“Excuse me, gentle sirs, are you heading towards Greyspeak?” Jack asked of the trio of men dressed in tunics and homespun, much like all the other smaller traders.
A bearded man managing things in the rear of his wagon spun around, scowling at Jack, the other pair looking at Jack with wide, disbelieving eyes. “What’s it to you, lad?”
Jack shrugged. “I was heading that way myself. I like the look of your caravan, and thought I would ask for a ride.” He patted his bow. “Of course I’m happy to help pay my way by hunting for game. Any deer or rabbits come within range, and it’s venison or rabbit stew.” He flashed an apologetic smile. “Stew’s about all I know how to make while on the road. I don’t suppose you gents are interested in fresh meat?”
“Of course we are, lad,” said the bearded man, obviously the leader of the trio. “But with all the larger traders around, half of them looking for apprentices, why are you wasting time with us?”
Jack flashed a disarming grin. “It’s like my pa always told me. If you want to learn a trade, don’t be looking to join a city armory or mill, which will have you doing dredgework for years, looking for cheap labor more than anything else.
"Your better off finding an honest man with a small shop, who’s willing to teach you the basics and appreciate you as an apprentice. Once you have a solid foundation? The world’s your oyster. So I’m looking around at all these highfalutin' caravans, not having the foggiest notion about who’s doing what and why, and I wouldn’t want to find myself relegated to groomwork or caravan driving, not learning a darn thing about how to make it as a trader.”
The bearded man smirked. “So you want to keep it simple, learn the basics from someone who actually has to work to make a living, who knows what it’s like to start from the bottom.” His cynical smile turned genuine. “Good call, kid. Sure, we’ll take you on board.” His gaze hardened. “But when we get to Greyspeak, you sign the papers saying our caravan’s the one that brought you there. No other. If things are working out? We’ll keep you on for the rest of our route.”
Jack nodded, doing his best to ignore the mutters of the pair of men gazing so intently at him. “More than fair.”
The man nodded. “Name’s Sven.”
“Jack.”
“Alright, Jack. You can help Linus and Otto ready the wagons.”
“Happy to,” he said, nodding at both the short, whipcord thin Linus with the dirty brown hair, inflamed skin, and ragged smile, then shaking Otto’s beefy hand, much like the rest of his hairy body, when the man offered it. All three men were armed with daggers and what looked like cutlasses, which made perfect sense for men who didn’t want to bother with blade and shield in the cramped quarters of the wagon, much like a ship in that respect, the protective hilt serving much the same function as a buckler might. Comfortable enough to wear without effecting their wagonwork in the least.
“Feel free to store your bow somewhere, lad," Sven suggested. "You don’t want that thing jostling against you the whole time we’re traveling.”
“Of course you’re right,” Jack said, “but I’d like to do some hunting with it beforehand. It’s important I earn my keep, after all.”
“Wouldn’t mind some game,” a beady-eyed Linus allowed as they finished securing their cargo, jugs of Hidden Valley wine. “We tried hunting earlier, but it didn’t quite work out for us.”
“That happens, sometimes,” Jack said sympathetically.
“Yes it does,” sighed Sven. “You bastards ready? Alright, were heading out.”
And before long, Jack was enjoying the wagon ride, bumpy as it was, catching sight of the entire world opening up before him as their wagon road through the morning, separating from the others til they were just specks in the distance, lush grassland and patches of forest as far as the eye could see.
Jack couldn’t help smiling, gazing up at fluffy white clouds in the deep blue sky.
As dire as his situation was, the world around him truly was a miracle, striking in its beauty.
Salvation from all the horrors of oblivion, so close had the human race approached final extinction.
“Pretty enough, but outside your cute little valley, the rest of the world is prone to drought, hunger, and starvation,” said Sven. “Here’s your first lesson as a trader. Never overlook a chance for profit. Inside the rinds of misfortune, you’ll always find the seeds of triumph!”
Jack tilted his head. “How so?”’
