Ivan watched Thomas go when Daybreak's pride finally burnt down all the way and he turned tail and ran. Thomas's eyes were pained, but Ivan really didn't care. He bent and picked up the blood stained and trampled report Tila had made. Somehow, though he felt so numb, tears still managed to fall from his face and soak into the dirty paper. Ivan stored them away in the Shroud; Penelope being ready to take them as they came in.
“I'm sorry for all this Ivan. I'm so sorry. Ana's waiting at the Parish. Come see us please.”
“Leave.” Was all Ivan could manage to say, and that was barely more than a hoarse whisper.
Ivan stared at the blood stain under his feet for what felt like a long time before Andy and Marvin came and got him. Meeda and Layla were already inside the Inn when Ivan was brought inside. Myrn was with them, crying her eyes out, but she fought her way through the tears when Ivan came in.
Ivan met her gaze for a moment, and then felt like nothing more than a complete failure. He hadn't been able to save Tanya. He hadn't saved Jen or Ral. Mother Melda, the orphans, or Father Julian. He was so angry, but for all that what had it done? He had done so much, and gained so much in so little time after that, but now? Now he hadn't been able to heal a child.
Thomas could have, but he was at some party probably enjoying himself a great deal and celebrating how great a big fucking hero he was.
Ivan couldn't look up at Myrn or her aunt and uncle. He was too ashamed.
Meeda's hand on his collar made him anticipate a punch, but the stern-faced ginger haired man just rocked Ivan's head back enough to clasp him in a nearly bone breaking hug.
“Don't blame yourself boy. Don't do that. You did your best.” He was growling it through his own tears, his arms and body shaking.
Layla and Myrn came next, taking him into their own hugs and for a while it was all any of them could do to just to let it out. Marvin, Andy, and Davian sat in the booths away from them quietly addressing their own personal pains at the loss.
“That girl loved you two. So much. When you would leave she'd ask question after question about what you'd be dealing with. I've been telling her the same little stories I've told her since--” Meeda choked on his tears. “Doesn't matter now.” He grumbled.
Layla clung to his arm, quietly sobbing against his shoulder.
“You—You have her? Myrn said your cloak-- That you could--?”
Ivan nodded before he had to force the man to go on.
“She's whole. I just couldn't...there was too much healing fatigue and she lost too much blood. I--” Ivan hung his head.
“I know boy. I know.” Meeda said, pulling Ivan over to him again.
They sat for a while then. No one really said much of anything for perhaps an hour that dragged on as if it were trying to fill the time for five or six. The death of a child was something that ate at the soul. It didn't really matter if they were troublesome, or cute and sweet like Tila had been. There was a simple fact that all people seemed to understand, except maybe the Rik'taki, but a parent should never have to bury a child.
Childbirth was a dangerous thing without medicine or magic, but even at that moment those long lasting tonics Ivan had could help a woman easily push through the stress of childbirth. Being connected to their mother until the cord was cut the child could safely process and benefit from the potion as well. Birth was something Ivan had seen and helped with many times.
It was an almost holy thing within Istania's church. A celebrated thing. Acolytes were often sent by Istania's various iterations to ride for miles to assist in births. Ivan had done as much more than a few dozen times with Tanya by the time he was fifteen. He had held what felt like countless young lives in his hands right beside her, and used the gentle cleansing and healing magic of his goddess to make sure they were alright.
And now…
And now he had the body of a dead child, one that had cared for him, and thought highly of him, in his Shroud. She lay atop Jen's grave, neatly dressed as she had been at her mothers side. Ivan didn't know what Penelope had done in the meantime, but she had cleaned the clothes and body of its own blood. She lay there, clean, and resting atop a cloak of some kind looted from the dungeon.
Meeda stood after some time had passed, and tapped Ivan on the arm.
He said nothing, but Ivan followed his lead. They went upstairs, the back way from the kitchen, to the private rooms. Myrn's room was up here. There were a number of empty ones. The largest room was for Meeda and his wife, but right next to theirs was a room with a colorfully painted sign.
'Tila's Room' it read.
