Erick, as Ophiel, floated above orange sands, directing sand-laden winds around a floating map of the area. It was sand storm season, and there was a minor one in the area. High above in the afternoon sky, barely above where high winds blew dust from the north to the south, a cascading white orb blanketed the land in radio waves and detection magics.
And beside the map, and Ophiel, in the tiny calm of the storm, was a pitch-black man in dark leathers. His short black horns were almost indistinguishable from his medium length black hair, and the ever present darkness that licked across his dark skin. He was covered in natural shadows, all except for his fully white eyes. He gazed down at the resolving map in front of him, and at the blue dot to the left of the map.
Without lifting his head, Bulgan said, “How good of you to join me, Archmage Flatt.”
“Maybe if you weren’t so violent, then I might have come sooner.”
Bulgan turned his glowing white gaze toward Ophiel and smiled wide, revealing bright white, sharp teeth, that reminded Erick of another place and time, with a much larger maw, and much sharper fangs. But then the man spoke, and ruined the illusion; he was just another monster. “I am as the world has made me.”
“People have shitty lives all the time and come out better for it. You chose your path.”
Bulgan paused, his face scrunching with barely concealed joy. “You’re right. I did.” He walked around the floating map, his eyes wandering everywhere, but his attention never leaving Ophiel. “Are you happy with the path you chose?”
Erick did not answer the man. He stayed silent, and turned all but one of Ophiel’s eyes away.
Bulgan smirked, noticing Erick’s slight. He said, “My path was one of strength. Might makes right. It’s a simple philosophy, and my ascension to the Clergy has shown me over and over again that without power, nothing can be done to change the world for the better. You seem to be doing okay with gathering power, too. You’ve come a long way from a simple human crawling out of the Forest, begging for scraps at tables forged by your betters. A long way since you hid behind your daughter while I sent peons to kill you and ransack the Sewerhouse.” He smiled. “You’ve even called down lightning. Created a dungeon for light slimes. Created a whole new school of magic! All very impressive. And all very fitting.”
Erick said nothing.
Bulgan’s smile twitched, then went away. “Either participate in this conversation, or I will make you stronger by stripping away enough of what holds you back so that you lose yourself to the fury.”
Erick said, “You focus too much on strength. If you had less— if Veird had fewer people like you, fewer people who threw their weight around and brought ruin to all in their path, then maybe the Quiet War would be over. Maybe we wouldn’t have stretches of land like the Crystal Forest, devoid of all life save for a monoculture of monsters.”
Bulgan’s smile returned. “So you choose the power of community, instead of power for yourself? That’s just another form of power seeking behavior. We are no different in our goals, just our methods. We both desire power in order to protect what we hold dear.” He added, “The only difference is that I am not lying to myself as you are. You seek power through community? Laughable! And proven false by virtue of your very title, archmage.”
“You shouldn’t talk about ‘virtue’.” Erick said, “Not when you sought to kill me and my daughter, for just existing. Not when you endangered Spur with your shadowcats and your Shade plots.”
“Ha! ‘Endangered Spur’? Ha! One of the most ridiculous things I have ever heard. Veird cuts away bad flesh, and Kendrithyst is the primary scalpel of the One True God, but even the Quiet War is another way to hone strength in those who are worthy. The only ones who die are the weak, and they have no place whatsoever in a strong society.
“Why do you think the monsters exist, archmage?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“I am! They exist to make us stronger.” He gestured to the west, toward Candlepoint, far beyond the horizon. “That’s why this new settlement exists. That is why we are here.”
Erick’s blood boiled. He rarely felt hatred, but right now, he wanted to end Bulgan. That he was a Shade only intensified his feeling; if Bulgan was a person saying this shit, Erick could have ignored him. But Bulgan wasn’t just anyone. He was in a position to actually bring the hammer down upon civilization.
But Erick wouldn’t fight right now; not yet.
Erick said, “Power for the sake of power is worthless.”
“I don’t think you fully understood what I said,” Bulgan smirked. “To reiterate: The need for power is why I’m here, on the edge of the Wasteland.”
Erick felt his anger double, as he instantly connected the dots. He said, “You want to incite the Quiet War.”
“Almost had it!” Bulgan said, “I want to end the Quiet War, forever, as my people win their offered gifts and take up their swords.” He sniped, “You’ll probably get to stick around for the long centuries, though. Melemizargo seems fond of you. Maybe I’ll ask him to [Baleful Polymorph] you into something less offensive than a human. A slime, perhaps? Your daughter doesn’t deserve the same treatment; I’ll probably just kill her.” He said, “Her showing up my boys on the sparring yard proved her as unknowing of her place.”
