance of organization. All factions were once racial guilds or a grouping of them, before they achieved enough for the Seed to recognize them fully.”

  This was all new to Celia. The ways and dealings of guilds were pretty far above her normal station in life, until she had met Lord Aziel. “But what difference does it make? You are not a guild, but you seem to operate as one.”

  Issac again shook his head. “I understand your confusion, but it is not the same. Right now, we are just a group of people in the Wilds. The moment we organize enough people and influence to be recognized as a racial guild, we gain legitimacy as a group and would be treated as such. Think about it: other than some organization, tools and titles, what do factions or guilds actually gain other than legitimacy in the eyes of others?”

  Celia thought about that and saw his meaning. If the humans were an official racial guild, how differently would her Master have dealt with them? He was certainly focused more on the other races at the moment.

  “And when is this next meeting?” she asked.

  Issac scratched this head, thinking. “I believe it’s in a few days. I’ve lost track of the time, with all the chaos.”

  “No matter,” Celia said, firmly. “Send letters, tell them that the Fallen wish for an audience. Tell them that any absence will be taken as a rejection of the Fallen’s authority, and would be dealt with as such.”

  “But—” Issac began, but Celia cut him off.

  “This region belongs to the Fallen, and my Master will subjugate it. I’m doing you a favor, Issac. Get your people together and decide on your future. My Master is merciful and caring to those that serve his faction. Staying neutral is no longer an option.” Celia turned away abruptly, making for her inn and lodgings without giving the mayor a chance to respond.

  And what she had said was true. In today’s Central Wilds, you were either with the Fallen or against them. She would see her Master’s will be done.

  Chapter 9

  Aziel took a deep breath, his sweat-drenched skin shining in the light of the soul crystals. He had been training hard with his sword all day.

  Some movements came naturally to him, even complex maneuvers, as if his muscles had gone through them before. But the majority felt foreign, at least physically. He found that while he was intimately knowledgeable about almost all aspects of long-bladed weapons, even those he had never read about nor held, it was more of an abstract understanding than a true grasp of the techniques.

  This was something he had discussed with Astrel during their nights together. At first he had been interested only in her Alchemy skill, but the conversation had then delved much deeper into how these skills worked.

  According to the Grauda queen, his extensive knowledge was a product of his level 10 Long Blades skill. Like professions, leveling up a base skill was akin to receiving a theoretical instruction only. She described it as like suddenly remembering something from long ago. Even if she had never used an ingredient as a possible alchemic component in the past, after she had leveled her Alchemy skill, she would get a feeling—an understanding—that it could be used as such. This effect would only grow stronger and deeper the higher her skill went.

  In other words, it somehow gave a person access to a wealth of information previously unknown, and therefore reduced the training required to excel in it. While it sounded absurd to him, the evidence was there: Aziel had witnessed the moment some of the male Grauda had invested a point into the Wondrous Builder skill, and the results were profound and instant. They became better builders within minutes.

  This discussion with Astrel had led to another interesting issue. Aziel had twenty skill points available to him, an amount most wouldn’t receive in an entire lifetime, but he had no professions available to him to spend them on. Astrel had laughed when he brought this up. She explained that every being had all professions available to them, whether it was farming, tailoring, enchanting, alchemy, or any of the other professions, new or old. They were there—just listed as
Locked under the Utility skillset.

  It was true: Aziel had seen it before, but hadn’t known what it meant. Other than Soul Rejuvenation and All-Seeing Eye, his Utility skillset was filled with skills simply named Locked.

  It appeared a certain amount of knowledge needed to be learned before a skill point could be applied to base skills or professions. Astrel had learned Alchemy over a long period, mainly through trial and error, until she was proficient enough to unlock Alchemy level 1 and could therefore spend her points on it afterward.

  Interestingly, while Aziel had no professions unlocked, his Martial skillset was completely unlocked. He could spend his skill points on any weapon he wanted, whether it be Bludgeoning or Bows, which meant at some point in his past he must have used or learned how to use these weapons. At level 10, however, his Long Blades skill was the only skill fully developed.

