Part Five
Survival
Priss and her father entered the Scarred Wood through the portal that the mage had opened in the secret room of Matt’s Crafts. The familiar scene of towering trees and overgrown underbrush greeted them after the usual sense of vertigo that accompanied portal jumps passed. As the pair quickly righted themselves to their surroundings Captain Frost marched up to Priss’ father, Commander Sunkin, and reported with salute.
“Commander, we have secured a beachhead and have made contact with the friendly locals.”
“Very good captain, now tell me, has the direction of our target been determined yet?” Priss’ father replied with an all-business, military voice. Captain Frost’s expression cracked for a moment then reaffirmed itself to its usual near-sneer.
“I am not entirely certain about that sir. When we arrived the manafested reported he felt the use of mana to the East, but the treefolk are adamant that the shaman we hunt is Northwest heading towards the Scar and recruiting more goblins along the way,” Captain Frost explained. “The manafested is discussing with the treefolk what they sensed in comparison to what the treefolk reported to us.” He gestured towards their mage in blue jeans and an untucked red button up shirt calmly discussing something with a pair of treefolk.
Priss had met treefolk before. They were an extremely gentle and kind people that called most distant places of nature home. For the most part treefolk were human looking; arms and legs in the right places with the right proportions. A treefolk, on average, was around four and a half feet tall. Their skin was the color of tree bark and their hair was often brown or black in color. That hair was always a tangled mess with leaves and small twigs caught in it. Their clothing looked like leaves and grass woven together into a single piece shift. Far as Priss knew, both men and women wore this style of clothing. Though it was difficult to be sure. Treefolk were androgynous in their physicality and made no effort to distinguish genders. They were more concerned about maintain their connection to nature than maintaining social constructs.
Treefolk’s intimate connection to nature made them powerful nature-sourced mages. The Crescent Dawn did not usually deal with mages that were unbound or monsters in a cordial manner, and the treefolk were a fusion of mage and monster by all accounts. However, the treefolk of the Scarred Wood were treated as informants by Crescent Dawn. They did not get harassed or hunted by members and in return the treefolk made some resources of their village, Elm’s Bark, available to Crescent Dawn expedition teams. This mostly manifested in information of budding threats in the region or supplies for extended expeditions.
Priss honestly thought that this arrangement only existed because of how kind and peaceful the treefolk were. If they were serious about keeping Crescent Dawn out of their territory then it would escalate into a full-scale conflict. One that she didn’t think Crescent Dawn had the resources to fight for any length of time. Nature-sourced magic in a magical forest had to be a terrifying force to be reckoned with.
Priss’ father always maintained a cautious vigilance with the treefolk and other peaceful denizens of the Hidden World that Crescent Dawn dealt with. He thought it only take one small step for them to break the Veil and invade the Veiled World. Therefore, he kept a watchful eye on all he considered more monster than man.
“Is there a problem with the information?” Commander Sunkin asked.
“Not entirely sure. I don’t know speak monster,” Captain Frost replied with a shrug.
“That is something you could easily change,” Priss reprimanded without thinking, “you could take lessons from the Moon Department on how to translate mana-charged languages. Just set aside your attitude and ask nicely.”
“And take more of my time away to study with another kind of monster? I think not. Some of us find it uncomfortable to be around those wolves in sheep’s skin,” Captain Frost retorted with a snort.
“Enough,” Commander Sunkin ordered, “this is why we brought the bound mage. It… he will be the translator between us and the treefolk. Corporal Daniels is our substitute translator she has taken lessons in mana-charged language translation.” With that being the end of the conversation, he strode towards the mage and treefolk to interject. This left Priss standing alone with Captain James Frost.
“Get anything good from your winnings?” he asked noncommittally. Priss looked at him in confusion for a moment as she attempted to connect the dots on the question and its unspoken context.
“Ohh,” Priss said as it dawned on her, “No idea, haven’t opened them yet. Spent too much time staying warm with Terry because of how cold last night was.” Priss watched James’ hand tighten into a fist and a narrow-eyed glare cross his face before he regained his composure. “It’s not like you care about a game about monsters anyways,” Priss continued before he could have a word, “you are just upset I’m spending my time with Terry and not you.”
Since he had joined Crescent Dawn five years ago he had been determined to be with her. Well, that was a gentle way of saying that he wanted to own her. Own her in that nearly archaic socio-macho sense. James saw Priss as the daughter of a powerful person, and she a gateway token to power for himself. Priss, however, refused to be taken or controlled. The fact that such a narrow-minded ass like James thought it was his right for such possession of her just infuriated Priss.
It wasn’t just James, Priss had no interest in people like James at all. He had some power and used it to push and control the world around him to his liking. James saw her as something his power could take. When he had initially made his move to possess her Priss handily beat him into the floor of the Crescent Dawn training room. She had let him know she had no interest and dismissed him. This made her more desirable to the cretin and he continued to sway Priss to being a trophy claimed.
