“I've gotta say. This is not what I expected.”
“I think we all feel the same way.”
“Who built this...?” Astal asked. He stood beside his nephew, neck craning upward to take in the titanic proportions of the citadel standing high above the jungle. Taking up a sizable chunk of the land left available, a vast collection of towers. Parapets, wide stairs, and they'd taken the time to make it look nice and pretty. All earth magic, by the look of the fused seams between bricks. It had to stand at least forty... Fifty meters tall at its highest point. Tall enough to leave him confused, archers couldn't fire down efficiently from such a tall central structure. It's courtyard was wide with a dual moat, sliding draw bridges and galleries, even decorative water features. It was a miracle of magical architecture if he'd ever seen one – something that shouldn't have been standing at all. Earth magic could make buildings but eventually the mana holding the earth together would decay, and the structure along with it.. “And... Why? Hells, how might be a better question.”
Tyr chuckled, walking side by side with the man through the wide gateway. Men were drilling in the courtyard. The same peasant soldiers from before, but they didn't look like peasants now. Time had given them... Well... Time. They'd been told of how they were effectively immortal in this place. The ratio wasn't exactly linear, but they'd age at a rate at least ten to fifteen times slower here than outside. Biologically, apparently it didn't stop the process of people growing older, it... Frankly, nobody had an idea. There were young boys who would approach adulthood at the same natural pace, something about cellular decay. Perhaps a byproduct of the rich mana serving as a wellspring for youth, giving them an artificial ability like Tyr's own to only take in the 'good' and not the bad.
Time to make them a more professional force, in any case. Knowing that only a week had passed outside, it was surprising how many accepted the offer. Those who hadn't, and had left, were replaced by others. A rotating 'tour'.
“Guess they were bored.” Tyr shrugged. “The mana here gets thicker every day, so they got a little carried away. It's been just shy of three years, I think.”
“Gods, boy... You've been stuck in here for three years?” Astal balked. On the outside, only about a week had gone by, leaving him in awe. But it explained how such an impressive structure could be built in so little time. Simply because the construction teams and more than a few mages had gotten 'bored', and the mana was so rich that they could just keep building. Denser ambient mana didn't necessarily make a mage stronger, but their recovery rate would see quantitative leaps, this was their sandbox to do as they pleased. Nobody had argued against living in a palace, as one might imagine, and now it housed all of them.
“About two and a half.” Tyr corrected himself. “I slept on the outside for a night, before getting called back in. Adventurers duty, and all that. It's not that bad, gives us all time. Not going to find a resource like that lying around in the bushes, and you wouldn't believe how many books I've read. How much work I've gotten done. With the dimensional anchor so close to the city, I'll never run out of material to work with either.”
Tyr had been nervous at first. What would the world look like if he spent too much time in here before emerging. Would he forget people? But ultimately, those he remained bonded with were all here and reaping the same benefits. Wisely using it to better themselves, and aware a gift like this may never come again. There was many, many mages here. From all over the world, and they were all eccentric in one way or another. Tyr traded miscellaneous artifacts for knowledge when payment was requested, and it rarely was. They all wanted to ramble on incessantly about their life's passion. Whatever topic that might be, and they were all mostly friendly. His status as a now gold ranked adventurer and ability to claim graduation from the Red Dragon made him like a junior to them. Someone to bounce ideas off, though he merely pretended to understand half the time. They'd talk for hours and declare him a 'genius', answering their own questions while they ran off on unsolicited monologues...
These men could spend years here and emerge as superiors in their field, crossing many obstacles faced by someone on the outside. Not all of them had wanted to come, but competition in the magic disciplines was always fierce. If their rivals were here, then they had to be, resulting in a cascade effect to the point where you could throw a stone and hit more than one 'well known' academic. Twenty one archmages. Enough to equal all those possessed by Haran and Varia. Combined.
Poets, painters, vinters, hells... They still needed to eat – farmers were not so uncommon as well.