  All this, of course, only led to a more serious and far-reaching question: where was all this knowledge and expertise coming from? If the World Seed was providing it, then why? Aziel lowered his blade, panting hard. He couldn’t help but see it as another way the World Seed held power and influence over their lives.

  Unlike the others, he knew the Seed was not a part of nature; it was a thing that had goals and could change and move in order to meet them—or at the very least, be influenced by others to do so. His recent near-death experience at Whiteridge had proven that. If the Seed held back and offered only certain skills to people, then it was entirely possible for it to push someone into a certain life-path without them even knowing they were being manipulated.

  Troubled, Aziel slashed his blade through the air before him before gently stroking his fingers across the flat face of it. With his ability to weave hampered for the time being, and Astrel away visiting her colony, all he had to work with were his Martial skills. He debated if spending a few skill points on his Martial skillset was worth it. After all, the potion the Grauda had administered to the Whiteridge adventurers had effectively made it impossible for them to use their weaving abilities for a time. What if he was ever put in a similar situation? It was also abundantly clear now that although he had plenty of mana at his disposal, using large quantities of it over a short amount of time could damage his vessel and limit his weaving abilities.

  Aziel took a deep breath as he prepared himself for another series of maneuvers, but the sound of footsteps made him pause. He turned as Astrel entered the chamber—only to stop short at the sight of the large new addition to it.

  “A Dryad tree,” Astrel said flatly, her gaze lifting to try and see its crown high above, before shifting back to him. Aziel could practically feel her eyes on him in his half-naked state. “And a powerful one. How did it get here?”

  “That’s Niyela,” Aziel said, bending his knees to adopt an aggressive combat stance before quickly raising his blade as he shifted into a more defensive one.

  “Niyela? The young Dryad Blossom Rosaline offered?”

  “Indeed,” Aziel said. “She grew to this size as soon as I planted her seed—a growth which absorbed a significant amount of mana from the chamber. Thankfully, the levels are recovering. She is sleeping now.”

  Astrel lips formed a thin line, her eyes drifting back to the Dryad tree momentarily before returning to him. “Then you are a Grove Master now,” she said, it struck Aziel as a statement rather than a question, as the Grauda queen began to close the distance between them.

  “She did call me that,” Aziel replied as he watched the queen approach, her long black hair cascading down her shoulders in curls, the red and white fabric of her outfit doing little to hide her shapely figure and unique golden-brown skin as it shone in the light of the crystals.

  Astrel slowly placed a hand on his right bicep and teasingly followed the natural lines of his muscles. “You know what a Grove Master does?” she asked, her honey-colored eyes following the movement of her fingers.

  “I do, Niyela explained it to me.” Aziel had to hold back a shudder of pleasure as her skin grazed his lightly.

  “You know, most men couldn’t handle the effects of binding a Lesser Succubus to them without limits to her power, never mind an Elder. Now you will have a Dryad as well,” Astrel said, before leaning in with a sly smile. “You might just go mad with lust, my king.” Her roaming fingertips stopped, and her gaze lingered on him for a moment before she shook her head and straightened her posture. “I thought you were cautious of having offspring,” she added, but before Aziel could reply, she asked in a brisker tone, “How goes your training?”

  Aziel let out a breath he had been holding for far too long. He couldn’t argue with Astrel’s words—his desires and the subsequent need to sate them was an aspect of himself he had noticed developing, particularly the growing difficulty of keeping himself and his thoughts in check when around his partners. And the more he thought about it the more obvious the answer appeared: the increase in his libido coincided with the increasing amount of time he had spent with Celia during his recovery. He wasn’t sure how Niyela would play into this, but it was not something he wanted to correct—not in the short term, at least.

  He watched Astrel now, his arm still tingling where she had touched him, and reflected on the difference in her since the events of Whiteridge. Her meekness in his presence, though still there, was greatly diminished. Only a few weeks ago, Astrel would have never touched him in the way she had now. It made Aziel realize again what it must have been like for her to see him in such a weakened state, rocking the very foundations of the legend worship which had been such a profound part of their initial relationship.

