by J. T. Wright
The Clan of hunters that had become the first Survivalists had used bows. They used them for hunting small game and were adept with them. But it was Beasts that were the true prey of those Hunters. To hunt Beasts in the heavily wooded mountains of northern Al'rashia, one had to be close. Stealth and traps, then short spears and knives were the weapons needed to deal with the mountain Beasts.
Survivalists evolved from Hunter Classes, but it was war that shaped them. The mountain Clan had been a small one. The men were often gone for weeks at a time. When their village was burned during the Al’rashian-Elven war, only the women and children were present, but the women had not been defenseless. There were Warriors, Archers, and Mages amongst them, who put up a short but fierce resistance. There were no Al’rashian witnesses to that battle, and the Elves would never speak of it, but there must have been heroes present. The Elves had left many of their number buried on that mountain.
The men had been alerted to the attack by the smoke made when their homes were destroyed. Rushing back, they found the ruins of their village and the corpses of their loved ones. All of them swore revenge and, after seeing to the dead, had set out to join a war they had avoided. They planned to die. Grief-stricken and enraged, the violet-eyed Hunters had no thought beyond vengeance and death. They would find the Elves and kill as many as they could before they were sent to join their families. The story might have ended there, if not for a Trial.
None would speak of it later. They never gave the Trial a name or told of what they faced within it. All that could be said with any certainty is that Hunters went in, and Survivalists came out. Refined and hardened, death was still their goal, but now they meant to live and see Al’rashia restored. They discarded their bows and sharpened their knives. The Skills they developed allowed them to close with their foes quickly, strike brutally, and fade away.
The Elven Rangers dreaded the Survivalists’ attacks the most. After an attack, the Rangers were always tasked with tracking them. Elves, especially Elven Rangers, were at home in the woods, but in Al’rashia, the forests were their graves. If a Survivalist left behind signs of their retreat, it was only to lead pursuers into a trap. The Rangers called them Ghosts, and it was Ghosts they became.
Quite literally. The first Survivalist to Specialize his Class was called the Sword Ghost, after the name of his Specialization. As a Sword Ghost, that man refined his blade Techniques and invented the forms that would later be called Ocean Meets the Shore. It was the beginning of the end for the Elves.
Led by the Sword Ghost, more Survivalists Specialized, and the days of fading away were gone. When the violet-eyed warriors appeared, they fought until their target was destroyed. It took years before the Elves admitted their defeat, but by that time, the once isolated Clansmen had become a symbol of fear in the Elven Nation, and one of pride and hope for Al’rashia.
Much changed in Al’rashia after the war. The Hunters had become the Dusk Wraiths. With no village for them to return to, the violet-eyed made all Al’rashia their home and vowed to protect it.
When they knelt before the King, they did so with heads bowed to represent their service. They pressed one hand to the earth to declare what they would defend and placed a hand to the hilt of the swords so all would know how they would protect it. It marked the start of an era.
Ranar hadn’t seen the beginning of the era, but he had been born during its height. The Spirit of Al’rashia had accepted the oath of the violet-eyed. Their former clan name was gone, but the Dusk Wraiths survived. Children with violet eyes were born among all the clans, and all of them chose to join the Dusk Wraiths. The clan that was lost lived on in the hearts of every Al’rashian.
Ranar, whose reputation in the Dusk Wraiths had been second only to the Sword Ghost’s, was the last Master of the Dusk Tower. Al'rashia had fallen under his watch, and he had been powerless to prevent it. He had the capability to confront gods but not to disregard the rules of the World.
He could not rally the scattered people of Al’rashia. Even though he bore the silver eyes of nobility, that wasn’t enough. Without a king to lead them and the Wraiths to protect them, nothing could draw his people back together.
Now, according to Darak Fairdor, the last King of Al’rashia, the pieces necessary to rebuild the kingdom had appeared. After a thousand years, there was a chance. Ranar could see it, though at the moment, that chance was slim. Ranar would feel more confident if that dim hope hadn’t just tripped over his own feet and then laughed and proceeded to roll around in the grass like a child.