How James did this was by training hard and believing that beating Priss in a fight would win her over. She wasn’t sure how the idea of beating her in a sparring match was the condition to meet for her affection, but he followed that dogma for years. He actually got decently strong along the way. His amount of qi was more than her own at this stage of growth, but this was mostly due to the martial tradition he practiced. James was the only Crescent Dawn Mason that practiced the East’s method of qi core placement—just below his naval. This qi core location allowed the martial the largest amount of qi to be kept within their core. Basically, his reserves of raw qi were larger than her own.
Priss, however, was still stronger than James due to experience and technique. Her father had trained her in the Mason tradition of martial practice all her life. She formed her qi core at the tender age of five, ten years before it was considered safe to do so. Her father insisted on a training regiment that had her using it every day once it was stable. Was this safe for Priss? No, not really. An inappropriate or over use of qi can permanently harm the body and disallow the qi to flow smoothly. A child is more likely to make these mistakes while using their qi because they are still learning how to operate their bodies. Despite these dangers to her, Priss’ father had his daughter create her qi core at five years old so she could become something more—he hoped to mold Priss into a Mason that reached to highest tier of strength.
The extra time and extreme training with her qi allowed Priss to exceed most of her peers in qi technique prowess, and James was no exception. James absolutely hated that Priss was stronger than him. To be honest, Priss was not actually stronger, but more skilled and practiced and this allowed her to not lose a single training match, mission, or competition when facing off against him. James was a man that held a high opinion of himself and his physical prowess, in all perceptions of the phrase, and his inability to conquer her truly pissed him off. Pissed off is only part of how James sees it though. Priss was a challenge, an objective for the conqueror’s path to power. Too bad for the conqueror that this girl wasn’t having any of his shit and would remind him violently so if needed.
James’ frustration to not being able to conquer Priss really came to a head when she was given the observation mission regarding a potential void-sourced mage. A mission that took a more romantic path with a possible manafested monster; well, monster to most Masons. Once Priss and Terry were public about their relationship, even if it was a cover her observation mission, James became even more unbearable.
He bullied Terry like a jealous teenager, which, Priss supposed, he was. She took care of the bullying, but James was always around; keeping an eye on her and Terry. Priss suspected he reported to her father with extreme bias. Whether James’ supervision was his on initiative or on order from her father Priss didn’t know nor did it really matter. James doggedly followed the creed of her father in hopes to impress him and move forward within Crescent Dawn and as a Mason. Both men would do terrible things if they found out about Terry actually being a mage. That was something that Priss would not allow to happen.
“Having such… engagements with the target of a mission creates blind spots and is ultimately unprofessional,” James said with the barest hint of tact. “That doesn’t even go into the fact he is a manafested and should be contained in the strictest of manners. Not coddled and cuddled.” Priss bristled at that.
“What’s unprofessional is continually harassing a peer while they are successfully performing their duty and also continuous poking at a potentially powerful unbound mage to the point of persecution,” Priss snapped back, “I have said in my reports before; it is better to create trust rather than distance. He is easier to observe this way.”
“So offering yourself to a manafested makes you a top-grade Mason?” he retorted, “that makes you nothing but a who… ugh!” James failed to finish his statement because Priss swung her leg forward with a surge of qi and kicked him in the stomach—right where his qi core settled. His words and wind whooshed out of him as he flew back into a tree ten feet behind him. Sadly, James took no real damage due to his armor enchantment activating, but it was damn satisfying all the same.
“What is going on here?!” Commander Sunkin bellowed as he seemed to materialize before Priss. His severely creased brow and the small licks of flame that erupted from his blade offered a hint as to his humor towards this situation. Priss shrugged casually.
“Captain Frost was about to say something unwise and I decided to test his reaction time while his guard was down,” Priss replied with a professional nonchalance, “his results leave much room for improvement.” Commander sunkin was nonplussed by this response as he glaned between Priss and the winded captain.
“This shall be added to the debrief we will have once the missions concludes,” he finally said. “Captain! Get up, we have work to do.” Captain Frost grunted as he rose. He walked slowly as he came to stand with Priss and her father. Priss delighted in seeing he was hovering a hand over the spot she kicked him. Perhaps it was more effective than she thought. The mage, whose name Priss could not remember for the life of her, walked over from the Treefolk he had been talking to and spoke the the Masons before him.
“Alright, so here is the situation as I understand it,” he said while adjusting the zipper of his sweater, “the Treefolk have been asking the trees…” Captain Frost coughed. It sounded fake to Priss. The mage must have thought so as well, because he scowled at Captain Frost before continuing. “… they asked the trees to keep an eye on any magic used that is not nature-sourced. Basically, any magic that isn’t theirs. The trees have informed them that a semi-consistent use of patron-sourced magic has been heading steadily Northwest for t he past month.”
“From here that direction would lead to the Scar, wouldn’t it?” Priss asked.
“Yes, it does,” the mage nodded. “the Treefolk and I agree that if that is the shaman, and that is its destination, then it most likely has a corruptor as a patron.”
“What exactly is a corruptor?” Captain Frost questioned with an abrasive tone, “and why does it matter? Manafested is manafested regardless of source.” The mage took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Priss herself was wide-eyed at James’ blunt comment. Most Masons in the Sun Department of Crescent Dawn thought magic was dangerous and any who used it were diseased, but they refrained from using the term ‘manafested’ in front of mages from the Moon Department. Doing so would create too much additional tension on an already tenuous relationship. Apparently, James didn’t care. Priss glanced at Commander Sunkin to gauge his reaction but saw no hint of his thoughts on the comment.
