After
a weekend of fruitful spellstudy, Seventh's triumphant return to his
guild was promptly squashed by Garth's cheerful announcement of the
newest dungeon restrictions.
“What
do you mean I'm not allowed inside the dungeon?” Seventh asked
incredulously.
“Well,
found a nest inside the sewers, decided to eradicate
it alone, without notifying the guild or the watch immediately, so
the Dungeon Watch has decided to clear out the sewers themselves and
raised the rank requirements,” Garth answered with an amused smile
on his face.
Seventh
drew his hand across his face. “That doesn't even make any sense,”
he muttered into his hand. “I did report it after the fight, and
went straight into the guild!”
Garth
shrugged. “Politics. The sewer is still backed up since we haven't
found the blockage, and the mayor just needed any reason to mobilize
the Watch.”
The
new restriction and the earlier one that raised the main dungeon to
Steel rank due to the still continuing Conjunction Event. Seventh
hadn't really looked into the Event, but had heard the basics.
Dungeons forcibly merging together and having a mix of monsters from
both of the dungeons, possibly even birthing new creatures and
creating new passages.
The
Dungeon of Tears' Conjunction Event was also more unusual due to the
fact that the dungeon it was merging with, the Spidersilk Grove, was
hundreds of miles away, crossing borders and making local governance
uneasy, and when government was uneasy, they made arbitrary—
bordering on stupid and rash— decisions the adventurers did not
like.
Now
the lowest-ranking adventurers were locked out of the dungeon, and
they were out for blood. Seventh's flamboyant head-drop couple of
days ago hadn't left a single doubt about who was behind the nest
extermination, making the Necromancer an easy target for the
collective ire of the adventuring community.
“So,”
Garth said. “In my professional opinion, you should take a nice,
couple of days long quest outside the city and let the tempers cool
for a bit.”
“Surely,
it can't be that bad. Right?”
“I
have seen an adventurer accidentally revealing that there is an
entire cave system with Bellarom Libertas flowers, plummeting the
prices. He was... found three days after donning a stylish coating of
tar and feathers.”
Seventh
tried a cocky chuckle that tangled his throat and made his voice
croak. “I see. Sooo, do I go upstairs or...?”
“I
wouldn't. We can attach you to a quest with my own Nexus Stone. No
need to pop up to check the ambiance.” Garth pursed his lips and
looked up in thought. “I would slip out through the abattoir
though...”
Swallowing
his throat clear, Seventh gave Garth a thumbs up. He had wondered why
so many adventurers had eyed him when he had come in, but had ignored
the gazes. He thought they had identified him as a necromancer or
something.
Garth
tapped his magical mirror and scrolled the interface, looking for
something interesting.
”Missing
cat, missing cat, guard for lettuce farm, fighting boars, fighting
boars... eh, it's quite the slim pickings. Do you mind some dullness?
There are a couple of escort missions... oh, this is interesting and
fitting for you.” Garth turned the mirror towards Seventh so he
could read the notice.
Needed:
one (1) Bronze or higher rank guard for merchant escort.
One-way
trip through the Whispering Delta, up to ten hours. Departure
immediately, preferably within two (2) to four (4) days. Reporting to
Rudrig Gridleford at the Narrow Marrow Inn.
Reward:
five (5) silver per day, return trip included.
Threat
assessment: Moderate. Reported bandit activity. Missing hunting party
with historical records of umbrefel attacks.
It
wasn't a glamorous job, but the threat assessment piqued Seventh's
interest. “Bandits and a possible umbrefel? Why isn't it higher?
Bronze feels a bit... lacking?”
Garth
shrugged. “The Guild probably doesn't consider the possibility
high. Out of season, nesting time, hibernation, take your pick. I'd
worry about the bandits more, but a couple of Shadowbolts and one
pissed off ratkin undead should make them run head as a third keg
away to the hills.”
“There
are also missing hunters?”
Garth
looked at Seventh with the air of an old man. “The world is
dangerous, Seventh. There's always somebody missing, lost, or dead.
Just make sure you ain't gonna be one, yes?”
After
confirming he would take the quest and slipping out from the
abattoir's back door, Seventh walked around the city, searching for
the Narrow Marrow, which was easily found at the northern side of the
city. Two hours later, he was regretting his life decisions. Mostly
about clearing the nest and taking this particular quest.
