B6 Interlude 38: Quiet Ways (Patreon)

Perched in the jungle canopy, Taer enjoyed the little island of peace he had found for himself. A small, open patch atop a bend in one of the broadest branches, walled off by a sea of impenetrable leaves. The sounds of life washed over him, a barely-ordered chaos of a place in balance with itself. Despite the gravity of his mission, he couldn’t help but smile as he enjoyed the flickering warmth of his fire and stared up at a sea of unfamiliar stars.

Absent-mindedly, he kept turning the spit over his fire, the carcass of an oversized songbird sizzling as it slowly roasted away. It was a luxury he didn’t expect. His first few days in this paradoxical desert of life were spent consuming his kills raw, and subsisting on what fruit he could scavenge. Then, when he’d battled a flame-affinity beast, one of its sprays of fire had landed on a common vine he’d seen throughout the jungle — which had refused to catch. Using its sap, he’d been able to carve out fireholes in the bark of the giants, without worry of injuring the magnificent growths. 

He could have just eaten the wealth of supplies he had packed into his spatial sack — but in his many years, he’d found that living off the land was amongst the best ways to get a feel for a place. Where beasts congregated for water, what creatures were left alone despite their seeming vulnerability; what ran, and what fought. Fighting alone, knowledge was as much his weapon as the sacred blade he bore on his hip.

This strange tangle of sand and root was lively and chaotic, bursting at the seams with a vigorous aggression that he found comforting. It reminded Taer of the deepest reaches of the Arboreal Sea, where the safety of his watchful elders was distant, and death was a single misstep away at all times.

Letting his spit sit still for a moment, Taer lay back on the branch and stared at the night sky. He smiled again; his memories of those times of chaotic peace always came to him at the stranges times. Lengthy expeditions in overleveled delves and the depths of the Sea, where he was forced to survive at the edge of ruin, sometimes for years on end. It hadn’t been until the latter half of his second century that the gnawing dread of failure and the death it would bring left him, leaving only the clarity of his purpose in its wake.

More than any of his people, he and his predecessors had embodied the pursuit of dedication that was the Quiet Ways. The reason was simple: theirs was a dedication to battle and bloodshed, and those that did not find that clarity simply died. Vanishingly few made it through their first few decades as Myrmr, and even fewer made it to the end of their vigil. Those that did, knew themselves, and knew purpose.

He had been tempered, in preparation for what had to be done.

The iron weight of his responsibility tugged at his hip, and Taer stood up, his hand drifting to the hilt of his blade. Turning his spit once as he smelt the acrid bite of char, he stepped to the edge of his branch and pushed back the curtain of leaves, peering down towards a sunken pit of black stone that yawned like a toothless maw in the sands below. 

It was shielded, like all the others he’d found — but he expected that to change when the Proving would come with dawn. Not too long ago, the golden radiance of that barrier would have represented a threat beyond what he could handle. Now, he’d been unsheathed.

He did not smile, feeling only a certainty that whatever waited in that hole would be a trial that would help push him one step closer to the precipice of Gold himself.

He did wonder what would come next, when the System’s next challenge revealed itself. The ruins themselves hadn’t been too much of a surprise after the directions of his predecessor, but it was too…obvious. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his predecessor had been referring to something else entirely.

It seemed reasonable they would be connected in some way. Perhaps whatever great conflux of fate his predecessor had seen would reveal itself at dawn. Hopefully it was that quick — he hated having unknowns hanging over his head, even if he had absolute confidence in handling whatever was waiting for him.

Letting the leaves snap back in place, Taer returned to his spit, turning it slowly as he pondered the words of the ancient Mythril.

As the man had mentioned, he’d run into a number of his younger brethren since entering the jungle. They were fiery and willful as the young were, but deferent once they recognised him. He doubted they had much of a part to play — his path was a solitary one, and frankly, he found their flights of fancy exhausting to be around. The passions of his people had a tendency to scorch their surroundings when they weren’t leashed to a cause. Everyone figured it out eventually — be it through craft, mastery, philosophy or a cause. 

Most of his people that were here had not. Their untethered arrogance and inflamed hearts were as pleasant as a glowing iron. They flit from dalliance to dalliance, following wild whims.

He’d never been so lucky.

His Quiet Way was an absolute one, crushing and unshakeable. One he’d both found and been chosen for at the age of ten, because the simple primacy of it had resonated through his soul even in his earliest memories.

For all the beauty of the world, it needed an unsheathed blade to cut through the doom that every seer of his people had seen as a scouring storm on the horizon. It needed an unyielding weapon, a perfection of spell and steel.

The very same quirk of his soul that had made him so suitable to the refinement of his Autarch had let him sense the dread certainty that rested in her ancient heart. His choice had been simple — cower in fear, or become a vessel of salvation.

For centuries he had stood fast, unyielding in his dedication — and now, it had come. He would seek perfection like he always had, and this Proving would fall under his boot like it was destined to.

Whatever the challenge, whatever slaughter or sacrifice it required — he would stand victorious, seizing every opportunity he could to prepare for what trials would no doubt come after. The very world depended on it. 

Of course, iron conviction was useless without a tempered mind to guide it — much of his training had been spent in quiet contemplation and long discussion meant to nurture his wisdom. Others of talent could prove to be assets — and just as easily could be a bane that threatened ruin as they grasped for yet more power. 