Maybe he shouldn’t put so much weight on the shoulders of this Survivalist.
**********
“Damn it, Trent! Slow down.”
“Don’t listen to the Idiot, Runt. Recruit Tersa, you would find it easier to run if you talked less.”
“Bloody Flaming Piss, Sergeant! I’m dying. I’m really dying. And I’ve run farther than he has, that’s the only reason that jerkface is more rested than me!”
“Bloody Flaming… Who taught you to curse like that? If you are going to say stupid things, then keep your mouth shut. Fucking Blood and Ash! You wouldn’t have had to run farther if you hadn’t left your armor and weapon behind like an idiot!”
Tersa and Cullen were a fair distance behind Trent. Cullen insisted that Trent stay exactly one hundred feet ahead. Trent was sure that if he knew where they were going and how to get there, Cullen would have increased that distance. No use in scouting, if the people following were right behind you.
Despite the distance, Trent could clearly hear their argument. It was amazing how those two made their voices carry. They could have been standing right next to him, shouting in his ear. Listening to them bicker, Trent had an epiphany. It was the word “stupid” that did it. Tersa liked the word “stupid,” too. And the rest of the Sergeant’s curses, while more polished that Tersa’s, had a familiar ring. Trent couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before.
Tersa cursed inappropriately at inappropriate times. She threw herself at the enemy as if they should be honored to be hit with her mace. When she was out from under the careful eyes of her trainers, Tersa approached life as if it owed her something, and she was determined to collect. Having seen how she reacted around Sergeant Cullen the last few days, Trent came to a conclusion that should have been obvious to him weeks ago.
Tersa was emulating the Sergeant! Not well, one might even say poorly, but that was what she was doing. Trent had yet to see the Sergeant in a real battle, but he could imagine it. Stomping and swearing, daring his enemy to face him, it was easy for Trent to picture Cullen taking Tersa’s place in any of the battles they had met in the Trial.
Cursing, charging, never counting the foe, of course, that was how Cullen would fight. However, the Sergeant had the strength and skill to back up this method of fighting. That was something Tersa lacked. She tried to make up for it with enthusiasm, and if she failed, she had come to believe that Trent would pick up the slack.
The Sergeant had created his own problem child. When Tersa encountered a problem, she asked herself, “What would Cullen do in this situation?” More than that, when Tersa was afraid, it was Cullen she looked to for rescue. The longer they had been in the Trial, the more Cullen-esque, Tersa had become.
Especially after the fight with the Terror, Krip. That hadn’t been an easy time for either of them. Freeing Orion, Tersa and Trent had spent a lot of time sitting in the dark, waiting for the Undead to come. Gradually, Tersa had started acting unhinged. Trent hadn’t seen it at the time. He should have.
Seeing it now, Trent marveled. He wondered why the Sergeant was the person that came to mind when Tersa needed reassurance? The Guard was filled with competent people who were a lot easier to get along with than Cullen was. Corporal Francis and Lieutenant Ranchell came to mind.
Tersa had even attacked Cullen not so long ago. She’d been furious that the Sergeant had lied to her. She’d snapped at Frank, but it was Cullen she went after. Why was the Se
rgeant so important to her?
Caught up in his own wonderings, Trent made a mistake that a Scout should never make. He didn’t pay attention to his own surroundings. His boot found and slid into a hole as smoothly as if his foot wanted to remind his brain that it had a job to do. He stumbled, and his body rushed towards the earth.
Acrobatics was an amazing Skill. He hadn’t trained in it much since the day he had learned it, but his body responded to the sudden threat of impact quickly. His shoulder tucked, and instead of planting himself in the grass and dirt, Trent rolled. He rolled and came back to his feet without missing a step.
Trent laughed out loud. Acrobatics was amazing, practical, and fun! He had been training his Dodge and Dash Skills while running, but they hadn’t seen much improvement. Trent thought those Skills probably needed more active stimulus. His fall convinced him to alter his training regimen.