Rudrig
Gridleford, Ford for his friends, was a talker. After Seventh had
mentioned in passing that he actually had killed an umbrefel before,
and had Alchemist's Fire on hand, the Necromancer had found himself
on a heavy wagon pulled by two horses and assaulted by a merry
logorrhea.
Ford
was in his fifties, with a balding spot slowly conquering his last
vestiges of hair, small ears, and dark, sunken eyes making him
resemble a mole from a distance. He probably breathed through his
ears since for the two hours Seventh had known him, he had been
silent only when he took a sip from his waterskin. The blessed
silence was too few and far between.
“....
and yeah, that's why I will never, ever buy wheat from a dwarf again!
Nothing against the short folk, you understand, but iron and steel
are where their true talents lie! Now cabrases on the other hand,
those are the true farmers of the realm! Warriors and farmers to be
exact— apparently they got Farmer Warrior Classes during
Awakening. Natural warriors and farmers, they say, nice folk too,
haven't been able to leave a cabras household without some damn fine
deals and meals...”
It
had to be a Skill. Or two. Maaaybe three.
Closing
his left eye, Seventh focused on his Wandering Eye tethered on a
ten-foot pole. He had erected it before they left the city and kept
watch from an elevated position. It felt like he was watching the
road and slowly emerging forest from a moving guard tower. When the
wagon moved through fields, he could see almost half a mile in every
direction, but now the trees were starting to break his line of
sight. It was relaxing to look over the golden fields, Ford's words
slowly turning into a white background noise.
Suddenly,
Seventh realized there was an odd silence and broke the connection.
Ford was looking at him, expectantly.
“Erh.
Sorry, I was focusing on my Skill,” Seventh said and pointed at the
eye-on-a-stick. ”What did you ask?”
The
old merchant smiled. ”Nothing, nothing. I just said you don't need
to worry too much. I need a guard for insurance reasons, nothing
more. They always claim there's this monster and that, bandits
roaming around, so my guild gets fussy. Demands guards, safer and
longer roads, nights at villages, and other poppycock.”
“Well,
it doesn't hurt to stay vigilant, does it?”
Ford
nodded vigorously. ”Yep. That actually reminds me, ever seen the
Reach Wall? Crazy dwarves, carving the whole Skyreach Mountains
hollow, just to make some battlements. I mean, humans landed Valeria
thousands of years ago, give it a rest...”
For
the next three hours, Seventh had to fight to keep his soul in his
body. For all he knew, as a Wraith, he might be capable of doing
that, and a blabbermouth like Ford being a witness would be a
disaster in the making.
Keeping
his mind fresh, he focused regularly on his Eye and made it wander
around. Raising it far up above them made a good general view, but
the thickening spruce forest made a birds-eye-view almost useless
unless there were ambushers out in the open. Seventh had to zip and
zoom between the trees with his vision, checking the suspicious
shadows one by one.
On
their right-hand side, Seventh found something interesting on a
riverbank. Large tapering boulders were spaced evenly along the
riverbank, with a dozen or so in the water. In a moment's lapse of
judgment, Seventh mentioned it to Ford. Seventh wasn't ready for the
talkative merchant's knowledge about them. Especially how they
behaved during the summer.
”...yep,
yep. I wouldn't dip for a swim in there, no sireee-e.
After the mating season is over, the juveniles start to pop up from
the river. The grown-up ironstone crabs climb away from the water to
leave more food for the next generation. I had a riverboat once, rode
the Drownflow with it all the way to the Boiling Sea once, but it was
a hassle. I ran one of those little runts over once, and their
five-ton papa comes and made my day displeasingly wet. Safer to stay
on dry land. I move less merchandise, sure, but I also got a bit
seasick. In a river!” Ford laughed merrily and sipped from his
waterskin.
When
Seventh woke up in the morning, he hadn't expected to receive a
description of local crab mating rituals and
practices. Now it was lodged deep, right next to the burning veltid
undead.
