Most people underestimate how hard it is to restore water, shelter, and food supplies for an entire population after they are lost. It's not just getting a few Hydromancers to do something with the moisture and harvest water from the atmosphere. You can't just have them work with some farmers to spray said water on a field and see crops sprout in no time, either. There are seasons to everything. There are facilities and infrastructure set up beforehand, and they were established, upgraded, and developed over the span of years—usually decades to even centuries. And that's easy to lose. When you burn a field and ruin the quality of the soil, when you destroy a river by damming it or poisoning it, when you topple the buildings where people used to live, the cost isn't just the deprivation of resources, but time. Time spent building things up. Time... now all rendered into rubble.
Ultimately, this is just the first layer of the bullshit onion you will have to chew through if you want to resettle refugees. And before you ask that stupid question, in which you insinuate that it's not really your problem and that they should fend for themselves like proper Pathbearers, I'm going to explain this to you very simply. Most people are Initiates or Adepts. They still starve. They still die of dehydration. They still need to rest to sleep. They still get tired. And yet they are the backbone of the Republic and the backbone of most nations and factions.
More importantly, a great many non-martials or mages who are technically Masters are functionally Initiates or Adepts due to lacking Physicality and Toughness. These people matter. They are fuel for your nation. They are the resources and makers you rely on for your armor, for your cloth, for your food, for your entertainment.
And if you don't take care of them, if you just chuck them by the wayside, you know what that gives you? Splinter factions. Bandits. And then you'll have to deal with them the uglier way. And let me tell you, hurting good people is bad for the soul. It's bad for your nation; it's bad for you in general. A Legend does not make up an entire people. A Legend is not a culture. Even if you do, against all odds, reach the Legendary Tier, you are still just one person. Yeah, great, you can kill an entire city of people in the blink of an eye. But what does that do? What have you made? Aside from war, enemies, and waste... what have you made?
Rebuilding is hard. Rebuilding is miserable and costly. But there are some prices you have to pay. Some things are not meant for you to turn a profit on; they're meant to be investments so that you can have a future, so that the world can be better. Past the basic necessities, you have to care for laws. You have to enforce order. You have to give the people jobs, meaning get the economy running again, and things just get more intense after that. Your headache grows. You'll get more white hairs. It will drive you to the brink. It's exhausting.
No, I won't bullshit you. It's not a rewarding, beautiful thing. Doing this will make you hate people. Doing this will make you think that people are a mistake. You will never learn misanthropy more than in times of crisis, but you also learn to respect and envy those who help, those who do the right thing.
It needs to be done. The young need to be raised. People need to live. We do it because we have to. We do it because we're not monsters just foraging in the wild, butchering each other, our lives holding no purpose, no greater meaning. Just wasted generation after generation. All for the sake of propagation or predation. We're people, we're individuals, we want more, so we're going to do more.
And if that’s the case, then damn the hardship and do it well.
-Memoirs of a Master-Tier War Mage
284 (I)
Return [II]
Equipment Obtained: [Halspur’s Self-Mending Cutting Board]
Tier: Heroic
Condition: Perfect
Composition: Faewood
Enchantments > Binding; Heroic Self-Mending; Decay-Stasis; Adhesion
Equipment Obtained: [Halspur’s Bag of Cooling]
Tier: Adept
Condition: Fine
Composition: Titanium
Enchantments > Cryomancy 50; Self-Repairing; Flavor Preserving
Equipment Obtained: [Halspur’s Apron of Stain-and-Heat Defying]
Tier: Master
Condition: Fine
Composition: Scorchsilk
Enchantments > Binding; Self-Mending; Flame-Resistance; Stain Resistance; Acid Resistance; Dimensionality 55; Pockets of Spice-Holding
Equipment Obtained: [Halspur’s Endless Tome of Recipes]
Tier: Master
Condition: Ragged
Composition: Leather
Enchantments > Binding; Dimensional Recipe Subscription
Equipment Obtained: [Halspur’s Jug of Boundless Broth]
Tier: Adept
Condition: Severely Damaged
Composition: Clay
Enchantments > Hydromancy 40; Refilling; Self-Heating
Equipment Obtained: [Halspur’s Jar of Animated Yeast]
Tier: Adept
Condition: Fine
Composition: Clay
Enchantments > Binding; Breadomancy; Rapid Yeastification
Georges' personal belongings were stained deep with the foulness of disease. Shiv could sense the bacteria with his Biomancy. Small specks of shifting micro-spells danced over each of the items he received from Georges' will. The anomalous, microscopic spell-shapes were shifting, transforming. But thankfully, as they had not taken root within a host, they were wiped away as Shiv directed one of his mana hydra's heads through them, winnowing them into his Aegis of Assimilation before directing the plague into his body for safe disposal.