Little wooden stars she had carved hung on nails, and each were as colorful as the sign. Meeda took some fresh linens from the closet and tucked them under his arm before going to his daughters room. He opened the door and stepped inside beckoning Ivan to follow. Ivan went in, seeing the room filled with book shelves that would never have the chance to fill now, and a large desk that looked new made apart from a few paint stains. There were a few loose sheets of parchment paper on the desk, and there were drawings hung on strings of clothespins everywhere.
Tila's fantasy adventures littered the room and the walls, both, drawn in charcoal and painted. Meeda choked on his own tears silently as he stripped the messy crumpled sheets from the bed and laid out the new ones. He patted them with one shaking hand.
Ivan nodded, stepping forward, and lifted an arm to splay the Shroud over the child sized bed. Penelope aided in the gentle delivery of her body without question, and the girl appeared in her bed, as though she had been sleeping without so much as a sound. Ivan's knees almost buckled and tears leaked down his face as part of his mind reasoned that no child would sleep in such an organized and neat way as she lay now.
Meeda bowed his head, and then slowly fell to the bedside beside his daughter. Myrn and Layla joined them some few moments later, and Ivan found himself staring down at the perfectly intact, little too pale, small child. His scroll appeared, and for a moment Myrn gave him a questioning look.
“I know 'Preserve Body'.” Ivan choked out for the others to clarify his intentions.
Meeda stared for a moment, but nodded.
Ivan worked through the ritual spell, expanding his scroll until it was the size and shape of a bed sheet floating over little Tila. He worked the oval circle into all its detail including all right runes and sigils for divine magic.
“Ivan...Ivan...that's Divine magic. You'll just drain yourself of mana..” Myrn said weakly.
“I don't care.” Ivan said softly.
Myrn tried to find his left hand as his right hung above the ritual circle. Ivan carefully made sure the Shroud concealing his arm had an extra fold to keep her from pricking herself on Quixla's Fang as he borrowed magic from it. He activated the circle, sending sparkling motes down onto Tila's body. They sank through her clothes and to her skin beneath.
The magic didn't restore the vitality of the skin or make it look clear and healthy again. It just stopped the decay, for a little while at least. Ivan looked down at the girl, another child's face in his memory that he would never see grow old.
“Ivan?” Meeda asked, and then suddenly looked shocked.
Then he slapped his forehead looking up at him with sudden realization.
Ivan hung his head.
“I'm sorry I lied to you. I only ever hoped to keep my name and these troubles from your door in doing so. I just...I just can't seem to get even that right.” Ivan said at once.
“It's not you that brought this trouble boy.” Meeda said firmly, but settled back to continue supporting his wife. Layla almost seemed to have shut down, and gone mostly limp against the head of her daughter's bed.
“I won't believe that crap about Istania being in on some dark power or something. Anyone who knew her knew whatever she did it was for good reason. Questionable or not she did it if it was the best way to help people. Find or make up claims of dark magic or not she was probably studying it with Halspus and her followers or otherwise using it in some clever way to keep people safe without them knowing it.” Meeda said at once.
Ivan found himself nodding. That would be like her. Some might call it reckless behavior, but Istania would do anything to help the people she felt responsible for. Which was basically everybody human and then some.
But Ivan couldn't stay there. Not feeling as tainted as he was. And he was still angry. Angry beyond sense. Furious with the world in a way that no longer exploded, but had washed over him and slipped inside.
Ivan stepped away without a word and eventually found himself in the garden. He had gone there by reflex, his default state being to tend and think and work there as Penelope lectured him or Azalea read the Pyromancy tome aloud to him. It was a convenient way to work and study at the same time.
He knelt at a few of the many planters collecting what he needed to restore some of his missing remedies. He gathered water from the well and made his potions and salves with it. The gentle clink of the jade mortar and pestle was soothing. A few of Ivan's tears threatened to throw off the mixtures, but the enchanted item seemed to cover the impurities. He worked and bottled away several new tonics, surprised by the fact that he was now easily producing Tier 3 Rudimentary Remedies instead of Tier 2. He supposed it came with the Witch Doctor Job's new attributes.
