The first thing Hunter - Alex’s in-game alter ego - did as he materialized back in Elderpyre was to call his familiars to him.

“All’s well?” he asked them through the mental link they shared. Biggs and Wedge responded with a cacophony of enthusiastic chitters.

“Yes, yes, I missed you too. Come by the Place of Power at the gates of the Halls. Bring the mutt, too.”

Hunter looked around to catch a glimpse of either Fawkes or the Brethren, but saw nobody. It had been a few days since they had left the Halls of the Cor Ancestors, but had set up camp in the barrows not too far from the entrance.

The Vale of Ghosts was as misty and quiet as ever, though Hunter didn’t find its atmosphere as threatening as when he first set foot in it. Maybe he’d gotten used to its somber ambience. Maybe it had been the whispers of the eldritch entity beneath the Halls that had made the Vale seem so threatening. Maybe both.

A familiar lupine form showed up behind a nearby mound, barking and barreling through the mist, followed by the two flying windbags. Fyodor was just the runt of the litter by direwolf standards, or so Fawkes had said. By Hunter standards, he was still a huge mass of muscle, fur, fangs, and claws.

And sloppy, sloppy doggy kisses.

Fyodor leaped on Hunter, driving him to the ground, his bushy tail whooshing around like mad. He’d been wandering in the Weald hungry and alone when Hunter first came upon him, probably driven away by the rest of his pack for being too small and weak. Now he was a part of Hunter’s little menagerie, and he never missed an opportunity to show how happy he was about that.

“Okay, okay boy, that’s enough! What’s that on your snout? Ew, what have you been eating? You stink!”

“Spider,” he felt Biggs and Wedge answer as one in his mind. “Big.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Hunter and tried to throw the direwolf of him, wiping drool and dried spider ichor from his face with the back of his hand. “Get off me, you big doof!”

Hunter got back on his feet and scratched Fyodor behind the ears. The two ravens landed on the direwolf’s back and stood at attention, ready to give their report.

“Talk,” Hunter said. “Telepathically, please. No chittering.”

“All quiet,” Biggs reported. “Big man and young woman rest in hole-in-the-ground nearby. Old woman somewhere around.”

“Old woman mean,” Wedge piped in, clearly vexed. “She waves us away. Throws rocks.”

“I’ll talk to her about that. What else? What’s this about a big spider?”

“Mutt hungry,” the ravens gave him the telepathic equivalent of a shrug. “Mutt go in hole-in-the-ground to find big spider.”

“I leave you guys alone for half a day, and you-”

“Hile, Hunter,” a woman’s voice called. “You look good.”

He turned around to meet the two Brethren. Sister Peregrine and Brother Aurochs had taken refuge in the entrance of a nearby barrow the last few days. They were still on the mend from the wounds they’d received when they fought Mother and her horde of low-dwellers, not to mention the emotional trauma. The reason he’d dubbed the corrupted Sister Finch Mother, after all, was because she had turned out to be Sister Peregrine’s actual mother. Hunter didn’t expect the woman to simply shrug that off, no matter how stoic she wanted to look.

“Sister. Brother. You look good too.”

“We don’t and we all know it, but I thank you all the same. We heard the wolf bark in joy. That usually means you’ve visited our – how do you say it? – our side of things.”

“Yes, I wanted to check on you all. How are you doing?”

Brother Aurochs, not one for many words, gave Hunter a pained smile. It spoke volumes. The huge man has suffered the worst wounds of them all.

Well, save for Hunter himself, but he hardly counted, did he?

“We manage,” said Sister Peregrine. “We are leaving, heading out to join our other Brethren. We were waiting for you to return so that we could say our goodbyes.”

“Thank you. I’d hate for us to part ways without the chance to say a few words first.”

“We wanted to offer our thanks. You did more than your part, both you and your companion. A warning, too; there were others among the Brethren that fell victim to vile influences. Some of them took off. They may have made their way to the lands of the Brennai, or even further. I would advise you to keep an eye out for them. Pass that warning to the folken, too, along with our friendly greetings. We’ve been out of touch with them for far too long.”

“I shall,” said Hunter, frowning. That was a possibility he and Fawkes had already discussed. The presence of low-dwellers in the Weald was far too suspicious to be a coincidence–not to mention the ritualistic murders. “What about Fawkes? Have you seen her?”

“We’ve already exchanged our goodbyes with her. She’s ranging about the Vale. She doesn’t look too well either, if I might be blunt.”

“Figures. She suffered a loss, too.”

Still bitter about her initial dishonesty, Hunter thought about making a jab at Sister Peregrine, then decided not to. She had led them on to helping her and Brother Aurochs with promises of leading Fawkes to her missing companion, while she already knew for a fact he’d been killed. Hunter was still angry about that, camaraderie or no camaraderie. If Fawkes was willing to let it be, however, so should he.

“If I may offer some parting advice,” Sister Peregrine continued, “you should consider being less impetuous with your actions and your well-being.”

She didn’t have to explain, not really. She was talking about how Hunter had gone all kamikaze on It That Whispers, the Lovecraftian abomination behind Sister Finch’s corruption.

