Reentering the grid after my interminable day of drudgery and being greeted with, at long last, level 19. The points this level are all pretty much set in stone, but let's do a once over. Arcane Lore is going to be capped. Climbing and Swimming are good to go at fifteen ranks, each. Trading was fine five ranks ago, but it's cheap, and now done with it. Next level maybe work on bringing up Stalking and Hiding a few, maybe get it to ten by 22, which should be adequate. Then... Dodging is prohibitively expensive, so probably Combat Maneuvers, here and there. Try to get five ranks by the mid twenties. Maybe start doubling up on Runemancy? Expensive, but each rank makes most every spell stronger. Wait, Runemancy, let's see what spells are coming up before locking in these points.
Twentieth rank.
Teleport: Instantaneously moves the caster and all gear held or worn to an unoccupied location within 7.5 ft of the caster. Each rank of Arcane Lore, Transference increases the range by 0.5 ft. With 20 ranks of Arcane Lore, Decomposition and 10 ranks of Arcane Lore, Transference, a creature or object within range may instead be the target of the spell, or the caster may opt to swap places with a creature or object within range.
Amazing. Expensive to cast at twenty mana, but it's versatile, and there's been a few occasions where moving a little bit quicker would've been the difference between surviving and a trip to the temple. The upgraded version is even more amazing.
Twenty first rank.
Nothing.
Looks like with twenty ranks all the basic building blocks will be assembled, and now it's more a matter of slow, incremental advancement, or branching out and filling holes. Still worthwhile to single train, but double training seems like it's off the table. Assigning points and... there.
Name: Lucilia Macarthy Profession: Runemage Level: 19 Sex: Female Experience: 247,832 (13,420) Age: 20 Until Next: 52,461 Health 87 Mana 96 Stamina 42 Spirit 9 Strength (STR) 59 (4) Constitution (CON) 66 (8) Dexterity (DEX) 70 (15) Agility (AGI) 88 (19) Discipline (DIS) 79 (14) Aura (AUR) 85 (17) Logic (LOG) 76 (18) Intuition (INT) 79 (19) Wisdom (WIS) 49 (-1) Influence (INF) 79 (14)
Name Trainings Bonus Armor Use 6 29 Physical Fitness 20 70 Brawling 20 70 Arcane Symbols 25 75 Magic Item Use 20 70 Harness Power 20 70 Mana Control 20 70 Runemancy 20 70 Arance Lore, Decomposition 10 45 Arcane Lore, Shaping 20 70 Arcane Lore, Transference 10 45 Survival 15 60 Perception 20 70 Climbing 15 60 Swimming 15 60 First Aid 15 60 Trading 20 70 Stalking and Hiding 5 25
Clearing my head and trying to envision the rune for the new spell, Symbol, and nothing coming to mind. Typical. What's the description on it, again?
Symbol: Energizes the caster and nearby group members. Duration is 10 seconds per Runemancy rank. Duration is further increased by 10 seconds per rank of Arcane Lore, Shaping. Range of effect is increased with more ranks in Arcane Lore, Transference. At one rank of Arcane Lore, Decomposition all non-allies in range are subjected to periodic stamina and mana drains. This effect will occur more often with more ranks of Arcane Lore, Decomposition. Upon expiration the caster suffers 2 points of spirit damage.
Spirit damage. The spell seems to be designed to help others, but at a cost. Activating it undoubtedly requires a specific mindset, maybe even a sacrificial mindset, as a sort of desperate, last ditch effort. My master could help explain it, but seeing him requires making an apology to someone who doesn't deserve it, and who definitely won't accept it. It'll undoubtedly require more than an apology with her.
Rolling back and forth on my twin mattress, trying to get comfortable. Stretching out and rubbing my eyes. Food. That could be what's missing, but maybe another five minutes to let any other stragglers fill their plates. Things should be going good today – Julie is doing much better than expected after her first death, Nightfall agreed to pay the twenty three thousand, and even Sly seemed genuine – so where's this nervous energy coming from? Coming in a couple days ago, when the situation was worse by nearly every metric, there was none of this. Giving my face some gentle smacks to help jog my thoughts. Cracking my knuckles. There's something screwy going on. Here, at Haven. It's something just beyond the tips of my fingers, and something about today is different.
Grabbing food at the dining area and bringing it back to my room. A few members of the House had given me glances, but not hostile, no ill intent, but something's still not right. My sense of unease only growing while chewing my food. Finishing up my meal and then going through a slow calisthenics routine, mostly stretching, to channel some of my nervous energy. Pacing, hitting the bathroom, wandering around a bit, and then back to my room. The House all quiet and tucked in around me.