Tyr had cultivated, taking one of each of the handful of pills he'd gotten from the tower, though they didn't seem to do much. Spending the rest of his time digesting knowledge gleaned from the skillbooks, and forging. Making great strides in his understanding of the topic with the assistance from Hogan who visited, but never stayed. Saying that too much of a good thing was the complete opposite. His people knew time, it ran slower for them, stretching on into centuries, where dwarves would become bitter and morose. Losing that spark that defined their race and falling into a deep depression before wandering off. Looking to find it again, but most just found death instead. To live so long and see the ages pass was a curse, in a way. Spending too much time here was just inviting it to come sooner. Their biological clock might slow, but their minds remained as equally vulnerable to the depredations of old age. Hence, only the mages here were old. The wise men and graybeards in the army had near to a man taken the voluntary offer to leave. Replaced by younger, more ambitious people.
All while the faceless men attempted and failed to climb the barrier separating them. For years now, they'd just been marching into a wall...
“Why are you here, uncles?” It wasn't just Astal, but also the younger adoptive brother of Ragnar himself. Absolon, a half jotun, literal giant of a man. That's what they were, after all, the jotun, horned giants of the north who could be found nowhere else in the world. Absolon didn't have their horns, but he stood at eight feet tall, with a jaw shaped like a shovel and a bald head patterned with runic tattoos. Half human, they said. Tyr wasn't sure he wanted to imagine what that coupling must've looked like...
“We were with young Vidarr.” Absolon replied in a voice like an earthquake. He struck quite a figure, terrifying most anyone who saw him. Tyr had only met him once before, as a child, and Absolon was quite gentle. A kind and caring heart belied his violent and wild appearance, all covered with those swirling blue marks and navel length beard. “That's why it took us so long. He is still outside, if you were curious. Sharing news with his father and likely the other primus'. This is...”
“A resources with infinite applications of interest to every nation in the known world, right now.” Astal frowned. Ragnar wanted no part of it, refusing to mount an expedition, and while Vidarr was opposed to that idea, the others were in full agreement. This was unnatural, and the eldest of all primus' knew best. “Have you spoken to your father?” He asked.
“I have not.” Tyr shook his head. He didn't scowl, as Astal had expected. His eyes were clear and brighter than before, but there was still that edge to them. It was nice to see that Signe's only son was capable of maturing, at least. “And I do not plan to.”
Or perhaps not...
Absolon took a knee to bring his face level with Tyr, falling into a hushed whisper. “Is it true that you put him through the side of a mountain, nephew?”
“Ragnar talks too much.” Tyr replied with a sigh.
“Don't be disrespectful, little one.” Absolon said with a gentle flick to his forehead, even while smiling. Northerners did not worship their primus. They loved and respected him with open hearts. Like a father to all of them, and Tyr was of the blood. His blunt nature was just like that of their own people, at least those that did not become overly obsessed with the customs of southerners. He was a rascal, and profaned a bit too much at times, but he would fit right in should he ever visit. “He cared about you enough to send us here, it stands to reason that he'd fill us in. So, I take it that's its true?”
“It is true.” Tyr nodded.
“Wanna fight?”
“Go home, old man.”
–
Tyr was covered from head to toe in black soot after a failed experiment. Mana was thick here, and sometimes the result of alchemical additions to his steel was... Different. His attempts to infuse the steel with more reactive metals had been a failure, but he doubted that was the only reason. Scarletite simply refused to bond with the alloy. He couldn't say why, but it happened with them all. Scrapping the idea of crafting a sword that could remain permanently aflame. Disappointing. Aesthetically speaking, he could think of nothing cooler. Theoretically, it was possible if he'd mounted a jewel inside the weapon. Not that he couldn't learn, but inscribing the matrix of the gem remained outside of his capabilities. It wouldn't take the spira that was woven into every spell or enchantment he cast, requiring him to stick with runesmithing, but that wasn't a bad thing.
It wasn't that runesmithing was a poor field of study, it was that humans were almost certainly bad at it. Something about how mana hung about in very consistent frequencies within metal wasn't suited to the way they used magic. 'Humans', because Tyr didn't consider himself one of their number, not in the classical sense.