“A corruptor patron is a malevolent spirit that sinks into the mind of its mage and allows that mage to influence the minds of those around them,” the mage answered after calming himself.
“Give a corrupter time to grow and they can brainwash those who surround its mage,” Commander Sunkin added, “perfect for creating loyal hordes of fiends and monsters. Eventually they can completely take over their mage’s mind and body, becoming the physical manifestation of their spirit-self. That is when a whole new problem on a whole other scale begins.”
“Why would anyone make a contract with such a patron? That sounds like such a terrible deal,” Priss asked. Her father looked between her and Captain Frost. He shook his head in disappointment before answering.
“It seems our company’s youth have a distinct lack of knowledge regarding those we protect the Veiled World from, mage would you be so kind as to inform our pair of disappointments?” The mage’s eyes narrow for a moment in frustration, but then he yielded.
“A mage that takes such a patron is due to it being an easy path to power. Most patron-sourced mages would be underwhelming if they used a different source. So the promise of power beyond their own means is too alluring for them,” the mage explained with a hint of exasperation in his voice.
“Doesn’t matter how potentially vile and powerful they might be in the future,” Captain Frost said, “I’ll just crush the manafested before it endangers the veil.” He smashed a fist into an open palm for emphasis. The mage looked to be on the precipice of passively frustrated and absolutely livid. A glance at Captain Frost showed him to be grinning at the mage.
That bastard knows exactly what he is doing.
Is he trying to have the Moon Department file a complaint? Or worse, retaliate?
“Continue with the report,” Commander Sunkin commanded as if the tension was unimportant. Priss couldn’t help but let out a small huff at her father’s lack of even a comment. He was the Commander of the Sun Department and co-owner of Crescent Dawn, but he did nothing to stop or alleviate the tension between the mage and James.
“If the shaman has a corruptor patron, then going to the Scar allows for more flexibility to perform its specialized magic. There is no ambient sourced-mana at the Scar so it can perform at perfect efficiency; unlike if this shaman were to perform its magic in the woods where high levels of ambient nature-sourced mana presides,” the mage continued to explain. Priss only had a rudimentary understanding of magic, enough to fight manifest.
No, I can’t think… I won’t think like that anymore.
“Why is there no nature magic at the Scar?” Priss hurriedly asked. She hoped to both distract herself from her thoughts and learn something that could help herself and Terry. The mage’s eyebrows raised in surprise by the genuine question.
“Because the void-sourced spell that originally created the Scar left a festering trace of its roots. Since void-sourced spells come from nothing, there is nothing to resist a corruptor from doing its work,” the mage answered his face lifting the scowl of suspicion a bit.
“How does this relate to the flair of magic you sensed earlier?” Commander Sunkin asked in his leadership voice.
“It honestly might not,” the mage confessed, “for starters, that flair of magic is East of Elm’s Bark—not at all in the direction that the Treefolk say the shaman is heading
“The concerning part is that the Treefolk and I believe it to be a fledgling void-sourced mage. It they don’t acquire, or gain too abstract, of a attunement then could be a danger to themselves and at least a quarter of the Scarred Wood.”
Priss had a flash of concern. Terry’s cards were magic. Though ignorant of his new identity, Terry was also a novice-level mage. She took a quiet breath to calm herself. Terry didn’t have access to a Veil Portal, he couldn’t be here. He was playing Fate’s Hand with Dave before breakfast, not performing magic here. Plus, although she didn’t know how to test a mage’s mana-source Priss doubted Terry had the rarest and most dangerous of sources.
“I would like to search for this and make sure they are safe and no thre…” the mage attempted to say before Captain Frost interrupted.
“A void manafested! Now there is a real monster,” he said with an excited gleam in his eye, “we should be hunting down that thing instead of this shaman.” The mage finally had enough and burst with blue energy that danced around him like angry flames.
“That thing is probably a lost and scared person,” the mage said with a low and threatening voice, “they will need help to control their magic this early before something terrible happens. Mages are not monsters!” the mage finally began raising his voice as his emotions bleed into his speech. “It is people like you, your words and actions, that force us to become the only thing you see us as—monsters, it is either that or slaves to pacify your own fears.” The mage’s blue energy danced off his body and seemed to reach towards the object of his ire with angry flicks.
“Stop this,” Commander Sunkin ordered quietly, but Captain Frost and the mage didn’t hear him.
“Something that uses powers that can so casually rip holes in the Veil and allow monsters into the Veiled World isn’t a monster itself?” James shot back as he lifts his spear into a ready position.
“And the superhuman abilities of any qi wielder isn’t inherently dangerous?! Does the root of power really matter more than how it is used?” the mage demanded with a roar. Priss idly thought that arguing philosophy with James was an exercise in futility. The mage continued his voice rising to a full-blown yell.
“I joined the Crescent Dawn because a union between Masons and mages and hoped for acceptance in both worlds. Clearly, you have proven me a fool to dream such things.” The watch the mage wore began to glow a violent azure. Geometric symbols that overlapped atop one another glimmered above the watch’s face as a spell formula was swiftly prepared.