It
wasn't all bad, though. Realizing that Ford was a font of knowledge,
both mundane and exoteric in equal measures, Seventh started to steer
the merchant's vocal output to monsters and traderoutes. Apparently,
these ironstone crabs were a delicacy in the cirties, but hunting
them was hard. Cracking one open could take hours, and the price of
meat went up just because of the effort. Some even made shields and
armor out of the mineral-rich carapache.
Hard
carapache and five-ton bodies? I wonder how hardy they would be as
undead? Seventh thought as he took a final glance over the
snaking riverfront. It was filled with crabs in hiding, making the
river foam around their shells.
Seventh
also asked why the woods were called Whispering Delta, but Ford just
shrugged and told him he had no idea. There weren't any weird winds
or spirits that could explain the whispering bit, only some trolls
and goblins further north, closer to the mountains. Just when Ford
was wondering if it was a relic of elven language and conquering
humans just copied the name, a village was coming into view.
“Oh
my, time really flies with good company! This must be the first time
my guards didn't ask for a single break! Usually, they see something
in the distance and go check it, or just want to spread their legs.
Not you, though, no sireee-e! You got an Iron Butt for a Skill or
something?”
Seventh
shrugged. “I just did what was told to do. I kept watch and let the
time just flow by.”
The
village seemed like any other small village, thatched roofs with
small chimneys lofting smoke above, sturdy wood-frames with
occasional embellishment of bright paint, and people walking around,
doing their daily tasks with heavy burdens or small handcarts. The
road split before the village, giving Ford a choice of either going
around or straight into the village. He chose to go in, and a man
with a spear and a leather helmet approached to meet them.
He
was young, somewhere in his early twenties. Somewhat well-fitted
leather gear that had been well maintained. While walking towards the
approaching wagon, he started to lift his hand, but abandoned the
gesture when he recognized Ford.
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“Ford?
Getting the day done early? Is there a cheap beer somewhere and
nobody told me about it?” he asked with a slow drawl and easygoing
attitude.
“Nah.
This one—” Ford pointed at Seventh. “— is a world-class
sitter! Didn't even need to take a leak the whole way here.”
The
merchant cocked his head, and worry entered his voice. “Say, why
are you all geared up and ready to fight? Was the threat assessment
correct for once? Bandits? Umbrefel? I must say, for the last decade
I have never—”
The
guard waved his free hand dismissively, surprisingly silencing Ford.
Seventh wished he had known about the gesture during the day. “No,
no. Nothing like that. A bear has been spotted closer and closer to
the village, and the Militia has been ordered to keep watch, just in
case.”
“Oh?”
Ford sounded surprised. “Did Yselle finally kick the bucket, or has
she been lazy?”
The
guard looked around, checking who was listening. The wagon had been
stopped just before the village proper, and nobody was in sight.
“Officially, her gout is just flaring up. Unofficially....” he
eyed at Swventh, taking a measure of him. “... the bear got her
good. She swore up and down that there was something odd about it.
Her bolts pounced off its hide, like it had a Skill— or buff.”
Ford
let out a low whistle. “Evolution? Any idea what kind?”
“Nah.
Yselle said it was just like any other brown bear. No glowing fangs
or teeth, fur was the usual color, and it obeyed steel like any other
beast. Just... her bolts didn't work at first.”
The
two men silently nodded their heads repeatedly before turning to look
at Seventh. “What?” he asked.
“This
is usually the point when an adventurer starts to ask how much they
get if they kill the beast,” the guard said.
“Oh.
Well, where's this Yselle now? I'd like to ask her a couple of
questions first.”
Looking
at Seventh with reservation, the guard walked past the back of the
wagon and pointed towards the village, avoiding road. “Her...
cottage is half a mile that way. Can't miss it, she tans her hides so
the smell is... tangible.”
“Thanks.”
Seventh looked at Ford. “Is it okay with you if I hop off now? Any
further need for assistance?”
“Nah,
nah. You can go. I'll do some haggling around here for a couple of
days, and continue further east, then north. It's a dwarven lands and
their own laws cover any lost or stolen merchandise. No need to pay
for protection,” Ford said and offered his hand.
Seventh
grabbed it to shake, but to his surprise, Ford spoke, “Quest
complete: Escort Rudrig Gridleford to Mireholt,” and a blue box
appeared, confirming his job was done.
