Oh, and a single-sized bed icon was blinking for attention.
Rested (62 Quality): +1 Luck and Resistance (12 hours remaining)
Tip: The Rested buff is gained after a night of sleep on a bed of at least mediocre (100) quality. The quality of this buff is determined by how well you slept.
Useful to know, for Gabrielle’s genius Luck build. She was lightly snoozing, her gently snoring face too cute. He didn’t have to wake her just yet.
But freezing air rushed into the room as he opened the door and woke her anyway. She croaked a lot Jin’tal. “Row…”
“Good morning.” Grinning like a naughty little boy, he scooted out before his ears were besieged with nags.
Thirteen levels worth of Agility turned out to be a world of difference in terms of running speed. Though Rowan was flying through the tall grass, Zaine was already at the mine before Rowan was halfway. By the time he skidded to a stop on stony ground, another couple of cubes worth of sedimentary rock had been mined. Lacking an arm hindered was not a hindrance; Miner profession skills did most of the work.
“What do you want?” Zaine barked.
Rowan shrugged and picked up a shovel. Little effort, he sank it into the remaining topsoil. “Just wanted a good morning chat.”
“About what?”
“Do you have any family waiting for you? Apart from…” Perhaps mentioning her mother on ice wasn’t the wisest move.
“No. I was a bastard child.”
Whoah. That was direct. “I see. What about your school friends?”
“Likely forgotten about me since graduation.”
“When did you graduate?”
“Two seasons ago, but there are higher academies for Elves who want to go into advanced professions.”
“Oh, what professions do Sun Elf academies offer?”
“Everything… except the dark arts.”
Rowan huffed amusement. “Obviously, but are there academies for the dark arts in this world?”
“Not that I know of.” Zaine didn’t seem bothered by dark magic at all.
Rowan picked up an empty crate and began hauling clay. “Do they provide masters and supplies?”
“They do, and for quite cheap,” Zaine said quite smugly, then whispered a word. Sheets of chocolate-colored mana whipped down his arm and carved out a messy quarter-cube of limestone. He mouthed another word, and a thin cocoon covered the stone. His single arm carried the block as though it were weightless.
“I forgot to ask,” Rowan said, dumping clay onto a pile, “can you use that skill for everything?”
“No. Only for stuff I used Mine on.”
“Gotcha. Well, I’m impressed at how you’ve bounced back. You were screaming like someone had you by the balls last night.”
Zaine blinked, frowning. “That is quite an expression, but I would say it was more painful than that.”
Ouch. “Good to know, since we’ve saved the acid. Do you know any uses for it?”
“Maybe Apothecary does.”
Good to know. “Is that what are you aiming for? A Miner-Apothecary would be a good combination.”
“It could be if I want to make defensive potions, but that won’t make me wealthy.”
“Why not? Raiders need them, and millions of adventurers are—”
“Millions?”
“Yes, millions. Maybe dozens of millions in the coming months. You didn’t get the memo?”
“I did not.”
“Well,” Rowan chuckled. “Remember to mention it to the others if I forget, but defensive potions will certainly be in high-demand soon. Right now, there are massive food shortages throughout the world. Did I tell you of the Mutant Wheat Seeds?”
“Gabby might have mentioned it. They have greater yields?”
“Exactly. Everything is in flux. There are plenty of opportunities to get rich.”
Zaine wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Then we should build a marketplace after the town hall.”
Squinting, Rowan skimmed through his mental libraries of forums threads. Marketplaces were magical exchanges for common goods, but they were quite difficult to construct even with a Builder on the job. “Maybe. We’ll see. Is there anything else you’d like to build?”
“An underground fortress.” His chin jerked uphill, up the mountain. “Under there would be good.”
A wicked smile curled Rowan’s ice-caked lips. “Don’t we all. Don’t we all.”
From there they worked with no chatter hindering them, Shivers and chattering teeth did best to keep them warm to no avail. Rowan put in extra bravado to his shoveling trying to work up a sweat, but with each passing second his Demonic skin further whitened. He swore patches were frozen on the back of his exposed arms. Not ten minutes passed before a snowflake icon appeared on his debuff bar.
