Rhode resisted the urge to tear the silver band off of his bare skin. He opened his eyes and they rolled back down. “I’m worried that this thing [Metal Toxicity] is getting really high. I’ve got a lot of levels in progress that look really bad.”
Tarrop flipped open a small notebook and took up his pen. Worried little wrinkles knit into his brow. “Is it higher or lower than [Iron Bones] now?”
“Um, Bangle says that bones is at low seventy percent, and toxic is sixty five.”
“Larder-scum,” cursed the scholar. He plucked a silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. “Higher than I would like. Normally the pair spike shouldn’t come so close to overtaking the object level.”
“Okay, and pair spikes are bad?” Rhode groaned. “And object level is good?”
Notification: Competitor levels, sometimes referred to as adversarial or corival, refer to groupings of two or more levels that share common prerequisites or conditions of development, but oppose or prevent one another.
Constable Brand crossed his arms. “What must be done to correct the imbalance?”
Comment: It’s like having a nest of baby birds with only enough food to feed one. It’s only a matter of time before the biggest one eats the other chicks. That’s how birds work, right?
“I’m sorry, Rhode. We’re saying that your new level has yet to finalize: to be accepted by your body and your mana. I’ll try to explain, but – Ser Fidelity, do we have time for this? If there is an emergency, I don’t know if this is the best use of our time.”
“It is only because we have an emergency that I was able to pull Goodman Irving away,” the constable replied. “So we do not have time – but we should take it anyway. I will ask again, what steps need to be taken to prevent this pair malady?”
Notification: Pair malady, a malady type adversarial level which is usually corival to a “desirable” one.
QuoteOfTheDay: What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger – unless it cripples you, forever.
“Time alone will be enough: it will not be a problem. His transmutation’s progress is dominant enough that it will preclude its paired ailment. The only thing this means for us is that we cannot risk giving him his mana potion, nor any other accelerants until [Iron Bones] is crystallized.”
Notification: Did you know that [Electric Resist] is corival to [Burnt Nerves]? Would you like to know more?
“Bangle, I’m trying to listen,” Rhode whispered at his arm.
But the lord was pointedly ignoring the Hero’s conversation with his jewelry. “You are certain?” Brand pressed the magician.
And Scholar Tarrop assured him. “If anything changes, we can always provide Rhode with a purgative to shift the balance. It will weaken the final level, but at least we will have the option.”
“Okay, so poison is good as long as it’s not too much?” Rhode mumbled.
Comment: Poison is always good. When you say “too much” poison, I say “sharing opportunity”.
“Please. One moment, Goodman Irving. Goode Scholar Tarrop, I am obligated to return to my duties shortly. Perhaps take a half hour with him. Complete your assessment; answer his questions as best as you can. I will send someone by at the hour to fetch him.”
The scholar leaned backwards in his chair and blew air out of the corner of his mouth. “And if he is unfit to run about and quell a riot? Say for example, because he is still recovering from intrusive, full body surgery?”
The constable adjusted his buttons and stepped towards the door. “Then send him back to his room,” he scoffed. “Surely, you will do what you must. And Goodman Irving?”
The homunculus tried to turn about from his bench, but he was too sore for it. “Yea, Ser Fidelity?”
“When you go topside, try not to speak overmuch, or to be yourself. It will make them think you are harmless.”
Rhode grabbed either side of his bench, and it squealed across the floor as he scooted it to an angle. “Thanks, Brand,” Rhode glared.
Then the constable was gone. The door shut heavily behind him.
Rhode cupped his face in his hands and pressed lightly on his eyelids. “Okay, can you explain this again. Do I, or do I not need to worry about all these red bad levels?”
“Unfortunately, transmutation levels are often competitive with toxicity ailments. We do our best to manage the risk, but it is a fact of life. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but you’d been exposed to synergistic metallic auras just a few days before your procedure.”
Tarrop picked up his booklet and leafed through it.
“One moment, I have all this written down. Much of this is harmless… but low grade [Arsenic], mid-grade [Mercury], something called [Catalysis] – and [Chelation]: which must be an alchemical property I’ve never heard of before. Brother Eloft recorded that your [Toxicity] spiked as high as 45% while you were asleep. It looks like we saw a few signs of a [Resistance] transmutation, but that didn’t even peak past twenty-five.”
“You’re worrying me, Tarrop,” Rhode grumbled. “I thought you guys were gonna fix this.”
“We will. The important thing about competitive levels is once one of them ‘wins’ it will dominate the other. [Iron Bones] will even give you some level of permanent resistance to alchemical poisoning, though it is important to remember that this protection will be limited. Believe me, Rhode. You would never, ever want to wake up one day with an evolved [Lead Bones].”
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
Comment: Yea. I just looked it up. [Lead Bones] sucks. It doesn’t even kill you fun.
“Okay,” Rhode sighed. “What about [Fibrosis]?”
“From the damage to your lungs. We recorded it peaking at… 28% progress. It’s declining, correct?”
“Twenty one, something now. These things can go back down? The [Inebriate] thing is on here too.”
“Of course. [Status] is a difficult and complicated assessment, which is why we sometimes, and probably unwisely, rely on [Logic] daemons. The state of your body, your mind, your choices, all of these things pull at your mana. And mana wants to take a shape, to become stable in the form of our levels. Eventually, those levels will collapse into classes.”
Notification: Class is a cultural term referring to a cluster of four or more levels which evolve through merging. People think they matter more than they do. Who needs [Pyromancy] when you can have [Pyroclastic Bio-Ignition]? Dumb.