Roland had been wise to bury these effects in a dense lead box that was additionally layered in Biomantic and Aeromantic wards, creating a vacuum seal to supplement existing counter-disease spells.
From that lead box, Shiv gained: A cutting board. A bag of cooling. An apron capable of resisting stains, heat, and acid, with its pockets still filled with choice spices.
He also obtained three separate books. The first was a massive tome that was even heavier than it seemed. It was an endless tome of recipes, and the moment Shiv opened it or flipped through it, he saw its pages filled with instructions and details about where to obtain specific ingredients to make the meals depicted at the top of each page. The tome also possessed several quality-of-life functions. When someone opened its table of contents and tapped a specific subheader, it would immediately flip to that section without fail, sparing the reader any difficulty or mistakes in digging through the many and ever-increasing pages.
Shiv kept flipping, and though the remaining pages thinned, they never truly ran out: there always seemed to be more being added in. And if one opened the book from the back, there were empty pages welcoming Shiv to include his discoveries of new meals during the cooking process. A successful submission would be reviewed by the so-called Integrated Council of Culinary Artistry. Should the newly promoted meal be accepted, the chef that created it would be rewarded with recognition and specific prizes dispatched across dimensions to see them further encouraged toward greater efforts and newer discoveries.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Despite digging through the rest of the tome, he couldn't find any additional details about this Integrated Council of Culinary Artistry. It seemed that they were content with being mysterious.
The other two books were journals. One was Georges' personal recipe book, saved from his days working at the Swan-Eating Toad. It included practically everything they'd ever made, along with all the different beverage options they offered as an aside. Though not comparable to the magical item, it was quite a dense book, and its leather was worn in places, looking like a rat had chewed through the material. But even though it wasn't enchanted, no more than mundane pages scrawled with horrible handwriting and partially faded ink, Shiv found it far more precious than the endless tome of recipes.
This book belonged to Georges. This book was one of the last living bits of Georges. It smelled like him, it had his history, had echoes of him, and it was warmer than the lifeless body in that cold, miserable room. Far warmer. Part of Shiv thought it would be appropriate to bury this book instead, but his grief and his need to hold on to something of his mentor prevailed, and he clutched it tight.
The final book wasn't even a recipe book. It was simply a journal that Georges wrote in. Most of the pages were near illegible. Georges wrote so fast and sloppily that his words were like gazing upon drunken chicken scratches. But Shiv held onto it regardless. If that was what it took, he would spend the rest of history deciphering every page and every line until he understood it all.
Finally, there was a jug and a jar. The jug he'd seen before. It was a clay thing filled with boundless broth. Georges used that sometimes when they were cooking soups and other meals. It was cracked, so Shiv would have to see it repaired soon. It was made from clay, so the material costs of its restorations weren't going to be high, and it was simpler to mend than glass. Then there was a jar of animated yeast. This one Shiv hadn't seen so much. It was filled with a pulsating shape, and it made Shiv think of Toasty and Georges' personal experience in the Fairwoods. He was going to be heading that direction at some point too, to return his Faebread prisoner to the Summer Court. Along the way, Shiv could chance a few detours. He could go off and see places that Georges might have visited to follow in the footsteps of his mentor. That might just bring them closer together. Even if Georges was…
Gone.
Gone…
The very thought made Shiv shudder and his throat close up. He turned away from the pain; he occupied his mind with other things.