“How did you get all of this stuff?” Jura asked. Her body was covered in a fairly snug set of leather armor, banded and buckled, with a high neck. A transcendent artifact that, based on appearance would've been much heavier than any she'd ever worn. But in reality, it felt like she was wearing nothing at all. It was colored black, with dark hunter green accents to match her skin. A half cloak that fell down her back, ending at her mid-thigh. Due to the changes in policy, she was allowed to bring her yet unnamed terrormaw into the astral space, still as small as ever even after the years.
“I made it.” Tyr replied, still toying with the mixture. He'd stuck almost universally to his Assyrian steel derivative. Blue steel and whatever other materials would benefit the individual purpose of an artifact. There was only so much he could add, some kind of maximum to the capacity. The first iteration that used mostly mundane steel made for nice enough things, but he wanted to reach beyond that. He wanted to craft an item equal to any of the treasures that could be found in a place like this. Like Jura's spear, these 'growth' items that absorbed power like humans did. They had an almost nascent, artificial approximate of a mana core inside of them which allowed them to evolve over time.
Truly divine skill had created such artifacts. Something decades beyond him, he was sure. Creating items so (theoretically) powerful out of rather common materials, was just not possible yet. No human runesmith was capable of that. Tyr doubted even Anu were. He perfected, for now, the spellbreakers. Improving his control, but only by a measure of fifteen percent or so. That was the best he could do, he knew he was missing something. Maybe it was the materials. So he'd turned towards fortifying his mothers armor with new construction, the appearance didn't change but it was a bit better. Nothing so different as the utility offered by the Freerunner's, mostly just improving the runes on the suit, as well as on his sword.
“You've learned to work with leather?” She asked. The suit was certainly impressive, with a host of enchantments to benefit its flexibility, durability, comfort... Included within was an automated climate control formation that always kept her as warm as she needed to be. That was common enough, though it seemed to work a lot faster than her previous set. The self-repair rune, however, was not so common.
“No.” Tyr replied with a shake of his head. “The middle layer is composed of leather from the wings of a Saorsan mountain wyvern. For flexibility. Outer layer... Some species of awakened raptid from the southern archipelago. I can't remember it's name, but apparently they are bigger than elephants and can still reach speeds of sixty miles per hour so I'm not sure I want to know... He tanned, pressed, and sewed them into a big sheet like a blanket. I fit it to your body. Most of the enchantments come from small metallic discs I wove between the layers, networking it all with manatite rivets. I would have gone for chain mail which might've been more effective, but it didn't leave enough space for my enchantments.”
“You are very talented.” She mused, well impressed with yet another gift. “I am very proud of you.”
Tyr blushed, nodding awkwardly at what he felt was an undeserved compliment. Something about that word, proud, made him feel like someone had poured boiling water down his throat. It was uncomfortable, but he didn't hate it.
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“I know I sound like a broken record, Tyr. But... How much did all of this cost?”
“Technically.” Tyr replied with a smirk, quickly recovering his composure. “It was free.”
“...Free?” Jura asked, that suspicious look on her face again. “How could this be free? Free wyvern leather? Are you lying?”
“Well, I mean. I did him a favor.” Tyr said. “Bartered a service and gave him some rune stencils. Like... They are the plates inside your armor. To me, they were failures, but he can incorporate them into his craftsmanship and sell them quite well. They have no real value to anyone but a craftsman, and I did get some stuff for myself. See?” He gestured to the wall of various weapons he'd forged. Before, he'd have used common cow or goat hide to make sheathes or put a comfortable grip on a weapon. Now, they were all smooth black leather that didn't need replacing after a few weeks or months of use. No oiling necessary, enchanted blades were easy to come by because metal was by far the most common material that could hold magic, but so often the haft and grip of a weapon was overlooked. Iron-oak, black yew, wyvern leather, or tanned hide from another magical beast. He couldn't tan it himself, nor work it, but he was capable of cutting and tailoring it to his needs as long as it was a finished product.
