Daniel ran across the sunken pillars, heart pounding in his chest. His precious childhood memories now overlaid with dark and anxious thoughts:
What if the next pillar was removed? What if it had been overturned? What if he overleapt? He had been much shorter the last time he had run across this pathway…
But his feet found the rhythm, and his light steps borne by years of heavy training, did not fail him. The poles beneath his feet kept hold of his feet.
Daniel wished he could be a fly on the wall and observe all the High Lords and Senators watching him. He hoped they choked on their wine and ruined their clothes. What he knew from observing Games in the past was that the Lords often assumed they knew everything. But if he could command an element to the point that they could not perceive it would imply that somehow the Servant Branch was stronger or more gifted than themselves.
Not that a single one of them was not capable of destroying him. But anything he did that left them puzzled or bedraggled was worth it for him.
By the way the water moved around Daniel, rising high around his thighs in a wave and almost sweeping him from his footing, the Golem behind him must have fallen into the water, totally or partially he was unsure. He dare not look back to verify. Golems were somewhat weak against water, but they had the ability to free themselves. The Lagoon was not deep enough to truly trouble the Golem. After all, if all it took was a puddle to stop the fury of the Castalas faction, then the Castalas faction would have fallen from prominence long ago.
This would just give Daniel a few minutes head straight and time to enact his plan.
Daniel spied ahead, and saw someone leaving the clearing. An unassuming maid he’d spied earlier, noticing her because of her rather plain nose and red hair.
Another assassin, no doubt. A fight, was it? Hopefully he would be able to postpone future fighting until he defeated the Golem.
He felt the water surge, and he realized the Golem was arising. He did risk a glance behind this time, just in time to see the Golem pulling itself out on the bank. The water had been too deep, and the Golem had evidently been forced to surface and go around the lagoon. Good and bad. He had more time and a head start, but now the Golem would be able to throw things again.
Daniel readied himself, danger behind and danger in front. He wondered if he should have “Borrowed” Claudian’s little golden daggers. He didn’t like daggers, but pointy things did a good job to discourage others from hasty actions.
Also, he was pretty certain her little golden daggers may have been actual gold, which was a very poor weapon choice as it did not hold an edge without magic, and he was still low on magic.
He was nearly across the lagoon, and the golem was nearly returned to the shore. He would have to make ground quickly. He could only go forward or backward, after all, and he hoped to leave some mystery for the viewers. Few if any would think to check for something so mundane as a pillar behind the water level, obscured by the murky lagoon water.
Daniel readied himself for battle, hands held tightly for an instant than loosely. Loose into battle, strong and tight only when striking, then return to loose.
There was a sound of something being hurled, and had he not had nearly a decade of griffin experience, he would have dove straight into the water to get out of the way. But he knew what hurtling projectiles sounded like when they were aimed at you, and he knew what they sounded like when they were being hurled overhead.
Lo and behold, the golem’s massive missile marooned overhead merrily.
And straight toward the stranger approaching.
The redhead revealed that she was…
Either a really good actor or truly just an ordinary person caught at the wrong place and at the wrong time.
She screamed hurriedly and bounded away. Her legs moved too quickly for traction in the muddy bank, and for a terrible second she just pin-wheeled in place, eyes huge like saucers.
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Two years ago, on an insignificant campaign.
Tired, Lordling Elswith sat on a log, above a little gully, looking at the setting sun as the shadows bled into night. The other Lordlings of his circle had left to seek entertainment, but after a hard day’s work, Elswith had taken a moment to watch the sun progress across the sky.
A dark shadow gave way, pooling together and slithering apart, and from the recesses arrived Lordling Regis. He was alone, his dark attire giving way to the coming night.
Regis sighed. “May I sit down?”
“No one owns this log. Not anymore.”
Regis used a hand to guide his descent, grimacing as he realized the place he had grabbed had been dirty. But he did not speak of the soiling of his gauntlet-ed hands. “Another little rural community gone. Not our fault. Most of them are happily relocated.”
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“You sound like Ria.” Elswith complained.
Regis turned up his nose. “I am directly repeating what she said. It would be a shame to be so careful in parroting, and yet the work not recognizable or traceable to the original speaker.”
Elswith sighed, rolling his shoulders. “If I wanted to hear Ria, I would be in the camp.”
Regis observed the landscape “Yet your avoidance will only further the education. The more you avoid her lectures, the longer they will rage when she has you.” Regis said, not unpleasantly. His dark eyes glinted in the shimmering red light of the setting sun. “I have been considering for many months now. You wish to rid yourself of your flaws and weaknesses.”
“I wish to survive.” Elswith said, dispassionately, moving carefully along the log to avoid touching the contaminant. “The Red Sword Faction will not tolerate weakness.”
“And yet…you go to great lengths over matters that hold no meaning for them.”