The
merchant laughed. “Oh, you should see your face! You really are
greener than breadmold!” Seventh barely had time to take his pole
off the wagon before Ford clicked his tongue and lightly pulled the
reins to get his horses moving again.
While
Seventh was storing his pole and dismissing his Eye, the guard gave
him a worried look. “You are an Iron-rank, right?”
“Nope,
upper Bronze.”
“Oh.”
The guard looked disappointed. “Well, maybe we can wait for Yselle
to heal up then.”
Affronted,
Seventh swung his halberd onto his shoulder with a smooth arc. “Oh
yeah? You don't think I can handle one bear?”
“Well,
no. Yselle is Hunter, upper Iron. Her Skills are basically all about
killing game and monsters, so... I don't see how a rank lower Fighter
could do better than her.”
Seventh
gave the guard a mischievous smile. “Well, see... I'm Seventh, by
the way. Seventh Seven.”
Taking
the offered hand and shaking, the guard introduced himself, ”Branik.
Branik Vellmont. Say, did your—”
”No.”
Seventh interrupted, annoyed. ”Nobody stuttered, read my name
wrong, cursed me, nor have ever been in a church, drunk, to change my
name.”
There
had been different guesses about his name. All were
wrong, it was just his name.
Branik
squinted his eyes in suspicion. ”Riiight. And it isn't an alias? Do
you have papers to prove your name?”
Taking
the question as an order, Seventh pulled his Identify results from
his voidspace. That creepy Tobias elf had actually filed them after
the interrogation, so Seventh hadn't needed to bother visiting a
Guild-certified Scholar for Identify. He'd have to do that when his
combat Classes hit Iron to become an official Iron-rank adventurer.
Looking
over the parchment, Branik's eyes widened from the quint. Seventh
could take a wild guess at what he had noticed.
“Necromancer?”
“Yep.”
“Like...
You raise up the dead?”
“That’s
right.”
“And...
order them around.”
“I
sure do.”
“Ummm...”
The young guard was clearly at a loss for words. This was probably
the first time he had met a real practitioner of the “dark arts”.
Seventh
caught the ball for him. “I am allowed to have one undead minion in
the village's premises. If I am attacked, I can and will use all my
Skills to their fullest extent, including raising as many minions as
I please...” He leaned forward to cast shadows over his eyes. “But
I am a good boy, and keep my minions out of the village.”
“Ergh,”
Branik said.
“Quite.
I'll go now to check your Hunter, and talk with her if I should go to
hunt this bear down. May I have my parchment back?”
The
clearly nervous guard licked his lips and wordlessly turned towards
the village to power walk after Ford after giving back Seventh's
parchmentwork.
He
said to follow the road, right? Time to meet an upper Iron ranker.
Upper
and lower were adventurer shorthand that saved time to tell how many
of his Skills were at the same rank. Most of Seventh's Skills were at
double-E, so he was an upper Bronze-rank adventurer. He could also
say he was bordering on Iron to drive home how close his Classes
were, but it didn't really matter unless he was joining a party for
an extended period of time.
All
he needed was a proper foe, like a mysterious bear, to fight with to
bring his Light Armor Proficiency and Combat Footwork to EE. Unlike
you might think, armor proficiencies weren't about taking hits with
proper armor, but Seventh usually blocked,
tried to block, or just took the lighter blows head-on, so he needed
to change his fighting habits to complement his Skills better.
Combat
Footwork was probably a clue from the System to Seventh, telling him
what he should be doing with his fighting. According to his research—
reading the Skills and You: a Child's Guide to Active and Passive
Skills and other works in the same series— the System did that
in the lower ranks and was the basis for the Church of the System to
look at the Skills gained from Attribute rank-ups as almost a divine
gospel of a person's Path.
Following
the road cutting through the trees, Seventh noticed a small footpath,
neatly marked with round riverstones painted white, starting after a
shallow ditch. It was almost hidden, if Seventh hadn't been looking
for something indicating a house, he probably could have walked right
past it.
Following
the stones— and increasingly his nose— a small hut appeared next
to a small clearing. It was severely weather-torn, old wood rotting
at places, but Seventh could see fresh repairs along the wall, and
the yard was neatly kept clean.
The
clearing, on the other hand, was conquered by a creative chaos.