“It’s simple, lad. One man’s tears is another man’s gold. When famine hits an area, people get desperate, and they get hungry. When they find they have too many mouths to feed, the smartest realize there’s only one solution.”
The had stopped a short distance from the main road, just by the forest, boiling up some tack and dried meat to turn into something almost edible. All three of them had stopped chewing, however, gazing at Jack intently.
Jack grinned, understanding the situation perfectly.
“Nice! They have needs only you can fulfill. Now I can see how that could be damned profitable.”
Linus snorted. “Like you actually understand.”
“Of course I do,” Jack said. “A starving village needs to eat, and filling their larders while getting rid of excess baggage is a double win for them, and us. We take our prizes back to the city, sell them to the highest bidder, and they’ll be living lives far better than they were starving to death in that village.”
Sven gave an approving nod. “You get it, then. Most fools flinch at how the world really works, especially if they come from that damned valley… no offense.”
Jack shrugged. “None taken. Between you and me? I was getting tired of living there anyway.”
Otto scowled. “Do you get it, kid? Really? We’re talking about people. They sell themselves to us. Indefinite indentured servitude. You got the stones to for that kind of work? You’re sure?”
Jack sensed the mood turning cold, knowing what it meant, and why they were where they were. He chuckled softly. “You’re damned right, I do. Whatever idiot didn’t even think to stock up his larder for lean times deserves whatever he gets. Fact is, if smart traders like you weren’t around, towns struck by drought would shrivel up like raisins and die in the sun. What you gentlemen are doing is giving them a second chance at life! Not just the fresh recruits you bring back to the city, but the entire village! They have food for their foolish bellies, and are lucky for it. The ones you rescue? Sure, they’re put to work, like any good laborer should be. You ask me? Everyone wins.”
His grin widened. “Especially the traders with the stones, as you said, to do what you’re doing now.”
Otto roared with sudden laughter. “I like this kid! Recruits. Yeah. I like that. Future trader after my own heart. You’re right, lad. We’re bloody heroes, as far as those damned villages should be concerned. But to hell with their opinions anyway! It’s profit that matters above all else.” He raised one of the wine flasks brought from Hidden Valley in toast, drinking deep, Jack not hesitating to join in when he was passed a fresh flask.
Sven gave an approving nod when they came up for air. “Alright, lad, that’s your first lesson. The sharp trader goes where he’s needed, and doesn’t shirk from making coin wherever he can. However he can. Remember, lad, if the only cost to added profit are someone else’s tears, cover your ears and make that coin. Now go catch us some game while we rest under the midday shade, and I’ll teach you another lesson later on.”
“I’m game,” Jack said, catching the pair of game bags the traders handed him as he grabbed his bow and quiver and headed off into the woods before turning back. “You guys aren’t going to leave me stranded here, are you?”
“And lose out on the free silver we’ll get for bringing another Hidden Valley sprout to Greyspeak city without a hair out of place?" Sven's mocking chuckle was almost friendly. "Like I said, boy, we’re not fools. And trades where everyone wins are the easiest trades of all.”
Tracking successful. Stealth successful.
Tracking – Novice Rank 3 achieved.
Taking slow deep breaths after sliding through the forest, making sure he was well and truly alone, Jack pushed away all thoughts of his future plans, choosing to live only in this moment, feet padding softly through the loamy leave-strewn forest floor, arrow knocked and ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice.
There!
His eyes widened in awe at the size of the buck dipping his head in a nearby stream, golden shafts of light caressing its stately form. In that moment, Jack was one with his bow and the notched arrow as he sighted down the shaft and released, feeling the arrow arc through the air as if it were an extension of himself, the steel head piercing the buck’s heart a foregone conclusion, his prey gracing the world with one final shake of its magnificent rack before folding up as peacefully as if it were asleep.
Jack almost reverentially approached, moving in ways he couldn’t entirely put into words, kneeling before his prey and giving solemn thanks before dressing his kill.
You have critically hit your target!
Experience earned!
Archery - Apprentice Rank 1 achieved!