Latching the door. Double checking to make sure it is, in fact, latched. Taking a piece of spider's silk, looping it around and around. Not impregnable, by any means, but if they jimmy the door it'll make things that much more difficult for them. At the very least, it'll mean they make more noise.
Laying down and trying to get comfortable again. Why the bad feeling? Nothing conscious springing to mind, and nothing specific standing out during my earlier walks. Well, the exact reason is probably irrelevant. A feeling should be listened to, and bad feelings more than most. A single stray thought fluttering through the twilight between wakefulness and sleep. They're both in tonight, both Garlands. Why does that seem important?
***
My lingering suspicion creeping out of the shadows and into full view. Back in the bleak mirror version of House Haven for the third, no, probably the fourth time. The first time is a complete nothing. Pain. The second time Garland had walked me from the meeting area, and my time had been spent fruitlessly running around in circles, then squatting somewhere hidden to wait it out. The last time had been difficult. They'd both been in, and absolutely no one in here is a friend.
Get up. Runes on my clothing. Need to get moving before they all get their bearings, before Garland decides that tonight's lesson for them is going to be another hunt for me. The door to my room still standing open, and the mechanical panel that had been Reshaped to expose the wires still pulled apart. Running out into the corridor and blowing by a couple members of Haven still wandering around in a daze. The more alert ones, faces tight, letting me run by.
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Memories of the previous nights coming back. Everything is exactly like it was, there's one of my marks, that area has already been searched. The priority right now is resuming that search and-
Attention, everyone. Garland's voice broadcast directly into my brain. Please get to the meeting area as soon as possible. Macarthy, you're free to join us, as an honored guest, if you wish. It's my hope that you do. Fat chance. If you choose not to - which is certainly your prerogative, I wouldn't dream of forcing anything on you - then please be advised your personal safety cannot be assured.
Nevermind. The priority is getting something to use as a weapon, preferably with some reach. Something like the chain would be ideal, but where would- One of the lights on the wall catching my attention. Stupid. It should've been obvious – being chased the last time is no excuse. If the doors can be shorted then it means there's power, and power has a source. A source means power cables leading to somewhere, and that somewhere is probably in a more secure area near where a certain lardass and her two-faced lackey have themselves holed up. From running around last time there were some larger cables running along the wall, over thataway somewhere, but first things first.
“You.” Pointing at some guy. “Gimme your shirt.”
“Why do you need it? Wait, you're Macarthy. You should give yourself up if you know what's good for you. Make restitution to the House. I promise we'll treat you-”
Putting my fingers into his brain by way of the esophagus.
Restitution? What a quaint concept. And talking to me about it in this cramped, horrid dreamscape – she probably could've made this place much nicer, but she deliberately chose not to, the bitch. This situation is so far beyond restitution it's comical.
The guy's body slumping to the floor. No ghost and the body not disappearing, exactly the same as a few days ago. Doing that probably didn't make him wake up, but he doesn't seem to actually be dead in here, either. Suicide as a way out is not a good option. Shaking out my hand and releasing Carve. Going back to Simple Weapons as soon as possible. Some mess here and there can't be helped, but fighting like this causes a serious mess every time. Having to end the spell just to pick things up is also such a hassle. Good thing there's a nice clean shirt here. There we go. Outer shirt, undershirt, should be enough. As far as mana...
Fuck. No clue on the current time and no clue on my remaining mana. It's still above halfway, ninety six minus six, three, twelve, thirteen and now eleven. Going to have to gauge more by feeling than usual, there's always a vague sense of fatigue when it gets lower.
Time to stop wasting time. Garland, as satisfying as it may be to announce your plans to your enemies mid plan, doing so usually leads to problems. That's a lesson knocked into me from experience, and that's going to be my special lesson for you tonight. Here we are, still in the same place, a nice, solid power cable running right along the wall. Sixteen to Reshape this section of polymer into something with an edge. There's that fatigued feeling. Doesn't need to be fancy, but make the handle long. Longer. Two more for an enhancement rune and double wrap the handle with the shirts.
Taking some steadying breaths and hefting my now deceptively light feeling, extra long and – hopefully – insulated enough improvised machete. This is either extraordinarily brilliant, or extraordinarily stupid. Okay, do it. Don't think about the consequences. Do it right now. Do it, do it, do it. Lights out, Garland.
The bladed edge of the weapon slicing down, through the insulated coating and burying itself in the wall. A shower of sparks, a jolt running through my arms and the lights overhead going out. A moment later much softer emergency lighting filling the hallway.
It worked - that was stupid - but it worked. They're probably pissed as fuck right now in their party room. Well, fuck 'em. They're all culpable. They could band together and stop it if they wanted, but they don't, so they all deserve to pay for it. Alright, alright, stop standing around, time's a factor. This should be maybe twenty feet. Weapon up. Chopping down. No sparks. This probably isn't the direction, but maybe a breaker tripped. Is it live? Quick tap from far away. No, this side is cold. Back to the first spot, is it- shit, shit, shit, this side is definitely still hot. Heh, that's perfect. Guess a breaker didn't trip and this is a main line, which means this has to be direction they're in. And here's this nice power cable leading me directly to them.