It took quite a bit of mana to invest so many at once, but Ivan saw and felt the shade hounds returning to him. Each time they did they brought stolen mana with them, like a hunk of meat, or a fallen duck back to their master. A part of Ivan seethed in satisfaction knowing little by little the man's sanity would be torn away until the time was right to kill him.
Ivan's head snapped around as he heard the door to the garden shut. He hadn't heard it open, and whoever was there had a clear line to his back from where he was working upon a simple woodworking bench.
The woman in robes stood there, seeming to smile inside her hood.
“Who are you?” Ivan asked, wary even though he knew he could probably do nothing against the woman, especially alone. Penelope might, but he wouldn't play that card yet.
The woman cackled.
“Poplianna Fablehoof.” She answered, and peeled back her hood.
Her old woman's voice faded as she did and the sultry tone of a woman in her prime replaced it. The illusion of her robes peeled away and she stood taller, her hair falling down her back in dark red and purple waves. Her robes changed from appearing old to appearing well kept, clean, and though still robes their mantle ended just at her breasts, and a corset clung tightly to her middle. A potion belt, wands, several ritual daggers, vials, magical orbs, and even a holstered deck of tarot cards lined her various belts about her waist.
She was clearly fit, and not the old withered thing she had made an illusion of. She was also gorgeous, her charisma attribute likely being twice or three times or more than Ivan's. It made the reddish partially healed burn on her left cheek hardly noticeable, though Ivan knew such a mark wouldn't remain on a woman like her unless it was caused by some terrible magic. Likely it left a lingering affliction of some kind.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
She wore well heeled, but practical boots. There was a circlet with a large ruby, some kind of amethyst, and green emerald upon the braid of gold and silver as it wrapped neatly about her skull and tucked into her hair.
Ivan stared at her for a moment, but then carefully set down his jade mortar and pestle. He turned to her without hurry and bowed deeply. His heart was playing a quick beat all the way up into his ears. Without that illusion the woman was giving off magical intensity like an open furnace. Likely she had the aura talent to keep it reserved to the garden so Ivan didn't expect anyone else to sense and notice her.
Penelope grimaced, but her aura stayed reassuring within the Shroud.
This woman...could have killed Thomas and Daybreak without difficulty if she came prepared to do so. Ivan's only way out of this was to do exactly as she wanted or he would end up dead or worse.
“Forgive me, but I do not know your name or rank. My name is Ivan, Son of Nathaniel.” Ivan said, feeling some little pain at telling the truth so easily.
The woman let out a sultry chuckle.
“I know dear. Calm yourself. I'm not here to blast you to pieces for summoning demons. Glass houses, you know.” She said, sounding casual and as if she were enjoying herself.
She stepped forward toward Ivan and gently lifted his hand, and turned him back to the table.
“Please continue your work. I just want to talk for a little while, that's all.”
Ivan nodded and started working again, the soft clinking of the Jade Mortar beginning again as he worked and ground the materials together. At some points he produced some minor alchemy gear, glassware and racks mostly, from the Shroud to assist him.
The woman hummed with a pleased sound when Ivan used his conjured scroll to maintain a ritual tiny ritual fire to provide heat for some of the recipes.
“Your appearance...?” Ivan asked, knowing any curiosity he felt now that he was calming down would be felt by the woman.
She chuckled again. The mundane sound had about as much allure to it as Penelope's best magically boosted come hither laugh. Ivan gulped.
“An Illusion. Or maybe this one is.” She answered playfully.
Ivan nodded. It could be. Maybe she was the old crone, but wished to give the edge to her charisma with a pleasant appearance.
“What is appearance, but tip of one's social lance after all?” The woman said, practically answering Ivan's thoughts.
He gave her a look.
“You've completed or come close to completing multiple routes. Sorceress maybe, from your charisma.” Ivan said, mind still half on his work as he kept the conversation going.
“Witch. It's where you're sensing that charisma from. It shares that main attribute with Sorcerer though so still a good guess. You're not going to ask to inspect me, one Scholar to another?” She asked in turn, her words showing her hand as being able to either sense or inspect him deeply without him knowing.