Rusting and oxidizing iron and copper vats lay in heaps next to skin
racks filled with tightly wound and stretching, fresh pelts. Seventh
didn't know much about the tanning process, but almost all tanneries
were outside of the cities— preferably downwind and stream—
because of the smell. Eye-watering mixture of rotting flesh, urine,
and the sharp bite of ammonia almost made Seventh gag. And he had
spent the last week in a sewer!
While
he was concentrating on keeping his breakfast where it belonged, a
sharp female voice commanded, “Keep your hands where I can see 'em.
No sudden moves.” The voice didn't seem to come from anywhere in
particular, but from every tree surrounding Seventh.
He
slowly lifted his right hand, left on the halberd. “Okay, no sudden
moves. Yselle, I presume?”
“Drop
the halberd over your shoulder. Turn towards the clearing, and take
five steps.”
Dropping
his weapon with a sigh, Seventh followed the orders and gingerly
approached the poignant collection of vats and pans. His eyes started
to tear up.
“I'm
an adventurer, I escorted Ford— Rudrig Gridleford— to the village and
Branik told me about the bear situation,” Seventh said while
rapidly blinking his eyes.
He
heard a faint scraping sound and started to turn his head.
“Eyes
front and nose up! Breathe the stuff in,” the voice, most likely
Yselle, ordered.
“Oh,
gods, do I really have to? This isn't a proper way to treat guests.”
“For
bandits it is.”
Seventh
fractionally turned his head before stopping himself. Instead, he
shifted his stance to a more relaxed position. “You think I'm a
bandit? Hollering straight to your cottage, following the path? No
skulking and sneaking around?”
“I
didn't say you were a smart one.”
“Ouch.”
“You
did walk right past me, you know, not a good sales pitch for bear
hunting.”
Seventh
shrugged. “Maybe not, but I have a Skill for looking around. It's a
little weird, and I didn't want to seem rude. Also, I wouldn't go
alone.”
“You
have friends in here?” Seventh noticed a well-hidden worry in the
voice and a slight warble. Like she was turning her head around, and
whatever Skill she was using to mask herself didn't correct it well.
“No.
I'm a Necromancer. I have minions that can scout for me.” At
least I hope so. I haven't asked Fang how well he handles forests.
There
was a long silence while Seventh stood still in the stench.
“So...
we done sniffing each other out? You can either shoot me, let me go,
or send me off with some information. Which one is it?”
He
heard an annoyed tsk behind him, only behind him since the Skill was
apparently deactivated. “Eh, fuck it. I don't really care if ya
kick the bucket while being all high and mighty big city adventurer.
You can turn.”
Still
keeping his hands up, Seventh turned to see a tall, thin woman
standing at the start of her stone-lined path. It wasn't a big
surprise that Seventh had missed her: she was wearing clothes dyed
green and brown, and a hooded cloak that apparently grew moss and
sticks, covering most of her torso and legs. A crossbow was held at
low-ready, pointing just so away from Seventh it wouldn't be rude,
but close enough that she could make a quick snapshot.
Seventh
estimated that Yselle was somewhere in her later thirties, maybe
early forties, depending on how much the rough outdoors life had aged
her. Some wrinkles lined her blue eyes, and a trio of scars crossed
her left cheek, clawmarks of some beast. Her left leg was tied to a
splint, which made a scraping sound when she walked. She winced with
every step made with the wounded leg.
Seventh
bit his tongue not to offer unsolicited help, and nodded instead.
“Hi, I'm Seventh, by the way. Nice to meet you.”
The
hunter grunted with a nod as she dragged herself onto a small stool
next to her hut and heavily sat down. ”Yselle. We'll see how
pleased I'm gonna be.”
Noticing
his halberd was still on the ground, Seventh took a step towards it
and pointed it with his right hand, hands still raised up.
“Yeah,
sure, you can take it. And lower those damn hands, you look like a
badly controlled marionette.”
“Okay...”
Seventh grabbed his weapon and casually lowered it to rest on his
left shoulder. “So, why the warm welcome? I thought there was a
bear problem, not a bandit one.”
Yselle
shrugged. “There's a possibility that the bear was an animal
companion. When I shoot at something, that something dies, no
exceptions, but that fucking ball of furry shit just shrugged my
shots off.”