  Aziel smiled; he honestly preferred this Astrel. The way the other Grauda looked at him with such devotion still worried him at times, particularly the responsibility that entailed. “My training? As well as it could, I suppose,” he replied. “You can only go so far with books and manuals.”

  Astrel cocked her head slightly, then trotted out of the chamber without another word.

  Aziel tracked her vessel until she left his range. What had just happened? Puzzled, he took another few swings and jabs with his blade, making sure to use his entire body to put enough force behind his strikes, before he sensed Astrel’s vessel returning.

  He again straightened to greet her, but frowned as she ran directly at him, spear and shield in hand, and only came to a halt a few paces away. She bent her legs and held her shield in front her, with her spear held ready to strike. Her eyes narrowed as they honed in on him, the muscles of her thighs and biceps flexing, ready to spring, and her scythe-arms rose high above her. Aziel’s body tensed as his mind registered the perceived danger.

  “Astrel?” he asked, as he took a firmer stance.

  Astrel didn’t reply. Instead, she sprang forward, her spear redirected at his middle.

  Aziel reacted out of sheer instinct—he sidestepped her thrust and slashed at her with his blade, but Astrel was ready with her shield, his sword clanging loudly from the impact.

  With expert reactions, she leapt back and stabbed her spear at him again, this time aiming low. Aziel again reacted, even in his weakened state his much higher Reflex level allowing him time to analyze and dodge her strikes. He whipped his sword around and down onto her spear, forcing it to the rocky floor before stepping closer to limit the effectiveness of her longer weapon. His efforts were rewarded by a bone-crushing pain in his side, accompanied by a metallic ring. The force of the impact shoved him back, his feet stumbling over each other, and he barely was able to keep himself from falling over.

  Warning, you have suffered a minor injury.

  Aziel read the notification as he rolled his bruised shoulder, ensuring nothing was out of place. Astrel simply stood where she was. She had not taken advantage of her strike, instead deciding to taunt him by shaking her shield at him with a satisfied grin.

  Aziel grinned back at her as he swung his blade to the side, the tip cutting through the air with high pitched whistle. “Nothing beats experience,” he said, bef
ore putting all his strength into a forward thrust. Astrel raised her shield to block his attack, but Aziel was too quick; he lowered himself then spun to one side, his blade whizzing as he did.

  Astrel immediately raised a scythe arm to stop him and its armored side struck his blade. She winced as Aziel felt his heavily-enchanted blade sink into the hard chitin of her arm—but then he was forced to jump backward to dodge a swipe from her other scythe arm, pulling his sword free as he did.

  “Astrel!” he shouted, concern exploding within him. His strike had carried more strength behind it than he intended, as he hadn’t taken the momentum of his spin into account. But before he could check her injuries, he had to duck the spear she had thrown at him like a javelin.

  It flew past him and impaled itself into the rocky floor. Aziel swiftly repositioned himself in preparation for another attack, but the Grauda queen simply looked at him, her head tilted to one side, her smile betraying how much she was enjoying this. She then leaned forward and charged at him with just her shield. Aziel noticed her right hand pull back, her stance odd, as if she was going for—

  Aziel brought his blade up just as Astrel yelled, “Recall!” A purple burst of energy shot from where her spear had been driven into the ground, before the weapon rematerialized in her grip as she thrust forward.

  He was just able to smash his blade into the spear’s head, diverting its path enough to avoid being stabbed, but not enough for it not to graze his side. He stepped back, trying to create some distance, but Astrel kept advancing. Her spear thrusts were quick and precise, keeping him dodging and leaving little room for him to counterattack.

  He again parried her blow to the side and ducked below her follow-up strike, closing the distance. Astrel brought up her shield and pushed forward to tackle him with it again, but Aziel was ready for it this time. He drew his arm back and put most of his strength behind a forward stab, his blade’s tip connecting with the center of her shield with a resounding crack that echoed around the chamber as the immense force of the blow flung Astrel off her feet and onto her back.