Erick went silent again, as radiant rage boiled in his chest. He was unsure of what he could say to Bulgan that wouldn’t start the war off right away. He almost blasted him with a [Luminous Beam], and that certainly would have started the war, but he didn’t. He shoved down his rage, and waited till he could leave.
Bulgan said, “I wonder which of our communities will be able to survive the coming purge. You, and your insistence that everyone get along, only to shove hatreds down deep, to fester in the dark and come out stronger and deadlier than before, to start the cycle of killing all over again. Or me, and my idea of killing off or [Polymorph]ing every single human, and then blowing up Celes.” He smiled wide, as he looked up at the afternoon sky. The sandstorm around the two of them parted, like an ocean separated in two, in a massive, yet casual display of power. He revealed the eastern horizon, and the white moon of Celes hanging in the sky. He brought his hands together, then rapidly pulled them apart, saying, “Boom!”
Nothing happened to the moon, but the entire sandstorm around them collapsed to the ground. Air stilled. Nothing moved.
Bulgan laughed, drawing Ophiel’s eyes back to him. “Almost had you.” He offered, “So hey, do you want a Stat fruit? Free; no strings! Gotta have an enemy worth fighting, after all.”
“… We’re not enemies, Bulgan.” Erick had no idea where he was going with this, or why he was speaking this way, but he needed to deescalate the situation, before he killed thousands of people by touching off the first domino in a long, long chain. He said, “I’ve even been working with the Magisterium to clean up their recent mimic infestation. Helping your people.”
Bulgan scoffed, “That’s not what you did! What you did was steal experience from its rightful people.”
Erick countered, “You killed off the stronger, ‘rightful people’, so the infestation needed help before it rolled over those who never had a chance to prove themselves as strong.”
“Hmm. Yeah no. You’re still my enemy. And a thief.” He paused, then smiled, and got dramatic, saying, “Oh, the crushing weight that I must bear! I fear that it will kill me, because of the ones I did not kill when I had the chance! Oh, for those days of yesteryear, before the axe of fate chopped through my choices, and left me with one path to tread, and fall upon. If I could but return I would take that axe and chop down the tree that uprooted my house, before it grew too strong for my arm, and my mettle.”
“… I have no cultural understanding of what you just quoted.”
Bulgan sighed, then got snide. “The Champion of Peace and Folly?” He chuckled, like Erick was an idiot. “You truly never read it? 'Tis your loss. At least you understood it as a quote. Maybe you’re not a total failure as my foil.” He gestured toward the map, and said, “You know this tart you’ve set your sights upon is the same one that tried to kill you, right? And her father, too.”
“Correction.” Erick suddenly remembered a lot more about Kirzal, saying, “Her father threw a few [Healing Word]s at me when your minions decided to stab me in the kidney. If it weren’t for him, your own minions would have been kicked out of Spur long before they got the chance to get killed at the Sewerhouse.”
Bulgan said, “Correction: If not for her father, then my minions would have continued, and you would have been stabbed to death, and you wouldn’t be here today, to confound me yet again.” He smirked, then vanished in a blip of shadows.
Erick immediately went back to his body, but left Ophiel and the map there.
- - - -
“Dammit!” Erick said, “He got away before I could say, ‘Correction! Then there wouldn’t be any new magic on Veird, and all that other shit, asshole’! FUCK HIM. He knew he was losing!”
Merit, Poi, and Teressa, each perked up, as Erick came back to himself. And then Poi frowned, while Teressa backed away, and Merit sighed.
Merit asked, “Did you… antagonize a Shade?”
“Fucker antagonized me!” Erick said, “I didn’t do shit to him besides talk, because if I didn’t talk, then he was going to ‘strip me of what was making me weak’, which meant ‘kill everyone I care about’.”
Merit asked, “What did he say?”
“He said he wanted to—!” Erick stopped.
If Bulgan had told literally anyone else his plan to beef up the Wasteland to prepare to fight the Quiet War, then it would have gotten out there by now, and Erick certainly would have heard of it, wouldn’t he? Either Sirocco or the Baroness or someone else would have gunned much harder to get Erick on their side, or maybe Silverite would have said something. And now that Erick was back in his body, the Silver Star on his chest was slightly warm.
So Erick turned to Poi, and thought at the Mind Mage.
Poi grimaced, then said, “Gods dammit. Don’t tell anyone that. You might be right.”
Merit waved a dismissive hand, as she said, “Then I don’t need to know.” She looked to Erick, saying, “Not right now.”
