Max turned to face the rest of the room, taking a deep breath. He wanted to listen the sorcerer’s final words, but he wasn’t sure if he trusted the musings of a religious old man in a tower.
He shook himself, he didn’t have time for distractions.
Max shouldered his satchel, took a deep breath, and observed his surroundings.
Walls stretched in a circle on either side of him, and directly across from him was a taller, wider version of the door he had just entered through. It stood at least ten feet high, with lines of runes covering the arch and the surrounding stone, the space between the arch filled with cobbled rock.
From there, the circular walls were lined on one side with bookshelves that stretched to the ceiling, and racks of equipment on the other. Swords, bows, arrows, axes, spears, shields, and varying levels of metal or leather armor, hung on pegs that almost covered the wall. Closer to the bookshelves, there were shorter tables, adorned with what seemed to be clothes and trinkets of varying kinds. Wands, amulets, rings, robes, and hats, all displayed as if it were a clothing store.
Max ran a hand through his hair, his gaze passing over the books, first and foremost.
Knowledge is power, after all.
He spied a section of shelving where the books were color coded, and after closer examination, realized that they were class deep-dives. He began tracing his hands over the spines, reading the names of the respective classes.
They all sat in alphabetical order, Barbarian, Bard, Cleric, Druid, Fighter, Monk, Paladin, Ranger, Rogue, Sorcerer, Warlock, and Wizard. Each tome was an inch or two thick, and was bound with leather and an older, thinner style of paper.
Max sighed, conflicted. He was excited to understand the classes, more so than he was willing to admit. There was a curiosity growing within him, something that had begun bubbling since he’d awoken in the room. A hunger had appeared, a gnawing desire to grow, to challenge, to advance forward and crush whatever dared to stop him. Something that had been dormant within him all of his life.
Then again, he would have to read pages upon pages of class abilities, which he wasn’t looking forward to.
Max shook himself as a slight chill ran down his spine.
“Easy Max... Focus.”
He set the books out on one of the bare tables, flipping through the first several pages of each and acquiring a basic understanding of the classes and their general uses. Most of the heavy hitters, like barbarians, fighters, paladins, and rangers, were just like Althorus had said. Strong, physically tough, and consistent, though they lacked versatility in anything other than combat. However, the ranger didn’t seem to follow those rules, and especially not the paladin.
The ranger could cast nature spells like druids, though not of the same caliber, and specialized in stealth and ranged combat, gaining special abilities that let them hunt down their prey, as well as casting small buff spells and other boons.
The paladin was of a similar nature. It could cast cleric spells, though again, at a much lower level of power, and specialized in upfront, melee combat, utilizing divine magic, weapons, and armor.
In the same vein, many of those classes, including the rogue, monk, and bard, gained their “archetypes” at level 30, which would define the kinds of abilities a traveler would receive as they leveled up in the class. The other classes however, usually full spellcasters like clerics and wizards, received their archetype at level one, since their class was fully defined by it.
Max clasped his hands behind his back, mulling over his choices. Certain classes gave him and archetype at level one, which would grant him more features but less survivability. The others were far more resilient, but required significant investment before an archetype became available.
Level investment aside, two of the classes made him… uneasy. The cleric and the warlock both said they were in service to higher powers, which Max was already less than sure of. Additionally, they required you to communicate and even follow the higher power to some degree, which he was VERY unsure of.
That being said, as he flipped through the pages of those classes, their power spikes were… drastic, to say the least. At level one, clerics possessed decent armor and weapon skills, as they could use medium armor like breastplates and shields, and simple weapons like spears and maces. This was without choosing a deity to follow, as those could grant even more abilities, like special powers, spells, or the skills for heavy armor and weapons.
Warlocks had their own set of boons at level one as well. They were the same as clerics in terms of hit points, but generally had less armor skills. However, they gained powerful, unique abilities based on their archetype, and could gain more weapon and armor skills that way as well.
Max chewed his lip,
“So what’s the difference?”
He flipped a bit deeper into the cleric book, reading a few more passages. Clerics required a ritualistic devotion to their deity, constant practices and rites to be performed to please them. Not only that, but a cleric required a strict devotion to specific ideas held by the domain and followers of the deity. There was also a list of deities, and what they could give a cleric that chose them. Max made a face at this, as he wasn’t a fan, and turned to the warlock instead.
It yielded far less answers, sadly.