Jack spent several thoughtful minutes staring at his pouch of holding when he was done, deciding upon a quick experiment, wanting to see its limitations while avoiding the risk of everything he stored turning rancid like spoiling meat.
He carefully took one of the meat bags and wrapped a massive portion of meat inside, tying the strings tight, knowing escaped juices were a given even after having drained his kill, quickly wrapping it in the second bag, but only after determining just how fast the first bag was leaking.
He then placed the entirity in his pouch with a surge of his will, awed and grateful for his mother’s parting gift, no matter if it worked as he hoped, or no.
He treated the skin as best he could in the limited time he had, using the techniques his father had shown him, prepping the hide for either soaking in urine or boiling in glue, depending on whether he wanted soft, supple leather, or cuir bouilli tough and sturdy enough to ward all but the most powerful sword blows.
Survival – Novice Rank 3 achieved.
He then rolled it tightly together and prepared to place it in his pouch.
First, however, he took his double wrapped bag of deer meat and was impressed by the results, the stain increasing in size even now had not grown the slightest bit beyond his mark on the bag in the time he had the contents stored within his mother's parting gift, and he already knew that seeds could grow just fine from stock placed in that mystical pouch. A pouch now warded with an Obscuro bloodrune, just as his mother had recommended.
He then packed the rest of the meat normally in the second bag, realizing he was best off bringing the hide back to his companions just as it was, making his way back to the edge of the wood as quietly and discretely as he could, ears perked for any telltale sounds, while striving to make his movements as casual as possible.
Stealth – Novice Rank 3 achieved!
“What do you think, Otto?” Said the voice of Sven, Jack instantly growing still, the wagon ahead still perfectly hidden by the dense undergrowth Jack was about to step through.
“Kid’s hungry. Something in his eyes. I don’t think he’d shirk like those other fools we tried to hire on.”
“I agree. And if he’s any good with that bow of his, we could use him.”
“Damn right. The cost of hiring mercs for these kinds of jobs is too damned high. We deal in slaves, not piles of fucking silver, but since technically what we’re doing skirts the law...”
“Shut your trap, Otto. They’re indentured servants, not slaves. The contracts make that damned clear.”
Linus cackled at that. “Yeah, contracts those fools think they can just walk away from. Little do they know!”
“And we keep it that way,” Sven warned.
“Yes, sir. Not a word to anyone, sir. Not ever.”
“Damn right. Now where the hell is that kid?”
Jack waited a few more minutes, having no desire to pop up as if on cue, retreating some distance before loudly crackling through the underbrush, giving a pleased hoot even before breaking through the treeline. “We’re eating fresh meat tonight, boys!”
“Well done, Jack!” Otto said. “Bring that meat right over here. Lets cook some of it up over the fire!”
Sven frowned. “I thought we gave you two game bags.”
Jack bowed his head. “My apologies.”
The man snorted. “I’d be a damned sight more pissed if you hadn’t brought us what looks like eighty pounds of meat! And the hide, of course. A fitting replacement for the game bag lost.”
Jack didn’t bat an eye. “Of course.”
“Well done then, lad. Have yourself a seat and join us!”
Jack nodded, sitting on the fallen log they were using for their impromptu meal, Linus carefully searing and salting all the meat while the other pair regaled Jack with their adventures as traders, Jack not batting an eye when humorous tales of folly slowly morphed into ruthless tales of cutthroat mercantilism at its best, walking away with fortunes in silver while their opponents were left with nothing.
Jack didn’t hesitate to nod in all the right places, never asking why such a potent trio of traders were mucking about the back end of nowhere, with only two wagons to their name.
Sven frowned, as if sensing unspoken criticism, for all that not a critical word was spoken.
“It’s a matter of discretion,” he explained between bites of bloody venison. “Only a fool carts slaves… I mean recruits, openly across the kingdom. You make yourself a target for vainglorious lords and ne’er-do-wells far worse than you.”
Otto nodded. “Far better a middling merchant’s humble wagon than a caravan that paints a big X on your back.”
Linus nodded. “And those fool inspectors won’t find squat!”