Poi said, “If he speaks what he heard to anyone, events would unfold how Bulgan wishes, just by virtue of how it would change your response to outside stimuli. I’m checking right now, but from what I already know, what Archmage Flatt heard has not been explicitly stated anywhere else. His particular experience with Bulgan was a test, and an impetus to war, and no one here should fall for the trick of a Shade. Let it be.” He turned to Erick, and said, “You have been given a memetic hazard. Tell no one, and take no direct action, and nothing will happen. Let events unfold as they will.”
Kirzal yelled, “Is my daughter okay!?”
Everyone turned to the grief stricken man. Erick was honestly surprised to see that the man was still here.
“She’s on the map inside Candlepoint.” Erick said, “I don’t know anything beyond that.” He asked, “What the hell is a ‘memetic hazard’?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Poi said. “It’s not a big deal as long as it doesn’t spread.”
“Okay. Okay?” Erick said, unsure, “That’s fine, then?”
Kirzal said, to no one in particular besides himself, “I need to go get her back.”
Merit said, “You journey under your own cognizance. Beware the shadows, Mister Saker. They will swallow you whole and keep the bones.”
Kirzal looked to Erick, and said, “Thank you.”
He blipped away before Erick got a chance to speak to him.
Erick turned to Merit. “He ‘pulled every string he could’ to get this meeting?”
“You’re still being protected by the Guard, Erick.” Merit said, “Mostly casually, these days; your house is a fortress and you’ve managed to make a pretty good name for yourself, so a lot of the larger threats have vanished.”
Erick felt his anger ebb away. The meeting with Bulgan had been rough. Very rough. But Erick was successfully calming himself down, now that it was over.
… Now that it was over, for now.
“Okay. Well. Thank you… for that.” Erick said, “But people looking for their children— Shit.” He asked, “Kirzal was a good father, right? No histories of abuse or otherwise?”
Merit said, “No bad history. He’s just a good man who has gotten himself into a lot of bad situations over the years. This business with his daughter being his latest problem.”
“Good! Great. I really should have asked that question sooner, but I usually try to do that outside of directly asking the person in question.”
Merit looked over Erick, and asked, “You have a lot of experience with this sort of thing?”
“Ha! Not at—” Erick paused. “Well. Yes. Yes, but not in this context.” He said, “There was no magic back on Earth and I never did any of this in a warzone, or had the ability to directly help like I just did, and... I’m not even sure if I did the right thing.” He added, “But I’ve helped runaways, and gang members… A lot of what I did was helping people get medical care or into housing or out of bad situations. Bad situations that were considerably easier than the bad situations that can occur here.” He said, “Almost all of the problems I dealt with there are not the problems you have here.”
Merit smiled softly, as she said, “Mister Saker tried to walk up to your house yesterday, but the guards on the scene blocked that from happening, like we block most people. Then he tried to go through your Garden Council, but they all turned him away. Then he went though me, with a formal request, and I’m glad he did.” She turned to the table beside her, where several items waited on metal plates; hairbushes, dragonkin scales, white cloth dappled red, and more.
Erick looked at the items, and saw the capability to do a lot more good, today.
Merit said, “We’ve got a small stack of missing people that could use your help, all asked after by concerned family members or loved ones, each request vetted. No stalkers or Hunters or otherwise, here.” She turned to Erick. “With the prevalence of [Teleport], in our high level community, we usually can’t do anything for these people except take down their names and likeness and then pray to the gods that they are delivered safely back to us. But since word of what you can do has gotten around, a lot of people have left these sorts of mementos with us, hoping that you could help.” She asked, “So, can you?”
Erick felt as though the world stabilized, just a little, as he said, “Yes. I’d love to help.”
Merit smiled wider, and said, “Thank you, Erick.”
Erick walked over to the table and picked up a plate of scales, and began.
- - - -
Merit had a small section of her guards who were primarily employed for their [Scry]ing abilities. At Erick’s displayed willingness to work with the Guard, Merit telepathically called for her [Scry]ers to get in on the action. It wasn’t long till tiny eyeball orbs hovered in the air around Erick’s map of Spur.
Erick telepathically communicated the locations of his other maps to one of Merit’s people, a man named Anneal, who further spread those locations to the rest of his team.
And then he got to work. An hour turned into two. And then it was over.
Finding people who were lost was not as rewarding of an experience as Erick expected it to be. Of the eleven people he searched for, the only one who was alive, was Zimmy. Two people were nowhere to be found, while the other eight were bodies, located everywhere from the remains of a burial site outside of Portal, to huddled and dead in a pile of rags in a rarely-used alleyway in Spur, to the site of a recent wyrm kill east of Vindin.