“I wouldn't want to be rude.” Ivan answered.
The woman nodded appreciatively.
“It was common practice back when I was your age. People who couldn't inspect others themselves had scrolls of detection, and other means to tell if people were as they really appeared.” She told him.
Ivan nodded, accepting the information, but wondering what might have existed then to be such a danger.
“Certain Dungeon spawned monsters can shape shift, young man. Certain ones like to breed with us too, integrate, and fool humanity into being its breeding nest in one way or another. Certain breeds of vampire are like that, certain demons too, using foul rites to birth new living demons into the material plane. It can be a nasty thing, and we learned to check for it.” She told him.
Ivan gave her a sickened look, but nodded.
“May I Inspect you then Madam Fablehoof?” Ivan asked, though his every instinct screamed to get away from the woman.
She nodded, obviously pleased.
“Of course!”
Ivan's scroll drifted over to the woman as he lifted his hand in her direction.
“Inspect Person.” Ivan chanted.
Inspect Person: Inspection Successful; This person willingly accepted the Inspection and you will see increased detail as a result.
Poplianna Fablehoof, The Umbral Witch, Hero of Dentennek, and Keeper of the Old Oak Dungeon's 13th Floor. This person has earned a City Level Hero Title, This person has partial control of a hostile dungeon. The full details of this person's levels cannot be provided by your Basic Information Skill.
Basic Jobs: Scribe, Scullion, Wilder Caster x3 (Fire, Dark, Plant), Gardner
Standard Jobs: Scholar, Cook, Hermit, Pyromancer, Floromancer
Adept Jobs: Scholar of Hexcraft, Scholar of Pyromancy, Scholar of Floromancy, Scholar of Witchcraft, Chef, Witch
Advanced Jobs: High Pyromancer, Druid, Master Chef, Hag Witch
Expert Jobs: Master Scholar, Mystic Cook, Elder Witch
Ivan stared at her, understanding all too well from his own 'wide' Job Block what it was like to have four or more standard jobs. This woman had three expert level jobs, and not only that she had taken the necessary steps to advance Scholar to Master Scholar by specializing in studying the schools of magic she employed. It was a pretty classic move to dedicate one of the specialized learning schools to one's magic spark, but the woman had three, and had chosen to reinforce all three jobs through dedicating her specializations to her magic. Doing that would allow her jobs to skip producing the knowledge skills and often enough other utility skills and focus on instantaneous spell casting skills, or violent and exotic new magics contained in neat skills that harnessed all the knowledge she had.
While Expert Rank Jobs only grew to level twenty five, her specialization and investment in knowledge earlier on would have turned her later levels into incredibly dangerous tools, or empowering passive effects. Not to mention the attribute gains she would have either way from having all three jobs, so similar in nature, to bolster her attributes. Her mana pool must have been endless, and the spell amplification effect....Ivan shuddered to think what her hexes and curses must be like.
Poplianna ruffled his hair playfully.
“Come now boy! You must have better control over your features than that!” She chuckled.
Ivan bowed his head in her direction, working with new nervous energy on his potions and tonics.
“Sorry.” Ivan mumbled, nearly breathless in panic.
Standing next to this woman was like sitting next to an active lava flow. Or standing outside during a hurricane, or a tornado further inland. Ivan wanted to be away from her and the danger she represented as quickly as he could manage.
“Why does Witch not skip any ranks?” Ivan found himself asking. For a moment he nearly bit his tongue thinking he would offend her, but she smiled and bent down beside him watching him work.
“It's more like your average mundane civilian job than a combat job really. Alchemy related skills mostly. There's plenty of magic, and ritual work included in it too. It's a rather nicer job to level than the other two in my opinion. You can just sit at home, brew, and work, and study to get it done like most good civilian jobs. For High Pyromancer and Druid I had to do just ridiculous things out in the world, though Druid usually isn't so bad especially for people like your sweetheart inside.” She answered, smiling and sighing sweetly as if lost in memory.
Ivan carefully mixed the powder he just made into a splash of water and moved his scroll back to produce the small ritual flame, 'Tea Pot Fire' was the name of the ritual, and he got the water bubbling within a few moments.
