Quest of the ancient god, p.8
Quest of the Ancient God, page 8
As Boran reaches toward the workbench in front of us, what looks like a crystal projection array appears in his hand. He places it on the workbench and turns it on.
A hologram style image appears in the air over the projector. The image shows a city on an island. The island itself is a mountain rising from the sea. I cannot make an accurate estimate of the island's size from the hologram, but I would say it is at least ten times the size of Tallifer Island. Assuming that diameter, its peak must be at least thirty thousand feet tall. Numerous plateaus rising up the mountain are under cultivation or have herds of sheep and cattle grazing on them.
The city is built with gleaming white stone that shines brilliantly under a noon sun. The entire length of the island's shore is walled, and there is a second wall surrounding the city itself. The imposing buildings and soaring towers give it an air of majesty.
“That is Vallhol, a city once belonging to followers of the Jotun Lords. Now it is occupied by DokkAlfar loyal to Woden.”
The focal point of the image shifts out to see, and I cannot suppress my shock and surprise.
“Fuck me sideways! How the fuck did those ships get there?”
There is a fleet of ships at anchor. I recognize three of the ships from my high school history class lectures on The Evils of White America. They are the Iowa, the New Jersey, and the Gerald R. Ford, two battleships and an aircraft carrier from twentieth and early twenty-first centuries.
As the focal point shifts again, a massive arch becomes visible. It looks the same as the teleport gates in the waters surrounding Tallifer Island. I cannot tell what the scale is, but it appears to be at least big enough to allow the passage of those ships.
Boran frowns. “The weapons of your world become less and less effective the higher an enemy has Coalesced their Power. Against anyone beyond the Fifth Circle of Coalescence, those ships will be useless, but most of the inhabitants of the various regions the Jotun Lords have created inside of Yggdrasil are below the Fifth Circle.”
I look at Boran. “I don't get it. If the ships are useless again the other Jotun, why would he bring them here?”
Boran is silent for a few moments. “What do you know about the power of Faith?”
Faith? It is an old term that is usually associated with religions and gods. It generally refers to the belief of the god's worshipers. Belief, I remember what Roderick said, when took me on as an apprentice.
Smiths are Makers. Your pattern being stronger means what you Make is stronger. Refining more Power is the fastest way to strengthen your pattern, but it has some pretty severe limits. Once you reach those limits, stories and legends are the best way to make your pattern grow.
Have you ever wondered why Named and Legendary items have so much Power? Everything in the universe is made of patterns. Just as patterns can be damaged and destroyed, they can grow. The knowledge and belief of others have in you, even if they just think of you as a story, will strengthen your pattern. It is not much for a single person, but when it becomes millions or hundreds of millions, the universe itself will help your pattern to grow. Every deed, for good or ill, that becomes known will strengthen your place in the Great Pattern. The more who know of you, the stronger your pattern becomes.
I don't adventure, anymore. I did in my youth, but now I'm settled in my Smithy. I've reached the limits of refining Power, and the weapons and armor I create do not spread my fame fast enough.
You are different. You're already steeped in blood, and I'm sure your infamy will become beyond legend. If I train you and you make it known that I am your teacher, I will become a part of your story. That may spread my fame faster than anything. I'll grow stronger, simply from being your teacher.
Because Roderick thought the belief of others in me would strengthen him, he was interested in becoming known as my teacher. Would that same thing apply to a False God? I suppose that the belief of the False God's worshipers would strengthen the False God in the same way that Roderick expected to gain strength.
No, it would probably be more effective. People with religious beliefs are nothing short of complete fucking nut-jobs. I do not really follow Roderick's belief in the Great Pattern, but with the insanity of religious believers, they might just be redirecting huge amounts of Power to the False Gods they follow.
“Woden is going after the believers of other False Gods, not the False Gods themselves. He wants to subvert their followers and steal the Power that the believers channel toward the False Gods.”
