Shackled, p.28
Shackled, page 28
"I must apologize," said the opulently-dressed gnome.
"You what?" The look on Gnorma's face was one of shock so profound, it was indescribable. The very idea of Falerius the Flagrant apologizing for anything seemed completely foreign to her world view.
"I apologize that your rebellion is bad and you should feel bad!" The tall gnome's shout rang out just as the pressure on the pitcher grew too high. It skittered out from beneath Falerius's boot and arced through the air, spewing cream across the table. It missed Gnorma, a happy surprise that Korrash believed might have actually saved the other gnome's life. Unfortunately, the pitcher knocked into the platter, spilling a generous amount of cream onto the last piece of bacon.
Everyone stared in mute horror. Such an atrocity could not be allowed in society. Punishment was now inevitable.
"I-I'm sorry," whispered Falerius. "I never meant for that to happen."
Korrash felt mana leaking into his Aura involuntarily, his power fueled by rage. This would not stand!
He took a single step forward, and the floor trembled beneath his boot. Then, it trembled once more. His rage cooled—this was not his doing!
As the far-off clock struck the hour, a booming voice echoed through the room. It was the snide voice of Ixthariel.
"All gnomes are to report to the mine entrance immediately for duty assignment. This is an imperative."
As one, the gnomes' spines straightened and they spun about, marching robotically toward the door. Wails of anguish filled the room as they tried to resist the summons, but the ghostly chains that had bound them the day before reappeared, glowing red-hot as resistance to the summons increased. Gnorma and Ed were fighting so hard that the smell of burning flesh filled the room.
"Stop fighting it!" Korrash moved closer to the pair, dodging through the crowd as they were pulled toward the exit. He knelt down, looking Gnorma in the eye.
"Just go along with them for now," he said. "I'll find a way to take care of this. Just keep your head down. Don't die; not now, not for this."
Her teeth clenched from pain and anger, all Gnorma could do was nod. She relaxed her tense muscles and let the compulsion pull her toward the door. Ed managed to clap a hand on Korrash's shoulder as he passed.
Within thirty seconds, all of the gnomes were gone, pulled away to toil in the mines for their cruel masters.
Korrash, however, found that he was not alone.
Chapter Fifty-One
Gnorma's House, City of Gnottingham, Kingdom of Eastmere
Korrash's grief loomed over him like a spectre.
Hovering Grief
This creature isn't really here, but you've encountered it anyway. Can you figure out how to defeat it this time? Creatures like this can be temporarily banished through skills like Denial of Reality, though they will always return stronger until they are truly dealt with. Deals unblockable psychic damage with all attacks, always striking first in a round, never missing (Counseling 1 critical failure).
"This is all your fault," it hissed, its voice as cold as the truth of its words. It laid a black, shadowy hand on his shoulder in a mockery of Ed's comforting gesture just moments ago.
"I didn't…" The words stuck in Korrash's throat. He looked inside himself for the strength to refute the creature's words, and he found nothing.
"You could have done more. You should have done more. Not just for them; you've let down so many people."
"SHUT UP!" Korrasah hurled a bolt of aether toward the wraith. The creature was unfazed (Aetheric Projection 8 critical success). All he accomplished was cracking the trim on the archway leading to the kitchen, which only made him more mad.
"What was I supposed to do?! I never meant for any of this to happen! I didn't know the elves would change! I could never have imagined the horrors that Magna Mater would bring with her into this world! It was just a quest!" He hurled words at the shadow in the hopes that they would do the damage he'd tried to do with his aetherium. "The chains the gnomes wear were forged long before I was born. What more could I have done?" He drew in a shuddering breath, caught between rage and sorrow.
"You know it's about more than the gnomes," whispered the Grief. "Should I tell you what's really bothering you? Would you find that… helpful?" In its shadowy depths, two lights glimmered like red stars where its eyes should have been.