“What kind of favor?”
“Can't you just accept the gift? You're a part of my team, and you're my friend. If I didn't work hard to ensure you were dressed your best, you could be hurt or killed. What kind of person would I be if I went about making all of these items and letting nobody use them?” He balked even while he said this, wondering when he'd grown so soft. Unsure if it was a good thing, to bond the way he had with these people.
“But in my culture...”
“I don't want to be insensitive, Jura, but I don't care. Just shut up and wear it.” He pursed his lips and looked her in the eye for the first time. That gravity that people told him he had, he wanted it to end the argument, but all she did was blush a bit before huffing at him.
“What favor?” Jura repeated. She wouldn't let him go until he answered it. But... Tyr trusted Jura quite a bit. They'd had a rough patch after he'd attacked them unprovoked in the tunnel. Well... They'd pointed their weapons at him, but they'd also insisted it was provoked...? He didn't argue. He had grievously wounded Girshan. It hadn't just been that. They fought and sparred and sometimes injured on another. There was always a healer nearby, that was just the way these things worked. It was the madness they'd seen in him. Maybe it was who Tyr was deep down, his truest self without all the posturing and emulation. A psychopath.
But now, given time to 'forgive' him, they were fair companions. She and Benny would visit 'his' forge facility in the citadel every single day. Taking meals with him, sometimes joined by the others, or simply to watch. Tyr had a creeping suspicion that Benny showed up expecting more gifts, but he didn't begrudge him – giving him anything the guy wanted. He didn't think it was out of greed. It was like... Benny wanted to be doted on? The complete opposite of Jura in near every way. In any case, the kijin was more than willing to test out whatever weapons Tyr asked him to. Armor, shields, less mundane things like focus'. Not all of his experiments were successful, but it gave him a new understanding about runic synergy, allowing him to cut out unnecessary things.
Human runes might appear, translated, albeit roughly: 'Sharp, hard, durable, heft, wind, fire' – Runic synergies were often more complex than that, around the control array that served as the center of the webbed array that predicated the enchantment. In summary, it was very little. Abaddon's runes on the other hand... They were better, Tyr found both Anu and those runes to be superior in near all ways. The problem was the lingual structure.
For example, Anu runes: 'Sharpen the blade, solidify bonds between atoms of: [Steel], separation array: wind, mass driver: [factor 2.15x]. Control array: 15%.' And then, after it was setting – you could tweak how much mana went into each individual rune. Allowing him to dedicated a 'primary' enchantment if he wanted to. Or, in layman's terms, he could make runes modular – ignoring synergies entirely and allow one to activate or deactivate them at will. Human runes could do that too, but Anu runes offered far more control.
Abaddon's runes were the hardest. The translation was very, very different. To him, the language made no sense whatsoever as a spoken tongue. Far less 'literal' as the other languages were. He'd forged an axe the same way he would anything else – and it'd come out... Well, for lack of a better word, it was complete shit. It worked, but it wasn't worth much given all the work it took to make it. And then, he had adopted some of Abaddon's advice, and the study of others including Jura's spear.
In any case, rambling aside, Jura's 'draconic' runes – Abaddon's language – read: 'Pierce the heavens, strike true and fast – o partner of mine. Mount the world, dominance of the forest, path of mine – I call forth the Ilharg, he of the charge and the rut. I call forth Heru, he of the hunt, guider of steps. Let this tusk never fail you.' Sometimes it was poetry, haiku and romantic phrases that didn't make any sense and gave little thought to science. But, it worked astonishingly well – he just didn't know how to make the best use of it just yet.
“You're doing it again...” Jura looked like she wanted to slap him. “I asked what the favor was!”
“I want to tell you.” Tyr frowned, still deep in thought. Staring at the patterns in front of him and opting to use the more pragmatic Anu runes rather than the others. Maybe a blend, like the Freerunner's... “But I can't. In your culture, what would make this okay without me constantly having to entertain your whining?”