As he read, the book laid out what a warlock was, but didn’t list any deities upfront or even archetype names. A warlock, according to the tome, entered into a covenant with an otherworldly power, and was granted abilities, skills, and spells depending on the nature of the entity. Their spellcasting was slightly different than others, however. Other spellcasters received larger amounts of spell points, meaning they could cast more spells throughout the day, but needed to recuperate for at least eight hours to restore them. Warlocks gained much less spell points, but they were of higher level, and could be restored with much shorter recovery times.
Spell points were spent to cast spells, usually per level of the spell. So inherent spells, or “level zero” spells, could be cast at will, without pause. While casting something like a first level spell would cost a level one spell point.
He glanced at the warlocks starting abilities, cocking his head to the side. Several were listed as “potential abilities,” as if those who wrote them weren’t sure what could be received. One of the confirmed abilities in particular did, however, catch his eye.
Mystic Strike: Inherent Spell.
Range: Melee - 120ft
All warlocks gain the inherent spell Mystic Strike, which can manifest in a number of ways, depending on the entity they are sworn to. On a hit, Mystic Strike deals magic damage equal to 10 + The warlocks presence attribute.
Max’s eyes practically bulged out of his head. That was almost more damage than a barbarian had in hp at level one. That ability alone made the case for him to become a warlock, and if he could make sure he landed a hit…
Maybe survival wouldn’t be such a far off prospect.
He considered the fact that many others had possibly chosen warlock, simply for this ability alone, but that only further cemented his idea. If they had, he would need Mystic Strike just to have a chance.
He tossed the cleric book aside, flipping through the book on warlocks and pacing about the room.
“C’mon… How do I talk to these weirdos…”
He muttered, looking for some instruction on how to approach the patron deities.
Or who they even were.
As he pondered, he noted some other key information about warlocks. They used Presence as their primary attribute, meaning it affected their spells and abilities, though he wasn’t entirely sure what the presence attribute embodied.
He shoved the warlock book into his satchel, summoned his tome, and the book automatically opened to his stats. Immediately, floating text appeared a few inches above the page, scrawled in a flowery script that materialized out of thin air.
Welcome to your Tale-Tome!
You are nearing The Echo, and will be transported shortly. Your attributes and skills have been adjusted according to your ability.
Upon choosing your first class level, it will be automatically recorded in your Tale-Tome. Refer back to your Tale-Tome to further allocate features and levels.
Good luck.
Max watched as the text that detailed his name and information shifted, the ink warping to reflect the changes.
Name: Maximillian Treis Donovan
Level: (_)
Acuity: +1
HP: 1
Deflection: 0
Class: None
Attributes:
Might – (+0)
Deftness – (+2)
Vigor – (+0)
Intellect – (+1)
Sense – (-1)
Presence – (+3)
Resistances:
Mig (+0)
Def (+2)
Vig (+0)
Int (+1)
Sen (-1)
Pre (+3)
Defense Check:
Physical (3)
Magical (4)
Skills:
Acrobatics (+2)
Animal Handling (-1)
Arcana (+1)
Athletics (0)
Crafting (+1)
Deception (+3)
History (+1)
Insight (-1)
Intimidation (+3)
Investigation (+1)
Medicine (-1)
Nature (+1)
Perception (-1)
Performance (+3)
Persuasion (+3)
Sleight of Hand (+2)
Stealth (+2)
Survival (-1)
Max chewed his lip as he clocked the changes in value across his stats, tracing a finger over his attributes. Almost immediately, more text appeared, defining the attributes themselves.
Might: A measure of one’s physical strength and power.
Deftness: A measure of one’s mobility, reflexes, and finely tuned movements.
Vigor: A measure of one’s physical resilience to disease or injury.
Intellect: A measure of one’s complex reasoning and information retention.
Sense: A measure of one’s perception and ability to read their environment.
Presence: A measure of one’s conviction in themselves and their expression.
He cringed slightly and realized why some of his stats stayed low and others dropped lower. His skills were clearly based on his attributes, and he assumed that if he increased his attributes, he could increase his skills as well. His vigor was probably low because he’d been sick on and off for most of his years as a kid, and even had problems with asthma at one point. His sense was definitely lower due to his vision, which was terrible without his contacts.
His eyes suddenly widened. He had no way of acquiring medicine, or contact solution, or anything of the sort. Max quickly shook himself out of it. He needed to focus. If he didn’t get going he wouldn’t be able to find a solution to these problems.
He kept his Tale-Tome in one hand and reached into his satchel for the warlock book once again. For a moment, the bag was empty, and his hand greedily clawed around the space for a book. When he was just about fed up, he aggressively dug through the bag, envisioning the book as he searched.