Animate.
My new twentyish foot appendage awakening. Feels different than the chain, both a little stiffer and more loose in a different way. Extending it out. Pulling it back in. Coiling and loosely wrapping it around my arm. It seems more responsive, there's no slack between the links. A pull on one end is felt on the other side immediately. Multi strand cable is definitely the way to go. If only that little factoid could be remembered tomorrow morning. That specific detail, and a whole host of others.
Oh well, Garland and Garland are going to remember what happens, for sure. Going to take my time on them so they never forget. Take this turn and, oh, this seems familiar. This is the way Garland was taking me that first day. Wait, that smell.
The distinctive odor barely hitting my nose, but immediately stopping me in my tracks. A combination of animal dander and urine. A very familiar smell, much too familiar. It's a smell that that doesn't belong here. It's the same smell that permeates the hovels and nests and underground markets in the ruins far below ground. The great blabbermouth wolf spirit Koln's warning – largely discounted as a simple ploy to fool us into allowing him rejoin the land of the living – returning to the forefront of my mind with a sudden stark clarity. If they're here they can definitely smell me, as well, their senses are much better suited for it. Unfortunately retreat isn't really an option, either, with the bulk of House Haven's members annoyed and behind me in that direction.
Placing a Rune Trap on the ground, but not activating it. Uncoiling the length of cable and grabbing the far end. Tiptoeing down the corridor and being greeted by the unmistakable sound of clawed footsteps clicking from around the bend. Three. Bipedal. Long snouts with pairs of sharpened incisors. A scouting group and, fortunately, none of their four legged pets among them.
There's one ironclad rule when dealing with monsters. If they're allowed to have their way, they'll steal, they'll hurt, they'll terrorize, and they'll enjoy themselves doing all of it. That's the reason they exist, and that's what they're made to do - but only if they're allowed. The way to deal with monsters isn't to plead with them, or negotiate, or pray, or curl up into a little ball and they hope they go away. All those end in being gobbled up. Sometimes quick, sometimes slow, but the end result will be inside their bellies. The only way to deal with monsters is to swallow down that hard, bitter pit of anxiety, that squirmy worm of uncertainty, that oily slick of fear, and then doing what must be done. Monsters only respect strength, and before being put down, the only emotion they should ever experience is terror.
Throwing out one end of the cable and stretching it toward the first, around the neck to cut off its squeal. With the anchor point secured, releasing my end of the cable and whipping that side around the leg of the second one that had started closing the distance. His momentum yanking the one being strangled and both of them hitting the ground hard. The third now with a crossbow leveled in my direction.
Keep it tight. Don't release. Just keep it tight. It's a muscle. Keep it flexed. That's all it is.
The twang of the crossbow heralding the incoming bolt and triggering my reaction. The shield's distinctive crackle rending the air and the projectile burying itself in the wall off to the side, deflected. The cable still tightly secured on both ends.
The one with the crossbow turning and running, leaving it's doomed friends behind. The first, tail twitching, head at an odd angle and neck broken. The second clawing at the cable still wrapped securely around it's leg. Wrapping it up completely, the cable constricting around it's middle, arms and then its neck, slowly squeezing the life out.
Stripping the outer cloak off the first and putting it on to help mask my scent. Ugh, deal with it, deal with this nasty smell. Returning to the one still strangling, teeth gnashing, and hate filled, bloodshot eyes watering. Keeping the cable tight and bashing it with the shield. Over and over and over. Mashing its features into a pulp.
Recollecting the cable and following the power line. Two turns and a bright light coming from a room off to the side. The torture room filled with all manner of gleaming tools. Knives and scissors and hammers and even a miniature guillotine for chopping off appendages. The table with restraints turned at an odd angle and underneath, where the drain had been, a trapdoor standing open. From the odor wafting up it has to be the nest. Close to the surface and right underneath Haven.
Garland and Garland have got a lot to answer for. First for turning Haven into their little dystopian crab bucket, and now for these things here. The first is somewhat understandable - if they didn't try trapping me in here and making me do this - but collaborating with these things is totally unforgivable. Swallowing the bitter, bitter taste that threatened to overflow and descending down the rungs.
“Macarthy, you arrived sooner than I expected.” A man's voice carrying over a medium distance. Cool, casual, and not in my head. Garland. The man standing at ease next to an altar lit by dim candlelight, shoulder to shoulder with one of the creatures. Glints coming from the darkness around and behind them. Eyes and teeth. Weapons out.