Huh, a meta-physics sourced mage. Haven’t seen on of those since Marcus helped Terry move out of the dorms.
Aside from having relatively useless thoughts, Priss was still as she watched the escalation of this argument. There wasn’t much that she could do without making it worse. Plus, she wasn’t really sure who was in the right. Mages were dangerous to the Veiled World. They could very easily bring back the monsters and creatures that terrorized the humanity many millennia ago with careless use of their power. Then the efforts of ancient martials would be wasted. However, the man she had fallen in love with, besides her intention and better judgement, was a mage. She did not want him to become someone hunted and persecuted for what he is rather than who he is.
Would I have treated Terry like this if I had met mage before the man? The thought sent an unpleasant shiver down Priss’ spine. She did not like the answer her subconscious gave her.
“Enough!” Commander Sunkin bellowed as he stretched out a hand towards the mage. Red-orange qi rolled off his arm like weighted fire as he did so. The mage’s watch began to glow red instead of blue. He suddenly reeled his hand towards his chest and cried out in pain. The mage then collapsed to his knees and gingerly held his right wrist.
Wow. Didn’t know father had been able to use elemental qi projection. He might make it to the Champion rank yet.
Commander Sunkin looked angerly between the two offenders. “This argument has no point to it. Mages are welcome to Crescent Dawn if rules, such as not aiming attunements as fellow members, are followed. Moonsister Yarrow and I made this company to ensure mages could live amongst us and use their powers for the benefit of the Veil.
“You, mage, are acting as if you are chained. We have not caged you. You are free to be a part of the world while the Sun Department and I protect you from other Masons and extremists.” Priss found herself nodding along to what her father said. It was, after all, the creed she was raised on and until recently had not questioned it. The mage looked pained and pissed as he glared at Commander Sunkin. He did not say anything though. Either too pained or wising up to back talk the man who just displayed the ability to project elemental qi.
“Corporal,” Priss straightened as Commander Sunkin turned to address her.
“Sir!”
“You will head Northwest towards where the shaman is supposedly heading. Once you confirm the target is there wait for myself or the captain to regroup with you before removing the target.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Yes sir,” Priss saluted with slight hesitation. The drama that just happened was still weighing on her mind. Her father seemed to write it off immediately.
“Captain,” Commander Sunkin continued, “you will head East towards the fledgling mage and ascertain their temperament. If they are unbound, offer them an invitation to our Moon Department,” Priss saw the mage twitch at that, but the reaction could have been caused by pain as well. “If they decline or prove too dangerous, then do what is necessary to protect the Veil’s security. We cannot afford another rogue void mage in North America.” Captain Frost saluted in the affirmative to the order.
“What will you do sir?” Priss asked before she could bite her tongue. She gulped a little. Her father detested being questioned or talked back to. This time, he didn’t seem to mind or catch what she said as such though.
“I will be staying by the portal and having a chat with our mage companion. I need to reassure him that the Captain’s outburst and his retaliation are not acceptable and that alleviate his misconceptions.”
“They why is he going after the young mage?!” the wounded, but apparently still spirited mage demanded as he pointed at Captain Frost. “You saw how he treated an attuned and friendly mage! Frost will kill that new mage on sight!” Talking back was probably a poor decision, but he seemed to accept the consequences and go all in with reprimand the commander.
“And another thing! I have a name, all people do. My name is Ralph Calk, call me by name; not just mage or monster.” Priss’ father sighed, actually sighed.
“Very well, Mage Calk, you make an excellent point. The Captain’s present condition does make him a poor candidate of first contact operative. Corporal you will go East instead. Same first contact protocols remain in effect.”
“Affirmative, may I be dismissed?” Commander Sunkin nodded and she was off before Captain Frost could object to the reassignment. Priss agreed with the mage, no, with Ralph, that James should not be anywhere near a new mage. Especially one so potentially dangerous and scared. Her imagination showed her in vivid detail what would have been the likely outcome if that mage had been Terry and Captain Frost had been sent out. Priss clenched her jaw in anger at something that didn’t happen and pushed on Eastward.
Priss’ movement towards the East was at a steady jog. At least to her it was a jog. When qi was infused with muscles, the most basic of techniques a martial could wield, the body’s performance quickly stretched what was thought as physically possible. Her steady jog with qi flowing through her legs and filling her lungs was comparable to a full sprint from an Olympic athlete, and she could keep up the pace for three days straight. No hyperbole there, her father’s training regiment for her consistently tested and pushed her limits; qi endurance being one of them.
Minutes passed as did the green scenery of trees and underbrush surrounding her. She slowed to an almost normal walk when she came to a realization: she had no way of determining where the fledgling mage was. Sure, she knew magic when she saw it, but there was no magic in the forest surrounding her vision. The commander was probably going to give her a sensor to assist with this slight issue, but she was out the gate and off to the races before the saddle was on, so to speak. Before she could think further on the matter a sing-song voice reached her ears.
“Daughter-sun, this one greets.”