“Not too much now.” Poplianna chided.
Ivan adjusted the heat, turning it down, and swirled the flask.
“Did I do something to deserve your attention, Madam Fablehoof?” Ivan asked carefully.
Poplianna smiled at him from where she had just cupped her chin in her hands.
“You are a rather good looking young man I suppose.” She said, her smile openly playful and teasing.
Ivan flushed under the effects of her charisma.
“But no it's not that, though if I see you up on the Thirteenth we might have a more intimate and sweaty interaction, but no, not this time. You're inexperienced yet, and don't even have an aura skill to truly enjoy that kind of bonding. Work on that with your two lovers and we'll see about adding a third in me.” She said winking at him, beaming at his continued blush.
“It's your Astral Spark boy. Your involvement with the Pathfinders, and the Court down below. You're in it deep, and I want you to know that you're not alone. Each of us who get anywhere beyond Advanced level jobs find ourselves, at one point or another, in a pit we can't get out on our own. I wasn't going to let Thomas and that young Oaf of a King take you or your friends away, but I can't protect you far from here.” She went on in a much more serious tone.
Ivan's hands slowed on the mortar and pestle.
“Could you have...?” Ivan asked, his hands feeling limp and anger growing somewhere inside of him before the woman even had a chance to answer the question.
Poplianna shook her head, sensing or guessing the rest of his question.
“I'm quick, but I'm not that quick yet boy. Yes I might have healed her had I been standing beside you or been in town when I happened, but the warping of cause and effect you felt is what drew my attention to town tonight, and to you. I felt you, and her, that damn harpy, and came down. I was in the Dungeon, taking care of things as I was tasked to do long ago by our late mother. Thank you for your work in there by the way, even if it's just the lower floors having a group that can really clear the guts out and heave some nice new shiny items out minds the pressure on the seals rather well.”
Ivan listened to her words, letting his heart calm from the rising pain, and pushing away the desperate and illogical hope that by blaming her things would be any different. He had failed, not for lack of trying, but he had. Perhaps he was meant to fail and it was unfair to expect him to succeed, but Tila was dead now, and nothing would change that.
Ivan's eyes shot open wide however and he looked to Poplianna in surprise. Something she said finally clicked in his brain.
The witch smiled at him, showed him one of her rings, a brilliant silver talisman hung upon a bangle within her sleeve, and a mythril pendant she carefully extracted from where it rested practically between her breasts. Each of the items bore a Caduceus which carried lingering traces of Istania's divine magic. She smiled brightly as he touched them each as she presented them, and as Ivan finally let down the guard in his aura.
She brushed his hair from his eyes and caressed his cheek.
“Many of us she took in weren't the most sparkling and happy representations of her faith, but she loved us all the same. Don't forget that boy. Whatever you could have been, and whatever you're becoming now just make sure that what's within is always you.” She told him with a smile.
Ivan stifled a sniffle and looked at her.
“You have three wild caster jobs. Is that--- Is she how you survived?” Ivan tried to ask, but his emotions were clouding his senses and the question didn't come very clear as to his intentions. He was still very much a mess from what happened outside, but he was very happy to hear she was one of his own.
Poplianna smiled sadly.
“Yes, that and my father, and a fearless young boy without any magic I was proud to one day call my husband.”
Ivan nodded, understanding. It was common knowledge of a sort that children born with too many sparks were dangerous.
Ivan didn't think so. There was…or had been a little boy named Ben who had recently moved into the Parish with them to learn to control his two sparks he had been born with. His parents had not been willing to raise him after his sparks showed themselves. He was about two years old. Ivan had to fight through the memory of his little broken body laid upon others, and the memory of burns on the door, the walls, and ceiling; the result of the boy trying to wield his magic to save his new family.
It was another thing that people with sparks lived longer as well. The Goddess herself hadn't been sure if it was jealousy over the long lives they would have or the danger a badly behaved child could be that was the larger cause of death of those gifted children. Talking about it always made her very sad however, and it wasn't hard to guess why. It was one of those things Ivan hoped to take care of some day.