When Erick was done, he dismissed the maps outside of Spur, along with those Ophiel, and said, “Shit. I hoped at least one of them would have been alive.”
Merit had gone off to work on other necessary things, while Erick stayed in the courtyard and searched, but she had come back when he was nearly finished. She said, “It’s not the best outcome, but their family and friends will at least have closure.”
Erick said, “How long have some of these cases been open?”
“Weeks, some of them. Most people give up after five or six days of no contact, but since you searched out the people who attacked Spur, we’ve had a change in how long people are willing to keep their cases open.”
“I’d like to be alerted within a day, when these sorts of cases come up again.” Erick asked, “Do you have any other searching problems that I can solve for you?”
Merit nodded, saying, “Yes. There’s a lot of Spur-centric business we can knock out, if you’re willing?” She said, “A search for illegal magics across the city. Mainly [Force Trap] and [Invisibility], but there’s also a Blighter going around ruining food stores that we’d like to find. And a murderer, burglarizing homes with floating, summoned swords. They take gold, only, so searching for the killer has been tough. I’m wondering if you searching for [Conjure Force Elemental] would be enough to locate that problem, but if not, then we can try something else. Probably have to try something else for the Blighter, too.”
“Ah.” Erick was ready to hop on board, and then Merit mentioned murderers. “That’s… normal guard work... I should have come here and offered my services sooner.”
Merit smiled. “I’m just glad you’re here, now.”
“Yeah… Me too.” Erick asked, “What’s a ‘blighter’?”
“Ah?” Merit looked at Erick for a moment, then said, “Oh. It’s the opposite of [Grow], except it decays almost all organic material. [Grow] and Mana Altering for Decay. If you can’t search for it, then try searching for [Grow]. Maybe it would work like how I hope searching for [Conjure Force Elemental] will work.” She added, “The Blighter is a heavy nuisance, clearing out entire grocery stores every other night, but its not as important as the Sword Summoner.”
“Well. We can try!” Erick turned to the map at his side, and recast the spell, saying, “Let’s try for [Grow], first. Seems like the simpler spell to search for. I can try making [Blight] later.”
Merit smiled wide, as the white map shifted in front of him, and the [Scry] eyes of Merit’s [Scry]ers hovered around the spell.
Erick looked up [Blight] in the Script as the map shifted, to see what he was working with, but got nothing. “Is [Blight] not in the Open Script?”
“Nope.” Merit said, “Gotta make it yourself, and not many people are capable.”
Erick hummed.
The map of Spur remained white. Erick said, “Uh. Hmm. Well. I think I might have to leave it running. If the spell isn’t active, then it won’t show.”
Merit frowned. “Dammit. We'd probably only end up with farmers, anyway. Okay. That’s…. fine. Then… Please search for [Force Trap]. Those should be active.”
Erick switched the map. A good fifty or more blue dots immediately appeared across the hologram of Spur, scattered all over. Erick’s eyes went wide. He did not expect so many results. Shouldn't most of them have altered their [Force Trap] into something besides the base spell, anyway? Thereby making the search for the base spell useless? Maybe it didn't work like that? Erick needed to experiment more with [Cascade Imaging] to understand the limitations of the magic.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Merit chuckled. “Ah ha! Perfect.” She stepped into the spell to get a better look at the blue dots, the white map parting and reforming around her body, like mist momentarily disturbed. She pointed out two locations at the tops of two different towers. “Clear. Clear. The others are illegal.” She looked up to the [Scry] eyes, saying, “Deploy!”
Erick watched a dozen more [Scry] eyes appear in the air around his map, as he asked, “What’s going to happen to these people?”
Merit spoke as though reading from a lawbook, “Depending on the nature of their spell work —which, in the case of [Force Trap], is primarily used to indiscriminately kill people— the caster might face anywhere from a thousand gold fine, to exile, to execution.” She said, “We haven’t had a Trapper Killer in months, but it does happen. But besides that, any of these traps you’ve found could have accidentally triggered on a kid, killing them rather instantly. We usually only find out that some idiot has trapped their ‘treasures’ after they accidentally kill someone.”
Erick felt his heart beat hard as his skin turned cold.
Merit noticed Erick’s change. She looked from Erick, to the map, saying, “This might take us a good hour to fully clean up. If you want, you can go. I would ask you to switch this map to [Conjure Force Elemental], in an hour or two, and then leave it up as long as you can, if that would even work. The Sword Summoner likes to strike at midnight.”
