“Food is the language of every culture.”

“Oh is that right, Franz? And I suppose you are the only one who knows how to speak that language, right?”

“Not the only one, but I do consider myself familiar with it.”

“Familiar? You’re fucking fluent if that belly’s anything to go by!”

“Shut it, you old git. I mean it, food tells a story about every culture.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What does their food say about the Desolate Empire?”

“Well; it’s varied and includes vegetables grown across at least three distinct climates – shows they hold lots of territory and have for a while. Seafood also holds a place of prominence – as demonstrated by this delightful pie we’re sharing, Greg – which suggests that they were a coastal power to begin with.”

“Alright, I’ll give you that one. But it’s just post-hoc generalising. You already knew all that and looked for some food-based justification. What about the Sarhail? You don’t know shit about them. What do their culinary habits say about them then, wise man?”

“….says they eat food, right?”

“You fuckin-”

- Discussion between two vessel-guards in Salazar, recorded in the travel guide ‘Wonders of the Wandering States’ by Brother Ferdinand Genitivi

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“Hold there. Not one more step, Lion.”

The voice that shook me from my thoughts was deep, unmistakable in its steadiness and fit its owner like a glove. I almost jumped for joy before the words trickled their way through the wrung-out sponge that was my brain, and I registered their content. As it was, I looked up sharply and executed a kind of shuffle-hop in response to the challenge she’d just issued, which no doubt did little to convince the woman across from me of my sanity.

I saw her frown and draw her sword as I was mid shuffle-hop, and by the time I had steadied myself she had the weapon out and pointing towards my neck. She must have been a good dozen meters away, and yet I could still tell that it was pointing precisely at my Adam’s apple. I could feel the blade hovering just inches from me somehow, despite every sense my body possessed telling me otherwise. The sudden fear for my life sharpened my mind enough for me to reply without moving further.

“Vera, it's me!”

I tried to smile but it came out more as a grimace with the still-present sense danger hanging over me. While it wasn’t much of an explanation, I honestly was a little baffled at the hostile reception and was rapidly trying to figure out what was causing all this.

Unfortunately, that was the wrong thing to say. The blade leapt from only a few inches away to directly against my neck, and I felt a trickle of blood wend its way down the fuller of the broad blade from where it had sliced neatly through the first few layers of skin. I was forced backwards so fast that I crumpled to the floor in a bid to escape decapitation, and I was dimly aware that it was likely the intention given the speed the blade had moved. I could not have dodged the first extension of that blade and so I could only assume it was a threat more than a genuine attempt at killing me.

Although judging by the expression on the face above me, perhaps it was more an expression of rage. “Oh, you know of me, do you? Have they already forgotten in the Sunsets what I do to any that come after me?”

She had moved the instant I had finished speaking, stalking towards me with murderous intent, her blade held level in front of her but somehow still cutting my neck and forcing me to the floor despite the nominal distance between us.

“Did you think you were somehow more capable than those sent before? Or did you just expect them not to send you to your death? Which is it, boy - arrogant or naïve?”.

She looked down at me and spat out the last question with anger I had never before seen, and at that moment, I did not recognise her at all. Panic at the speed at which my long dreamt-of reunion was derailing before me took all the cogent responses from my head, and I dumbly focused on the words rather than the larger context.

“What? Who…nobody sent-what?” It was as I was still trying to untangle the many questions her words had raised that I felt the blade pressing into my neck abruptly withdraw. I saw fury give way to confusion, before realisation and then relief flit their way across the big woman’s face.

“Oh gods! By the Roots kid, is that really you?” She said, honestly looking as shocked to see me as I was by the recent turn of events.

My head flopped back to the floor as I rose a hand to my neck to feel the slight cut she had created. I lay in the dirt and stared up at the blue sky above, fluffy white clouds gathered in groups as if to gossip about the winds. I heard a sword returning to its sheath, and footsteps as somebody else drew near.