The rage inside him withered, and he shook his head vigorously. "No," he pleaded with the thing. "Don't, please, don't!"The Grief cocked its shadowy head and regarded him for a moment.
"Either you say it, or I will," it said. "Which one will hurt you the most, do you think?"
Korrash squeezed his eyes shut, and he felt a single tear roll down his cheek. His chest felt like it was going to implode; each breath was agony. If he had the strength to meet the creature's challenge, he couldn't find it.
"As you wish," it whispered in his ear. "You betrayed Sarah."
The strength in his knees gave way at last, and he sank to the floor. His eyes burned, though no tears flowed. He felt like he’d forgotten how to cry.
"You abused her trust, and now she's never coming back." The blackness spoke dark words, and they landed on the elf's shoulders like a physical weight. When no denial came, the Hovering Grief continued.
"And you know what makes that betrayal even worse? It wasn't even your first one. You did the same thing to her."
Korrash tried to scream at his foe, but all that emerged was a groan.
"Don't say her name," he begged. "Leave her out of this."
"You pushed her away, ignored your best friend in the world, even after she…"
"NO!" Korrash covered his ears. "I said to leave her out of this!"
The presence flickered for a moment, growing slightly more transparent. It did nothing to lessen Korrash's pain, though.
"Good," it murmured. "Push me away. Shove me down deep. I'll be quiet, and all this will go away." A shiver ran through him at the creature's words, and it seemed to sense his weakness. "But I won't be gone. I'll never be gone, Korrash, because you deserve me."
It felt as though someone was driving nails into his soul. The Grief was right; he did deserve this pain. He remembered the look of pain on Sarah's face when he had taken the reward he'd promised her. He remembered what the innkeeper had said about her. It still didn't seem right; she couldn't be dead, could she? She had just gone… somewhere.
And Arielle? He should have been out looking for her and that bastard necromancer who had taken her, not off on some lark of a side quest to get his Profession. He'd trusted Actinos to find some trace of Nicodemus, when he should have been out there looking for her himself.
He wanted to be done with all of this. It was a strange thought, and the idea seemed very far away. He didn't want to be here anymore, but there was nowhere else to go. The True God hated suicides above all things; each creation in the world of Nightfall held a piece of Him, and all things returned to Him in time. Death by one's own hand stole that energy away forever. Was that passage from the Book of Continuity, or was it in Fourth Char-gen? He wished Rector Cantlin were here. The man's inner strength had always been a comfort.
He hadn't thought of his home village in a long time, and he found himself wondering how his old friends were doing. Was Alton standing guard at the gates, hoping to fend off another crowbold attack? Had Beah's power as a Chef Pâtissier grown strong enough to reach the ears of the King? He should have mentioned her to the man when he'd turned in the vampire quest…
The pain in his chest surged and broke, spreading through his body in a wave of subtle agony, and the tears came at last. He knew what he wanted. He knew the balm that would soothe his pain.
He wanted to go home. He missed his parents, missed the familiar streets. He missed Beah, Alton, and even old Mrs. Flenderson from next door.
Wait. Who was Mrs. Flenderson? He could remember her shape, even most of her face. The rest of the details skittered away like spiders into the darkness.
He wanted to go home. Was his childhood village even his home anymore?
Had it ever been?
His mouth tasted strange, like chemicals, and he felt a brief pain in his arm as a wave of confusion hit him.
Where was his home, again? Why couldn't he remember?
As he clutched his head, trying to find the answers he knew his mind held, a new voice broke the deafening silence in the room.
"Na?" it said.
"Aurrie," he croaked as the tiny golem crawled out of his robe. It stood in front of him and touched his face gently, its metal hand cold against his cheek. Despite his pain, he smiled.
As he pushed himself up to a seated position, he noticed the golem was standing in a puddle of white liquid. It was the cream that Falerius had spilled, and from the wet feeling of his sleeve and the tickling trickle running down his arm, he realized that it wasn't just his diminutive friend who needed a bath.
