With a belly full of fish and a smile on my face, I dove into my soul-space. The view that greeted me was both familiar and welcome. Seven constellations circled a well of pure starlight that was my core, with another, larger constellation resting like a shroud above them all.
Beyond that shroud was empty darkness, broken only by a small trickle of starlight flowing from the well out to a small glowing rune - the artefact link drawing mana from my core. It had originally looked like nothing so much as a small pinprick of light, but that had slowly resolved itself into a rune that, while in my soul-space, seemed to conjure the idea of a shield. It was strange; I could not remember the rune itself despite its deceptively simple shape, and I knew from experience that when I left my introspection, I would be unable to recreate it.
Just as with my artefact link to my shield, all of my skills were incomprehensible when I was not viewing my soul. When I sank into this meditative state however, I could catch hints, greater each time.
The twinkling blanket that covered my core and the seven skills around it was the most familiar to me, and I had recently felt the structure of it stay with me for a few moments after leaving my meditation, a testament to my greater understanding of the pathbound skill. The other skills below, orbiting my core slowly and dim without mana syphoning off to activate them, were more mysterious to me, but I could still feel the progress I had made.
Originally, all had seemed the same, just vague spinning shapes of many lights. I knew each was unique, but I had no idea how – they all seemed similarly unknowable, resisting my inspection in some magical manner. Now though, each had its own defining features.
Guerrilla Warfare was all sharp angles and unexpected twists, where trying to trace a path along the pinpricks of light simply led back against itself, forming a confused tangle of a path.
Skirmisher of Antiquity, my newest skill, was a bizarre mishmash that when activated, formed a multitude of runes, pictograms, letters and shapes, as the mana from my core flowed in patterns from one light to the next. It reminded me of a hundred different languages, alien and incomprehensible but each with its own story to tell. The feeling of majesty in this skill rivalled that of Indomitable Prey, and I knew I had only begun to skim the surface of the knowledge it could impart.
Moving my attention from one skill to the next, I inspected the changes that long months of growth had written across my soul. Each skill had its own quirks; where the merged skills still showed delineated segments between the sub-skills that made them up, these were starting to close, and links had formed between the disparate pieces to create a more stable and enduring shape. I could see the places where Scrambling and Sure-Footed merged together to create Cloven-Hooved, the constellation akin to a river meeting an ocean of ink and left to mingle for days on end; it was clear that each side had different origins, but it was becoming hard to say where one ended and the other began.
My mind grasped for metaphors to describe each skill, but it was ultimately fruitless – they were unlikely anything else in the world and comparing them to worldly aspects only allowed for a sliver of comprehension.
The individual skills that could not be reduced further showed their own growth as well. Hill-Folk, Heart of the Hills, Skirmisher of Antiquity, and Check-Step were all distinct entities that could not be broken apart, their shapes too intertwined for any divisions to be clean – to attempt to slice away individual parts would leave the whole thoroughly broken. They did however show greater detail, the paths between each twinkling light somehow clearer than before.
I noticed that my higher-levelled skills were more defined than those with which I was less familiar – an obvious point in hindsight but still interesting to see confirmation of.
Finished with my inspection of each skill, I moved to my core, viewing the well of mana as it filled ever upwards. It was deeper than ever and comparing it to when I had first received my class was akin to comparing a puddle with a fresh spring.
I didn’t originally know where the mana I produced came from, but it seemed the environment was the most likely answer. The rate at which it replenished was higher here in the hills than it had been on the plains, and it seemed like too much of a coincidence that stronger creatures, more magical environments, and a higher rate of recharge of my mana wouldn’t be linked.
I thought for a moment about how much faster my mana recharged down in the Iona Chasm, and shivered at the memory of that strange melody that had seemed to itch at the back of my mind while I was down there. The thought distracted me enough that the cave around me swam back into focus and I lost my connection to my soul-space for a moment.
Gritting my teeth in frustration, I took a few slow breaths and focused once more, diving back into that internal view and moving on from my core and to the two skills I wished to manipulate. There were already some tentative links between most of my skills; Indomitable Prey hung over all others, a few small tendrils extending from it to each skill below, dripping influence and sharing its energy. So too did the other skills extend their own offers of alliance to each other, their questing tendrils reminding me of mycelial networks in the soil, connecting trees within a forest and sharing their energy. Making the whole stronger than the sum of its parts.