With a faint smile, Boran nods. “Now you should understand that danger that fleet and other weapons taken from your Earth pose.”
“Can Woden really succeed?”
Boran shrugs. “Only time will tell. The Names that he has taken on as his aspects are Conquest and Subterfuge. If any of the False Gods is equipped to succeed in such an endeavor, it would be Woden.
“He has already started numerous wars, and with that fleet, he will certainly start more. It is possible those wars could impede you in your quest. Be wary.”
I laugh. It is a nasty sound with no humor in it. Other than stealing the Yggdrasil’s drive, messing up some of Woden's war plans might be the only way I can fuck that bastard over for a long time to come. If I can throw a wrench or three in his works along the way, I will not hesitate to do it.
“Is there anything else?”
Boran frowns, and the sword with the broken pattern, made from Elemental metal, appears in his hand. He hands it to me hilt first, and I take it.
“This weapon has ties to your past; the past that someone should not have unlocked.” Boran turns his stare on Vili, and Vili’s face pales, as he presents a sheepish grin.
“Why?” My tone is challenging.
“If you pursue your past now, you will die. You are too weak. If you were a Triune at the Third Circle of Coalescence, you might survive, but it would only be by pure luck. Before you have reached the Fifth Circle, you should not pursue that memory or this blade.”
Boran probably means well, but his admonishment does not sit well with me.
“So, can you send me back to Gor'achen?”
As if I have thrown him a life preserver in a storm, Vili brightens. “I'll take you. Let's go.”
He moves away from the forge area, into the empty part of the cavern, and stops after about fifty yards. As he begins drawing a spell pattern, the Power that he uses to draw it is odd. There is a mix of silvery-grey Power and a Power that seems to absorb all light. I suppose it could be called black, but it is really the absence of any emitted or reflected light or color. It is a Power that I have never encountered before.
Despite the extreme complexity of the pattern, Vili expounds on what he is doing. “In some ways, I'm one of the densest, most un-Dvergarish of Dvergar, but in other ways, I’m an absolute genius. Dvergar like Grimnir and the Second Father are absolute monsters that have enormous talent in all six of the Prime Elements: Air, Earth, Fire, Water, Spirit, and Void. Me, I'm extremely talented in Fire, very talented in Earth, and dismal in Earth and Air. But there is another side to my Talent. I'm a freakish god when it comes to Spirit and Void, especially Void.
“You can use any of the Prime Elements to rip open a dimensional gate, but none of the others compare to Spirit and Void. If…”
“If you were so talented, you would have already finished that gate. You need to practice more and not rest on the supposed laurels of your supposed talent.”
*No Dvergar is ever good enough to meet his standards. Ole Grampa Grimnir tells me he was like that billions of years before Nidhoggr launched his expedition into the Primals.*
“Vili!”
Vili smirks and snaps his fingers. A ragged tear opens in midair, and my ritual chamber is on the other side of the tear.
“Time to go! Second Father, I'll take good care of everything! Farewell! See you later!”
Vili practically drags me through the rift, and with another snap of his fingers, it closes behind us. As the rift disappears, I see Boran staring at me with an unreadable expression.
*** Gor'achen – The Battleground of the Damned ***
Return: Day 308
(Brand)
With Vili following, I leave the ritual chamber. The wards I activated at the entry to my personal area are still active. With Thrall having left and taken over the City Lord's Castle, what was once his area behind the Blood Rose Stable is now mine.
Vili inspect the forge and then harrumphs. “This is pretty close to a top quality forge for a mortal to have.”
“I inherited it from Thrall.”
While frowning, Vili shakes his head. “That stubborn bastard never took the steps to become an true Elemental Maker. He's still stuck in a limbo between mortal and Elemental.”
I do not understand what Vili means. Since he seems to be more talking to himself than to me, I do not question him and let it pass.
