Carved Thoughts

Almost before I could panic, Rokharth’s laughter turned into words. “Ah, so you’ve got an affinity for Darkness then; that could certainly come in handy, though cultivating is an incredibly boring activity in my experience.” He shook his head, “Bah, I’ll teach you how not to kill yourself cultivating later, for now just memorize this rune, demonstrate that you can replicate all three, then we’ll go tell the boss you’re cleared to start actually pulling your damn weight around here.” His tone was mockingly playful, yet I could feel an ugly undertone.

Something tells me he’s a little annoyed that I’ve yet to actually do anything of value, though he seems mostly just amused; I rather think I would know if he was truly angry, knives in the gut aren’t the most subtle of hints.

He waved his hand at the charred skeleton still radiating darkness into the room, a pure shadow that seemed to swallow the corpse in inky blackness despite my ability to see through it. In a blur of motion he slashed through the beautiful rune, leaving the darkness to almost reluctantly fade away and take the soul deep sense of rightness, of belonging that had settled over me away with it.

For a brief moment, I wanted that rune more than anything in the world; I wanted to brand it on my beating heart and damn the consequences. Then my rational mind dismissed the idea, shaking it off as the same void's song that asked you to jump when you saw a cliff, to cut yourself when you held a blade, to burn when you gazed into a flame.

Will +1

That notification sent a chill down my spine, but the look on Rokharth's face told me I didn't have time to analyze what exactly that meant. "Start with Fire, it wouldn’t do to make the same mistake twice after all.” I could hear a grin in his voice, even as his mien barely shifted.

I nodded slowly to him, going over the runes in my head and ignoring the uncomfortable realization that I couldn't think of them without the image and even sensation of what they represented coming with them. My hand moved almost without my will, carving lines that weren't quite clear in my head but simply screamed fire so loudly I could all but feel it singing my hand.

Then, before I'd even fully registered what exactly I had carved, a much more real burning sensation swept across my hand as flames exploded from the symbol. I pulled my hand back as quickly as I could, but still couldn't avoid taking a few points of damage.

HP -3

Fire Resistance +1

I grimaced, waving my hand around in the traditional manner of one who has been mildly harmed. The fact that less than a month ago I would have considered three points of damage a severe injury was not lost on me, though most of my focus was on the raging fire I had just started.

Yeah, I can see why these damn runes aren't so common; uncontrollable, instant, and localized in the immediate area, not exactly an optimal tool or reliable weapon.

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I aborted an unconscious glance at Rokharth, deciding that waiting for that asshole to step in was a bad habit to fall into; training myself to rely on outside help that may not always be available was a good way to wind up dead in the future, like a martial artist training for hours how to not break bones and winding up with a cut throat the first time they get into a real fight.

I took a deep breath to steady my nerves; though I wound up regretting it immediately when it merely pulled the scorching air down my throat and into my lungs, nearly causing me to fall into a painful coughing fit on the spot. For the briefest of moments, I was back on my deathbed; hazy memories of coughing and sputtering and hacking out my last phlegm and blood coated breath on a bed of frozen garbage flashing through my mind before I recentered myself.

I grimaced, coughing up a writhing wad of maggots and phlegm before vigorously shaking myself back into shape and lashing out with my blade. My movement was not as fluid nor as quick as my hated mentor nor was I fully able to avoid the lashing tongues of flame as I cut through the air, but I did manage to carve a jagged line through the fiery symbol I had etched, killing the flames it spawned just as he had.

HP -3

Fire Resistance +1

I didn’t bother keeping an angry sneer from my face, clenching my scalded fingers around my blade and deliberately not looking towards where I could feel Rokharth smirking at me. He clapped slowly and sarcastically, “Water next; maybe you can use it to soothe those burns, eh?”

I kept a snarl behind my teeth, trying not to allow my hate to control me even as I could feel amused malice dancing in his every word; he felt like a cat watching a mouse, idly musing on if it was worth the effort to get up and kill it or if simply watching them slowly die of fright was more fun. The implication, real or imagined, infuriated me.

Nonetheless, I raised my charred blade and began to carve again.

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Cerulean eyes gazed out upon the twinkling lights of their city at night, a fond and yet ever so minutely melancholic smile spreading over a wrinkled face.

It was a practiced expression, so deeply ingrained that even when honestly showing his feelings to the empty air he couldn’t help but twist it just right. Part of him still hated the necessity of such training, and yet he would never say it wasn’t worth it.

Anything was worth it if it would help more than hinder.

He didn’t sigh, the same training that twisted his smile just so not allowing for such an obvious show of his inner thoughts to come out even in private, especially when he knew his most valued servant had just stepped onto his balcony. “I presume the preparations are proceeding as planned then, Jarvel?”

A screech of incomprehensible noise that would drive lesser men to madness assaulted his senses in response, slithering through the creature’s metal teeth like a verbal virus. He merely hummed in thought, taking a sip from a crystal chalice. His eyes wandered over the city, taking in sights few others in the world could comprehend. “With the way the twin empires have been ramping up hostilities lately, I’ll have to prepare some additional defenses in case those idiots try to take this city again; you’d think ten thousand years of consistent failure to oust me would teach them not to bother, but some people just can’t be taught I suppose.”

His fingers tapped out a tune on the railing, one he had not heard properly played since he was young, a tune no one alive would recognise save for himself. “Go to the slums and pick out some proper sacrifices; if those fools invade I’ll not be caught with my metaphorical pants down. If they have the temerity or the stupidity to attack during the ritual the whole city could be lost, and I’ll rot in heaven before I let that happen.”

He took another sip of his wine, enjoying how the warm flavour contrasted the bite in the air.