"Hells of a place you chose to stash his stuff," Shiv commented to Roland a few steps behind him, looking around the now abandoned latrine that had been expanded from just being a simple room to practically being a long hall filled with additional tiles and recently dug waste pits. Despite this, it was mostly clean, with the ground only being slightly dusty, covered in mostly clear tiles, and the waste pits reeking of smoke. It was clear that the Pyromancers here burned the refuse rather than letting it fester. They were already dealing with one plague; creating conditions for another to spring up was probably unwise.
"It was done purely out of convenience," Roland admitted. "The ground beneath was hollowed out. There was more space to hide the lead box within the castle's very walls. You saw how I had to extract it from between the structural supports earlier. I made sure that you might have been able to find something even if Blackedge fell, even if the castle was reduced to rubble. I just wanted him to have the best chance, a final legacy that could be discovered by you or someone someday, even if we were lost to the Outside."
Shiv's sarcastic judgment turned to gratitude. Seemed Roland hadn't been lying when he said he cared for Georges. But in the end, that didn't really matter at all. It didn't spare the sick from dying. It didn't save Georges from his final fate.
"And that's all, huh?" Shiv asked.
The Town Lord nodded, but couldn't hide his dissatisfaction. "I did what I could to preserve the Swan-Eating Toad, but it was positioned in the town's periphery, and in the end, we couldn't protect anything but the castle itself… While I was sick, Uva did her best. I can't ask any more of her, and neither can you. This wasn't her fault. And it’s not yours either. We do what we can with what we have. And then we suffer what we must. That, more than anything else, is what being a Pathbearer means in the worst of times."
"I know. I'm not blaming her, as much as some part of me might like to. I'm not blaming you, either. I can't. What I do need to talk with you about is Sullain and Udraal. And… my parents. I need to dig up some graves, if you understand what I mean. Get back into old, ugly history. And it’s not just you that I need to talk to about this. Valor needs to be there. Cripple is going to be present—and the Starhawk needs to explain to me just what the Ascendancy is planning, because everything is heading toward a final point. And that final point is the Great One. Udraal wants me to resurrect the dead god and who knows what number of people. The Ascendants want to do some felling ritual that fixes how messed up they all are now, and the Starhawk’s trying to bring all the Forgotten Ascendants back or something. I need to know what exactly is going on. Adam too."
Those words halved the Town Lord's morale and energy. He let out a long breath. "I didn't want this. Not for my son. Not even for you."
"Yeah, it doesn't matter what you want, Roland. Like you said earlier, we have to deal with it. Right now, I will need to know everything, because this isn't just your war anymore. Whatever you did, whatever anyone else did, it's now on my shoulders as well, and I'm not passing it on. I'm going to see it done, and I'm going to see all the bastards pay for their part in this bullshit one way or another. Sullain’s already dead and gone, so we don’t need to go after him, but there’s still Udraal, Veronica, the Faiths… This thing between us is personal, Roland. But all the other assholes trying to play god or do whatever horrific shit? They’re the real enemy. And with the way I am right now, the real enemies are never going to stop coming."
"The way we are," Roland muttered quietly. "I’ve leveled more times in the days after encountering you again than in the four decades leading up to these months. I was favored, Shiv. But you are… I’m not even an ember compared to how much strife the System has invested into you."
"Not sure if 'invested' is the word I would use,” Shiv said. “Sometimes, I feel like one of those big whirlpools in the water that sucks everything toward it. And the more I fight, the more I survive, the more people I suck down and destroy, the larger this whirlpool gets."
The Town Lord gave a very Adam-like scoff. “I know the feeling all too well.”
With those words spoken, an awkward lull entered their conversation. Shiv suddenly found his mind blank. He didn't know what else to tell Roland. And it seemed true the other way around as well. They stared at each other for a moment. And once more, Shiv felt his own itch. That faint urge to see if he could slam a fist into the Town Lord's jaw and get away with it was an enticing thought. Even now. But he resisted it. If he was going to bloody Roland Arrow—no, when he bloodied Roland Arrow—it would be in a proper battle. He would shame Roland in a true martial confrontation, not some bullshit ambush in a bathroom while Roland was weak—while Roland was grieving. While Shiv's own mind was a mess of sorrow and pitch-black anguish. It wouldn't feel right anyway. And Shiv was tired of doing things wrong. Tired of the entire world being determined to do things wrong.
