B6 Interlude 32: Building Motion (Patreon)

The afternoon sun glinted off the azure waters of Mystral’s bay. As the swell rose and fell gently, so too did the flecks of silver shift — revealing a jungle of life beneath the surface. Ro idly watched a lemon-yellow fish dart between swaying kelp, an orange-striped eel in hot pursuit. 

Between the vibrant waters, the white sails that drifted across the water, and her view of distant Oceanspire in the middle of the bay, it should have been peaceful. Instead, her stomach felt like a yawning pit as worry and restlessness warred within her. 

A warm hand wrapped around her as Rieker pulled her in close.

“You should go.”

Ro said nothing, staring out over the horizon. It had been easy to sit out as more and more reports of Tyrants being found and felled rolled in. Her partner was sick. Then, when Rieker had stabilised, it had seemed foolish — they were on a sabbatical from active work anyway, and she had little interest in facing that kind of danger without Rieker watching her back. Especially not against the very monstrosities that had wounded him so badly.

Then, more research on Aspects had come through, and Madrigal had become more and more certain that a Droplet of Tyranny would work wonders for not only clearing the remnant essence from Rieker's system, but for healing the wounds in his soul. 

But for all Tyrants were more frequent, they were not common. None had been found close enough. She would have had to leave for months, perhaps even years, if she wanted a proper shot at joining a hunting team. And that did not guarantee a Droplet immediately.

Then the world had changed. Greater gates; the Shardworld — all of it. The rumour mill was in full swing, and what she had learned from her fellow clansmen sounded promising. Resources unlike anything that had been seen before: Natural Treasures that could heal all manner of wounds, and ignite aspects; grottos where people ignited their Aspects almost by accident.

There were also essence beasts, dead delvers, and far too much blood. What if she left, and never came back?

“I don’t want to leave you. Not when you’re injured,” Ro whispered.

Rieker just by her side, his heavy hand squeezing her tighter. 

“It’s too good of an opportunity my love, we both know that. The gate was found near Igolmok Pass! Other than a few ships from Mystral, the only people who are going to bother will be the dwarves and your own! There will be a twentieth of the backstabbing bastards as any other greater gate, and you’ll know half the people there by reputation at least. Think about it: plenty of teams for you to work with, lots of eyes watching your back. It’s the best opportunity you’re going to get!”

Ro leaned back, turning to stare deep into her partner’s warm, brown eyes. Mystral sprawled out behind him, a cluttered jungle of spires and impossible architecture.

“Why are you pushing this so hard? 

Rieker let out a deep breath. “Because the world is changing, and at least one of us needs to keep up. We both know that if I hadn’t been injured, I would have abdicated from my position in Deadacre so that we could return to the field. I hate to be slowed down like this — but I would hate it even more if it held you back too. You should be igniting your Aspects and pushing towards the next tier while you work on Refinement, not sitting in Mystral while I get poked and prodded by a half-dozen life mages. Besides, I’m stable now — I’ll be fine if you go on a little excursion.”

She searched his face. Bastard was fretting, she knew it — this was as much about his restlessness as her own. But… Rieker did have a point. The world was changing, and if they weren’t careful, they would get left behind. The Path that the kids had told her about was the key, that much was certain. 

There were plenty of favours she could call upon, even a few from some dwarven clans. Perhaps even enough to help her secure something to speed up Rieker’s recovery. Ideally, something akin to a Droplet. If she could not only heal Rieker, but open him to future advancement, it would be worth the temporary separation — no matter how much it might burn.

“Fine,” she said, shuffling in closer to rest her head on her partner. “I suppose you do need someone to baby you, now that you’re a cripple — I’ll start making some arrangements.”

Rieker’s booming laugh resonated through his chest and into Ro. She smiled, watching the distant ships meander across the harbour.

…

A shining archleopard with steel fur crashed through the underbrush, its muscle-bound body moving with languid grace. Taer only caught a glimpse of it; a metallic flash throwing off the light that filtered from the canopy over a quarter-league above. 

He ran, leaping back as it curved towards him. Dipping to the side, he pulled close to the nearest trunk — a behemoth nearly a hundred strides thick. The beast roared, charging after him. He never let it leave his sight. Powerful muscles rippled, and the archleopard leapt high — sailing towards the trunk of the Deep Sea giant. 

Taer tracked it as it sprinted across and up the bark, the leather-wrapped hilt of Myrmr creaking in his grip. The tree was massive enough that the beast ran along it like it was a flat wall. He knew what was coming: a Skill-backed pounce that would shatter him like poorly fired clay. 

He was not prey — no matter what the opportunistic scavenger might think. A simple Gold was no match for him, not anymore.

Soulfire howled within him, heightening his senses until he could hear the groaning weight of the forest canopy flexing in the coastal breeze. It whispered a tale of victory, spurring him onwards.

The Grace of Absolution roared into being. Shining light spilled through his ancient blade, condensing into a cutting edge. His soul screamed, bucking in his grip. He held it with a Will of adamant, long inured to the strain of his work. 

Sprinting forward, he flashed underneath the towering ferns that dominated the undergrowth. 

The archleopard pounced. Metallic claws and teeth lengthened, honing to a point that Taer knew would scythe clean through his flesh. 

Perfect. This game of cat and mouse had gone on for far too long. It had been a cautious beast — far too used to surviving in the shadows of giants. Baiting it into a committed attack had been hard enough, let alone slipping away just enough to get it to pounce.