After I disable the wards, Vili follows me down the passage to the section of the Blood Rose Stable that is still in use. From the smirk on his face, I have the feeling he is going to go off looking for trouble, but that is not my problem. Thrall can deal with anything that arises from Vili's rowdiness.
One of Elan'fer'sha's slave girls is sitting on the steps leading up to the living quarters for the stable owner. As soon as she sees me, she stops nervously twisting her hair and quickly rises to her feet. I do not remember her name. She is nothing but another slave of the DokkAlfar, so her name does not matter.
As the slave girls starts to open her mouth, confusion and fear fill her mind. Instead of saying anything, she just stands there with her mouth halfway open.
The slave girls dithering has annoyed me. The tone of my voice is cold. “What do you want?”
Her face turning ghostly pale, the slave girl drops to her knees in front of me. With her head pressed tightly against stone the floor, her gasping voice is a bit muffled. “Master, this slave girl begs forgiveness. Mistress has commanded this slave to bring Master to her.”
With the level my hearing has reached, I have no problem hearing the girls words. As she hurriedly spits our her appeal, I, also, hear her teeth chattering. The girl is caught between a rock and hard place. Her Mistress, Elan, ordered her to give a command to one who is no longer a slave, me.
I look at Vili. “This could take a while. Elan is a DokkAlfar Wytch. She overused the Umbra and was having problems dealing with the backlash.”
Vili's amused smirk returns. “I'm going to out and see if I can find something better than orc piss to drink. I'm not expecting much. DokkAlfar don't know good booze from bad.”
Hopefully, no one in the stable will be stupid enough to fuck with Vili. As for anyone outside the stable, I am just sorry I will miss the show, when Vili fucks them up.
The kneeling slave girl is still trembling. She does not know if she will live or die. She knows that I am a gladiator. I am someone who kills to live. Most gladiators love the killing; they love the feeling of power it brings to their existence. I understand that feeling. Killing a strong enemy is a visceral pleasure that does not pale compared to much beside fucking, but killing a pathetic slave like her is only boring.
I watch the girl for a moment or two, letting her wallow in her fear. Pathetic does not begin to describe her. “Get up.”
The girl rises to her feet but keeps her eyes on the ground.
“Where is Elan?”
Confusion seems to flicker though the girls mind for a few second. “The Mistress is in he chambers.”
The slave girl is blocking the stairs. As I casually shove her out of my way, her mind is flooded with terror. After stumbling a dozen feet to the side, she prostrates herself face down on the floor. If I had put any effort into the shove, the slave would have been injured, possibly severely. I did not realize how weak normal humans have become in relation to my current level of strength.
Ignoring the slave girl, I ascend the stairs. The guards at the gate to the stable owner living quarters hurriedly open the gate, and I enter.
It only takes a minute to reach Elan'fer'sha's suite. Before I have the chance to grasp the door handle, Elan has already pulled the door open. At the sight of her, my heart seems to skip a beat, and my dick gets hard.
Elan is naked, naked in a way I have never seen her before. For all the times I have seen without clothing, I have never seen her without the tattooed black patterns that are the visible marks from her Power Channels. The tattoos are gone, and all of her piercings are gone. I have never seen her looking so naked and exposed as she does now.
Her silver hair is loose, hanging down her back to the floor. As my eyes travel up and down her body, for the first time, I see her snowy white skin in all its unblemished glory. From between her legs, a few wisps of downy silver hair peek out. With the exception of her eyes the color of golden honey, the only contrast to the expanse of silver and white are her pale pink nipples and lips.
As we stand on either side of the threshold staring at one another, it feels like an eternity passes, but it cannot be more than a few minutes. Despite Elan's natural Psi defenses, I still feel her emotions somewhat. Lust and nervousness vie, with each seeming to seek dominance over the other. There are other fainter emotions that I cannot identify, but they are only background clutter to the lust and nervousness.
Whether my Psi is stronger or there is something else allowing me to more clearly read Elan's emotions, I cannot say, but it does not matter. The only thing that matters is that she is here.