“Yeah.” Erick was very okay with leaving the Guardhouse for the day. He was glad to help prevent [Force Trap] deaths, too. And he would be more than happy to find this ‘Sword Summoner’ for Merit. But he was ready to be done with this, for the day. “Sure.”
“We’ll pay you a fair wage, of course.” Merit said, “Other Guardhouses pay based on crimes prevented, but that would just encourage false reporting and unwanted violence. Spur pays a daily wage of 5 gold for unskilled people of your level, no matter what happens, as long as you work a full shift and adhere to all the proper rules of conduct. But with your capability, we can triple that, and cut the workload down to specific tasks.” She nodded toward Teressa. “Miss Rednail’s capability puts her at double pay, for a few tasks each day.” She looked to Erick. “I’d love it if you came back tomorrow. Whatever time works for you. We can work around your schedule.”
Erick said, “Sure.” He looked up, and saw the moons framed by four courtyard walls, upon a field of dim blue. It was not yet sunset, but it was getting late. The sun had passed far to the west, and draped the courtyard in deep shadows. “It is getting kinda late. We’ll take the short way home. See you around, Merit.” He held his hands out to Poi and Teressa, who had mostly stayed silent this whole time.
Merit nodded, saying, “Gods Luck to you, Erick.”
As his own guards took his hands, Erick said, “And you, too.”
Blip.
They reappeared in the foyer of the house.
“Hello!?” Kiri called out from the kitchen. “Did I hear people?”
Erick smelled something delicious on the air. He called back, “Hello, Kiri!”
“Oh, good!” Kiri appeared at the archway that led to the kitchens, briefly, before turning around and walking back, saying, “I’m making dinner. Chicken and cheesy rice. Be ready in half an hour.”
“Smells great.” Erick said, “Thank you for telling me about that, Teressa. Helping the Guard is something I have been putting off for far too long. Sorry if it was boring for you. I can probably just send Ophiel tomorrow— Oh!” Erick conjured an Ophiel and sent him blipping out to the Lake and the Ranch, to start a series of platinum and normal rains, as he said, “I need to keep up the rains, too.”
Teressa said, “It’s fulfilling work, for sure.” She smiled. “But I can do without chasing after thieves chasing after gold, when they could have just gone out and killed a few hundred mimics and paid for whatever they wanted, outright.”
“You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.”
“Eh!” Teressa said, “I know. But I want to. Not every day is solving a murder. That’s actually pretty rare. Assault, though! Now that’s every damn day, and I am glad I am not a normal guard.”
Erick smiled. “How far is your [Witness] these days?”
She grinned, revealing lower fangs, as her eyes went bright emerald. “As far as it needs to be, and a good four days into the past.”
“Wow.” Erick said, “Holy shit, Teressa.”
She beamed joy, saying, “Thank you, Boss. I couldn’t have done it without you. Using it inside this house is like powerleveling.” She waved her hand through the dense air of the house, saying, “[Prismatic Ward] is tough to see through. Very, very tough.”
Poi said, “Sir. We need to talk.”
Teressa’s smile fell. She said, “Right!” She thumbed toward the kitchen, as she walked that way, saying, “I’m going to see if Kiri needs help.”
Erick said, “Oh, right! Teressa?”
She turned back to him.
“I was thinking of journeying up to the Wyrmrest tribes, or wherever Archmage Syllea is, to see about some magic. You’re from around there, right? Would you be interested in showing me around?”
“Absolutely!” Teressa’s eyes lit up, as she smiled. “Whenever you want to go, I’ll be there.” She rapidly added, “If we are able to go during Festival— You want to be there at Festival, Boss. It’s at the end of next month. 47 days away.”
Erick said, “I think I need to be there before then. But we can see about going again, later.”
Teressa smirked. “Fine by me.”
Erick nodded. Teressa turned away, and Erick turned back to Poi.
Poi said, “Let’s go to another room.”
- - - -
In the library, Poi conjured a sound disruption [Ward] into the space, and began, “There are two levels of infohazards. One is mundane, the other magical. Of the mundane threats, the primary ones are known as memetic threats, or hazards. What you learned from Bulgan is one such instance of a memetic hazard. It is the most basic, and most widely used form of social engineering used by the Shades. They tell someone something that makes them act differently than they normally would, in a way that may or may not have directly obvious benefits for the Shade.” He walked over to the library shelves, and pulled out a little green book. “This book is technically a memetic hazard created by the Shades, but you already knew that thanks to your daughter.”
“… This is weird, Poi.” Erick said, “I never told you about that talk with my daughter.”
“I know. But this has to be said, and I have been deemed the one to say it.” Poi continued, “And yes, I do mean ‘deemed by the secret Mind Mage police’, as you’re thinking right now.”