Suddenly, the spine of a book was firmly within his grasp.
He pulled the deep-dive from his satchel and stared into the empty space. A simple, leather bag with nothing inside. Curiously, he attempted the same with the history book, and after thinking of the book itself, it appeared once he reached into the bag.
“A bag of holding…”
He chuckled aloud, then turned back to his task.
Max dismissed his tale-tome and held the warlock manual in his other hand, perusing the manual and willing the tale-tome to record ‘Warlock’ as his class choice. Immediately, he began receiving messages, beamed straight into his conscious mind.
Starting class chosen:
Warlock
Starting HP allocated:
8 class hp + 0 Vigor = 8 total hp.
Starting Acuities allocated:
Light Armor
Simple Weapons
Presence Resistance
Intellect Resistance
Arcana Skill
Insight Skill
Starting Attribute Points Granted: +2
Note: Attribute Increases must be applied before more levels can be acquired.
He nodded to himself, acknowledging the changes. He decided to wait on his attribute points, as those would definitely be an important choice.
His presence and intellect resistances increased by his acuity bonus, which was +1, as did his arcana and insight skills. After more examination, Max noted that resistances were how you defended yourself against certain effects, such as spells. Meaning, when Althorus had held him in place, the sorcerers defense check had been much higher than Max’s resistance to that spell, though which attribute was targeted, he wasn’t sure.
As he turned to approach his next task, the atmosphere of the room changed, the air felt like it was buzzing.
Something was here.
He turned to face the gate, and spied a figure sitting lazily on one of the higher shelves.
It looked to be a woman, dangling her legs in the air, the sheer fabric of a red dress just barely covering her as she smiled in a predatory fashion.
That was where the normalcy ended.
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Her skin was a deep, warm, pink, and a long thin tail twitched curiously at her side, as if it had a mind of its own. Her eyes were pitch black, and as her smile widened, her teeth resembled canines. Her hair was long, straight, and jet black, a glossy cascade that hung down to her waist.
She waggled her taloned fingers at him, and finally spoke, her voice equal parts alluring and unsettling.
“Well hello dear… Looking for me?”
Max was beginning to realize that ‘she’ might have been too hasty a judgement. The creature appeared to be a woman, feminine in features, build, and seemingly in all other facets, yet something about her was… off. When she spoke, it sounded as if a hundred people were speaking, male and female voices smashed together, in various states of screaming, moaning, or pleading.
He hated it.
Max tried to reply, but he found himself struggling to find something to say. The woman slipped off of her shelf and fell ten feet to the floor, landing without making a single sound. She swayed over to him, her hips moving like liquid as she put on a pouting face,
“Poor baby… Let me help you with that…”
The woman was close to him now, standing right at eye level. She bit her lip and giggled, but there was no humor or warmth in the sound. Max’s heart pounded in his chest as the woman reached for his hand, the one resting on his satchel.
His eyes were locked on hers, and as she leaned in, Max jumped in surprise as the woman suddenly leapt back, yelping in pain. Smoke curled from her right hand as she recoiled, shying away from him. The woman bared her teeth in rage, screaming at Max,
“Tainted! Tainted by it!”
He stumbled backward away from her verbal assault, his ears ringing. The buzzing in the air worsened, and suddenly ceased.
Max panted, slowly prying his eyes open as he observed the room once more.
She was gone.
He took deep, slow breaths, trying to slow his racing heart.
“Okay… I guess that’s one off the list.”
He could only assume that she was one of the entities he was supposed to enter a “covenant” with, but from what he had just witnessed… He was glad she had disappeared.
Max summoned his tale-tome and tried looking through his class features, and the book automatically adjusted, displaying his current class abilities across the pages.
Level: 1
Class: Warlock
Archetype: None
Features:
Starting Skills and Acuities
Mystic Strike – Inherent Spell (currently unavailable)
Sadly that was it, at least for now. He assumed once he’d made his covenant, he would receive more, and hopefully gain use of his mystic strike.
Luckily, he now knew what kind of creatures he was dealing with, and he had a feeling they were listening.
“Alright!” He called, taking a deep breath and looking around the room. “If you’re here, step up and let’s talk business. I don’t have-“
There was a sudden, whimsical, POP, and in the middle of the room, a puff of mist revealed a humanoid figure, seemingly a young man. He was thin and lanky, dressed in a brightly colored, purple and blue, three-piece suit. His face was gaunt, horribly pale, and his short, slicked-back, hair was the same shade of white as his skin.