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Jack pretended he didn’t spy the deadly glare Sven sent the suddenly frightened-looking man.
“Because there’s nothing worth finding,” Sven said. “Contracts lawfully signed and voluntarily followed are just that. Work contracts, common the kingdom over.”
“Makes sense to me,” Jack said, savoring a big bite of venison.
Sven peered thoughtfully at him. “How skilled are you with that bow, lad?”
“Skilled enough to bring down buck or rabbit. I claim no more ability than that.”
Sven peered thoughtfully at his bow. “I think I owe you another lesson in trade. But tell me this, boy, how would you like access to unlimited lessons? All the lore I have, yours for the taking. You could learn in months what it took me years to master. What do you say, lad, sound like a good deal to you?”
“It sounds fantastic, Sven. So what’s the catch?”
Sven grinned. “This is why I like this kid. He asks questions.”
Otto nodded. Linus flashed a nervous grimace.
“It would be a trade of sorts. Your offering us your expertise for my own. Thing is, we could use an archer, on the off chance things get… hairy. Rare as that is in these parts, distant from any Regio or border conflicts, royal patrols keeping the road free of riffraff.”
Jack frowned. “Regio?” he asked, his face a polite study of confusion as he feigned ignorance.
Sven nodded. “Some call them Pits of Shadow, Delver's Dreams, or breaches. Whatever you call them, they're Pocket realities filled with trouble. Magic goodies, maybe, but mostly trouble. The places mad adventurers seem to hunger for, guilds and lords all too happy to bribe those plane-hopping fools with coin to clean those nests of vermin out. Because even if the royal armies can’t enter those pocket realms, the denizens within sure as hades can walk out, especially on the waxing moon, causing havoc upon towns and croplands before sunrise sends them scurrying back again to their dark pits once more.”
“Wow. Sounds like something out of a faerie tale. Have you ever seen these pocket realms?”
“Of course not. I’m no adventurer. Point is, this part of our route should be clean of all trouble. I only hire overpriced mercs for the part that isn’t.
Jack nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have your bow on hand,” Otto noted.
“Exactly,” Sven said. “We can even make it official-like. Sign a contract, we’ll be good to go.”
Jack shook his head. “No need for contracts. I trust you’ll get me to Greyspeak. And if we encounter trouble along the road, I stand ready to what needs doing.” He flashed an almost apologetic smile. “I’m sure you mean well, but after escaping that awful Valley, the thought of tying myself to any sort of expectation or obligation leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I’d rather just live life one day at a time, if you know what I mean.”
Sven’s gaze hardened, before he abruptly broke out in a grin. “Yeah, that valley can get pretty damned cloying. Can’t say I blame you, kid. not one bit.”
Discretely, he put away a leatherbound tome and bottle of oddly colored ink he had pulled out from nowhere that Jack could see.
Jack grinned. “And hey, fair is fair. You let me fly loose and easy without any contracts or such, and I’ll be happy to help cook what I catch. Sound good?”
Otto grinned as he took a bite of the grilled meat, juices flowing down his chin. “Now you’re talking!”
Jack nodded. “Then it’s settled. Best venison stew of your lives when we set up camp tonight.” He frowned then. “What do we have that I can use for stock? You all have a pot, I hope. Best I prep it now and we let the flavors meld in the wagon. I have some final spices I can touch it up with, once we heat it up.”
His companions seemed exceedingly pleased with the idea, more than happy to let Jack act as head cook, giving him full access to the ingredients of which he used only modest amounts of leeks, potatoes, onions and salt before adding grilled dear meat and fresh stream water, leaving the pot to stew in the back of the second wagon.
The rest of the day past uneventfully, Jack keeping an eye out for trouble, but there was none. It seemed the lands within a single day's journey from Hidden Valley were as peaceful and sedate as his home itself.
At least, on the surface such was true.
Perception check at -2 penalty: Success!
Finesse check with +2 environmental bonus: Success!
Cooking skill is now Novice Rank 2!