Elswith wondered if Ria and Orville had successfully riled Regis. He was normally extremely reserved. “Strangely judgmental of you on a cold Wednesday evening.”
“The temperature and the time do not change facts. You take vainglory for virtue.”
The Heirling of the Red Sword clarified his point, but did not reduce the pressure of his words. “The temperature and the time were to ask you what brought forth this topic. Why speak of it now and not another time?”
The Lordling of a dying clan smiled darkly. “I know a flaw of yours.”
Anyone else would have assumed Regis was being aggressive and mocking. Perhaps he was. But Elswith also knew him to be intelligent and thought-provoking. "Tell me. So I can be rid of it.”
“No. You should keep this flaw. One cannot rid oneself of all flaws, and it is better to have a good flaw that you know of, than a secret flaw that lurks unbeknownst to you."
“Is there such a thing as a good flaw?”
“Yes.”
“Then what is it? I will not seek to prematurely remove this flaw, should your words hold sense. I wonder what you see that I do not.”
Regis considered him for a moment, before he nodded. “You want to be better. Better than you are. More than anyone makes you.”
Elswith blinked slowly, waiting for more. When more did not arrive, he pushed forward. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“From what I have seen, no. They try to change their world, but they never change themselves.”
Elswith sighed. “How am I different?”
“If your house was on fire, what would you save?”
Elswith felt his back straighten. It had been months, yet that question still lingered. And it still revealed his own dark and cynical nature.
“Do you want me to answer that?”
“You would save the instrument of power that could free you from the restrictions of those above you in your faction. That would be the logical thing to do. No one would blame you. Many would burn down their own homes should they have the chance of that much power.”
Elswith clinched his fist.
Regis smiled, eyes like shadows. “And yet, despite knowing the logical and correct answer, you feel there is a better way. You know you must change, not why, but only that you must. That the correct answer is…not correct. You want to be better than you are. And that is a flaw.”
Regis stood up and placed the hand he had dirtied earlier on Elswith's shoulder, leaving a beast blood red handprint on Elswith’s white battle armor. “I am going to head back. The dead are gone. We couldn’t save them. We can only move forward.”
Elswith looked down below in the little gully at his feet, sickness churning secretly while his face remained placid and serene. He knew better than shame his house again.
He looked over the field of conflict. It was small, as these things go. His Circle had done well that day. Better than other Circles, too. The land used to be a forest, but that was before the raw power of the Lordlings had arrived and smote out the attackers.
Prone forms of the fallen remained in the devastated landscape: dread creatures and chaos beasts and the likes. But the telltale signs of fae blue blood were still visible, purple in the fading light of the sun. Once again, by time the Lordlings had discovered where the danger had dwelled, it had been too late, and the wee fae had suffered.
Unhappy behind Elswith were the Fae cleaners. Dryads and other Elemental and Nature spirits and fae, held up by the Lordling remaining behind in contemplation. These cleaners had a sacred duty to restore beauty to the nature of the land, working together to wipe away the stain of the battle. Restore the wooded forest to its original state. The stains and grime of the dread creatures and chaos beast, forever blotted out and forgotten.
But it meant they would also wipe away the traces of those wee fae, few though they were, that had been unable to flee in time.
Wanting power couldn’t be a bad thing. If he had power, would that not mean that he had more resources to save people? To save his own life?
Why did the question of the fire and only saving a single thing bother him so? While he knew leaving all the servants to perish was horrendous, with that Red Sword, he would have the power to save so many more Fae…
Elswith watched the sun continue to go down, bathing the world in a sea of warm red ambiguity. He had time to think while he sat vigil over the fallen.
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Back running over the lagoon, Daniel watched in slow motion as the rock hurtled toward the redhead with the plain nose. He watched as surprise and horror played across her face.
She was someone’s child.
She could have been a spy.
She could have been unlucky.
But what she was, was in front of him.
Daniel was a servant in a game. He had spent a month planning to improve and grow stronger. He had promised himself he would be more logical, focused, and cold than before.
He was no longer rich enough to afford being generous to strangers. He needed to win the Game, and it hadn’t even started yet!
And yet…
He used some magic.
Favor and influence could influence the world around you, and Daniel knew how to do it well. It was slight, it was slick, and it was costly.
After a month of using almost no power, he reached forward. In this way, it was the same as when he made Achievements, teasing just barely the fabric of the world to change it. Just the tiniest touch could work, if he was clever enough.
He felt the world shift and move. Just enough.
The redhead, in that same microsecond, pinwheeling on the slick muddy bank, abruptly sneezed. This sneeze was enough for her to take a step backward. The step backward had her lose her footing. She lost her footing, then rolled to the right.
And the massive rock hurtled directly where she had been standing just a split second before.
The Law of Fae cheered.
The Game hooray-ed.
The Servant Branch had saved an innocent.
He also used over a quarter of all the power he had earned in the Dungeon.