Erick went silent. He probably didn’t need to speak at all for this, did he?
“Not really,” Poi said. “But it does help direct the conversation along lines you choose.”
“What is ‘magnitude’?”
Poi frowned. He put the green book back on the shelf, as he said, “That is a memetic hazard, and you are not cleared for such knowledge.”
“… Fine.”
“The second type of infohazards are the magically induced variety, and there is some overlap of terminology. This second type is further split into many different categories, of which I do not have to go into. The one you are most familiar with is the anti-presence of Moon Reachers. Yes. That thing that they did to your daughter was a memetic hazard. Antimemetic, in this case.” Poi said, “Another magically induced memetic hazard would be the Puppet Minds. The creatures themselves are rather blobby, nothings of consequence. They like to nest under beds or in closets, or other dark spaces near where people sleep. You could kill them with a good stomp, if you are immune to their mental hazard. If you are not immune, you either become a puppet for them, or you forget they exist. If you are their puppet, you bring them food, and tell them about the world and your life, and when one of them knows enough about you, they eat you, and [Polymorph] into you, becoming a Puppet Master that spreads their young around.
“There’s actually a third type of information hazard, but since it’s based on lies, where all the rest are based on truths, or the clipping of truths from the world, this third type is not a true information hazard.” Poi said, “I only mention this third type because what you heard from Bulgan may be of this third type, but Shades hardly ever outright lie. If their words can be disproven by simply checking around, then their attempt at social engineering usually fails.
“Unless, of course, spreading the lie is the point.
“Convenient lies get around the world before truths have a chance to don their armor. More than one squadron has been taken down in Ar’Kendrithyst due to the lies of a Shade, and the infighting they are capable of causing, when they spy on us for weeks and months, and know our every weakness.”
Erick said, “That was all very interesting, and I’m glad to finally know what a Puppet Mind is, and eww! They’re Hunters but they’re monsters. Awful.” Erick asked, “But what do I do with what I heard from Bulgan?”
“There is no one you can safely tell.” Poi said, “I have been checking with my people, and we are advising you to forget you ever heard what you heard. The worst case scenario is that you tell someone in charge, causing a chain reaction which ends in an eruption of the Quiet War. Side effects include the loss of your Avowed Pacifist recognition, or you directly participating in the Quiet War, and all the attendant fallout from there.”
“… What if I told Killzone or Silverite, and they worked over the Shades in Ar’Kendrithyst in order to fracture whatever alliance is going on in there. They cannot all be on one side of the Quiet War, right?”
“Ar’Kendrithyst is a fractious microcosm of Veird, with Shades of all people from all places. Most of them don’t care about the Quiet War, but some of them would, and they all care about stirring shit up. Maybe the Shades do want the Quiet War to happen. Maybe Bulgan and others silenced the opposing side in Ar’Kendrithyst. Maybe Bulgan is expecting you to tell Silverite and Killzone, and thus, by telling them, you are showing that you can be manipulated.”
Erick countered, “Or, Bulgan would think that I wouldn’t tell anyone, and he said all that to lay the groundwork to taunt me later. He even quoted some play, or something, to that effect. He even called me ‘his enemy’.” He added, “Maybe I need to tell someone his game plan, and uproot that small tree before it gets a chance to uproot my house, or whatever he said.”
Poi said, “Also a possibility.” He added, “But I have been checking with people, as I have said, to understand this specific threat that you have been given. This is the lay of the land: No one has directly heard from any Shade that Candlepoint exists to hone the Wasteland’s strength, or that they want to purge all humans from Veird and destroy Celes.
“I know what you’re thinking, and implications of Candlepoint’s placement near the Wasteland in regard to the Quiet War has been discussed at length, but it is one concern of many. If you were to tell anyone what you heard, then you would be infecting fertile ground, causing a cascade of unknowable but partially predictable results. Our best predictors are forecasting ruin if you speak this ‘knowledge’ to others.
“And just in case this was a memetic hazard meant to compromise us Mind Mages, you should know that this is an impossibility. We are well versed in dealing with threats of this nature.”
Erick frowned. “Fine… I guess I won’t tell anyone.” He pointed from Poi to himself a few times, saying, “This was an experience, and weird, but I am very happy that you are talking to me, since this could have spiraled out of control rather fast.” He said, “Thank you. Please continue to talk like this with me. It makes my life a lot easier.”
Poi couldn’t help but smile, but he kept it small, as he said, “Not many people mean it when they say that, but you did. Thank you.”
Erick nodded. “Are you ever going to tell me who your enemies are?”