The man beamed at Max, an impossibly wide, toothy grin that seemed to pull at the skin around the mans eyes.
“Hello hello hello! So LOVELY to meet you dear boy.”
His irises were bright purple, and his voice was just as unsettling as the woman’s was, though for different reasons. He sounded strained, as if every syllable was a scream being repressed, his voice nearly cracking with every word.
Max didn’t have a chance to speak before the man strode up to him in a blur of supernatural speed, both hands behind his back.
“You simply MUST be the newest pact bearer! How delectable! And quite the handsome young fellow aren’t we…”
The suited man’s horrible grin took on a predatory nature as his mouth stretched farther, his eyes almost looking in different directions.
Max leaned away from the him, liking the creature less and less by the second. He gathered the courage to speak, but was immediately interrupted,
“And you ar-“
“NAMES! Yes, names! OH such pleasantries! You may call me…”
The man craned his neck forward at an impossible angle, his voice taking on a horrid, grinding, rasp.
“…Tantalus…”
Max swallowed. He honestly would have preferred the first one at this point, at least she wasn’t so unpleasant to look at.
“Okay I think we’re don-“
“Are WE?!”
Max instinctively ducked backwards as Tantalus reached for him, snagging the strap of his satchel. The thing cackled with murderous glee,
“I disagree young ma-!”
Tantalus froze and fell silent, as the satchel suddenly fell back at Max’s side. The suited man’s smile faded, and he raised his hand to inspect it.
Max stared as three of Tantalus’s fingers turned to ash, crumbling and falling to the floor. The suited creature began to mutter to himself, repeating a phrase in an almost manic fashion.
“No bread, no water… no bread, no water…”
He croaked, his head rocking back and forth. The buzzing in the air reappeared, reaching a crescendo before there was another POP, and Tantalus was gone in a puff of mist and butterfly wings.
Max was alone in the room, once again.
He sank to the floor, his back against the wall as he tried to calm down. His heart pounded, blood roared in his ears, as he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.
“C’mon Max… Simmer down…”
He groaned and rubbed his eyes,
“You can do this. Warlock is worth it, you need the power.”
He reassessed his situation. The last two had disappeared after touching him, and though he wasn’t sure why that had happened, he knew they were both trying to manipulate him. He wasn’t surprised, he was essentially making a deal with the devil, and even if those things weren’t devils, they definitely weren’t human.
He took a few moments to catch his breath, then stood again, fixing his jacket and steeling himself.
Drawing upon his resolve, he called out one last time, trying to be firm and specific,
“I’m ready to make a covenant! I know you’re here, and I know that you want something from me. Speak truth to me, and I will heed your words!”
Within seconds, Max received a response.
This one, however, was not nearly as subtle as the previous.
The room suddenly darkened, shadows lengthening and stretching across the floor. The air seemed to follow suit, vibrating and burning against his skin. The light around the room turned gray, and began drawing towards the center of the room. Wisps of shadow and faded light swirled in a vortex as the entire chamber shook, and Max fell to his knees, feeling as if he’d suddenly gained a hundred pounds.
Who had answered?
What had answered?
Max struggled to keep his head up, but his muscles screamed against whatever had arrived, the sheer presence of the being enough to throw him to the floor and utterly wreck the entire room. The sound of wind and power was deafening as he struggled to comprehend anything that was going on around him.
The vortex in the center of the room began coalesce into a humanoid shape, standing almost as tall as the ceiling as features suddenly became visible.
It was covered from head to foot in a massive, dark cloak that swirled and blew about in the wind. It’s face was shrouded, hidden by a burning, shifting, gray light, radiating a heat so intense it made Max sweat, even across the room. In its right hand, it held a sword that reached the floor. The blade must have been as long as Max was tall, and was covered by the same light.
The entire thing seemed paradoxical, somehow being cloaked, shadowy, and hidden, but burning with light and heat.
Slowly, the pressure lessened, and Max was able to raise his head, though the wind was still deafening. He wasn’t sure how they would communicate, until it spoke.
“W̴̦̓Ḧ̶͈O̵͖͠ ̵̪̊Ḁ̸̋S̷̬͝Ḵ̴̉S̴͉̆ ̴̫̿Ṯ̷͝R̶̠̽Ŭ̵̧T̴͉̊H̷̘͛ ̷͎͒O̴̯̚F̵̯̈́ ̸̝͑M̷̠̈́È̶̪.̶̈́”
Max threw up his hands to shield himself as the voice crashed through his consciousness. His first instinct was to run, to hide from the thing that stood before him, demanding an answer.