When it was time to make camp, Jack learned everyone slept in the wagons, each of them taking watch once during the night. Of course he had second to last watch, arguably the worst one, but such was to be expected, being the lowest ranked provisional member of the group.
“Now let’s try some of that grub!” Enthused Otto when they were finished setting up camp, Jack allowed to tend to what even he had to admit was delightful-smelling stew, catching whiffs of surprisingly rich floral tones he hoped would make the meal even more appealing that it otherwise would be.
All of them dug in, and Jack had to admit it was some of the most savory venison he had ever eaten. His mother’s tips the night before had been spot on.
Even though he had been the chef, it was all he could do to resist a second bowl, his newfound companions showing no such restraint.
Jack leaned back and sighed, rubbing his belly before the crackling fire all of them were warming themselves by as he gazed at the starry night sky, enjoying the tingling warmth of the added spices, for all that he knew just how sharply the heat could take someone not prepared.
Linus groaned, a happy expression upon his features. Jack glanced his way, noting how the reflected firelight and shadows danced across the exhausted man’s face, glad the man had at least secured the wagons and hobbled the nickering horses that were content enough to forage the rich green grass at the lip of the road.
Their camp was just as the edge of the forest, the canopy above providing a certain amount of shelter, though they would take their ease in the wagons, those that chose not to sleep by the fire.
“I think I’m going to burst,” said Linus. "That was the best venison I ever had!”
Otto snorted, leaning back against the tree, scratching his fat hairy belly, all three of them wearing supple leather vests lined with plush fur, designed more for comfort and warmth during cool spring or autumn nights than anything else. Against the cold, though it was a stalwart defender of all that was warm. Jack had no doubt it would keep them as warm if not warmer than his own thick gambeson, and was no doubt far more comfortable to casually wear or sleep in.
“You only had two bowls, Linus!” Otto said, working on his third. “Spice is good for you. You were always a lightweight.”
Sven’s eyes twinkled, his normally cool gaze showing something approaching warmth for his companions. “You’re a fine cook, lad,” he said, devouring his stew. “More I think on it, more I think there might be a place for you in our caravan.”
He flashed a confidential smile. “As my companions will tell you, looks, boy, can be deceiving.” He pointed at the pair of wagons. “Two wagons, about what one would expect a humble trader in fine liquors to bring. Plenty of room in these wagons to squirrel away finest wine, brandy, and sweet, priceless contraband, and no one thinks to look our way twice! We can bribe with copper what a larger caravan would need silver to keep guards’ noses where they belong… in their ale cups!”
All of them chuckled at that.
“After this run, we’ll be joining with the rest of our crew and heading south. The coin to be made lad, for a wily lad like you that knows the score? Will leave all your idealistic compatriots gnashing their teeth with envy!”
Otto nodded, sipping from a flask of wine, looking ready to drowse off despite his growing grimace, his burps causing everyone save Linus to roar with laughter, including himself. “Stick with us, kid,” slurred a half-drunk Otto. “You’ll be the lord of your own house and harem before you know it!”
Sven’s smile grew, bright white teeth flashing in the firelight. “And your women will know better than to ever say no.”
Jack chuckled. “Can’t wait.” He gazed at a groaning Linus, face showing clear concern. “Is he okay? Did I add too much pepper to the stew?”
Sven snorted. “Fool eats like an old biddy, then he stuffs himself on the best damned travel fair we’ve had in days. Never you mind him.” He then flashed an evil smile. “But since he was on first watch and he is looking the worse for wear...”
Jack chuckled ruefully. “It’s okay. I’ll take first watch. It’s only fair, right?” He gazed almost fondly at a now groaning Linus, looking a bit green around the gills as he slumped by the fire. “He is sleeping off a full belly of my stew.”
Sven snorted and yawned before wincing at his own burp. “Hell, maybe you did add a bit too much pepper. Take an easy on the spices kid, they ain’t cheap.”
Jack nodded. “Understood, sir. Would you like a fresh flask before I go on watch?”