“... You haven’t had that thought in months.” Poi said, “I had hoped I had avoided that conversation.”
Erick shrugged, joking, “If you want to deflect, that’s fine, too.”
“Yes. Please. I want to deflect.”
Erick lifted his head, and said, “Oh. Did I hear Kiri calling for dinner?”
Poi went along with it, taking down the sound disruption [Ward] around the library, as he said, “Possibly.”
- - - -
Back at the Guardhouse, Erick learned that searching for [Conjure Force Elemental] did not show [Familiar]s, or anything, that was not specifically [Conjure Force Elemental]. The same went for every other spell Erick tried.
But apparently people used the base [Force Trap] spell a lot. This was because making a stronger version than the Basic Spell was especially difficult. Mystery solved!
There was no catching the Blighter, or the Sword Summoner tonight, though.
- - - -
As the sun set over Spur, it was still an hour away from setting over at Candlepoint.
According to Kiri, Teressa, and Poi, all people who had been inside Ar’Kendrithyst, some for extended periods of time, sunset and sunrise were the best times to be in the shadowy places of the world. The middle of the day was the worst, because the strong light made shadows antsy, prone to fights, and very, very awake. In the middle of the night, shadows tended to be deadlier than usual. But when the sun draped everything in shades of grey, it was, perhaps paradoxically, the best time to meet a Shade, or a shadeling; they were almost like normal people, then.
You know, if not for the inherent killer danger they represented.
And so, Erick stood in his library, conjured an Ophiel, and tried an experiment he had never thought to try, but that Kiri suggested, due to her own experiments. He had Ophiel [Polymorph] into himself. ‘Erick Flatt’ was a valid choice according to his [Polymorph] spell, after all.
Ophiel transformed from a multitude of white wings and feathers and eyes, into something that was similar to Erick, but not quite. There were skin flaps made of flesh-colored feathers, which was only the beginning of the horror Erick witnessed. And then Ophiel squawked out of ‘Erick’s’ stomach and left arm, opening great rents, exposing guts and bones to the air as unhappy flutes and a violent guitar solo crashed through Ophiel’s assumed body, causing the flesh colors of the false form to flicker full white, and a hundred eyes to spread where eyes had no right to be.
Erick casually thought, ‘And there’s another nightmare for myself.’
Ophiel reformed into his winged body, and clearly wanted to remain that way, evidenced by his rapid checking on his wings and preening and flutes sounds, and how half his eyes were focused directly on Erick, in a rather uncomfortable stare.
Erick sat down in his chair, and once Ophiel calmed down, which took some small talk and assurances that Erick would never do that again, Ophiel went blipping down to Candlepoint.
- - - -
All around Ophiel lay empty desert sand and varied dunes, full of deep shadows from the setting sun to the west, except for the land to the east. The first thing Erick noticed about the Shade outpost of Candlepoint was a tower of smokey crystal in the center, surrounded by buildings made of dark stone, like dark marble. The second and third things he noticed, were the sheer heights of the place, and that it was fully adorned with bright, colorful lights, strung across every building and the top of the tall wall surrounding the small city. The only thing not fully lit up was the dark, crystal tower in the center, but even that glowed faintly with reflected rainbows.
Ophiel fluffed out to a meter height, not too big and but not too small, and floated forward, toward the tall walls. The sands under him swirled at his passage, casting shadows to join the ones ahead, as the sun dipped down behind him.
The gate was wide open, because there was no gate at all. There was just a hole in the curtain wall surrounding the place, where sand swept inside, but did not get too far. To the left and the right of the entrance, carved upon the wall, were the inscriptions Erick had read before, about what to expect inside the miniature Dead City.
But this miniature Dead City was anything but that. It was lively, it was noisy. It was active. It even had guards.
Guards in black armor with grey eyes stood to the left and the right of the ‘gate’, just inside the city, gossiping with each other and talking about Erick, or rather, about Ophiel, who had just come into their line of sight. Erick waited for a shadeling guard to come to him, but so far they were staying away, talking to each other, with lines of intent radiating from their head and multiplying in number, as another shadeling guard showed up, and then another.
Erick turned his attention to the streets in front of him, while the shadelings organized their response. He was the only ‘person’ near the gate, but he was not the only person in sight.
The street leading from the gate only went a block before it hit a perpendicular street, filled both with shadelings, characterized by their grey eyes and flickering shadows around their body, and normal people, like Erick would have seen any day of the week, walking around the Adventurer’s District. Orcols, humans, dragonkin, incani, all walked left and right down the street, on their way to wherever they needed to be. They had clear, unclouded eyes, while most of them wore armor of some sort. No one walked alone, except for the shadelings. The normal people might have been holding themselves a little more relaxed than Erick would have liked, but he knew enough about himself to recognize that he might have been projecting.