Acrobatics was a Skill that passively increased his Agility and Agility-based Skills, but the odd thing was that it needed to be actively trained. Forward rolls and somersaults were what the Skill required its user to practice in order to reach the second Level.
Those movements were a perfect way for a bored Scout to entertain himself while traversing an empty grassland. Cresting a hill, Trent proceeded to throw himself down the other side. Giggling and chortling, Trent came to his feet at the bottom and dashed to the next gentle slope.
He rolled up the next hill, alternating throwing himself from left shoulder to right until he reached the top. It was slower than running. Maybe he should practice the forward rolls on level ground until he got better at them, or maybe he would just have to somersault down the other side faster. That sounded right!
It was when he completed his first forward roll going up the third hill that it occurred to Trent he may have blundered. His shoulder hit the ground, and his back followed. Before he could come to his feet, he received a message from his Status. It was second nature for Trent to check this notification, and he was glad that he did. He had leveled up Acrobatics and gained a point in Agility!
He rolled to his feet, happy. He didn’t have time to wonder how Cullen had gotten in front of him, and he didn’t have time to stop himself from starting his next roll. His new training had already become a habit.
The hand that caught Trent’s chest and stopped his momentum was gentle. Trent didn’t even feel it when Cullen lifted and threw him backward. Yes, he’d made a mistake. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew that this flight was the Sergeant’s way of teaching him something, but had he made a mistake? This could be Cullen’s way of introducing him to the next Level of Acrobatics! Trent’s body contorted in the air. He hit the ground softly and, using the force of his landing, rolled backward! He popped to his feet, arms spread to steady himself.
Backward rolls, side rolls, and a thing called a cartwheel, that was the second Level of Acrobatics. How would he work this into the trip? There were possibilities here, but side rolls didn’t seem like a practical way for a scout to travel.
He stood there with his arms spread like he was waiting for applause. It was fortunate his mask hid the contemplative grin that decorated his face. Fortunate because the Sergeant was not amused and seeing Trent happy to be tossed through the air would have added an edge to his displeasure.
“Runt, you have exactly three seconds to explain to me why you are rolling around like an idiot when you are supposed to be keeping your eyes open for threats.” Cullen’s voice was a low growl. The lack of curses that normally peppered his speech informed Trent just how angry the man was. Trent’s arms fell to his side with a thud, and he rushed to find a way to defend himself without using the word fun.
“Training? Sergeant?” Trent tried. Cullen’s face darkened. “I tripped, and it came to me that… It didn’t slow me down, and I gained a point… Acrobatics… Am I not supposed to be training?”
“Quit using that word like it’s a shield. It... is... Not!” Cullen rolled his shoulders as he hissed, “Scouts keep their eyes open. They move fast and quiet. They do not giggle and fucking wiggle around on the ground like…”
Trent was spared the rest of the lecture. Tersa had arrived to draw Cullen’s ire. Good old Tersa! You could always count on her! Had Trent ever doubted her? If he had, he never would again.
Tersa had pushed herself hard in order to find out what made Cullen dart ahead like that. She arrived next to Trent, huffing and puffing, ready to watch a show. She threw her spear down and rested her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.
Damn stupid spear! You had to hold the thing in your hand all the time. A mace wasn’t like that. A good mace you could hang from your belt. Not that she ever had. It was best to keep your mace in hand, just in case something popped up that needed a good bashing.
Why had the Sergeant suddenly gone quiet? Had he forgotten that Trent was in trouble? Maybe he needed help coming up with things to say!
“Yeah… Trent… Eyes up… and slow down… What do you expect to see running all out?” Tersa chimed in between gasps. “You should walk or crawl. definitely crawl, on your belly, ya know?”
“Recruit Tersa, did you just throw your weapon in the dirt?”
Tersa’s lungs stopped working. Crap! Crap and flaming piss! There had to be a way out of this, the Sergeant had been about to lay into Trent. Maybe, despite his question, he had missed what she had done. Trent was already in trouble; he wouldn’t mind her shoving responsibility onto him.