Reaching out, I grasp Elan by her upper arms and draw her to me. As our lips meet, her mouth opens, and our tongues hungrily thrust and twine together. She struggles to get her arms around me, but until I release them, she cannot budge them from where I have them pinned. As I release Elan's upper arms and grab her ass, Elan moans and wraps her arms around my neck, clinging tightly to me.
The sweet clean taste of Elan's mouth is like nothing I have ever encountered before. There was always more than a hint of corruption in her before. That corruption only made her more arousing, but the way she is now has my dick harder than it has never. It feels like my dick is trying to punch a hole through my loincloth and pteruges.
As I open my eyes, Elan opens hers. I feel her lips smile, as our tongues continue to struggle with and caress one another. She is different. It is more than jut the Power Channels being gone. Something else has changed.
Steel is cruelty. Steel is pain. As the flow of my Mana changes, I imprint the spell for pattern sight onto my left eye.
In shock, I grab Elan by her slender chest and pull her away from me. Holding her in the air, at arms length, I inspect her again.
Elan's body is filled with Od. There are dozens of incredibly intricate patterns spread throughout her patterns. These patterns are mostly crafted from Dark Od, with some threads of Light Od mixed in. No, they are not multiple patterns, or maybe they are. All of the possibly discrete spell patterns are interlinked and form an insanely complex sigil. Trying to understand the sigil is physically painful.
I am not sure how long I stare at Elan, with my mouth hanging open. She does not do or say anything for time. While softly caressing my arm, she looks at me with a smile.
When Elan finally speaks, her voice is sultry and provocative. “You look like you're hiding a lance in your pteruges. Why don't you put me down and impale me with it.”
“How? Thrall?” For one of the few times in my life, I find myself unable to form my questions into coherent sentences.
Elan's smile disappears, and she traps her lower lip under her uppers. For several long moments, she seems to struggle with something internally. “I do not believe the has the Power to do this. A Dvergar came to me. He is a monster that destroys Gods. He told me that he came for you. For you, he blocked my Umbral Corruption. He has given me ten years to Transcend to the next level, and extend my life further. As long as I never use the Umbra again, his protection will contain the corruption.”
Elan stops speaking for a few moments and stares at the floor. A tremor runs through her body. “How do you know that monster? Why would he be interested in a human?”
I sigh and put Elan down. “That's a long story, and I'm more interested in impaling you than talking about my past right now.”
Before I even get out of my weapons harness, Elan strips off my pteruges and loincloth and starts sucking my dick. We do not make it much past the door and fuck right there for the first four or five times we cum.
Slaves pass by as they carry out their duties, but neither of us cares. Who would pay any attention if their dog watched them fucking?
*** Gor'achen – The Battleground of the Damned ***
Return: Day 310
(Brand)
After I leave Elan'fer'sha's chambers, I check the clock in her office. It is just after the fifth hour of the DokkAlfar day. Both the DokkAlfar divide the day into ten hours. Each hour is divided into ten segments called hundredths. Each hundredth is divided into ten segments called thousandths, and so on. I supposed they can keep dividing the day into smaller and smaller base ten units, but practically the ten thousandth is the smallest unit commonly used.
After fucking for more than thirty-six hours, I let Elan'fer'sha fall into an exhausted sleep and passed out for a few hours. If it was not for being a Ki user and having a high level of control over my body, feet like fucking for thirty-six hours would be an impossibility. It is good to be a Ki user.
After waking up and taking a quick bath, I am ready to start dealing with the preparation to go to Earth.
I am not looking forward to going back to Earth. If it was not for the Yggdrasil's primary drive being there, I would never return. The planet is a shithole, and I want nothing more to do with it.
Kanchek is waiting for me at the gate leading to the gladiator housing and training areas. His eyes are guarded as he appraises me. He seems to take particular not of the hilts of my scabbarded bastard swords but does not make any comment about them.