The footsteps stopped and a quiet voice asked in a strong brogue; “Everyone aright? Seems like it got a little out o’ hand there for a moment”.

“What the fuck!?” Was all I managed, still holding a hand to my neck and looking dopily up at the sky. “No, we’re not alright! She nearly fucking killed me!” The close brush with death, thoroughly unexpected and unwelcome, lit a surge of anger within me, the fear from a moment ago only further fanning the flames. I now felt how Vera had looked only moment before.

“Easy lad, no need to lose your head about it, just a misunderstanding.” Jorge spoke. He put a strange emphasis in the middle of his sentence, and I puzzled over it briefly before I heard Vera snicker above me.

“wha-oh fuck yourself Jorge.” I said as I flopped back to the floor. Vera’s snicker redoubled at that, and I pouted, trying to maintain my righteous anger. I looked up then to see Jorge’s face, eyes wide and mouth parted with glee, eagerly waiting for a reaction.

I couldn’t help it, and felt a smile tug the corner of my lips. Vera seemed to take that as a signal and her barely suppressed snicker devolved into full laughter. I simply lay still, smile on my face and relief at finding them flooding through me, only enhanced by my earlier fears of abandonment.

“Alright, now the tension’s been broken, I reckon it’s time for a meal and a chat, aye?” Jorge said, reaching a hand down to help me up. I clasped his forearm and was heaved to my feet as if I weighed no more than a feather.

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*Nathlan*

Nathlan watched as Vera pulled free her sword and knew something was wrong. She wasn’t one for open displays of emotion – recent training excluded – and he knew that she didn’t draw her weapon if she didn’t intend to use it.

He focused on pushing his spirit into the wards he had layered into the air around them, imbuing the magical structures with his intent to swallow sound and smell. The smell was a new trick he had picked up from observing a member of one of the Fangs that had pursued them. Vera had snorted when he mentioned that he’d never thought of blocking smell too, and Jorge simply remarked “that’s why we’re out here”.

He'd initially been dismissive of the scent blocking feature of her domain, as it required a surprising amount of adjustment to the original warding template he used and did not seem particularly useful. But when they had ambushed her Fang and slaughtered the other scout and mages in the group, he had looked to Jorge expecting a direction to follow to find the last member of the group.

He was surprised to find Jorge shaking his head. His skill containing the tracking feature apparently relied heavily on scent, and since Vera was more of a pure combat build and he was virtually useless out here anyway, he was forced to admit that perhaps the lone survivor of the Crimson Lions Fang was onto something with her domain skill.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He saw the slight ripple in the air as the large ward responded to his infusion of will and spirit, and the sound abruptly cut out from Vera and the red-robed man. He looked on curiously as Vera sheathed her sword and Jorge came striding into view, before stopping in front of the prone form of the man and looking for all the world like a small Rylar pup awaiting good belly scratch. He grinned and helped the man to his feet, and then all three turned to trudge towards him, walking together like old friends.

He disabled the ward as they approached and threw a questioning glance at Vera before looking at the man between them. He was wolf-lean with visible muscle rippling underneath his ruined clothes.

A tattered red robe, looking largely decorative at this point considering the many rips and tears, was worn over grimy loose trousers and a few dirty bandages that appeared to be made from strips of some sort of shirt. His chest was bare, except for the aforementioned bandages binding his ribs, and his boots were more pockmarked than the refugees that had begun to trickle into his homeland shortly before he left. What Nathlan had originally taken for long gloves covering his forearms, appeared to be the pitiful remains of threadbare socks cut haphazardly to act as arm warmers.

This untamed appearance extended to his own body too, with ragged hair hanging thick and matted down to his broad shoulders, a scraggly beard peppering his lower jaw as if fighting for its life against the rigors of the wild.

Nathlan only got more nervous as the man drew closer. He was almost a match with Vera for size, although where she was built like a tiger – all coiled strength and graceful movement – this man was more of a wolf. Tall and sleek, savage and lethal, his every movement looking jerky and erratic as if he might burst into motion at the slightest provocation.