“I will bite you, and not in the good way.” Jura growled, showcasing her dagger sharp lower canines, what they called her 'tusks'. A bit longer than human teeth, but they didn't exactly look like 'tusks' to him. Then again, she was half-orc, perhaps that was why they were so small.
“Is there a good way?” Tyr's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened. “You've got sharp teeth... Oh, yeah, I see. In my culture, we bite our friends when they are kind to us. Something like that? I'll kick in the back of your long ass neck, lady. Show me your tits.”
“I'm not joking around.” Jura said, before sighing. She could go around and around all day like this with Tyr. He was easy to talk to, but he had rare streaks of insane stubbornness. If he said he would not do something with that look on his face, he really wouldn't do it. Even the simplest, most ridiculous things, he'd pick that hill to die on even when it didn't make sense. Refusing to sleep in a bed like a normal person, but only on some nights. He'd go sleep on the slanted faux shingles of the roof under the stars. That much visible beyond the stormy cylinder all around them, that is. In the rare periods where the sun didn't shine, sometimes weeks went and night would not come, sometimes it changed in days or hours.
“Gifts with no debt can only freely be given to family. Heirlooms and such. Otherwise, I never would've been able to accept my bow. It's worth more than anything I own, but it's soulbound so even if they wanted to take it from me, they couldn't use it.”
“But they could just kill you.” Tyr mused.
“It's not like that.” She shook her head. “It's enchanted. One user at a time, and it has to judge you worthy. That's the legend, at least.”
“Judge you worthy?” Tyr snorted. “Interesting. Can I look at it?”
“No. I'll not have you prodding at my most important possession. Not because I don't trust you, but because it is of such great value to me. I will not allow my mothers last remaining possession to be studied.”
“Alright. If it means you'll get off my back.” Tyr paused, he'd considered it. Thought it over at length. She kept talking about it, all the time. He wasn't keen on the idea of 'breeding' or having any children, but she wasn't so bad. They complemented one another in personality most times, and he found her company pleasant enough. “You and I will be married. If I offer my hand and we become betrothed, you will accept these things without harassing me, right?”
“Of course.” She shrugged. “Orcish bondings don't go through that fiancee period of betroth – wait, what did you just say?”
“I said I'll marry you.” Tyr's hands were shaking, but cleverly hidden under the work surface, he doubted she could see it. Hoped that she couldn't. His back was a mess of sweat, his shirt clinging to it like its life depended on it. Which was strange, because although he did sweat at times, his body didn't need to cool itself like that. Yet it did... His throat felt dry and cracked, his heart beating so madly that it forced him to swallow uncomfortably and repeatedly.
“Um. Why?” Jura asked, clearly uncomfortable. “As in, why now? I've pursued you for years and you rarely reply favorably to my propositioning...”
“Because you are brave, intelligent, competent, honest, and loyal. I like your boldness, how you speak freely and without reservation.” He said, sincere as ever.
She blushed madly, chewing on her bottom lip and nervously rubbing at her hands. He'd never seen her act like this, it was quite adorable. Tyr almost felt bad for putting her in that state, and he definitely felt bad from gaining so much enjoyment out of it. “You are also incredibly irritating, stubborn, violent, and rude. Nobody is perfect, and neither am I. You have nowhere to go in the world. No home, no family. If I claim you, you cannot comfortably and conveniently leave or abandon me. I would never look to own you, but I am already possessive of you in context of our friendship. But most of all, you are incredibly beautiful. You have a nice body, and everything about you is in line with my aesthetic ideal. I do not love you, and I know that you don't love me. This might be a big mistake for you. You may never be happy if we continue with this, but I will always keep you safe. As far as women go, my relationship with you has been one of the only positive experiences I've ever had.”
“You bring me food. We have spent a great deal of time together, and I would be glad to continue that arrangement. You are strong, and bring value to my life. I can and will use you. But I won't force you, beyond that you can do as you please.”