No.
Failure wasn’t an option.
Slowly, Max dragged himself to his feet, and did his best to look at the thing he was addressing.
“I do. I seek a covenant.”
He couldn’t hear a word of his own speech, but something told him that the entity heard him all the same.
T̷̢̒H̶͈̾Ḛ̸̉N̷̬͌ ̸̺̉I̶̡͋T̷͙̑ ̵̥̀S̴̚ͅH̸͔̍A̸͉̽L̴̳͂L̶̠̋ ̴̧͋B̴̝̾Ě̶̯ ̴̡͗S̸̞̈́Ȍ̷̧.̸̗̓ ̴̩͛
̸̩͌Ñ̷̫O̴̰̚ ̸͖̌M̴̺̀O̶͙͊R̷͔̅Ȅ̶̮ ̷̫̉A̴̭̋ ̸̗̈S̶̢͘L̶͉̽A̷̝̐V̷̗̍É̴͉ ̶̖͂B̴̗̈Ṷ̶̇T̷͎̀ ̶̘͝B̸̗͆Ě̷̟Ḧ̷́͜O̶̜̚Ḻ̶̊D̵̝̕E̵͔͗N̴̯̚ ̵̺̅T̴͎́O̶̠͛ ̶̗͠M̸̼̚Ẻ̵̩.̸̫͠ ̶̥̚
Max tried to steady his breathing. He knew this couldn’t be it, but all he needed was an archetype right now.
“I will… uh, be beholden. To you.”
The heat suddenly subsided, replaced by a cool, soothing sensation. As if someone had doused him in cold, liquid aloe vera. The weight lifted from his shoulders and he nearly collapsed from relief. The maelstrom continued, but it was no longer painful.
Max adjusted his satchel and looked at the intense light that covered It’s face.
“What should I call you?”
Y̶̱̒Ȯ̸̭U̵͚̅ ̸̘͝Ẅ̶̖́Ḭ̸̈́Ļ̷̅L̵̝̒ ̸̱̉N̴̤͗O̷̫͐T̵̻͋.̴͇̍
̴̲̾F̴͍̏O̵̫̍Ṟ̸́ ̶̬̀W̴̠̉H̶͔̊Ȁ̴̟T̶̻͆ ̶͈̇S̶̠̕H̷̡́A̶̺͑L̴̮̽L̸͎̃ ̶̰̋T̶̥͌H̴̞́Ẹ̸̓ ̵͇̔W̸̟̾I̸̪͑N̴̜͘D̵̮͂ ̸̺͆C̷̥̒Å̷̹L̵̩̓L̷̜̏ ̶̲͌T̸͈̄H̷̱̿E̴̗͑ ̴̧͑Ş̶͐T̶͖̀O̶̢̔Ȑ̷̪M̸̤̔?̷̱̀
̵̝̀I̶̪̅ ̴̩͌W̶̹̊Ȋ̴̯L̸̰͝L̵͇̅ ̷͈̋S̴̲̒E̶̲͠N̸̼͝D̸̠̀ ̵͙̄Y̴̛̩Ǫ̷͗U̵̹͝ ̶͙̀Ả̶̯M̴̨̌Ȯ̵͇Ņ̴̽G̴̫͛ ̵̘̋T̵̗̈́H̵̛̺Ë̴̢́M̸̹͝
̶̤̍A̴̠̅N̵̘͋D̴͚̀ ̶͕̇G̷̲͐R̴͆ͅE̷̥͒Å̷͇T̸͌ͅN̴̩͊E̸̗̊Ś̸͕Ŝ̸̤ ̶̜̀W̸͕̓I̶̖̍L̶̳̐Ĺ̷̰ ̸̩̓F̸̬̍O̶̟͝Ḻ̵͂L̸͎͂Ơ̸̱W̸̡͝.̶̛͙
G̸̩̏͐Ö̶̤́ ̴̲̌͑N̴̬͕̋̑̍O̷̤̽̑W̴̳̓ ̴̜̘̾A̷͓̮͒̄̅M̴̩̾̿͠O̶̜͓̓͐N̷͔̱̏G̷̗̬̀̚S̵̛̗̓̏T̶͕̐ ̶̙̰̀̏̾W̴͉̠͊Ô̸̤̙̝̽L̵̛̰̘̈́V̸͇̐E̴̱͑̌S̵̭̫͆͂
A̵̕͜N̷̼̉̈D̵̪̊ ̵̟͋͌B̶̞́̕Ẽ̶̞̼̍ ̵̖̤̀Ả̶̰̟̏S̴̱͐ ̴͇́̍W̵̩̃Ĩ̴̢̬͒S̷̥̳̐E̶͇͙͘ ̶̼̳͌A̷̝͑͑S̵̫̀͜ ̶͔͓͝͝Ạ̶̐̇ ̸̘̂ͅS̴͇͂̀Ȩ̵͠R̷̻̀P̶̼͌E̶̹̔Ň̴̪͓T̸̡̲͠
Max winced at the voice, but nodded.