The lantern’s cool light was starting to dim, and shadows festered in the corners. So Tarrop stood, climbed up his chair, stepped directly on the table, and tapped the metal hoop which ran around the glass base of the light. The room brightened again.
“None of these are levels yet. They are possibilities that [Status] helps us predict. But as you heal, some of these will recede. You have probably noticed that none of your existing levels are making much progress right now. It’s because most or all of your mana should be forming into your new one.”
Rhode reached out in case the magician needed help getting back down. The table wobbled, and some of the papers slid an inch or two, but Tarrop dismounted safely. As he spoke, he fetched a set of boxes from the wall, and began to unpack the contents.
“Several of the health problems you are experiencing would recover more quickly if we weren’t so busy cutting you apart before we’d let you get better. Here –”
The goblin laid out a coin sized tin of cream colored, meaty smelling ointment, and then a row of irregular, dark colored pills. He pointed to each one in turn.
“Smear this one beneath your nose; it’s a continuation of your breathing medication. This pill is an anti-corruptive, this one is anti-pestilent, and this one is anti-plague. As long as the palace isn’t on fire, we’ll have a [Flesh-Knit] tonic sent to your room by morning. I’ll make sure your attendants rotate your pain regiment to reduce the growth of [Inebriate].”
Rhode relaxed a shade. It changed a great deal to hear that someone at least had a plan – or, more importantly, someone who was willing to explain what the plan was.
“You probably don’t need to do all this. I’ve got four healers, an alchemist, and a barber patching me up. I figure I’ll probably be okay in no time,” Rhode smiled. He pocketed the medication anyway.
But the magician scowled. He grabbed for his wine cup again instinctively, but it was (obviously) still empty.
“No, you don’t,” Tarrop spat, “when was the last time that you’ve seen the Hornupants?”
An interesting question. Rhode tried to remember whether he’d seen any of the □■□■□, and… oh, right.
“They’ve all been pulled away. Management even called on Brother Eloft sometime last night. I had assumed it had something to do with the third Hero, but now I suppose I don’t know.”
“Someone’s changing my bandages though.”
“I know you won’t be happy to hear it, but I think you have an herbalist, a field medic, and a midwife tending you. Hopefully it will be temporary: we were supposed to expand our support staff now that the Project has moved to the active phase.”
This was all distressing news, especially since Rhode was distinctly sure that budget was never supposed to be a problem: someone important had told him that.
“That doesn’t sound good,” he considered. “If I didn't have real healers, they never would have warned me about my meds, would they have?”
“Exactly why I mentioned it,” Scholar Tarrop nodded. “But I have to say, you are doing better than I anticipated. You are alert, and mobile, and that itself is a miracle. Try not to exert yourself, but if Ser Fidelity needs your help, I won’t stop you.”
The magician shut his little boxes, one by one. He stacked them up and carried them back to the wall shelves, and they rejoined a dozen other unlabeled containers filled with who knows what.
“I wanted to ask you about magic,” the [Brawn Homunculus] asked. “While I still have you. I’ve seen some of what you guys can do. How would I learn? What would I need to do?”
“Of course, big guy,” Tarrop practically jumped. Eagerly, he threw himself back into his seat and snatched the top folio off of the marked stack of seven that had drawn Rhode’s eye. “It’s an impossibly large field. Everything depends on what you want to be able to accomplish. For example, this was a draft plan we had put together a few months ago. It is a map of the prerequisite fire magics to develop a level we call [Incineration Waltz], which is a combination of mobility techniques and fire conjurations.”
“Uh,” Rhode eyed the binder, “that sounds really cool, but I honestly don’t think I want to burn people.”
“Right. I suppose you would not. I suppose that [Pyroclastic Storm] would not appeal to you either… honestly, Rhode. Now that you have mentioned it, this is a very good time to get you started on magical study. With your mana so deeply invested as it is, you will be able to focus on the fundamentals without worrying about picking up useless runes or mantras.”
“Okay. How about [Power Word: Spite]. Is that any good?”
“[Spite]? I’m not sure. Check with the daemon, but it sounds like a coaxial anger glamour. I think I remember it is adjacent to the [Berserk] lines, but it affects more than just yourself.”
Notification: Fight to the death! Manipulate the force of magnetic hatred! [Spite] can make any party an event to remember when –
“No, then,” Rhode declared definitively.
Comment: I hatehatehate you. Let me give you power.
Comment: [Rage] lines are psychic resistant, you dummy. Listen to –
Frustrated, Rhode took [Status] Bangle off.
Tarrop tossed another binder aside and picked up a third.“How about.. well this one should synchronize well with your existing levels. [Phase-Inertial Ram] would turn your body into a devastating projectile –”
“Absolutely not.”
“Well, we don’t need to do any of these,” Tarrop announced. “If you don’t feel that they fit you. How about [Megaton Launch-Vector] was an idea we had for long-distance artillery: it would be a waste of your existing levels, but we could make it work. Or for something different, I have a naval spell called [Wide Mass Hydrogradient]. If you have any interest in boats or sailing, and you didn’t plan on falling overboard, that might be a good one.”
Rhode stopped the magician there. He pushed the stack of papers and plans away from himself, and leaned over the table. “Tarrop, is there a kind of magic that exists that doesn’t hurt people? Something that can stop someone dangerous, but like, incapacitate: not do permanent harm?”
The magician of Wavelton & Brooks had been the kind of man who had taught himself [Impulse Lance] in his youth. He was also the kind of man who would never willingly put himself into any kind of danger which would have the level useful. So he considered Rhode’s request with bafflement.
“I can do that for you, big guy. I’m sure. But, ah – look at you. Think of what we’re doing. You're going to piss off everyone. Why for sake of the gods would you possibly want that?”