"Come on," he said, picking Aurrie up as he headed to the washroom. "Let's get cleaned up, and then we'll see what all these books have to say."
Behind him, the Hovering Grief floated silently. It was almost invisible, though not truly banished. It was unsure which choice would please it more. In this state, it could whisper in its prey's ear as much as it liked. The slow, steady tide of the truth would wear him away.
Banishment, on the other hand, would allow it to fester and grow in strength as it fed upon its host’s denial. It was certain that such strength would allow it to utterly destroy this weak, conflicted mind.
"You can't wash her blood off your hands," the spectre whispered to the elf as it floated behind him. Korrash acted like he hadn't heard it, but it knew he had. When grief spoke, it was impossible not to listen.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Shishito Burrito, Downtown
Rachel chewed the last bit of her spicy-not-spicy Tuna Nigiri Burrito with a satisfied sigh. She was always a little sad to see a burrito go. The full feeling in her stomach lessened the pain of a lost burrito quite nicely, however. As she crunched down on a bit of diced pepper, heat blossomed in her mouth and she sucked air in across her tongue to ease the pain. Shishito Burrito used its namesake peppers in all their Japanese-Mexican fusion dishes, and they were the reason she kept coming back. The peppers had been cultivated to produce a genetic quirk that caused only one out of every ten peppers to be truly spicy, and it gave the sushi burritos an unpredictable quality that she loved.
She checked her wearable and realized it was time to get back to the office. She was due for another check-in with Doctor Ben this evening, and she had to admit that she was hoping to get a little more play time logged before the meeting. She had stopped just outside a new town when she realized it was lunch time, and it had been a few days since her last trip.
She visited the restroom to cleanse the Chipotlesabi sauce from her hands and made her way out of the restaurant. A cool autumn breeze was blowing, and the shock of cold on her mostly-dry hands made her shove them in the pockets of her jacket. She felt the corner of something poke her palm. Confused, she drew forth the object—a folded square of paper.
With a start, she remembered her encounter with the woman outside of HQ. Curious, she unfolded the page and saw a face staring back at her. The young man had short, dark hair and green eyes. No beard. Not handsome, she thought, but attractive enough. He looked soft around the edges, like most men she knew who didn't take up competitive sports. The poster showed his birthday; they were close to the same age.
It was a Missing Persons flyer, just like from the movies. For someone to print out something on actual paper was almost unheard of, and would have been rather expensive. That these flyers were being distributed in person by a human spoke to a level of desperation and dedication that Rachel almost couldn't comprehend.
Missing, it read. Arthur Mallory. Last seen during stay at the Metropolitan Hospital East. Known to have been employed by Oneirosoft Corporation afterwards and they are not allowing me to speak with him. Please, help me find my son! Contact information followed.
Rachel folded the paper carefully and slipped it back into her pocket. The woman's furtive demeanor made a lot more sense now. She seemed to be implying that Oneirosoft was intentionally keeping her son from her. That wasn’t something the corporate lawyers would take lightly.
She walked back to HQ, since it was only a few blocks away. Her leg braces felt strange, as if they were interfering with her balance just as much as they were helping. As to the pain that had been her companion since the incident and subsequent surgeries, only occasional flashes remained. When the pain did come, it was immense, but she no longer needed to dread each step. She smiled to herself. Doctor Ben was going to have kittens.
She badged into the building and waved at Lou, then took the stairs up to her apartment. As she approached her room, she heard the door unlock. She pushed it open and slipped inside, entering a timer request into her wearable so she'd be sure to make her appointment. Perching on the edge of the couch, she released her braces, tossing them into a corner near the bathroom. She knew she could make it that far once she got out of the pod.