Hill-Folk; that hardy skill that resembled nothing so much as a mountain, hung in empty space, as solid and immoveable as the hills themselves from which it drew inspiration. Cloven-Hooved hung opposite, a swirling mass of lights that seemed to jump and bounce, playful and fast, impossible to pin down and shooting out lines of dimly pulsing light across its intricate form.
To begin, I willed both out of the circular formation and towards my core. It was a strange feeling, my intent was the only thing that mattered in this space, but I still felt resistance. It didn’t cause any strain on my part, as creating the artifact links between myself and the spear and shield did, but rather just a gentle reminder that the skills did not want to be out of formation.
I examined them again when they hung next to one another, tracing the lines between the constellations, paying attention to the negative spaces between the lights as much as to the lights themselves.
I urged both to stop their incessant spinning, seeking to find a pattern that was shared between both. For a while it seemed hopeless – two completely alien representations that had no more in common than two papyrus scrolls would if each were given to a monkey with a pen and unlimited time.
Slowly though, as if response to my desire to find common ground, similarities started to become noticeable. Patterns that I’d previously mischaracterised as belonging to other sequences stood out on their own, and I began to see repeating clusters of lights within the greater constellation of each skill. Each collection of similar lights gave me hope and pushed me to keep searching in a self-fulfilling cycle of discovery.
Once I had established their shared heritage, I focused on what I wanted each skill to do, how they would complement one another and work towards a common goal.
Hill-Folk drew upon the concept of the hills; their hardy, enduring, and rugged nature, to empower my body and mind to withstand the rigours of the outside world.
Cloven-Hooved drew inspiration from the denizens of the hills and mountains; their durability and agility, along with their absolute conviction as they navigated deadly terrain, to train my body and mind to move through the outside world.
They both sought the same purpose, with similar methods of achieving it. I spent an indeterminable amount of time emphasizing the goal, visualising the end state of the merger of these two skills. A single constellation, embodying the enduring solidity of the hills alongside the dynamism of those that inhabit them.
I sought to match the overall shape of both skills, overlaying one with the other and playing with the structure in my mind’s eye until I had a clear idea of what the end goal would be. I visualised how it would spin once the links between the endlessly repeating segments were created, how the momentum of its movement would change its shape.
It took time, with many restarts and failed attempts. Frequently I dropped back into my soul-space to re-examine the two skills, to ensure I hadn’t missed out a crucial aspect of either in my own design.
Finally, after my mind was wearing thin at the seams and my body itched to move in the real world, I sunk back into my introspection and began the merge. My will flexed, and the two skills were brought to the forefront of my soul, hovering close together in front of my core. Tendrils of mana began to siphon off from my core and move towards the skills, gripping different sections and rearranging them.
It was in some ways easy work – no movement was particularly hard, and the resistance was negligible. The difficulty lay in trying to keep the image in my head of the final product, alongside manipulating the many different pieces of the puzzle. After each light was moved into position, I had to imbue it with a sliver of my intent, to force it to stay put rather than drifting back to its original position.
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I was confident in the beginning, knowing my preparation had been solid, but as the skills slowly lost their form, I felt the strain begin to set in. The diagram in my head that I was trying to recreate was becoming hazy, sections slipping away as I left more and more of my will in the constellation itself.
It was a battle of faith at that point. Had I formulated the constellation correctly to begin with? Had I copied the formulation completely, without errors? Was this all a hopeless attempt that would ruin two of my key skills for no benefit?
In the end, I was too tired to care. With a final surge of effort, I urged the last trickle of mana from my core into the new constellation, willing away the unused and discarded sections of the old skills into the empty void.
Mana flowed into the first of the dim lights, illuminating the void around it with a healthy glow before flowing towards the next light in the sequence. First a trickle, then a flood of mana was drained from my core as the new skill brightened, taking shape and beginning to spin. It rotated faster and faster, the original ungainly lump resolving itself into the pattern of an ever-shifting mountain as it whirled to life.