Hypothermia
Severity: Minor
-5% Constitution, Agility, and Resistance
All fire and heat magic consumes 50% more mana
“Zaine. Did you just get a Hypothermia debuff?”
“No. Did you?”
“I did.” Rowan rubbed his arms, quietly cursed his Demonic weakness. He refrained from heading back to the base for now; the sun was due to come up in sixteen minutes, his eyes twitching toward the clock every few heartbeats. Soon, the sun wasn’t going to come up at all.
By the time fifteen minutes and fifty-eight seconds lapsed, half a dozen cubes worth of rock and several worth of soil and clay had been removed. And on cue, dawn broke as a golden fiery explosion at the ocean’s horizon down the fjord. Immediately warmth shone onto Rowan’s skin, and immediately Gabrielle pinged him.
Gabby LeMort requests your presence.
Gabby LeMort (Party Chat): Breakfast’s ready. Hope ya like apple syrup stew!
At least it wasn’t spider meat sandwiches.
Rowan LeMort: My favorite.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Breakfast.”
“Not hungry.”
Rowan tisked and lugged at those slave bindings. “That’s an order. I don’t want anyone dying of starvation.”
Clunky movements claimed Zaine’s limbs, but his mouth yapped free: “If she is feeding us spider meat you will have to make me swallow every bite”
“Oh, she is.” Rowan laughed and jogged ahead, pulling Zaine along at top speed—like a kite. Not a happy kite by any stretch. “And I hear the insect gods have recently made spider meat tens times more bitter.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Mwahahahahaha.”
It didn’t take long to drag a whining Zaine back to the workshop. Inside, everyone was awake and lounging on the floor with backs against walls. Eyes were unfocused and baggy, as expected after last night’s fiasco. Both stoves were crackling with heat, and the corroded wall was somehow already repaired, magic.
Rowan exhaled in relief as the Hypothermia debuff winked away with a exaggerated shrinking animation. His happy fiery magic flared up as he returned to full power.
Skylar was serving. He scooped a ladle of diced apples for Rowan. He yawned, “I saw a dragon flying by the moons last night.
Luthias nodded. “They are not uncommon in the arctic—one of the last vast expanses of wilderness left in the world.”
“You ever fought one?” Gabrielle asked.
“On multiple occasions.”
“Do they ever attack settlements?” Rowan asked.
“Not unless you give them reason to.”
Viola burped softly. “And what would reason be? Apart from attacking them.”
“If we keep fields of livestock… They may be tempted.”
How typical.
And Luthias was now much more talkative now. A good sign. Having someone with his experience was a massive boon. Perhaps a discussion with the community managers at Synaptic was actually on the agenda. Rowan wanted to be a fair ruler.
“How much tempted?” Gabrielle mumbled.
“Well.” Luthias smirked. “That would depend on how hungry
they are.”
Rowan said, “Then we’ll stick to meat that we hunt. And there’s plenty to hunt.”
Faenin nodded, but his eyes abruptly bulged. “Lord LeMort, are you going to make us eat spider meat?”
Gabrielle said with a little pout, “What’s wrong with good ol’ bitter spider meat? We’ve got days worth. Luthias, can ya start smoking it?”
Multiple Elves made gagging noises, and Luthias grimaced fiercely. “I would rather we burn it.”
“Ya hate bitter stuff that much?”
“In case you didn’t know, most insect meat will inflict you with multiple Unlucky debuffs the more you consume.”
“Oh.” Gabrielle’s eyes dipped. “That’s a shame. We have so much meat though…”
Luthias said darkly, “It is an insult in our society to even suggest it.”
“Awww. Kay.”
“And I thought you were all just being picky.” Rowan chuckled.
But Liluth cut in with a click of her fingers. “That is no laughing matter. We feed insect meat to prisoners as a form of mellow torture. I would rather starve.”
Viola’s eyes rolled. “I’m sure you would.”
“What about Human meat?” Rowan asked lightly. “The Orcs eat it.”
Luthias’ head slowly shook. “If you willingly consume the meat of any divinely-blessed race, it is said the gods will forsake you.”