“I will.”
A flash of movement entered his vision, and Max jumped back as the sword impaled itself in the floor in front of him.
He blinked, and instantly, the room was quiet again.
The figure was gone.
Everything was as it was before.
All except the single sword resting in front of him, stabbed through the carpet and into the stone below.
He tentatively approached the massive weapon, still glowing enough that Max couldn’t quite make out the shape of it. As he stepped closer, it began to shrink, flowing down like oil until it was just under three feet long. The heat began to subside and the light slowly faded to reveal the weapon underneath.
It was a curved sword, with a dark, leather-bound grip and a blade that vaguely resembled a scimitar, but with a more forward curve. The blade itself was nearly pitch black, with silver engravings in ancient letters that Max had no hope of understanding. The guard and pommel were equally silver, a stark contrast to the blade and grip, as they almost seemed to absorb the light around them. The entire weapon was shrouded in what resembled, inky, black fog, veiling the blade in a shadowy visage.
He took a deep breath, and reached for the weapon, shakily wrapping his fingers around the grip.
Max jumped in surprise as a message appeared in his mind.
Covenant Gift Accepted:
Arms of The Av’kha – Mystic Strike is now available.
Description:
Summon the Av’kha blade to make a melee Mystic Strike. Summon the Av’kha bow to make a ranged Mystic Strike. You may only have one of the Av’kha summoned at any given time. Your Mystic Strike feature counts as a weapon for the purpose of using melee or ranged combat abilities.
Additionally, you can use your Av’kha weapons as casting vessels, and will not require a symbol, wand, or staff to cast spells.
Max felt his earlier uncertainty falling away, replaced by a surge of ambition and curiosity.
The whole reason he had chosen this class was now in his hands, and with the added benefit of easier spellcasting, he was flying high. Immediately, he went to work acquiring his gear.
He really liked his jacket, but decided to only keep his jeans as he searched through the equipment.
Amongst the light armor, he found a long, dark, navy blue coat that stopped at about mid-thigh. A message appeared,
Light armor equipped:
Magus Coat: +2 deflection
A quick inquiry of his tale-tome revealed that deflection would mitigate some of the damage of physical attacks, but wouldn’t against magical ones. He needed to find a way to increase that, because as of now, he wouldn’t survive a hit from his own mystic strike.
He layered that on top of a gray, medieval-esque shirt, which he assumed everything was to some degree, and secured a pair of black travel boots.
Sadly, there was nothing else he had the acuity to equip. Max fixed his jacket and satchel, summoned the blade into his hand, and looked into one of the standing mirrors.
He grinned, his dark brown hair hanging in his face seemed only to complete the ‘warlock’ look as he brandished the weapon.
“Oh Eldritch looks very good on me…”
He chuckled. There would be time for admiration later, he needed to spend his attribute points and get moving.
His first choice would be to increase his vigor, and then his presence, granting him a bit more health and power respectively. He summoned his tale-tome, willed the changes to take place, and messages appeared once again.
Vigor increased by 1, to +1:
HP increased retroactively to 9.
Presence increased by 1, to +4:
Immediately he felt better, his heart pumped slower, more efficiently. His breathing felt clearer and easier. It was no miracle cure, but increasing his vigor had made a noticeable change in his wellbeing.
As his presence climbed higher, his mind felt sharper, his willpower more rigid. The fog in his mind lessened, as if his own drive and ambition had been sharpened.
A slight smile tugged at his lips.
Max watched as his other dependent abilities increased by one point as well, such as his resistances and skills.
Yet, as he watched Mystic Strike climb up to fourteen damage per hit, he felt a tingle in his stomach.
Excitement.
The young man turned to face the gate, which had already begun shifting and warping in the same fashion as the door. He didn’t know what was beyond the door, but he was confident, ready to push forward with a newfound hunger.
To be a serpent amongst wolves.