The stranger closed the final few strides between them, and he flinched as the man spoke a question; “Nathlan?”

The man’s voice sounded rough from disuse, stone grinding in the depths of a chasm. The man towered over him, the shrubs and flowers littering the ground falling away into the background, small trees and even the blocky form of the tavern behind him entirely forgotten as his focus was drawn inexorably to the dark eyes hidden behind darker locks of dank hair. He was faintly aware of the stranger saying something else, and the contours of his face changing as he spoke, but all Nathlan could see was those dark eyes and the clashing forces deep within.

He snapped out of it when a comforting presence blanketed him, causing him to heave in a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. He blinked a few times and looked up to find Vera and Jorge both standing between them. Vera looked on in surprise, and Jorge was shaking his head and laughing, clapping the stranger on the shoulder before pulling him into a hug.

“You bloody idiot Runt, it’s good to see you again! ‘forgot to turn it off’ he says! How by all the gods do you forget to deactivate a skill like that!? The spirit drain must be immense.” Vera had moved forwards to squeeze Nathlan’s arm in a reassuring gesture, but was otherwise silent, also awaiting an answer.

“I’ve had it active for most of the last few days to be honest – started at The Breach as it kept most of the smaller creatures off me. Then I kinda just got used to it I guess.” The Runt shrugged. “what’s spirit drain?”

Vera raised a questioning eyebrow at that, while Jorge took it in stride like always and started trying to explain spirit drain to an adult, ridiculous as the situation was. Nathlan was shocked though. To have an aura skill that powerful running for days? The man’s reserves must be endless. It simply wasn’t possible below level 50, and there’s no way he was pushing that far already after a few weeks surely?

“Spirit, internal energy, chi, mana, faith, ichor…there are as many formulations as there are cultures. The stuff that sits inside you, that you draw upon to activate your skills. Active skills drain this well of energy and the more powerful they are, the more they drain. You still with me boy?” Jorge had slipped into teaching mode as Nathlan watched, but seemed surprised when the man interrupted him.

“Yeah I’m with you, and I’ve got some questions of my own for you later about all that, but why are you expecting the drain to be so large? The skill doesn’t seem to affect you or Vera.”

“Aye, walk and talk. I’ll answer anything you want to know over some o’ Jacklin’s flatbread. That woman can work wonders, I tell you. Anyway, to your question; your aura sure as all hells does affect us, but we are much stronger than you, and so can simply ignore the affects or even overpower your aura with our own, as I’ve just done for Nathlan’s benefit.” As he said this, he looked over at Nathlan and gave him a friendly nod.

The Runt, as he’d been called, nodded himself, but then asked the question Nathlan knew he would. It was inevitably going to come out at some point, but hearing it said out loud still managed to sting regardless. “Why does it affect him then? He’s surely stronger than me too, right?”.

Jorge just shook his head. “No lad, I’ll explain later but for now just know that a lot of your assumptions about this world are likely pretty wrong, so you’re better going in with fresh eyes aright?” He gave Nathlan a gentle clap on the back as the two walked past him, Vera turning to follow and bringing him along with them.

Jorge continued “back to the point, your aura skill is more powerful than I would expect from one with your attributes, and I’m amazed to hear you say you can keep it active for so long. I’m guessing it’s a bound skill, but I’ll need to know more about it, and see what you can do myself before I can say for sure. How did you get it anyhow?”.

“Well, my Ma used to say ‘you are what you eat’.” The Runt grinned as he said it and Jorge looked perplexed for a brief moment before cackling with glee like an old man sharing an inappropriate joke at dinner.

“Aye we’ll need to get some stories out of you tonight runt, you can count on that.”

“Honestly I would love nothing more, but I think I need some new clothes first, and possibly a razor if you’ve got one spare.” The Runt replied. Nathlan could hardly recognise the man, and a handful of weeks didn’t seem to be long enough for the dramatic transformation he was now witness to.