Sven shook his head, cracking a fresh yawn. “No, kid. You keep watch, wake Otto when the moon crosses over the hills there. And tell that fool to wake Linus after his watch, I don’t care how much he belly-aches. It’s his fault for stuffing himself, and the captain of this crew needs a clear head for the morrow.”
Jack smirked, bow and arrows now in hand. “Sure, boss. No problem.”
He spent long moments perched on the closest wagon, gazing down at the trio of men snoring away beside the crackling fire, all of them sleeping like men deep in their cups. Or drugged.
He clenched his fist, recalling all too well the mocking laughter the men had roared at the expense of so many desperate families, entire towns on the brink of starvation.
It sickened Jack to see how black and jaded a trader’s soul could become, willing to trade meager supplies at the cost of a child’s very soul, a life of happiness and hope transformed to one of utter degradation.
Sven could spout whatever platitudes he liked about worker contracts, Jack was no fool. He already knew that desperate families unfortunate enough to find this caravan in their midst would find anything but true succor. They would instead find half their family dragged off in chains.
Jack swallowed his bile. It was all he could do to control the outrage he had hidden under a mask of genial callousness, sickened by how easy it had been to take on the personae of a predator just like them. How effortless it had been to blend in.
Only now did he dare to be himself.
A part of him wanted to act at that very moment.
But before he took that final black step, he had to be certain.
He had to make sure.
He then began a careful, thorough inspection of the wagons.
Looking for any clues that might show that yes, these were, in fact, the very traders who had smuggled goblins across his valley’s wards, putting everyone’s lives in dire peril.
That was an act Jack could never forgive.
No matter how similar these voices had sounded to the ones he had heard in the fog in his dreamlike fugue… he wasn’t comfortable taking men’s lives based on nothing but the memory of voices lost within a too visceral dream.
The first wagon held nothing suspicious that he could find, just supplies and a space for sleeping at the front, and so many flasks of fine Hidden Valley wine in the back that his eyes watered.
No sign of any runes anywhere.
The first wagon was completely empty.
He frowned, quickly popping back out, peering carefully at the three snoring men. They hadn’t done anything more than shift positions or scratch their bellies.
Good.
For a moment he felt a certain tingle of excitement, like he was closing in on his prey when he searched the second wagon.
Before his excitement washed away with a cold feeling of dread, having found absolutely nothing of note at all.
Jack winced, gazing down at his knife sheath to the three snoring men he saw from the lip of the wagon cover.
He had been certain. So damned certain.
But his father had always said a real man faced the truths in his life, no matter how ugly.
He had been psyching himself up to kill three men in cold blood.
Men who, for all their talk of being badass hustlers, appeared to be nothing more than a trio of wine merchants. Traders who sampled their own stock and talked big bold games when in their cups.
And there was not the tiniest shred of proof that they were anything more than that.
It was just as Master Mercator had said. Large caravans were more than likely to be run by competent, honorable people. And shabby looking traders with nothing more than a wagon or two to their name were far more likely to be organized by half-competent fools who could certainly be petty and deluded enough to spin dark tales of imagined trading exploits to the country rube they were transporting for added silver.
Jack grimaced.
Damn it.
And he had been more than willing to pass a death sentence on them.
To take their lives, knowing like never before just how painfully precious life really was.
He was disgusted with them, their petty vindictive fantasies, and he was disgusted with himself.
He sighed, standing up and cracking his back. The important thing was that he and his father had taken care of the goblins they had found, and both Druid and Mage back home had their ears, eyes, and arcane senses ready for trouble.
He had done what he could, and there was nothing more holding him here.
He had a great big world to explore, and the sooner her took himself away from these disgusting traders he had come so close to shaming himself by butchering in cold blood, the better.
Finesse check made.
Damn! He had almost knocked over one of the wine crates, just barely catching it before it toppled over, shattering clay jugs everywhere.
He frowned as he squinted down at the wagon slats, eyes watering as if dizzy at sea.
He felt an icy chill racing down his spine.