“It
could be—”
“It
wasn't a damn evolved species. Hunter, remember? I know my critters
and crawlers, and that bear was as common as your sorry ass,”
Ysette spat on the ground bitterly before muttering, “Fancy city
folk trying to school me about animals...”
Seventh
lifted his hand in an apologetic gesture. “Not trying to one-up
you, honestly. Just trying to get the full picture,” he said, A
small self-deprecating smile rising on his face. “A cityboy like me
needs all the help I can get to survive.”
“Yeah?
You and your smile can go and shove cones where the sun doesn't shine
for all I care,” Yselle said. “I know tricks of your kind. Smiles
and handshakes as long as you get paid.”
“Okay.
Sure.” Seventh shifted his weight. He was slowly getting annoyed by
how this woman threatened someone who was trying to help— until he
recognized her look.
It
was plain old suspicion. He had told about his class, and now he
wasn't a visitor or an adventurer anymore— he was just another
potential problem. A Necromancer.
She
was looking for a trick, a trap he might spring. Treating him like a
bandit who had wandered too close with a story ready.
No
wonder she lives here alone. It might not be only because of the
tanning.
He
would still try to get all the information he could out of her. “How
did you get away from the bear?”
“I
stabbed it, of course. And it hit back,” she answered and knocked
on her splint, wincing a little. “Probably bled all the way to its
burrow. If you find it dead, the kill is mine.”
“Okay.
I only need its body. Where exactly did you fight?”
Disgust
flashed on Yselle's face. ”You need its body? What kind of a freak
are you?”
”Okay,
that's it.” The woman's resistance finally boiled Seventh’s
annoyance over, and he had enough. “If you don't want to help me,
fine, then don't. Did I mention Branik was wearing his armor? The
Militia is readying for a fight, and I can bet the villagers won't be
too happy about that.”
Seventh
started to walk towards the wounded Hunter. ”You can have a
negative impression of me. Fine. I'm increasingly getting used to
that shit, Necromancer, remember? I'll need the body for my damn
Skill. That's why I'm doing this— you can keep your gold, honor,
and glory. All need is dead bodies to get stronger and help
others.”
He
had walked closer than intended, almost looming over Yselle, who had
turned her crossbow to aim at Seventh's gut. Her nose twitched as she
tried to keep her snarl in.
Letting
out a disappointed sigh and giving Yselle a displeased look, Seventh
turned around and chose a heading at random. If he didn't get any
help, he would brute force the search, starting from here.
He
had almost crossed the pungent clearing when a voice called behind
him, “Oi! City boy!”
Seventh
turned around, annoyed. “What!?”
Yselle
pointed at almost the completely opposite side of the clearing. ”That
way, around three miles. There's an old lodging site, turn north, and
you should be at its hunting ground. Good luck.”
“Thanks,”
Seventh said as he corrected his heading.
After
five minutes, Yselle and her tiny hut had disappeared behind the
trees. Seventh continued for another five until he was sure she
couldn't see him or hadn't followed. He couldn't be too sure about
either, but her wound looked severe enough that she wouldn't be
hopping around too much.
The
forest flashed purple as the Necromancer repeatedly opened his
voidspace, letting his horde out. Six veltids, four dozen sewer rats,
a trio of ratkin, and one confused Fang. The more cognitive ratkin
spent a minute stabbing at spruce before he believed it was made of
wood.
After
a brief lecture on where wood actually comes from, Seventh looked at
his troops. “Spread out. Two dozen rats for the forward perimeter,
one hundred feet. The rest of the rats, rear perimeter, one hundred
feet. Veltids and ratkin trio, circle of fifty feet, circle around.
Fang, you're free to do what you want, but I'd appreciate your close
support.”
Looking
at his horde taking their positions, Seventh continued, ”There's a
bear I want to reanimate. We are hunting it down, so if you see
tracks or something bear-like, inform.”
Taking
a step forward, the undead held their position, creating a large
sensory net for Seventh to find his prey.
indecent amount of trivia about bovine copulation and absolutely no filter. Those six hours are buried somewhere deep in my brain and occasionally resurface when I’m standing in the milk aisle.