Priss raised her shield reflexively and turned in the direction of the voice. A Treefolk stood before her. They were a bit taller than the average for their kind, a nest of black hair tangled onto itself atop its head. Priss lowered her shield and relaxed her posture.
“Sun daughter greets child of the trees,” Priss replied. Treefolk had a particular way of speaking that Priss did not think she would ever fully master. They avoided pronouns like I, me, and you. Something about those words being assumptive, or too narrow for their perspective of the world. Priss wasn’t really certain. When Moonsister Yarrow taught Priss how to speak mana-charged languages, such as the Treefolk’s, it had come with cultural lessons as well. It was those parts of the lessons that Priss would have slept through if she were in a classroom and not being tutored. Needless to say, the lessons that stuck with her were selective.
“How may I help you?” Priss asked and then mentally cringed. Hadn’t she just reminded herself to avoid that word? The Treefolk didn’t seem to mind.
“Daughter-sun travels towards mage-new but has lost the way. Turned around daughter-sun will become,” the Treefolk said plainly. Now Priss thought about it a bit, the Treefolk’s speech kind of reminded her of an old sci-fi movie character from a film trilogy she found online. Terry absolutely loved those movies once she showed them to him.
“Yes,” Priss answered with an inquiring tone.
“mage-new is watched,” the Treefolk continued, “monster of the Scar comes for mage-new.” This was news to Priss. Trees must be talkative today.
“The monster of the Scar watches the new mage?” Priss asked to affirm her understanding. The Treefolk shook their head side to side.
“No. mage-smoke watches mage-new. Monster-Scar comes for mage-new,” the Treefolk explained. So the fledgling mage was part of a group. Why else would another being watching over them?
“Why tell Sun Daughter this?” Priss made sure not to use personal pronouns this time. She gave herself a mental cheer at the small success. The Treefolk tilted its head quizzically for a moment, listening to something Priss could not and then replied.
“The trees say mage-new smells of daughter-sun.”
“What?” Priss asked intelligently.
“The trees say new-mage smells of daughter-sun,” the Treefolk repeated helpfully.
Take a breath, Priss. That’s right, breathe. Now why would someone smell of me? If they have my scent then they…
“Terry!” Priss exclaimed and screamed at the same time as the realization struck her. “Where is he?” Priss asked with rising panic. The Treefolk pointed what was probably Southeast and spoke.
“Go this way daughter-sun, follow the leaves-yellow to find mage-new. Then listen for screams.” Well that wasn’t ominous at all. Before she could question the Treefolk further she witnessed its bark like skin transmogrify into actual bark. The unkempt hair stretched and took on a green hue, the texture becoming that of leaves. The Treefolk had become of tree. In another situation this revelation would have been fascinating, but Priss was already swiveling her head around looking for tree with yellow leaves.
In another display of what Priss assumed was Treefolk use of nature-sourced magic Priss watched as a rough line of trees began shifting the color of their leaves into the fall colors of yellow. The line of yellow leaved trees was in the general direction that the Treefolk pointed towards. Without giving time to really question if the Treefolk’s information was trustworthy Priss bolted along the path of yellow leaved trees. Terry was in the Hidden World and he needed help.
~
I could really use of help.
Terry moaned in pain as he watched the Sanguine Bat flutter between the four goblins. Their long limbs offered reach to their nails and weapons, but they were uncoordinated as a group and kept smacking each other rather than the bat. Terry’s flying ally did get struck by the flailing goblins occasionally, but the damage seemed superficial. It was difficult to tell for certain since its fur was the same color as blood.
Terry sat up on the ground with a struggle. He bit down on his lip to keep the involuntary sound of pain from escaping. Any noise like that might remind the goblins he was there, and he was in no position to do something about that. His body stung from the beating he received from the goblins. Oversized purple blotches of skin formed where clubs struck, rends of flesh showed where claws and that stone dagger have run across his body. The healing the vamp bat had given him took the painful edge of the wounds, but anything beyond this small movement was an unimaginable labor.
Something had to change, soon. This tenuous situation would quickly fall out of favor for Terry. His… familiar? Summon? Creature? Friend? Minion? Terry wasn’t sure the proper term to use when referring to the Sanguine Bat but knowing would not be helpful in the moment. His bat could only distract. Attacking entailed latching on with fangs and drinking in the vital essence of its prey. That made it remain still enough for others to easily attack it. Goblins, while largely unskilled from what Terry saw, could successfully strike an immobile target. He has the bruises and cuts to prove that.
Might as well try another card, vamp bats are strongest when paired with another card.
Terry was grateful that whatever this magic was that it was similar to Fate’s Hand. This was the only way he even had an inkling of what to do with the power. He extended his intent into his immediate surroundings, his jacket pocket in this case. There were still two blue echoes and two bronze chimes. Terry tried to reach out to the blue echoes, but they remained unmoving to his summons. That left the bronze chimes, his common rank cards.
With no idea on how to differentiate the cards with this magic color sight/sound he was using, and as he was in too much pain to physically draw cards for inspection, he pulled at one randomly. Energy drained out of him and into the card now held in his hand.
When did that happen?