Slowly shifting the wine crates with trembling hands, gazing at the sight before him with awe, horror, and darkest vindication.
Forcing himself to really look at what had been hidden under a single crate, somehow fooling his eyes to think the wagon had been absolutely stacked with crates.
His eyes widened as he caught sight of a rune chalk rune he now recognized all too well, and one other.
But what if this rune is actually common? What if Sven's just using it to hide innocuous contraband? I need to be sure! - Jack shook his head at those thoughts, knowing he was taking an added risk.
But he had drugged those traders well enough to knock out a mule. According to his mother’s soft council, some of the last words he would ever here from her, poisons were relatively easy to manufacture. The world was naturally deadly. Unlike healing potions, no magical blossoms were needed to create deadly toxins. But magic could temper the effects, make toxins much more specific, or deadly. Having poured in an entire flask of the sleeping brew he had made at his mother's side, it was magic alone that kept the dose from being outright lethal. Their lungs would continue to suck in air, even if their minds were lost in a sleep that really did mirror death.
Jack swallowed, gazing down at the second rune, knowing what he was contemplating was so bold as to border on madness.
But if his hunch was right, he would never be in a better position to steal yet another rune. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to go prying the floor boards with potentially hostile arcane magics he hadn’t mastered just inches from his face.
He pricked his thumb with his keenly honed knife, tracing the unfamiliar rune on the wagon floor. Instantly sensing the purpose of the magic even as he sought to diffuse it and claim it for himself.
Ancient words unbidden came to his lips, fragments of memory from a time long forgotten. “I silence the cries of the crow as I pierce the owl’s sight! The serpent feels nothing as I tread past his layer, the fox hears nothing as I rob his den! I claim the power of this rune as my own, and dare its forger to face me!”
Contest of Wills Engaged!
Jack felt a fierce sense of exultation, seeing the pair of wolves once more, knowing exactly what it meant. The larger creature snarled and lurched forward, it’s steps drugged and uncertain.
Yet the beast of shadow and wrath did not hesitate, dashing forward to attack.
Fangs flashed in the moonlight.
The pale wolf’s broken cry echoed under the endless night sky they fought within, between shadow and dream, the desperate white wolf’s neck locked within the slavering jaws of the beast of darkness and flame, jaws clamping ever tighter, tearing through flesh and cartilage until, with a bright crimson spray, the ivory white wolf was no more,
His precious secret now Jack’s own.
Congratulations! You have bested a Runeforger in your second Contest of Wills, pitting your very soul for forbidden knowledge, stealing away a piece of his potential! And your opponent was drugged, giving you a huge +40% advantage even as your foe struggles to overcome the intoxicant. Good for you! Only fools fight fair when their lives are on the line.
You have successfully learned the rune Lituus! This rune will warn you the moment anyone not linked to this rune (by strand of hair or trace of flesh) crosses whatever boundary you set! Whether the front door to your house, your home as a whole, or the wizardly trunk you’ve stashed all your forbidden prizes within! Pair with Obscuro to hide treasures you wish no one to find, and to let you know when they do.
Rune Forging is now Novice Rank 2!
To know a rune is to break it, for any crimson disciple of the art! So long as one is willing to pay the price.
Jack felt a fierce sense of triumph as he used blood magic to crush a ward written by a far superior Runeforger, much like using a two of trumps against an ace of hearts. Of course it cost him a significant amount of experience, about what he had earned critically striking that admittedly powerful-looking buck.
And he couldn’t deny his growing sense of how this strange art worked, pitting his magics against another, learning with the forging of his own runes and the destruction of his opponents.
He hated spending a bit of his own soul-force, but if the sudden dread he had in the pit of his stomach was anything to go by…
He gasped as both runes burst, crackling energies diffusing into the bloodrunes he had overwritten atop the constructs of chalk and bile, suddenly sensing exactly what was before him.
Rune Forging is now Novice Rank 3!
A ring fastened to the elevated floor of the wagon, and Jack knew he had found exactly how his enemies has snuck their vile prizes across Hidden Valley’s wards.