The Town Lord's eyes widened, the left corner of his lip twitched upward, and a faint curve formed as if he was struggling not to laugh for some reason.
"Are you struggling? Are you trying to stop yourself from punching me?"
Shiv once again noted that Adam was truly Roland's son. If anything, the Town Lord was even more perceptive than Adam.
"Oh, yeah." Shiv coughed. "Don't mind you knowing, but I'm embarrassed about how transparent my thoughts were. Stopped myself. Didn't think it was right. Like I told you earlier, I want to beat your ass properly."
That proved to be too much for Roland. The Town Lord cracked up, nearly doubling over with laughter. He pressed against one of the nearby stalls and began wheezing, then coughing, as he battled to regain his composure. "I suppose I should thank you for being decent." He licked his lips. "When I get well, I will find you. And I promise to do everything I can to see this enmity put behind us, if you swear to do the same."
The Town Lord held out his shaking right hand for Shiv to take. The Deathless still had half a mind to spite Roland and spit on the hand, but he swallowed that petulant desire and took the man's hand, even though he shook it a little bit harder than he should have. Also, it was a good way to get a measure of how tough Roland was at baseline.
Right now, Shiv was pretty sure he could pull the Town Lord in half if he managed to surprise him. That was enough to brighten Shiv’s mood, just a little.
Roland winced slightly as he rubbed his right shoulder after Shiv released him. An imprint of Shiv’s crushing grip remained on the Town Lord’s pale wrist as well. “Starhawk’s bloody aim, boy, what have you been eating? I know you’ve grown to the size of a small building, but that felt like getting my hand crushed by a damned tsunami.”
“Legendary Physicality,” Shiv grunted. “Among other things. I wasn’t really trying to hurt you.”
“How merciful. You 'not trying' still nearly tore my shoulder out of its socket.” Roland shook his head. “Monstrous.”
Shiv squinted at Roland. “You having second thoughts about our scuffle?”
The Town Lord’s expression hardened immediately. “Please, boy, I’ve killed bigger monsters than you.”
“Good,” Shiv sneered. “Just making sure that your belly isn’t turning yellow is all.”
Those words made Roland wince and flinch at once. Shiv tilted his head as he tried to gauge if the Town Lord was still weak—but the response was one of pain. Roland looked like he suffered a physical blow, and that made Shiv guess he was psychologically harmed.
Sage of the Enkindled Heart: He sees the echo of your father in you. It’s the most likely possibility. The words you just said to him might be the same words your father said to him at some point, or very similar. Ask him about it. Twist the knife a bit to be sure. It’s something else we might be able to use in our inevitable brawl.
Sage of the Enkindled Heart: 136 > 138
“Hey, Roland?” Shiv began. “You seeing my father in me right now? Haunted by some ghosts of your past?”
The Town Lord paled and went stiff. “How did you—”
“Wasn’t a hard guess.” Shiv smirked. “You’re just like Adam too, you know that? You guys are pretty easy to see through as well. Anyway. Thanks for keeping Georges' stuff safe, and… fuck you with a lower case ‘f.’ You go get some rest and take care of yourself. Get better fast. I’ll deal with the other stuff at Piety in the meantime. You just focus on your health.”
With that, Shiv clapped Roland on the left shoulder, shook him there for good measure, and strode out of the latrine after putting all of Georges' effects into his cape.
It took considerable effort on Shiv’s part not to grin when he saw half of Roland turning to glass.
Sticks and Stones: 64 > 65
Maybe the coming fight wasn’t going to be so impossible after all.
Roland was dangerous, but there was something weak and brittle inside him. And Shiv liked breaking weak and brittle things—regardless if they were physically or psychologically vulnerable.
***