The metaphorical tub of power within Terry was now getting dangerously low. He could imagine warning sirens going off and some grandfatherly voice telling him that his health and mana are low, did he have any potions or food? There was, however, no grandfatherly voice and Terry certainly did not have any potions or food. He did have a magic playing card in his hand and that was probably more useful in this circumstance. A quick glance revealed what Terry had to work with.
Unsettling Fog
Class: Common (Field)
Create a thin layer of fog which shrouds a 50ft radius. Entities within the fog hear murmurs that reduce awareness and gradually foster hallucinations. A powerful, or willful, being may be unaffected by the fog.
“This might actually work,” Terry whispered to himself. He had never used a field card before since they fell out of fashion before his time playing Fate’s Hand, but if the card did what it said then the probably weak-minded goblins wouldn’t stand a chance. He focused more of his intent on the card and willed it to activate its described power and hoped that there wasn’t some hidden caveat to its use.
The card shimmered as it responded to Terry’s intent and white fog billowed forth from it. The fog cloud took moments to completely cover the immediate area. Once that was done the card faded from Terry’s hand. The fog persisted and Terry felt a connection to it. The bond was not like the one he had to the Sanguine Bat. There was no presence with this. Terry just felt a trickle of what he assumed was his mana leaking from him and through the bond into the fog’s conjuration.
Terry looked back towards the fight between the goblins and his summoned bat. Summon seemed like the best word for the bat. It was more difficult to see due to the fog, but he got a general idea of what was happening—the card had said it was just a thin layer of fog after all. Terry saw the goblins’ large ears swivel side to side as they looked around themselves. Through the unfamiliar connection he had with the Sanguine Bat, Terry sent a command and hoped that it worked.
Attack one on the edge.
The connection quivered for a moment as tension began to strain the bond. Terry’s instincts screamed that the summon was trying to resist the command. Panicked he would lose his only ally in this struggle, Terry’s will clamped down on the connection with desperate force and pulled the bond closer to him. The Sanguine Bat did not physically get closer to him, but Terry felt a tighter bond with the creature due to his action. The summon settled down and seemed more open to Terry’s order.
The shadows in the fog continued flailing blindly as they seemed to lose their senses. Were the whispers in fog that distracting for them? Why wasn’t he affected by it? Could he control the effects? These excellent questions were interrupted as an uncontrollable wave of nausea struck Terry. His body shook as a chill swept across him. He rolled onto his side and retched. Bile stung his throat and coated his mouth with its awful flavor. All Terry could focus on was this new dynamic to his present pain.
Moments and deep breaths later Terry rolled onto his back. Above him the tree line gave way to a beautiful blue sky that showed the sun near the apex of its daily journey. Had the whole morning really passed that quickly? Wait. Terry could see the sky. See the sun. Where was the fog?
Terry raised his head to get a better view of his situation. The fog really was gone. He clearly saw a trio of goblins shaking their heads. As if clearing their minds of something. There was another goblin, but it was on the ground. A sizeable gash across its throat coating the surrounding flesh in crimson told the tale of what happened to it. Where was the vamp bat? That summon was his lifeline.
Terry mentally probed for that bond he had pulled closer to him to take control of the card monster. He did not find it. Panic set in once again. With the panic came additional adrenaline he thought had been spent in his earlier flight. With the adrenaline his pain was pushed aside and he stood on shaky legs. He tugged at his mana tub, that was really a poor choice of word but it didn’t feel like the size of a pool, and nearly collapsed back on the ground. What had been teeming with magic essence at the beginning of this last stand had run dry. Terry was out of magic.
Well, that explains the missing bat and fog.
His legs began shaking in weariness and pain once again as the reality of his situation settled into his mind.
He was not going to be able to escape from this.
“Hey, you green bastards!” Terry yelled, surprising the goblins and himself. The sound snapped the goblins’ attention back towards him though. “Come and get some if you’re brave enough.” He raised his voice and fists in defiance towards his foes and prepared for what came next.
The goblins were not frightened by Terry’s declaration.
Damn. Well, at least I’ll get a swing in before the end of this.
They looked at Terry with a hungry malevolence. This wasn’t going to be pretty, pleasant, or even plausible. But, at least he was on his feet this time. With a war cry the trio of goblins charged. With a returning shout Terry stood his ground and waited.
One of the goblins pulled ahead of the other two with a loping gait and crouched low preparing to leap the remaining distance. Terry dully noted that it kind of looked like a frog in that position. Another war cry signaled it flight towards Terry. He raised up his fists and prepared to swing for the impact. He spread his feet in hopes of remaining stand after the impact, but that was hopeful thinking. He was hardly standing as is. A stiff breeze would push him over.
A high tone whistle sound swiftly approached Terry from the side, beyond his sight, and he idly thought a stiff breeze might actually be coming to knock him over. Before he could twist his head to inspect the direction the whistling sound came from a streak of silver rushed into his line of sight and towards the mid-leap goblin.
The silver streak moved too swiftly for Terry to identify it. The object did stop with a loud crack as it connected with the leaping goblin. The creature had been knocked back a good ten feet or so from the impact site and Terry now had a clear visual of what hit the soon to be killer. A black and silver disk the size of a small end table was embedded in its chest by the rim. The goblin lay unmoving. Terry and the two remaining goblins looked at one another and silently asked if they knew what caused this.