A shadeling walked out of the gathered clump of guards to the left. She did not wear their black armor, but instead, she wore a simple white and grey mage’s robe, to match her white hair, horns, and skin. Her eyes were the brightest clouds of grey that Erick had seen so far, but they were not the white eyes of a Shade.
Erick turned to her.
She said, “Welcome to Candlepoint, Archmage Flatt. How may we help you?”
Erick said, “First, I’d like to know who you are, then I’d like to know what your goals are, and how you intend to fight and win whatever war you’re planning.”
If the woman had a reaction, she did not show it. Her response came in an even tone, “I am Mage Justine Erholme, appointed to you for your convenience, for the duration of your stay, or for whatever length of time you decide upon. If I am not to your liking, then you may have another guide, or explore on your own. As for your second concern: There is no war in Candlepoint, and we hope there never is.”
Erick frowned, but Ophiel did nothing. Erick said, “I would love for that to be true, but I cannot believe you.”
“I understand. Your concern is a common one.” Justine said, “I hope we can ameliorate such thoughts during your visit this evening, in any way you feel like exploring. I just ask that you give those you meet the benefit of the doubt. Many of us are not truly ourselves, yet.”
“There’s a good segue: What is a shadeling?”
“A person displaced from themselves.” Justine continued, “A more academic answer would be a created soul or a lost soul who is given a body and is currently in the process of developing their mind, either to realize who they are as a person, or to realize who they were. For most of us, the ‘shadeling’ designation under the Script will pass, though the physical reminders will usually not, though that is a complicated topic. But we are still people, recognized by the Script. Real and growing.” She offered, “If you wish, I can show you my Status?”
Erick let whatever was going to happen, happen, and discuss what he found out later. He said, “Sure.”
Justine lifted her hand, popping out a blue box.
Justine Erholme
Shadeling, age 98
Level 51, Class: Light Mage
Exp: 1.242 e12/5.331 e12
Class: 9/9
Points: 2
HP
598/600
600 per day
MP
11,859/12,000
3000 per day
Strength
20
+0
[20]
Vitality
20
+0
[20]
Constitution
19
+0
[19]
Willpower
50
+0
[50]
Focus
50
+0
[50]
Intelligence
15
+0
[15]
Erick eyed ‘Intelligence’, but asked, “You certainly don’t look 98.”
“The age of the soul is recognized more easily by the Script than the age of the body.”
Erick asked, “So how do you become an incani again?”
“I have already taken the first steps. If I chose, I could become an incani right now. But that would mean leaving the Clergy behind, and leaving behind my fellow shadelings. Since I will not do that, I remain here, to help others.”
“… Would you mind channeling mana through your Constitution or your Intelligence for me, and showing me the prominence that results?”
Justine held out her hand, and displayed a riot of yellows first, saying, “Constitution.” Next came a near invisible flicker of violet. “Intelligence.” She lowered her hand.
Erick was partially stunned.
It had been that easy to get her to show him the colors of two new Stats. Maybe they would answer all of his question in such an easy manner?
He looked on to the city beyond the gate. “Thank you.” He said, “I’d like to see a few other things, now. In particular, the Adventurer’s Guildhouse, one of your less nice restaurants, and the homes of those who have yet to ‘find themselves’, as you say.”
Justine said, “Most of that can be arranged, but I apologize, for we don’t actually have an Adventurer’s Guildhouse, for that would require international recognition, which we lack. We have a similar structure that fulfills a similar function. We call it the Garrison.”
“Acceptable.” Erick said, “Please lead the way.”
Justine nodded, then she walked forward. Her footsteps were muffled by sand, shadows curling around her feet, until she stepped onto the dark roadway leading into the city. Her light footsteps joined the sound of countless others. Ophiel silently floated beside her, his eyes pointed in every direction, waiting for a problem to appear.
Erick briefly split his attention back to his own body. Kiri sat in the other chair in the library, reading. She looked up as Erick shuffled in his chair.
“How’s it going?” Kiri asked.
“I’m in the city. I have an appointed guide.” Erick said, “It’s kinda weird. I’ll tell you more later.”
“Want me to make some coftea?”
“Yes. Thanks.”
Kiri nodded. She set her book aside as Sunny blipped away, from around her neck.
Erick returned to Ophiel, to float beside Justine as she headed left, joining the throng of people passing by each other, headed on their way to wherever they were going.