Now it couldn’t dodge. 

He stopped running, the point of his blade dipping low, its cutting edge turned to the sky. A ton of rippling muscle crashed through the fern sub-canopy overhead, the beasts gleaming eyes locked on him with baited fury and bloodlust.

Soulfire pulsed, dancing to his tune. Myrmr flickered, the shining point suddenly raised. As the beast slammed down, his sword punched clean through its throat, cutting off its roar. The impact was monstrous, his weapon bucking in his hand. Gritting his teeth, Taer pulled on another Skill, a complex weave of soulfire and stamina spreading through his body to reinforce him from within. 

Ancient steel punched through the archleopard’s spine. He tore to the side before its paralysed body could crush him.

Tae ignored the hot trails of blood that ran from his sodden hair, flourishing his blade as he stalked towards his fallen opponent. The creature’s chest shuddered under laboured breaths, its eyes wild with fear as it realised the end had come. Blood poured out of the wound in its throat — dead and still as the force of his soul crushed the surge of its health. 

Spinning his blade, he brought it down in a cleave, leaning on the curve of his single-edged sword to hack deep into the creature’s spine. Once, twice, then thrice — until he cut through its neck entirely.

*Ding! You have slain Archleopard - Level 303 Alloyed Huntress! Increased experience for slaying a creature of significantly higher Level!*

*Ding! Myrmr of the Inner Ember has grown from level 216 > 223!* 

*+12 Will; +7 Str; +5 Dex; +3 End; +2 Vit; +1 Int; +3 Free - from Class & Racial Traits!*

Turning from his kill, Taer kneeled in the shadow of a giant fern. Summoning a carved wooden platter onto the mossy ground, he placed water, bleached cloth, and thick oil on its surface. 

He wiped his blade clean with the smooth motion of practiced ritual, washing away its stains and anointing it with oil. As he worked with meditative focus, the battle played back through his mind.

The Sea was slowing him down. Even here, in a narrow corridor between Conclaves, it was taking him far too long to find appropriate targets. Either they were too weak, or they were too strong. Most of the High Silvers and Low Golds he did spot lingered far from the Conclaves in the territory of true powers — ones he had no hope of surviving if he drew their ire. 

If only he could spirit himself away into the cursed labyrinth the System had threaded through the soul of the world — but a delve could take weeks, and he had a duty. Until a suitable greater gate was found, he would have to satisfy himself with petty hunting. 

A branch snapped. Close.

Taer was on his feet in an instant, the dark steel of Myrmr held out and ready. Ferns rustled past the nearby tree trunk as something massive pushed through the sub-canopy. He felt no aura — a sign of sure doom. His mind raced. Nothing powerful enough to hide from his senses should have made it within fifty leagues of the conclaves — his elders and peers would never let them. 

Yet as a distant trunk-like leg of black fur and tearing claws appeared in the gap between ferns, he knew something must have slipped past them. 

Flicking to the beheaded carcass next to him, Taer crushed his own aura flat to his skin and backed away slowly. He was still drenched in the creature’s vitality, but there was so much blood in the air that his own scent would be easy to miss. Most true giants of the Sea wouldn’t bother with a simple Silver. There was a good chance it would be satisfied by the free morsel — if he was slow and quiet, at least.

Backing away, he watched the leg vanish, only to smash through the brush a frighting distance away. 

Foreign Will slammed into his mind, demanding he halt with casual indifference. It was alien, primal, and masculine: a raw injection of pure experience that disregarded the needs for words entirely.

Taer dropped to his knees immediately, bowing his head. He didn’t dare look up, not even when a massive paw larger than his chest crushed a bush flat just a few longstrides ahead of him. 

Meles. Sovereign of the Forest. His claws swirled with the black of midnight, drinking in the light with barely a hint of shine, and his fur was just as dark.

What was a greater meles doing here? They almost never came so close to the Conclaves! 

The meles will flowed through his mind. Wry amusement, tinged with a hint of being impressed. He had not expected that Taer would be able to fight so well, while being so weak.

“You were watching me, great meles?”

“I was,” the meles replied, switching to the common tongue. 

Confusion and awe warred within him. To be so blessed! Yet, he still could not fathom the meles’ purpose. The Dens were spread across the deepest regions of the Sea, and along its western rim where they raised their young in the shadow of the Wildguard mountains. If the meles had come to the eastern boundary, it would have been with purpose.

“My apologies, great meles,” Taer whispered. “Is there a matter I might assist you with?”

“No,” the meles replied, a peal of thunder rumbling in his chest. He did not speak further, yet he did not move on either — leaving Taer confused as he was left to ponder the groaning of the trees and the shrieks of distant beasts.

“A new hunting ground has been discovered,” the meles said eventually.

His words were accompanied by Will — the image of a great arch, shadowed beneath the bows of a monstrous tree. Within the carved stone sat a slice of another reality — a gloomy jungle, struck through with purple blooms, with a haze of humid mist drifting through its centre. A greater gate, Taer realised with a start. So too did the meles show him where it was: deep in the forest, though not quite far enough to the north to be within the most dangerous reaches.

“It was decided that the location would be shared with your people as a courtesy,” the meles continued. “I have told an elf. My duty is done.”

The trunk-like leg vanished as the meles walked away. 

“My thanks, great meles!”

It did not respond.

Waiting respectfully for the meles to leave, Taer got to his feet and ran. This had to be shared with the Autarchs — it was exactly the opportunity he had been waiting for.