“Terry!” a wonderfully familiar voice shouted from the direction the disk came from. He looked to a clearly humanoid blur run out of the foliage and gently slam into him. The force of the impact buckled his knees and he collapsed into the sudden embrace. Taking a breath to replace the air the crash forced from his lungs Terry took in the sweet scent of apples.
“Terry,” a brunette woman clad in some sort of black/brown studded leather outfit said as she hugged him a bit too tightly. “Are you ok? What are you doing here? How did you get here? Who is watching you? Where are they?” the rapid fire questions started with concern and ended with a snarl.
“Hey there troublemaker,” Terry wheezed as Priss continued to crush him. “Can questions and crushing wait till later? These guys have been after me for a while.” Priss lightened her hug and glanced at the two goblins behind her. They were finally coming to their senses and raising their weapons threateningly.
“huhh,” she sighed. “Think you can stand for a bit? I’ll take care of this.” Priss took a tentative step back as she released Terry from their embrace. He had been leaning on her for more support than she realized because he immediately began tottering and falling towards the ground. She quickly caught him and took a serious look at him. He was beaten and bruised from bludgeoned attacks and had several nasty cuts from claws that probably needed to be cleaned. Blood coated the clothing and flesh surrounding those wounds. Terry looked like he had been through hell. Priss was honestly surprised he wasn’t in worse shape if he didn’t have anything to defend himself with.
That’s not completely true, he is probably the fledgling mage. Where is his magic?
“Did the goblins do this to you? Or was it the smoke mage?” Priss asked with an icy tone.
“Goblins,” Terry groaned. The adrenaline leaving his system, making him even more weak and shaky.
“Alright, sit tight and I’ll be right back,” Priss told him. Terry complied as she guided him to the ground.
“Be careful, they hurt a lot.” Priss adjusted her grip on the short sword now in her hand and spun on the goblin duo.
“Don’t worry. I’m far too powerful to fear trash like them.” Priss spoke with steel in her voice that Terry only heard when she was royally pissed off.
The goblins found their nerves and charged once Priss was facing them. She stood there for a moment, two moments, waiting for them. It could have been the near blinding flairs of pain, or perhaps the blood loss, but she had been standing there in front of Terry and then she wasn’t. A goblin screamed surprised pain as a foot of sharpened steel sprout from its chest like a blade of grass. Priss appeared a moment later behind the goblin with the steel growth, a grim look covering her face.
The second goblin reacted swifter than Terry would have credited to the creature and pulled back its club to swing at Priss. She glanced at the creature is cold eyes and its clearly orchestrated attack. Without any pull back of the arm as warning, her free hand flew towards the goblins throat and jabbed at it. The goblin’s windpipe visibly caved and it collapsed gurgling. A vicious sucking sound announced that Priss drew her blade out of the goblin sheath in front of her. She deftly beheaded the first goblin with a single stroke and the second followed shortly after.
Terry looked at his girlfriend with new awareness in his eyes. She just dispatched two creatures, three he corrected as he glanced at the silver black disk still embedded in another goblin, with casual ease. At least he knew what her insane workout routine was for. Priss surveyed the surrounding area with a determined and practiced gaze as she scanned for more threats. Priss looked less like the over-competitive woman Terry knew and more like a predator in this moment.
Silence pervaded the bloodied patch of forest as he watched his girlfriend clean blood off her very real sword with a flick of her wrist. With no further threat to his life Terry’s mind caught up to who exactly was here with him.
“Hey Priss,” he began slowly and quietly. Pain echoed from his voice as his body was still singing its wounded symphony. “I know we joked about you being some sort of secret ninja, but are you actually a secret ninja?” As he voiced his question Priss walked over to the metal disk to retrieve it—oh it was shield, a buckler. Once the question was out she turned and looked at Terry, an unreadable expression on her face. She quietly walked over to Terry and sat on the ground next to him. Priss wrapped her arms around him, gingerly this time, and buried her face into the safe space that was where his neck and shoulders met. There she laughed before replying.
“That is the first thing you ask me? Am I really a secret ninja? Really?” Priss was trying to keep her voice composed but small fits of laughter broke through between each question of her own. Terry blushed, which Priss thankfully couldn’t see, but she was right. There had to be better questions to ask than that. Once her chuckling fit subsided, Priss sat up and looked at Terry. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Terry asked, he had just been saved by her. He only stayed still like he was told.
“For not freaking out immediately. I never knew for certain how you’d react if you found out I can do, well, do that,” Priss gestured towards the slaughtered goblins. “I didn’t want you to shun me if you knew I was capable and willing to do stuff like that.” Terry looked at Priss with a small kind smile and wearily laid his head on her shoulder before answering.
“Honestly, I might freak out a bit later, once I get a grip on what is going on, but shun you? No, definitely not. Keep you closer because you’re now more badass than I knew before, that’s a definite possibility,” Terry said as he raised his head and kissed Priss’ cheek. Priss looked at Terry with a mixture of thankful and joyful tears in her eyes. She rubbed her head against Terry’s affectionately and then spoke up.
