CIATB Book 8: Chapter 11: Loaded Propositions
Book 8: Chapter 11: Loaded Propositions
Book 8: Chapter 11: Loaded Propositions
Darren sat on the bench, carefully nibbling the edges of the pastry, trying to savor the softer, sweeter, cream-filled portion at the center. Edeya had no such intention—she wolfed hers down in two big bites, groaning in pleasure as the hot, fresh dough melted in her mouth. “Now it’s gone,” Darren teased, taking another small bite.
“Worth it!” She licked her fingers. “How can you even enjoy such tiny bites?” They were waiting for Lam in the small park at the entrance to the network of trails leading to a few different dungeons, including the Grotto. When it had taken Lam nearly an hour to respond to their first message, saying they were out, Edeya had insisted on waiting for word, just in case she was already in the park, en route, or elsewhere. It turned out to be a good idea; the older Ghelli was on her way to escort them to one of Victor’s mentor’s homes.
“You think Lam will agree with you about your Class choice?”
Edeya shrugged, wiping her fingers on her pants. “I hope so, but I’m willing to consider the other option.” She’d narrowed her decision down to the two “epic” options she’d been offered, refusing to consider any of the “advanced” ones. Darren had to admit that the Class she preferred sounded decidedly fierce—Nimbus Reaver. Moreover, it seemed to focus on her strengths: her water affinity, weapon skill, and ability to fly. The other option was called a Cerulean Gale Summoner, and Edeya thought it was more of a caster Class. Both epic options mentioned her “Cobalt Wing” bloodline as being critical in their unlocking.
“Whatever your choice, it seems like you’re on a much different path than when you first gained levels.” Darren tried to be encouraging, but there must have been a hint of concern in his tone because Edeya looked at him more closely with those big, glittering blue eyes of hers.
“Something bothering you?”
“Oh, um, no.” Darren forced a smile. “I think I’m just a little worried about my first choice. I haven’t exactly been training my whole life for this sort of thing like you have. I also don’t have a fancy bloodline or—”
“Oh hush, Dare! You’re going to be fine. You have an amazing Core and powerful affinities. I bet you get at least an advanced option.”
“I hope you’re—” He cut his words short as he saw a slender, very human-looking young woman leaning close, slowly inching toward the two of them. She had pale skin and rosy cheeks, and she kept pursing her thin, pink lips in half-formed words as though she wanted to say something but feared interrupting. Darren pondered her, wondering if she was, in fact, human; her hair was a nondescript black, her eyes pale brown, and he didn’t see any wings or horns or other things that might set her apart. “Um, hello?”
“Oh dear! Excuse me! I didn’t mean to intrude, but I saw you two leaving the Grotto and meant to approach you. I got a bit turned around on the path and only just now stumbled upon you.” She had a melodic voice and spoke with a funny quirk, stressing the first syllable of seemingly random words.
Edeya regarded her coolly, her wings fluttering as she turned on the bench to face her more fully. “What can we help you with?”
“Um,” the girl—Darren didn’t think she could be much older than twenty—held her hand to her chest, gently touching the blue gem hanging from a loose, silver necklace. “I’m Trin, Trin Volpuré, and I’m seeking tier-one adventures to fill out my party.”
“Sorry.” Edeya waved her hand dismissively. “We’re good.”
“Hang on, Edeya,” Darren said, feeling a little sorry for the girl. She looked positively crestfallen as she turned away.
“Oh, fine,” Edeya sighed. “We’ll listen to what you have to say, but we’re a strong duo and not really looking for a party right now. We have our own friends we need to catch up to.”
“Is that so?” Trin took another step closer, standing so she faced both Darren and Edeya. “Well, you should know that a strong party makes leveling all the faster! Additionally, the reason I’m trying to form a party, rather than soloing as I have been, is that my father acquired a pass for First Clash Coliseum—I’ve heard of people gaining five levels into the second tier from a run through there. Of course, they likely went in at level nineteen; that’s the level limit for the place.”
“Really?” Edeya shifted her gaze from the willowy woman to Darren. “I just hit ten, and Darren’s only six. I think you should keep looking.”
“But you seemed so upbeat after exiting the Grotto; it seemed you had an easy time of it . . .” She trailed off, stepping back and looking Darren up and down.
“I mean, it was kind of a walk in the park, to be honest.” Darren wasn’t sure if he was trying to impress the girl or save face after Edeya outed him as a tier-zero neophyte.
“I, myself, am level fourteen, but we have two weeks! Surely you can gain the first tier by then—Darren, is it?”