“It was the only way to take that thing down.”

“I know, and I thank you for it. As I understand it, your Transient nature takes the edge off of the consequences of your recklessness – or bravery, call it what you may. All I am saying is that there are more things, more consequences to consider.”

“Such as?” asked Hunter, starting to get irritated. He’d had enough of being persecuted just for being Transient, especially by his own companions. It was quickly becoming a touchy subject for him.

Sister Peregrine let out a sigh and Brother Aurochs chuckled.

“Don’t laugh, Brother. You’re hardly any better yourself,” she scolded him, then turned back to Hunter. “You’re going to make me spell it out, then? So be it. I don’t know much about your past with your friend, but it is obvious that you care for her. She cares for you too, more than she lets be seen, and her heart is more fragile than ever. Care not to break it.”

Again, Hunter felt the bile rise in him. Sister Peregrine had played her part in letting Fawkes get hurt. Try as he might, that was a fact he wasn’t going to forget. Still, this was the woman’s way of trying to make amends. He decided to simply nod.

“Where are you going to go now?” he asked, changing the subject.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“We have secret gathering places.”

“How can we find you again?”

Sister Peregrine frowned and turned her eyes to the horizon.

“Not to be ungrateful or inhospitable, Hunter,” she said, “but I would have you leave the Vale as soon as possible and never return. The Ancestors came to this part of the land to be forgotten. They did so for a reason. If, however, there is no avoiding it… you should come right here. Light a signal fire in front of the Halls of the Cor Ancestors. A Brother or Sister is bound to come find you. Just ask for me or Brother Aurochs.”

They wished each other well, the three of them. Hunter and Sister Peregrine clapped arms. Brother Aurochs went in for a bear hug instead, all but shattering Hunter’s ribs. Both of the Brethren patted Fyodor on the head, and Brother Aurochs even flashed a toothy smile at Biggs and Wedge. Then the two Brethren headed back to the barrow that had been their temporary home for the last few days, got their few things, and set off. Hunter watched them as they were headed for the treeline, slowly obscured by the thin mist that hung in the Vale air even in the middle of the day. He would miss them, he caught himself thinking, which surprised them. He’d only known them for a few days, each of which was nothing short of traumatic. His time in Elderpyre would continue to prove to be full of surprises, it seemed.

Now alone save for his menagerie, Hunter briefly thought about logging out. His nerves were supposedly still on the mend, after all. He quickly decided against it. He’d rather spend some time with Fyodor and the ravens and wait for Fawkes to return. In fact, defeating Mother and It That Whispers had left him with a ton of notifications he hadn’t had the chance to thoroughly go through. He pulled up his character sheet for the first time since the whole Mother thing and started tracking the changes.

Character Information:

Name: Hunter

Race: Transient (Human)

Class: Mystic

Qualities:

Aether: 1000

Élan: 7

Insight: 5

Inspiration: 1

Serendipity: 1

Attributes:

Health: 158

Essence: 100

Stamina: 130

Strength: 10

Dexterity: 10

Intellect: 10

Willpower: 10

Presence: 10

The first thing he noticed was the good chunk of Aether that was now sitting snugly at the top of the Qualities section of his character sheet. He’d received it for completing the Whispers of the Dark Below task, along with a point of Inspiration and a point of Serendipity. There was no amount of rewards that would convince him to take on Mother again, but still he didn’t scoff at what he’d gained. As far as he’d seen, all three of these Qualities were valuable and in short supply.

The second thing he noticed was that his Élan was now only at 7. He’d started with 10 and lost one for each time he’d died in the game. The system messages he’d gotten afterwards had grown increasingly grim and foreboding. Hunter didn’t know what would happen if he ran out of Élan and wasn’t particularly keen on finding out. Three times of kicking the bucket had been traumatic enough to leave him out-of-sorts for days, even in real life.

Maybe Sister Peregrine was right.

Maybe it was time he started acted a bit more careful.

The third thing that caught his eye was his increased Health. He’d originally started with 100, then had upgraded it to 140 by spending Aether. The rest came from his Toughness Ability. If his math was right, taking all that punishment during the fight with Mother and It That Whispers had increased his Toughness to 18. Five extra points of Toughness were nothing to sneeze at. It numbed the sensation of pain and increased his Health, which meant it also decreased the probability he’d get his ass handed to him again.

Definitely a good thing.

He scrolled down to the Skills and Abilities part of his character sheet, eager to see how those had been increased.

Skills:

Close Combat: 19

Evasion: 7

Meditation: 4

Occultism: 11

Polearm Mastery: 16

Short Blade Mastery: 3

Survival: 23

Abilities:

Augmented Familiar: 19

Conjure Familiar: 24

Craft Spirit Charm: 10

Low-Light Vision: 24

Mystic’s Eye: 10

Toughness: 18

Close Combat and Evasion had increased from all the fighting. He’d also gained Short Blade Mastery, probably from using the spare dirk Fawkes had given him when he’d dropped his glaive.