Now that whatever aura he had felt from the man had vanished, he could make out the outline of the man he’d met before. The lines of his face were similar, if sharper now, and while his hair had grown somewhat, it was mostly an effect of all the dirt, grime and weeks spent without a comb or mirror if he had to guess.

The shock was wearing off and he felt embarrassment bubbling up in his guts, that bitter feeling filling him to bursting so quickly. He breathed deeply for a few moments, willing down the emotion and mastering himself before moving on.

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“So anyway, I dropped the ledge on two of them and managed to collect most of their torsos before getting back onto the ridgeline – kept me going for a few days. Vera, your pebble was a life-saver again! I couldn’t build a fire, but I just activated it super hard and managed to sizzle very thin strips of meat on it. Took ages but it was better than raw.”

I smiled as I talked, shovelling salted nuts into my mouth whenever one of them asked a question, which was near constantly at this point. Vera and Jorge bickered like children over what question I should answer next, and Nathlan would jump in every now and then seeking clarification as well, although his questions had more of an interview vibe than a fun catch up with friends.

I’d tried to summarise my whole journey in broad strokes before diving into the details but we kept getting side tracked by various inane questions and were on our second round of drinks by now with me barely having made it past Cloven Rock. I would have been feeling the buzz already if not for my enhanced endurance, and I was grateful that the average level here must have been low enough to keep the brew fairly weak.

Jorge placed both of his elbows on the table as he leaned forwards, a hungry gleam in his eye. “So jokes aside, I know you didn’t get that monstrous aura skill from just eating a bunch of Tarkenzi’s. How did you earn it?”

“Earn it? You mean like what did the flavour text say?” I asked, uncertain.

“Aye. What grand feats did you accomplish that the gods deemed you worthy of such a majestic skill?” I would have thought Jorge had already had a few drinks before I arrived by the way he was talking and the wild gestures he was making, if it wasn’t just after midday.

“Ah well you know, just the regular stuff I’m sure everyone gets…’last prey the pack will ever see’, ‘final challenge of any hunter’, ‘in the shadow of titans’.” I reeled off a few of the dramatic-sounding bits from my skill, eager to see the shock on the faces of the three veterans before me.

I stared into three blank and thoroughly nonplussed faces, and my smug expression crumpled in on itself. “Does everyone actually get stuff like that said about them?” I asked plaintively.

“Honestly lad…yeah. But bear in mind most people get their first class when they come of age after a long childhood filled with skill training and over a decade to build up accomplishments, not after only a month or so. They might get some titan equivalent – most do, there are a lot of crazy things roaming around out there – but it’s often alongside their whole village or city, watching a battle from afar. The prey thing sounds promising though!”

Jorge tried to let me down gently which I appreciated, but no matter what he said, it still hurt to find out I wasn’t as special as the system had made me feel. “Anyway, what sort of level are you sitting at now?”

“22.” At my reply, Nathlan swore. Jorge’s gaze sharpened and a gleam entered his eye. Vera had looked up at me when I said that and then quickly across to Jorge, before trying to hide the gesture.

“Now that is interesting Runt. I think we might need you to start from the beginning and retell your journey properly. No interrupting till we get to the end.” Jorge said, his gaze piercing into me. Vera moved to redraw the privacy magic she had woven in place, and pulled away Nathlan when he looked like he was going to start throwing questions out like a gameshow host at Christmas.

As I settled in to tell my tale in earnest, the food arrived. Flatbreads covered in a salty spread, similar in consistency to olives but slightly earthier, garnished with leaves and some delicately chopped tomatoes, covered in spiced meat. I was aching to use the active part of Wilderness Survival to see if I’d come across any of these as yet unfamiliar plants, but the smell hit me like a charging rhino, and I dug in greedily.

My palette had been altered by weeks of plain, unsalted food and so the sudden burst of flavours nearly overwhelmed me. The intensity was staggering and from the amused look I received from Vera, I had likely zoned out in my food-induced bliss for far longer than was normal.

“Right then. Here’s my tale…”