Ivan pulled himself together and gave her a wry look.
“Husband?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Poplianna smiled. It was a gentle thing. There was something in it that Ivan was suddenly desperate to understand, but it was gone in an instant like her smile.
“Humans without magic rarely live beyond a hundred, dear boy. He's kept in an urn and buried in the family tomb I built. With our children, and some of their children. I live now for my purpose, and for you.” She replied.
“For me?” Ivan nodded, eyeing her.
Poplianna shrugged.
“People like you, boy. Adventurers, fate turners, and explorers. You're all so much closer to me as family than any of my surviving grandchildren. At least, that's what I would say had you met me on the thirteenth floor. However things have progressed and you're in need of my attention now, or so I thought. You have yourself a guide already, and one, that I dare say, out strips me thoroughly.”
This was the second time Poplianna had more or less mentioned intimate knowledge of Penelope. It was beginning to unnerve Ivan. He was sure the Shroud was supposed to hide her presence, and Azalea's magic left hardly a trace of demonic corruption behind him. Before he could think to act or speak however the Shroud flailed and Penelope stepped forth.
Poplianna had taken a step back and bowed her head slightly as Penelope appeared.
Penelope was eyeing the woman carefully.
Poplianna lifted her head and her eyes went wide. Her glaze slowly moved to Ivan with unnerving intensity. Ivan shivered, his mystic senses going a bit wild as something lifted a Veil of magic from around itself and its presence. It was another powerful type of illusion magic, and what appeared seemed to be no more than a floating head with waving tentacles about it.
If a head was the size of a harvest fair competition pumpkin. Its tentacles all had eyes, and at once Ivan felt Demonology 1 itching to be used and warn him about the being. He would have received the warning of looking away from its eyes too late if the creature hadn't bowed, in as much of a sense as it could, before Penelope.
“Penelope Inyx, Daughter of the Night, Succubus, and Third Seat of the Court of Succubi I greet you. My name is not worth your notice, but I am called Claudius. Forget it or remember it as you wish, High Lady.” The demon said, its eyes closing the deadly magic it could fire from its tentacle stalks.
Ivan shuddered and looked at Penelope. Ivan had never heard her full titles before and from her grimace, and the way she was looking back at him... well she knew he knew it too.
“Claudius!” Poplianna hissed.
Penelope looked back to the other demon. It was a thing called an Observer, and of a species of their kind that was valued for study and interest in everything from arcane magic to world history. Ivan was sort of confused by it, or at least this kind of demon. It was the sort of thing or being that Halspus would have loved to have as a familiar for her followers. It was nearly as deadly as some arcane summons he had heard of besides, possibly worse, but those thoughts didn't occupy his mind.
The Daughter of the Night was a title he recognized. She was a demon who had terrorized his world in the distant past. The Daughter of the Night was the demon that, according to the history books, drove people to Theadus's banner and worship, and claimed rather singular blame for humanity's shared fear of the dark. The Daughter of the Night was a terror who had battled a God, and terrified the hell out of him and several other deities. She was a large reason for the Pantheon's existence. She was the bane to order and civilization. She was the monster everyone, even the highest priests, feared to face.
Ivan's fingers found her own delicately, and drew her to face him. Her expression seemed startled at what she sensed in him as he took both of her hands in his own.
“This is...this is Claudius. My apologies. I hadn't realized that he would...” Poplianna seemed to abandon that track of thought. Her demon still bowed its head.
Poplianna made a proper curtsy, and bowed her head deeply.
“While I understand this summoned vessel could not contain your full mind or power Lady Penelope I would be polite all the same, regardless of my familiar's slip. Forgive us both.” Poplianna said.
Penelope chuckled, her eyes still a reflection of Ivan's own sparking with malevolent will and unspeakable pleasure. She kept her gaze locked with Ivan's, and her breath began to come in soft ragged breaths, increasing in measure. She smiled brightly at him.
“Yes. I think I will forgive you for that. It's the very least I can think of for looking out for my young master and pupil.” Penelope purred, addressing Poplianna, but never looking away from Ivan.