An eternal moment passed as the skill danced faster and faster in the void, before it slowed to a more sedate pace just as the mana in my core was about to run dry. I sighed and let slip my final iota of control over the skill, and it eagerly snapped back into place in the formation around my core, six faintly glowing constellations making up the circle now, rather than seven.
Skill ‘Cloven-Hooved’ removed. Open skill slot available.
Skill ‘Hill-Folk’ removed. Open skill slot available.
New skill created – Mountain-Born. Open skill slots available, skill integrated.
Mountain-Born – Passive. The mountains are harsh, and only the strong survive. You have lived this lesson, have been cast and remade in accordance with its truth. Weakness prohibits survival, and so the mountain has scraped all weakness from you. Use this newfound toughness to navigate the harshest environment many will ever face, and move through it as only those who call it home can. Further levels in this skill increase your adaptability to harsh climates and aid your movement within them.
I exhaled slowly as I opened my eyes, smiling to myself as I took in the flood of information that the system provided. Success. A new skill, and a free skill slot. I was tempted to spend longer reviewing the new skill and its appearance within my soul, but I knew that the best way to familiarise myself with it was to use it. Experience is the greatest teacher, and I said that as someone taught by The Shepard himself.
My knees ached, and my back was numb from where it had been pressed to the rock below. Stretching, I noted the crimson light brushing the forest below and sighed to myself. Most of a day spent lying on the floor, staring at my own soul.
If I wasn’t careful, I’d be offered some sort of soul-surgeon class soon. A silly thought, as I knew such individuals existed, and they were highly sought after. If it was so easy to operate on another’s soul, the classes to do so wouldn’t be so rare, and combat between classers would likely look very different.
I sighed at the ache in my stomach and reviewed my status to ensure all was as I expected.
Ancestry: Human (unevolved)
Level: 29
Class: Blood of the Hills
Titles: God-touched
Attribute allocation:
Strength: 25
Agility: 25
Endurance: 29
Perception: 26
Cognition: 25
Available attributes: 0
Current skills:
Guerrilla Warfare: Level 8. Passive.
Wilderness Endurance Hunter: Level 8. Passive.
Heart of the Hills: Level 5. Active.
Check Step: Level 7. Active.
Indomitable Prey: Level 8. Active.
Skirmisher of Antiquity: Level 5. Passive.
Mountain-Born: Level 9. Passive
Open skill slot
Everything seemed as it should. My soul was now ready for level 30 and the new class skill that it promised, but my body counselled patience. The ache in my chest from the broken rib was noticeably quieter, only murmuring at me on occasion when I bent and twisted too vigorously, and the cut had clotted neatly, with no hint of infection around the wound. I was also hungry again, and my mind felt a little sluggish.
As the afternoon sun tipped towards evening twilight, I decided to slip out and gather some more food and firewood. The creek would take too long to get to and from before dark, and I needed some vegetables anyway. I’d spied what I was reasonably confident was a chestnut tree nearby, and I doubted I’d struggle to find some tubers and edible roots near the base of the cliff given how diverse and abundant the forest around me was.
After a large meal, an evening of stretching and movement, trying to get to grips with my new skill and attributes after the latest enhancement, I again laid down for a long night. I’d recovered my mana by now and so would be able to keep Indomitable Prey active for at least couple bells, enough for a decent rest at any rate.
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The morning sun found me running through the forest once more, fleet of foot and filled with purpose. My grip around my shield was firm, and the fang at my hip was within easy reach. It was a sensible precaution, as I noticed blood and an animal carcass on the ground not far into the journey, and a splintered tree trunk later that looked to have been the result of a powerful impact. Something dangerous was within these woods, and while that was not exactly new information, the evidence of it still filled me with equal parts excitement and fear.
I slowed as I neared the end of the gorge and took deliberate care to keep my steps soft and quiet. As I reached the edge of the forest and gazed out across the remaining 50 or so meters of open, ruptured ground, my stomach twisted as I saw the likely culprit of the damage I’d seen earlier.
Three men stood, red cloaks hanging off of broiled leather armour for two of them and overlapping metal plates for the other. Their backs were to me, one of them crouching to the floor with an arm outstretched, clearly pointing something out to the other two.