Maybe that is what Ymmeria had seen? It would certainly be…interesting to encounter others who were worth his personal consideration. 

That rather categorically ruled out his younger brethren — not unless some of the ancient Houses had been grooming assets that he’d somehow missed.

The dwarves, then? He had seen a few of them from a distance. Judging by some of the garish colours he’d seen on the younger races, the nearby gate must have opened somewhere in the border between the Altier plateau and the foothills of the Drozags. 

Taer stared deep into the flickering tongues of his camp fire. Much like it, the dwarves had heat in spades. They were the bones of the world, grumpy and unpleasant, but unbreaking for it. 

He doubted it would be anyone else. There were always standouts, of course — but the true might of the younger races had left Vaastivar millenia ago, and the rest had been crippled by the Shattering and the hoarding of knowledge. At least the latter was changing. He’d listened in on a few delving groups he’d come across, and had been very surprised to find them talking about Honours and Skills being shared. Some inkling had already filtered through to his Autarch by the time he’d left, but the scale of it was far more than he anticipated. Something was odd there — and he wanted to know what changed.

It was obviously tied to the sudden changes that had come with the progression of the Integration, but that didn’t explain everything. Given how fast and total the change had been, someone had a hand in it. Someone prepared. Perhaps even the same person who’d triggered the advancement in the first place.

A warring surge of gratitude and anger washed over him as he clenched his fist tight. He would find them, and he already had suspicions. If it turned out that this was some intentional plot? He would end the problem, even if it meant sailing to Locura to rip out a Risen House by the roots. 

In his bones, he knew they had to be connected in some way. The dwarves were as stoic in their dedication to the Compact as the elves were, and only another Risen House from the imperial days would have the foundation to achieve something that would catch the system's eye so utterly. 

Every party to the Compact had their own preparations. His sole, true peers in the vastness of the world. Perhaps in the intervening millenia, one of the powers had baulked, or the lesser Will of those unused to the burden of age had wavered? So few had the dedication of the Quiet Ways, and in his heart of hearts he knew that even he would have anguished at turning down an Epic class when his vigil had ended and it was his turn to be blunted and broken. Heroic was not nothing, but it was still lesser. 

Pausing, Taer looked up from the fire to stare out across the endless ocean of shifting leaves. Perhaps that is what Ymmeria had meant? If the dwarves were here, it would not be unthinkable for the Oathsworn to make their appearance.

It would certainly be interesting. The last time a Myrmr had met with them had been twenty-five centuries ago, and had led to the death of both parties. He could admit that things had been a little…touchy since then. 

Interrupting his musings, a pair of fellow elves burst out of the canopy a thousand strides away from him, their auras tightly constrained so that Taer could only just catch a hint of their Golden hue. A woman, bearing a blade that matched his own in length, and a man with a bow six strides in length. 

Their eyes snapped to the light of his fire, before the woman in the lead glanced from it to Taer with a haughty expression on her face. He bit back a sigh. The overconfidence was palpable.

A moment after she met his eyes, recognition flashed through her own. She bowed deeply, before approaching silently with her companion.

“Myrmr,” she said, bowing slightly again at the edge of his camp.

Taer nodded back, glad that his position meant that there were little social mores he had to abide by. 

“We did not expect you would be here,” the woman continued.

“It is where my path has taken me,” Taer replied. 

The pair glanced at each other, as if they were unsure how to respond to his bluntness. Taer just waited patiently. He might have been lower in level, but he was older, stronger and had a higher position, and all three of them knew it.

Eventually, the pair bowed again. This time, the man deigned to speak.

“We wish you well in the coming Trial. Hopefully you are not unduly harried by the younger races. They have proven to be particularly…irreverant.”

Taer bit back a sigh — unchained passion cut both ways, and it was clear to him that neither of the pair had found their Quiet. The younger races might be short sighted and chaotic, but he had a suspicion that a quick temper had much to play in whatever trouble the pair had found.

He turned his spit again, glancing towards the pair.

“I caution patience for those who live by different norms, lest you look back on this moment with regret when you find the dedication that cools your passions.”

Both looked surprised at his gentle admonishment — but where the woman turned contemplative, the man grew hot.

“One of them said they had seen a meles, a young one, in the second tier! Here, travelling with mortalkind and a half-breed! As if one of the forest kings would dare to lower themselves when they barely even glance our way! I will not brook lies to my own face!”

The woman shot him a look, and the man cut off his rant — still visibly stewing.

Taer looked at the man thoughtfully, still turning his spit. A meles? Well, it wasn't that interesting. From what he knew, only those who had reached Platinum or higher had entered the Shardworld, and all of them had kept to the hunting grounds in the vicinity of their gate.

A forest king in the second tier being spotted here of all places would be extremely odd to say the least. That said, he had seen a few other greater beasts. A vostrox had flown overhead just a few weeks ago, and a week before that he’d spotted what might have been a pair of cthonic hounds. Maybe it was a simple mistake.

Or maybe it wasn’t. His earlier encounter with Ymmeria flowed back through his mind.

He’d have to keep an eye out.

Taer glanced up at the pair. “Thank you for your words, but I would like to spend the last few hours before the Proving in quiet contemplation.”

Both stiffened slightly, but bowed and left all the same.