“I see. And the Orcs just… don’t care, I guess?”
“They have a history of savagery. We would be at war if an ocean did not separate our lands.”
Rowan, by some line of intuition, doubted Draesear the god of chaos cared about what he—or anyone for that matter—ate.
Skylar yawned and put down his bowl. “Thanks for the chow, Gab. I’m going to sleep.”
“That’s fine.” Rowan gave a cut nod. These sleep schedules were not healthy, especially here in the north. Permanent night shifts would have to be established, but who? No one here seemed to be a night owl, and the nights were only becoming colder by the day; hopefully cold enough that monsters and raiders wouldn’t try anything stupid.
Viola’s head snapped leftward. “Sky? What’s wrong?”
Skylar was standing in the doorway. He pointed toward the clouds. “There are things coming.”
In an instant, Luthias was on his feet, followed by Faenin and Liluth. One clay bowl cracked onto the table in their haste.
“Is it a dragon?” Rowan asked without concern. “I could use a pet.”
“No,” Luthias growled and snatched a curved wood board corner. Not a board—a tower shield. “Mutated Crows. They’re here for the insect meat.”
“You can see that far? What level are they.” Rowan asked. The things were black brush strokes against a cloudy backdrop.
“Anywhere from ten to thirty.”
Not too dangerous. “Have your Elven eyes seen anything else important?”
“No.”
Rowan nodded. “Skylar. Get the meat and put it in the field.”
“Yes, sir.” He hurried off.
Faenin growled, “It should’ve been burned. I should’ve spoke.”
Keeping a stoic face, Rowan grunted in agreement. “I didn’t let you all talk just for the jokes. Too late now.” He walked through the field, climbed a tree, and squinted.
There they were—an arc formation of seven or eight winged monstrosities. They flew with impressive haste.
And they were not crows by any stretch of the word, not birds by any artist’s imagination. They were things out of a deranged man’s hallucinations. Four feathered wings flapped on each deformed body, wingspans three times the length from head to claws. Three claws. Warped beaks under rosy-crimson eyes.
Rowan could smell them from even down here—grease and the distinctive scent of decaying garbage mixed with sewer water. Stomach acids and apple lumps threatened to come up. He climbed down as a popup expanded.
Mutated Crow: Level 15
Health: 100%
They circled high overhead in a jumbled dance, as though sizing up the group of six and two. Something was keeping them at bay, perhaps the presence of two Demons. They kept at forty to sixty yards high over the crate of insect meat, the stench saturating the air. Someone coughed and gagged.
“Six Mutated Crows,” Liluth said. “An omen, no doubt. The gods are either being merciful or cruel.”
“Are ya serious, or are ya just being superstitious?” Gabrielle asked.
“Don’t ignore omens,” Zaine said. “They are magically significant.”
“Kay.”
“Rowan,” Liluth breathed. “I have been thinking about your vision from last night. That was no work of mutated spiders. That was from the gods. They are warning you these lands are not welcoming your presence. We should prepare for a significant magical event.”
“When?”
“I do not know, but the next fulls moons are magically significant.”
“Right, and the gods go around giving people visions? Don’t they have anything better to do?”
“Even they grow bored. And as you say, our world, by design, is for your entertainment.” Her tone was surly and playful.
Someone here is a scarred loud-mouth.
That certain someone, Luthias, said, “Your fate, Demonborn, is one in a century. I would wager my life that you have their attention.”
“According to the Sacred Texts,” Faenin said, “you two may be Draesear’s Chosen.”
Rowan smirked. “And what does Draesear’s Chosen entail?”
“It is not known, merely mentioned a few times in passing.”
Gabrielle said, “What if it’s like a thousand people?”
“It very well may be,” Faenin said with sways of his head.
“Very helpful,” Rowan said, “your Sacred Texts are.”
“Hehehe.” Gabrielle nudged Rowan’s side. “Told ya we made the right choice. Anywho, let’s get started. Longbows out, Archers!” She unsheathed the Bone Mithril Dagger from a makeshift bark sleeve, and magic tainted with a malicious feel surged from within her. Shroud of Darkness. A black veil faded her body till she was Gabrielle the ghost once more. A dense pulse of her dark magic rippled through the air, passing through the Mutated Crows.