She stood, wobbling slightly, and made her way with careful steps to where her helmet hung next to her immersion pod. With the few hours she had to play, she figured she could check out the new town and see what it had to offer. She smiled. It was time to go home.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Gnorma's House, Town of Gnottingham, Kingdom of Eastmere
Korrash had felt day turn to night three times since he started reading Gnorma's collection of Specialty-related texts. The information was vast, and he loved it. It was almost enough to drown out the whispers that told him he should just give up and die.
He recalled from his earlier reading of The Guide to Being Useful that each Specialty was made up of individual components that worked something like Skills. When combined appropriately, they created a Specialty which would vary in power, based on both his own abilities and the strength of the combination.
He read through several books on different types of metal-smithing before he forced himself to reconsider. Forcing metal to bend under the heat of the forge and the weight of his hammer was a fascinating idea, but it was obviously out of his league, Prowess-wise. With his upper body strength being equivalent to a sickly child's, he would never make even a mediocre smith.
From there, he considered alchemy. From Herb Gathering to Aetherobotany to Custom Alembic Design and Pestle Proficiency, the entire Specialty was one he considered to be incredibly interesting.
The first of its two schools, Common Alchemy, relied primarily on herbs and other ingredients for the crafting of potions, oils, and tinctures. By contrast, the school of Enlightened Alchemy was far more esoteric, using reagents and catalysts of various types to turn one substance into another, construct bombs and other consumables, and even create life!
As he studied, he thought of the Dir Liath heart he held. With its astronomical value, it might be enough to guide him down this path all by itself. He dived into a book titled Unique Applications of Rare Reagents, and quickly wished he hadn't.
Despite its phenomenal rarity, whatever Mythic Alchemist had penned the tome was familiar with Dir Liath hearts. The book contained a guide for inspecting the quality of such an incredible find, and even instructions for properly harvesting from a vanquished beast.
He had absolutely botched almost every part of the process. As he checked the elasticity of the heartstrings and evaluated the integrity of the great cardiac vein and anterior interventricular artery, he realized that his nearly priceless acquisition, the one that had driven him to slay in cold blood a noble being that had fought beside him in battle, was not even worth a single percent of what he had imagined it to be.
As the knowledge of the truth became apparent, he felt the strength provided by his hoard diminish. He had just grown used to feeling almost normal (even though it had not been enough to lift that tray of food),and now he was back to struggling with wooden doors. The whispering gained a bit of volume, but he buried it once more in study.
Alchemy was too sedentary for him, anyway. It required a base of operations and expensive equipment that he couldn't see himself ever being willing to purchase (Conviction 2 succeeded, but became a critical failure due to Tier imbalances and other factors). So, he decided to return to his first love: Enchanting.
He pulled out his copy of Specialties and The Art of Being Useful, which had been languishing in his bag ever since the vampires had attacked Sunblade. Flipping it open, he noticed that it was still displaying his previous choices.
??? (Unknown Combination)*
Aether-honing (<25%)
Imbuement (<25%)
Materials Lore (<25%)
Inscription (<25%)
Naming (<25%)
Aether Distillation (<25%)
Aetheric Infusion (<25%)
Enchantment Design (<25%)
Tool Mastery (Imbuement) (<25%)
He considered his choices with a more experienced eye. The book's assessment was definitely correct; he had chosen way too many components to create a coherent specialty. If he likened each one to a skill, the time to progress overall would be astronomical. He needed to approach this in the only way that both made sense and silenced the whispering voice in the back of his head: through lots of reading and applied logic.
Tool Mastery (Imbuement) sounded like a great idea, though when he thought about it, the ability to use enchanted tools more effectively was probably less important than it would be in most other Professions. That one could go.
Similarly, Aether-honing was a great way to maximize enchantments placed on bladed weapons, since it was the application of aetheric energies to metal in order to render them supernaturally sharp. It was certainly a great way to get that vorpal longsword he'd always dreamed of. However, he felt confident there was more than one way to skin that one-dimensional (and proverbial) cat. Out it went.