Seeing the gears turning in Tersa’s head, Cullen rubbed his face with a hand. “Noemi save me from fools and trainees!”
After calling on the Goddess of Mercy for help, Cullen retrieved a Skill Stone from his Storage. He tossed the Stone to Trent and said, “You want to train, Runt? That is Steady Footing. It is much more useful for preventing falls than Acrobatics. You will run laps until it is at Level 2. That way, we can continue without your antics slowing us down.”
Tersa straightened up with a gasp. The gasp was prompted both by her remembering how to breathe as well as shock. Learning a new Skill was hardly suitable punishment! She never got to learn Skills when she messed up!
“Don’t worry, Recruit Tersa!” Cullen’s eyes flashed. “I have a Skill for you as well. The Runt is correct. Acrobatics is a very useful Skill. While he is leveling Steady Footing, you will level Acrobatics!”
Life was finally starting to go her way! When had Sergeant Cullen learned the meaning of the word fair?
“Unfortunately, I don’t have a Skill Stone for Acrobatics. You will learn it the old-fashioned way. Forward rolls only, you can skip the somersault.”
It would be two hours before Trent, Cullen, and a very dizzy Tersa resumed their journey, but the fact that she did pick up the Acrobatics Skill dulled some of that dizziness.
“Well done, Recruit Tersa!” Cullen snatched up her spear. “You’ve had a long day, I’ll carry this for you, since you don’t seem to want it. With your hands free, you’ll be able to practice your new Skill while we run. Think of it as a reward. If you raise your new Skill to Level 2, I won’t even punish you for failing to keep your eyes on your surroundings while on duty!”
Chapter 6
Trials. The world revolved around Trials. The oldest stories spoke of a time before the Awakening when Trials didn’t exist, but none living today could envision it. Those stories told of a time when a man could roam the wilds without fear of Instant Trials, Wandering Trials, or Field Trials. These rumors were hard to credit to the members of modern races.
There were many types of Trials. The most popular were the Permanent Trials. If the Infinite World revolved around the Trials, then it could be said that civilization depended on the Permanent ones. Inside a Permanent Trial was the currency, materials, and even food that a city or town needed to survive.
Beyond all that, there was another reason all successful towns were built around Permanent Trials. Crops could be grown, metals mined, herbs harvested, and coins minted, but safety, safety could on
ly be provided by a Permanent Trial.
All Permanent Trials had a sphere of influence, a domain. Beasts were reluctant to approach that domain, but they would do so if hungry enough or if they were compelled by outside forces. A walled city with a Permanent Trial at its center was generally considered the only place an Awakened could rest peacefully. Best of all, a Permanent Trial’s domain kept nearly all types of traveling Trials away.
Some of the less dangerous types, like Trials meant for Professions, did intrude on that domain from time to time. The people of the World could accept that as long as they could sleep without worrying that a Trial, like the Land of the Undying Lord, would suck them inside while they were unaware.
The size of a Trial’s domain was determined by its power. The Trial at Al’drossford had a domain with a diameter of two hundred miles. It wasn’t a great deal in the larger scheme of things. Many territories were bigger, but it allowed villages and farms to exist and their inhabitants to sleep peacefully at night.
Some nobles tried to claim territory outside the influence of a Permanent Trial. This led to a very unstable environment for their commoners and little revenue for the nobles, but there were always people who tried to grasp more than they could hold.
The Al’dross lands were extended slightly by five minor Permanent Trials at their borders. These were all lesser Trials, the strongest had only five floors and boasted a domain of a measly three miles. If they weren’t supported by Al’drossford and its Trial, these small towns would have had difficulty existing.
The village at Slyhill had a Trial with three floors. Its domain was roughly a mile and a half. The town itself reflected the Trial’s size. A single unpaved street, a single three-story inn, and only a handful of houses and shops gathered around the Trial. The town’s only purpose seemed to be to draw attention to the Trial’s entrance, which was an unassuming hole in the ground with a rickety ladder poking out of it.