“I hate how honest you are. Sometimes.” She mumbled.
“So?” Tyr asked. Talking gave him confidence, and that stabilized him. He hated that too, he had her dancing on the palm of his hands. Tyr wasn't trying to manipulate her, but he was manipulating her. And he loved it. He had her, and he was relishing the fact. It made him nauseous. “What will it be?”
“No.” Jura refused his offer outright, shocking them both. They were alone in the forging hall, which was fortunate. Tyr never expected to be rebuffed.
“...No?” The word sounded so alien on his tongue, just repeating what she'd said. He felt his heart drop unexpectedly. Genuinely upset over the turn of events, he'd never felt like this in his life. Tyr had tasted rejection and failure a thousand times, and still this was the worst thing he'd ever felt. Something about being rejected by a living being picked at him in the most painful way. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no!” She shouted, still blushing madly. Sometimes, Tyr forgot that she was a young woman, and not a normal one. Hardened and wise beyond her years, however old she actually was now. On rare occasions, that young and poorly adjusted girl would burst out of her. He didn't fault her for that, she'd grown up a slave and had never known much in the way of friendship, let alone a romantic relationship.
Tyr choked back his next response. He wasn't just sad, he was angry. Furious that she'd dare refuse him, and he didn't understand where it was coming from. A heavy, hot emotion that burst into flame before becoming icy in his veins. His face reddened and his hands clenched into fists, still hidden behind the table, she missed that. But she didn't miss the look of hurt and rage warping his face. Almost always as sincere around the eyes as he was with his tongue.
He calmed himself. Tried to. She feared him, or was at least cautious over his momentary outburst. He was thankful for Varinn again, teaching him to control his emotions and use them to his advantage rather than flying off the handle like he might have done in the past. To be honest, he didn't blame her, he might have done something far worse than glare, though he doubted he'd strike her or anything so foul as that. He definitely wanted to say something, though. “Can I ask why?”
“B-because...” She stammered. “I don't know! I'm confused!” Jura shouted. Talking about it was different than making it a reality. She didn't know what she wanted anymore, all of a sudden, and she hated that. Confronted by a future with this man, her human side took the reins, pointing at him. “You...”
“I get it.” Tyr sighed, nodding and relaxing. He smiled at her, or tried to. “I know myself well enough. We will always be friends, and I consider you like family. But there is something black and warped within me that I cannot explain. And you've seen it, I'm sure. Ugly on the inside, and I don't blame you. Well, I do. I hate this, I will not lie to you, but I understand, and I'm not so petty to hold a grudge over something so silly. I promise.”
I think... He cleared his throat, wanting to run away like some coward and go lay under a bed. Tyr was beyond certain he'd do that – leaving this place so as to never face her again.
“That's not it!” She refuted him outright, passionately articulating her hands if not her stammered words. “I... Ah! I hate this! How dare you ask me to marry you. I'm going to ask you, and you're going to say yes! Or... Or I'll be the angry one!” Just like that, she sprinted out of the forge and nearly bowled over Benny who had just arrived. Cursing him violently, stuttering all the while. Leaving him frazzled from the experience.
“Trouble in paradise?” Benny asked, looking toward the door that she'd just gone flying through. They could still hear the soft padding of her flight through the wide, arched tunnels.
“I have no idea what just happened.” Tyr frowned, conflicted.
“Women, man.” Benny shook his head slowly, resting a steady hand on Tyr's head before ruffling his hair like he was some sort of dog. “I thought you didn't like character cliches, something about how people are far too complex to be lumped into archetypes or boxes? This is definitely cliché, brother, maybe the worst thing I've ever read.”
“...What the hell are you talking about?”
“I didn't say anything...” Benny raised an eyebrow, all the while reassuringly patting the back of Tyr's head.
“Well...” Tyr coughed. “Thanks for coming.”
“I'll always be with you, my brother. To shave your balls and mend your broken heart.”
“What does one have to do with the other...?”
“You wouldn't get it. But one day... I'm going to shave those balls.”