“So I have to bring this up; how did you get here? Who is watching you? The Treefolk said a smoke mage was watching you.”
“Watching me?” Terry muttered quizzically before something clicked in his mind. “Oh! That must be referring to Dr. Ramirez. Who are the Treefolk?”
“Dr. Ramirez is the smoke mage?” Priss asked with eyebrows raised in surprise. “I had no idea he was even a mage.”
“Yeah, I had no idea either. I was heading to Cardstock and the street became a forest when I wasn’t looking. Then Dr. R tells me to take this test and tosses me a ring and says powerful forces watch me,” Terry said raising his hands to make air quotations.
“I know this might sound crazy.”
“Stop right there,” Terry interrupted with a slash of the hand. “Yes, it will sound crazy, but Dr. R said everything around me is real. My beaten and cut body hurts in a very real way. These goblins looked and sounded very real. You,” he paused to take Priss’ hand, “are very, very real to my touch. So, let’s skip the ‘world is not what you have known’ diatribe and just tell me what is happening. Because that would mean more to me than coddling my disillusionment.” Priss smiled sadly at Terry but squeezed his hand and nodded.
“You’re handling this better than I feared. Better than most Veiled I’ve heard of thrown into the Hidden World.”
“Had to accept it all rather quick. Dr. R hit me with smoke, goblins ran me down like I was a hunted fox, and I summoned a bat from a playing card. There is only so much that can be dismissed with the suspension of disbelief.”
“Wait, you summoned a bat?”
“Yeah, I was about to get my skull caved in and then kind of heard… well I heard something. If I were to put into words I know it would be that I heard colors and then pulled at one with my intent. The Sanguine Bat card appeared in my hand then the actual bat did,” Terry explained.
“Wow,” Priss said smartly, “lot to unpack right there. Which is something we don’t have time for. I’ll keep what you need to know simplified right now. Once we are out of here all the questions you have can be answered better.” Terry nodded and Priss continued.
“My job,” she began, “is to maintain the secrecy of the world you now find yourself in, the Hidden World, and the security of the world you have known, the Veiled World. I, and the people I work with, are called Masons. American practitioners of qi. We keep monsters out of the Veiled World and make sure no Veiled Ones, people who don’t know about the Hidden World, don’t stumble into it.”
“Dr. R called you a martial, is that a type of mason?” Terry asked without really thinking about their tenuous peace at the moment. Instead of reprimanding him Priss just answered the question.
“All Masons are martials, but not vice versa. Martials are people who use qi to enhance their body. But there are different types of martials in the world.” Terry looked about to ask another questions but Priss beat him to it.
“No, you are not a martial,” Priss paused and took a breath, “you’re a mage Terry.”
“Oh come on!” Terry exclaimed raising his arms up in exasperation before he yelped in pain. His body was still battered after all. He flopped on the ground before eying Priss and speaking again. “Ouch, forgot for a second I was actually in quite a bit of pain. And you! You were one word away from an absolutely perfect reference, and you blew it.”
“Can you take this seriously?” Priss huffed.
“Yes ma’am,” Terry said sullenly as he painful rose up from his back. “So what you do and I did are different? How?”
“That’s a good question I’m not really qualified to answer,” Priss confessed. “Someone from the Moon Department would be better, but I’m not sure going there would be the best option for you.”
“Moon Department? And why keep me away?”
“the Moon Department is where the mages of my father’s company, Crescent Dawn, work,” Priss answered. “I kind of want to keep you away for a couple reasons: one, you are probably a type of mage they couldn’t appropriately handle or want to. Two, because I don’t think I can agree with how mages are treated there. I certainly don’t want you treated that way.”
“How are mages treated there? Surely they don’t treat other people too poorly,” Terry asked. Priss involuntarily flinched at his innocent comment.
“Like how James treats you in most cases,” she replied weakly, “but there are times it is worse.”
“Ahh,” Terry said, mostly to himself. After a pause his mind connected some dots with the new context and asked a new question. “Have I always been a mage?” Priss looked up sharply and gazed at the man she had come to know and admire, and love over these two years.
I should just tell him everything. I was going to this evening anyways. What does it matter if it is here and now?
I should probably also tell him that I used to treat mages poorly as well. But that I changed because of him. No, not because of him. I knew felt uncomfortable with how Masons treated mages but didn’t acknowledge it. Terry just gave me the reason to acknowledge it.
Priss opened her mouth to confess her thoughts and past to Terry but was stopped when she saw him starring wide-eyed at something behind her.
“What’s wrong love?” She quietly inquired. Her instincts telling her to slowly prepare herself and her weapons. Terry barely moved and did not make eye-contact. His sight was directly focused on whatever was behind her. A dull burst of orange light caught her eye and she glanced down towards it.
In Terry’s hand was the True Familiar Fate’s Hand card. Had Terry just performed magic without an attunement? But, maybe that wasn’t the case. The card was too concrete, too focused an object for faulty spellwork. The card meant something, but she didn’t know magic enough to guess at what or why. A major crack of timber brought Priss’ attention away from her musing and into the present moment once again.
“Priss,” Terry said with a tremble in his voice, “what is that?”