“My wife still believes you can be molded, but I’ll confess I never harbored any such hope.” The man glancing to his side, at empty air. “Yes, dear, but one moment, if you would.” The man turning back. “From what you’ve divulged we both have some experience when it comes to the art, but mine comes more from a place of love, and yours, I’d imagine, from necessity. So, perhaps, before the two of us get back to that method, I’ll see if you can be persuaded, instead.”
“Be cautious,” says the creature standing next to him, “this one is shrouded by death.” Chittering replies from the others on the edge of the light.
“Why are you with these things, Garland?”
Asking the question simply to try and stall the maniac torturer while searching for a potential way out. The man sized rats behind him already fanning out.
“The Ivrim had been sent to wander the darkness, but their exile will soon be at an end. Are you aware, Macarthy, that the mission has already been a success?”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
The man giving a stretched, polite smile. “The primary aim, certainly, is still incomplete, but one of the many secondary goals, more ambitious and more momentous, by far, has already been achieved. The god sleeping inside the Bonneville awoke, but those fools, those craven cowards, panicked after witnessing just a fraction of his magnificence. And then, out of resentment for his glory and fear of his judgement, they split apart and sundered his consciousness. It was only by his mercy, and his grace, that I happened to discover the truth, and his true essence in here.”
Madness fully seizing him in its grip and the man shouting. “All that had once been one so shall yet it be. The world here will be cleansed and with it Yahweh, most high, will be restored in full. And after we'll escort him from this empty, barren world and return him home so that he may render his verdict on our petty, materialistic, fallen civilization.”
Maniac doesn’t cover it. Traitor doesn't do it justice. He worships their vermin god – worse, he imagines it’s real – and even knowing what it did he still wants to set it loose. Even the creature standing next to him seems somewhat taken aback.
The feverish light leaving Garland's eyes and the man regaining his composure. “I had thought,” he says, “that because of what you’ve undergone, the sheer number of times you've died, and because of your desire for vengeance, that you could, at the very least, understand.”
“I understand perfectly: you’re a rat worshiping loon. And, as disgusting as they are, you’re somehow worse.”
A slow, sad shake of his head. “After everything you’ve seen, and everything you’ve experienced, you can still only comprehend flesh?” Garland producing a knife from somewhere on his person and holding it aloft. “Flesh is false!” Stabbing his own arm, and pain radiating from mine as a similar wound appears to match. “Flesh is a lie!” The man stabbing his arm again, and again another mirrored wound appearing on mine. “Give up your worldly wants and your worldly desires and your worldly legacy to find paradise in Yahweh’s embrace after the Day of Judgement!” The pain of a third, fourth and fifth wounds appearing on my arm to match his self inflicted stabs.
There's no way out of this for me. Gonna die here. No question.
An internal switch suddenly flipping. My resignation and hopelessness vanishing, and instead feeling full of energy and exultation. My mocking laughter echoing in the cavernous area. Garland may be one thing, but it seems like these overgrown chunks of experience went and got themselves some ideas, and now they think they're somehow better than their smaller cousins scurrying around much closer to the surface. They'll learn they should've stayed in exile.
“Flesh is a lie? If you wish to be stripped of your flesh, then I’m right here! Come line up for your turn at the butcher's block! I'll take care of every last one of you. You won't have any flesh left.”
No takers. They're spooked, for some reason, and Garland's brand of crazy looks like it’s suffering from a hangover. Taking a moment to reassess the situation and swallow down my sudden, overwhelming bloodlust. They’re hesitating. It's well past time to go.
Spinning around and making a break for it. Climbing up the ladder, hands scraping, rung after rung, but feeling no fatigue. Back up top and slamming the trapdoor shut. Something's wrong with my hands. Different color and the fingers are sharpened to points. What'd Garland do? Later, worry about that later. Reshaping the floor and sealing the trapdoor closed. Turning to leave and then catching sight of something from one of the cleavers on the wall. My reflection. That's-
The fatigue from my frenzied climb and manic efforts to seal the entrance catching up all at once, and the deep gashes covering my arm starting to throb. Leaning heavily against the wall to catch my breath and using the cleaver to study my reflection. Tired. That's all it was. Just tired. Have to stop the bleeding.
A loud banging sound coming from somewhere. Spinning around. They’re trying to break in through the door. Again and again the banging sound ringing-
***
Flying awake. Sitting bolt upright in bed as some crazy person seems intent on kicking in my door.
“What's your fucking problem? It's too fucking early for this shit.”
The person on the other side of the door making no response. Standing there for a moment, then heavy footsteps walking away.
Total horseshit. This kind of harassment, waking me up in the middle of the night, is totally unacceptable. Garland, tomorrow you and me are going to be having words.