I frowned for a moment, the deep red cloaks pulling at a memory. The uneasiness heightened as I made the connection, and even further still when the man kneeling on the ground turned and I caught a glimpse of dirty blonde hair and a nasty burn on one side of his face. Sven.
That meant the others must be Francis and Rank, my erstwhile captors, but why were they wearing the same cloaks as the Crimson Lions? They even had the little gold crests on the top right where they attached to the armour, so it definitely wasn’t just a coincidence of colour.
They were only a few dozen meters from the cavern entrance and my spear, laying as it was among the rocks at its mouth. I couldn’t see the guardian for a moment and wondered briefly if it had gone looking for me over the last two nights, before I spied the skull hanging from a vine in the cliff face above the cavern. It was relatively well hidden unless you knew to look for it, and there was no baleful green light emanating from the eye sockets this time, so I assumed it was in a dormant state. Clearly it was actually a guardian of this entrance, and not just a wild creature.
My thoughts churned as I considered what to do. On the one hand, I could slip away now without detection and try and put some more distance between myself and the men before me. It was the safest option in the short-term, and perhaps they would have a harder time tracking me in the high hills and low mountains.
On the other hand, they’d found me once already, and it’d probably just delay the inevitable. It would give me time to gather strength, attempt to gain a new class skill and maybe a few more levels before the confrontation. On the other other hand – so back to the first hand again – the creatures were already dangerous and only becoming more so the higher I fled. I had no guarantee the men wouldn’t catch up to me after a serious injury at the hands of some wild beast, and my chances then would be much lower.
So if I didn’t run, then what? Attack them now, setup as much of an ambush as possible and hope to slay them all? I was still sure I had no chance against Francis in a straight up fight, but I could see Sven and Rank taking at least heavy injuries, if not death, if I set things up correctly.
The priority would be to take out Sven, then slip away again. They may be able to follow but without a dedicated tracker, I had a much higher chance of evading them over the long haul. But how to take him out and then retreat without being captured or cut down by Francis – a fighter a whole tier above me at the least?
I watched as Sven exchanged words with the two standing men, gesturing about at the ground and having a heated discussion. Francis pointed down at the cavern entrance, but Sven shook his head emphatically and they continued to argue back and forth. Rank, evidently bored with the discussion or simply realising his opinion would have no impact on the outcome, turned to look around.
I wanted to shrink back behind the tree I was shadowed against, but Wilderness Endurance Hunter screamed its instincts at me to stay still, and so I stayed locked in place moving not a muscle. Once again, the artificial knowledge granted by my skills turned out to be trustworthy, as his gaze flicked over me without any hint of recognition or acknowledgement, and I slowly let out a breath as he turned back to the others.
They would move forwards soon, I was sure of it, and once they found my spear, there would be no doubt I was close. I’d lose the element of surprise, and the chances of a successful ambush would fall dramatically.
They were near the edge of the cavern entrance, probably only a dozen meters away, and about 3 meters from the edge of one of the cliffs. The skull of the still-living wraith – if you could really describe an animated forest spirit as living in the first place – was between the entrance and the group also, and only a few more steps forward would cause it to activate, assuming the same rules applied today as two days ago when I was last here. My spear was also on the ground not too far away from the cavern and stairs below.
A plan was starting to form, and I spent a few moments running through how it would work. If I could make it along the cliff face behind them, I could get in position to drop onto them from above. That should allow me to kill at least one of them outright, and perhaps in the confusion injure another.
Assuming I could catch Francis by surprise, that would the best option, as no matter his level or tier, I expected a knife through the throat from surprise to be enough to kill anyone. The other two could then be dealt with more traditionally. If Francis wasn’t a good option due to positioning, I’d aim for Sven and then hope to leg it back through the gorge, activating the wraith as a distraction for Francis.
It wasn’t perfect, but no plan of mine ever would be, and the longer I waited the harder it would be to make it a reality. And frankly, I couldn’t wait to kill these fuckers. Nobody puts me in a cage and lives to tell of it.
I felt my pathbound skill echo approval in my soul at the thought.