“Right, Darren.” He held out a hand, a reflex from his recent years as a politician and a businessman before that. Trin regarded it for a moment with narrowed eyes, then clasped it. Her fingers were strong and warm, making him feel much more comfortable about her.
“Look, you only just met us, found out we’re kinda low-level, and you’re still pushing? Don’t you have some friends you could ask?” Edeya sounded suspicious, but Darren couldn’t really blame her; she made a good point.
“I have friends,” Trin replied, nodding, “but we compete more than we help each other. I’ve been a bit on the outs with some of them ever since they formed a party without me and completed Dagger’s Warf. The truth is that my best friend is now second-tier and won’t give me the time of day. I’m desperate to help her hone her humility!”
“We’re waiting for a ride, so listening won’t hurt.” Darren nudged Edeya’s knee. “Tell us about this First Clash Coliseum.”
Trin grinned, and suddenly, she was holding a canvas camp stool. She set it down so she could sit and face the two of them as she spoke. “It’s a dungeon set up like a series of arenas! You enter directly into the first arena, fight a wave of monsters, and then the boss. If you win, the door opens, and you progress to the next arena. It’s supposed to be amazing! The crowds are populated by dungeon-dwelling denizens, and I’ve heard stories about them throwing coins and trinkets into the arena if they like your performance. Each arena offers a unique treasure, and there’s even a title awarded to those who finish the whole coliseum.”
“A title?” Darren frowned at Edeya.
“Maybe I really am changing,” he muttered, smiling as he approached Lam.
“Are you ready?” Lam asked, grinning very brightly. “You two will love the house where Victor’s mentor has us staying. I’m not sure how long we’ll be allowed to stay, but we’ll enjoy it while we can.” She opened the coach door. “Come on, I have some rather big news for you, Dey-dey.”
“Really? Well, wait until you hear about my new Class options!”
Lam smiled and winked at Darren. “I’m breathless with anticipation!”
#
Lo’ro the Grim had a terrifying countenance on the Spirit Plane. His form had stretched to match Victor’s, standing nearly ten feet tall, but his arms and legs were long and skeletal beneath his tattered, layered black robes. His face, though, was a thing of nightmares—great black hollows in which white, haunting flames flickered, sharp cheekbones, pulling free of the paper-thin gray flesh that struggled to contain his skeletal maw with its worm-filled jagged teeth, and a forked tongue that slithered along his rotten lips like a black, two-headed worm.
He coughed at great length as Victor stood to his full height, Lifedrinker humming in his hands, yearning to cleave the monstrosity before him. After a moment, Lo’ro gathered himself and said, “My aspect here reflects my Core more than I’d like; I’ve mastered some facets of the Spirit Plane, but it’s never been a comfortable place for me. Come, I’ll tune the aperture to the realm we seek, and we can step free of this vile place.”
Victor squeezed Lifedrinker, reining her in; Lo’ro might be a disgusting Death Caster on the Spirit Plane, but that didn’t make him weak. He nodded and watched as the master of death chanted an ancient-sounding limerick in a language the System didn’t translate, and then the blazing blue rend in space flared with black smoke and took on a gray hue. “Now!” Lo’ro cried, and he led the way, stepping into the light. Victor figured he was too committed to back out, so he followed him. It felt like his body flash froze as he passed through, and when he took stock of his surroundings, his spirit form’s teeth were chattering.
His eyes were immediately drawn to Lo’ro, who once again looked like his physical self, back on the Material Plane. The realm they stood in was a featureless gray plane, and Lo’ro’s faintly translucent body bled black smoke into the gray air. Victor looked down at himself and saw that his usual form prevailed on this plane, too, though he was limned with faint white light that wisped away into foggy smoke. “What’s with the smoke?”
“Our Cores bleed Energy to keep us solid in this place. Fear not. You’re strong enough to last a good long while. Ware, now, while I craft a circle.” Lo’ro summoned a long, thin black rod and began to trace it on the weird, gray ground. The white-gray light of the aperture through which they’d traveled illuminated their surroundings for nearly fifty yards in every direction, and Victor slowly turned in a circle, wondering what the denizens of that place might look like.
Lo’ro drew a circle and then began etching runes within it while Victor watched their surroundings. He didn’t have to wait long before he saw his first geist. It floated in the air, a being of red light that twitched and flickered, occasionally giving Victor glimpses of its features—a skeletal hand, a yawning, silently screaming mouth, wide horror-filled eyes, or strands of wispy, ragged hair. The creature drifted past them, never coming close, and as it moved beyond the light of the aperture, it faded from sight. “How do I tell which geists share my affinities?”