Occultism had also increased, and so had Mystic’s Eye, both presumably a product of his failed attempt to use it to acquire information about It That Whispers. The magical feedback from the spell had been a kick in the head, but at least he’d gotten something out of it.

Of course, Conjure Familiar and Augmented Familiar had increased too. Biggs and Wedge had proven their worth a thousand times over during the fight with Mother, and were only becoming more capable with each Ability increase.

That left only two other changes to go over. One was a new ability that had become available to him, though activating it would require spending Inspiration. He pulled up the list of his not-yet-learned abilities and took a closer look at the latest one.

Asymmetric Tactics allows you to be more effective in combat against enemies that are more powerful, more numerous, or otherwise superior to you. It involves using unconventional strategies to offset your deficiencies and disadvantages.

His plan to use summoned familiars to bombard an eldritch entity with cadaver parts infected with a flesh-eating goo had proven to be a quite effective way to approach an otherwise hopeless combat situation. That was the definition of asymmetric. Hunter was very proud of it. For that alone, he’d learn Asymmetric Tactics on the spot. Inspiration was a very limited resource, though, and he already had his eye on other Abilities like Make Contact, Rite of the Hunt, and Mystical Phenomena. He’d had to consider them carefully before deciding.

For now, he headed over to the Traits part of his character sheet to check the last of the changes: a new Trait.

Traits:

Improvise, Adapt, Overcome

Incandescent Soul

Mystic Sigil

Out Of Pure Spite

Perfectly Average

Traits were like passive abilities that were always active in the background, as far as Hunter understood. They were more qualitative than quantitative, more like abstract characteristics than something easily measurable. He’d never paid a lot of attention before, but the wording on this new one was interesting:

Out of Pure Spite allows you to tap into a well of sheer determination and ferocity in the face of adversity. When facing enemies or situations that have stirred strong feelings of anger, frustration, or hatred within you, this trait enables you to draw strength from those emotions and channel them into unwavering resolve.

It should come to no surprise, Hunter supposed. He had taken all his pent-up pain and frustration on Mother and It That Whispers, and it had been brutal. Seeing it put in words like this, however, gave him some pause. It certainly sounded dark and ominous. Very Palpatine-y.

Desperate times, desperate measures.

He closed his character sheet and turned to his backpack and tidy little pile of belongings instead. After It That Whispers finally fell, Fawkes had taken the time to go through the gore and Phage-covered remains that littered the floor. Along with Reiner’s body and his belongings, she’d also gathered everything in the chapel she thought Hunter would be interested in. Hunter had found it moving. Amidst her shock and mourning, she still had thought of him.

During their two encounters with Mother, he’d managed to lose not just his glaive, but the dirk Fawkes had given him to replace it, too. Fortunately, the Phage only devourer flesh. Fawkes retrieved both weapons and returned to him more or less untouched.

The other thing she’d given him was the Essences some of the monsters had left behind when they fell. Fawkes rolled her eyes in disdain every time she saw him pick up the ghoulish wisps of what looked like gross-colored, semi-transparent cotton candy. Still, she’d gone into the trouble of gathering them for him.

Most of them had belonged to low-dwellers and were nothing special. A couple were large and a bit more solid. Those had come from the hulking low-ogres that had served as Mother’s honor-guard. What really drew Hunter’s attention was the biggest, weirdest, most solid of them all, the Essence of It That Whispers.

Unlike the essence of any other creature Hunter had seen, the Essence of It That Whispers was a spherical lattice of strands of alien-looking flesh and gristle roughly the size of a football. It was soft and warm to the touch and radiated wisps of the same matter the other essences were made of. Touching it sent a jolt of power down Hunter’s spine. Could he still hear it whisper in the back of his mind? He wasn’t certain, but the feeling was unnerving.

Hunter had wrapped the thing in a blanket and tucked it in his backpack, but couldn’t help taking it out and looking at it every now and then. He wondered if he could use it to create a spirit charm. His Craft Spirit Charm ability was nowhere near the level that working with an essence like that would require, but still, it might be worth holding on to it for later use.

The other option he’d considered was to present it as an offering to Herne, the powerful spirit that had practically strong-armed him into an accord. Hunter was to hunt prey in Herne’s name and present him with trophies from his kills to receive favor and rewards. Failing to do so meant that Herne and his host of spectral huntsmen and women would tear what they were owed off his own flesh and bones. He’d been through that once already. If the cost to avoid being torn open by ethereal wraiths was to give up the Essence of It That Whisper, so be it.

He put it all away back in his pack and considered logging out again. It didn’t feel right. He’d hoped to see Fawkes too, check up on her.

“Keep an eye out for Fawkes, will you?” Hunter sat down on the weathered stone and called at Biggs and Wedge. The ravens cawed solemnly and took wing to look for a perch. Fyodor curled up by his side and put his huge head on his lap, asking for pats and scratches. Hunter obliged. He’d missed the mutt.

He’d stick around for a while more in case she showed up, he decided. The Place of Power near the entrance to the Halls would be the first place she’d look for him if she came around, so that’s where he’d wait.

Some things were more important than any doctor’s orders.