Wrong move, Rowan realized too late.
The nearest crow shrieked an awful caw. Messy feathers ruffled with crimson mana, its eyes taking on a red glow.
Six Enraged crows dove. Their mouths foamed pus and maggots and congealed blood.
27
The four-winged monstrosities descended with erratic strokes as though their internal organs were on the brink of failing. Which could be the case—they appeared rather Undead, rather eldritch in a way if Rowan were to squint, and the stench did make him bury his nose into his linen sleeve. Breathing through fabric did not help. Adrenaline was surging through him, slowing time, and dragged out this gaseous torture.
These birds were going to burn.
The closest mutant crow intelligently swerved left as Rowan’s index finger aimed. It belly-rolled to dodge a mana-charged arrow, then effortlessly ducked Luthias’ thrown rock. A second missed arrow arched over the forest.
Rowan couldn’t help but notice Viola and Skylar’s new fancy recurve bows. Liluth must’ve crafted them last night. Good work. Good archery as well.
Makeshift featherless arrows shot two by two once a second, forcing the six crows to an evasive back and forth. They were smarter than regular beasts, coordinated. When one crow flapped into a retreat, another ready to take over.
In seconds, the cousins’ quills were nearly exhausted of arrows. Zero crows down. A handful of arrows left in their quivers.
A crow came into pecking rang. Its stench worsened ten fold. Triple claws extended for Rowan, only to be stopped by Luthias, who jumped into the way without an order given. The crow was met with a wooden shoulder pad to the beak.
Luthias muttered a word in the mystic language, speaking from the stomach: “Aegia.” His la
yered voice reverberated off the back of his tower shield. Golden light brighter than the sun beamed from the sanded wood, and all six crows forcibly turned on him, taunted.
“Get back,” he said to Rowan, then activated another Knight skill. “Braetar.” A sheen of glassy mana enveloped his body, glinting as a Crow’s beak pecked his shield—a real tank taking the hits for the back-line damage dealers.
Twin arrows thudded into a crow’s skull. It fell backward with its festering beak wide open. Blackish maroon blood dribbled where the arrows punctured. Dead.
“Ten seconds,” Luthias spat.
Ten seconds of taunt left? Or body-shielding?
Rowan yanked those without Demon powers or classes back into the safety of the Workshop. Gabrielle too, by the wrist, for she was the most valuable of his slaves, a primal urge to protect her winning over his hand.
“Row,” she mumbled. “They’re just birds with big wings.”
“How many points in Luck do you have?”
“More than you.”
“Clearly didn’t help here.”
“Pssssssh.” Her transparent hand waved dismissively.
The taunt had worn off during their exchange. Three out of five crows had disengaged. Two flapped straight for the cousins along the wall, the other toward the workshop entrance. Claws gleamed with airy teal mana, sharpened to infinity.
Rowan pushed flames into Moonfyre and swung. Iron met feathers and hollow bones, grime and excrement igniting. That avian body did not put up any resistance, tumbled into a boulder. Its pained caw was cut short as a stream of flames reduced the crow’s health bar to zero. Foul smoke billowed.
Rowan winced, his eyes watering. He wiped his face. The fight wasn’t over. Worried, he glanced at the cousins.
Viola ducked a crow’s swipe, then tucked and rolled into the grass. Her fingers swiped through smoke. Two dart-like bolts of leafy mana impaled the crow through the wings onto the ground, but wasn’t enough to kill. Its beady red eyes were without soul as it fought for another go at Viola. She bled from multiple wound on her arm. Her blood was on the crow’s beak.
Rowan fed another five percent of his mana into Moonfyre. Muscles in his right arm flexed with every Agility point active. Hollow bones snapped. Rotting fluids and thin blood vaporized, scalded his fingers as bird brains exploded in a spectacular display of gore. He recoiled, inhaling a lungful of burning maggots. He nearly vomited right there, Gabrielle delicious breakfast ruined.
Demonborn's Fjord Page 21