Lo’ro grunted as he scrawled another glowing, white rune into the gray silty soil. “You’ll feel it. Don’t worry; they’ll start to crowd around after I finish my circle; it will bait them close while keeping them at bay.”
Victor stooped to touch the ground, noting it felt a lot like the wet sand near the lake back in the Free Marches. “What is this stuff?”
“No idea. The primal roots of the universe? The spirits who’ve carved this dimension out aren’t concerned with scenery—this is a place to wallow in misery and hate.” Lo’ro straightened, and his rod disappeared. “Done! Get that spell ready.” Victor nodded, lifting the silvery sheet. He glanced at it, studying it while they waited. He was confident he could build the pattern in his pathways.
Proving that the Death Caster knew what he was talking about, a few geists drifted out of the grayness. They weren’t all red like the first one Victor had seen; some were sickly green, others shades of gray and black, and still others in varying intensities of red, from pale, nearly pink to deep, bloody crimson. “Do the colors indicate an affinity?”
“Perhaps,” Lo’ro chuckled. “Use your inner eye.”
The geists began to drift toward them, hissing and moaning, their features obscured by the wisps of smoky steam drifting off their forms. Victor could catch glimpses, though, their faces flickering with expressions of fury and pain, agony and terror. He closed his eyes and looked in on his Core, expanding his view outside himself, and then he saw what Lo’ro meant—the various geists were like flames burning Energy. Victor immediately recognized some with fear and rage attunements; the Energy was too familiar to miss.
He began to understand what Lo’ro had meant about the geists varying in strength. Some of those flames flickered like candles, some burned bright like torches, and still others were like geysers of fire, difficult to look upon. Victor wondered if he could dominate such a spirit. He was concentrating on the red, rage-attuned geists, trying to choose a target for his first spell, when he heard a soft, sibilant whisper enter his mind, “I sense a kindred fear in your heart, bright one.”
Victor looked toward the source of the sound, how he could tell, he didn’t know, and saw a dark, purple-black flame, a powerful, overbearing one that roared up from the ground like a pillar of billowing black smoke. He stopped looking with his inner eye and saw the geist, a willowy, spectral woman sheathed in misty black and purple steam. The steam parted long enough for him to catch a glimpse of her horror-filled expression, wide eyes, yawning mouth. It flickered, and he swore she smiled, suddenly serene. It only lasted an instant before awful fear returned, clouding her eyes and twisting her face.
The voice came into his mind again, “Take me! Take me with you, and I’ll whisper secrets your master could only dream of.” Victor frowned, wondering if she meant Lo’ro. Surely that was the case; there wasn’t any way the geist could know about Ranish Dar. The idea that this spirit could communicate bothered him. Lo’ro had suggested that the spirits or geists, as he called them, were driven mindless by their past lives, their over-cultivation of fear or rage, or whatever other negative emotional affinity they’d taken in.
He looked at the Death Caster and saw his dark eyes on him, watching intently. Victor cleared his throat. “Should they be able to speak to me?”
“What?” Lo’ro chuckled, shaking his head. “Are you daftly trying to communicate with them? They’re mindless! Choose one and try the spell, lad; I’ve plans for the rest of my day.”
“Your master knows little. Take me! I won’t fight!” The voice came to him again, and Victor switched back to his inner eye, studying the powerful, dark pillar of midnight purple Energy. The geist was strong; if it was overwhelmed by fear, how could it talk to him? Why would he be foolish enough to listen? Again, she spoke into his mind, “Secrets! Bind me; take me from here! Help me!”
If the thing hadn’t said those last two words, if it hadn’t asked for help, Victor might have ignored it. He might have chosen caution for once in his life and picked a fear-attuned geist with a much smaller presence. How could he ignore the pleas of any being able to think and form words in a place like that, however? The smart thing would be to back away, not risk this thing trying to trick him, trying to overpower him, or trying to follow his spirit tether back to his physical form.
Regardless of what was smart, his Quinametzin pride wouldn’t let him back down. Not from a challenge and not from a plea for help. That was one factor. The other was that Lo’ro didn’t even know it was possible for a geist to communicate; how could Victor ignore such a development? How could he pretend it didn’t happen and leave it behind? Carefully weaving a thick rope of bright, glory-attuned Energy, he built the pattern for the spell Lo’ro had given him, and, focusing on the purple-black geist, he cast it.