I only needed a few of the reagents I keep regularly stocked in my [Craftman’s Satchel] to quickly mix a sedative for the Kitsune. Once done and slowly fed to the unconscious creature, I tied its fore and hind legs together in pairs before carefully depositing it into my pack. I felt nervous about leaving it entirely within due to any potential fumes from the reagents also inside, so I tied the opening closed gently around its neck, leaving its head poking out the top in a comical display of pushed up fur and compressed cheeks. “Ridiculous.” I snorted in unconcealed mirth, letting the rain cover flop down onto its terrifying visage. Better if the locals don’t see that.
Having a hybrid Class was indeed a boon when it came to utility abilities like my satchel, a deep blueish black container resembling a courier sack, bound tightly to my back as to not interfere with any quick maneuvering. The utility came from the fact that my class, [Rhynohan Arcanist], enabled me to imbue the bag with spatial magic, resulting in a sort of custom bag of holding, giving it a larger interior size relative to the size difference between a regular bag and my own. Truly, a racial class allowing me to both wield mana for crafting/utility, as well as for combat, is the single greatest thing I am thankful for.
Unfortunately, the list of things I am thankful for ends quickly after that. A greater baseline of attributes and longevity are, without doubt, great traits. However, paired with an extremely reduced rate of growth in all skills and the fact that I am openly hunted by every other race in the realm, my Rhynohan bloodline often leaves me in envy of others.
Humans, with their passive adaptability, letting them grow in both skill and attribute rapidly, some from different parts of the world with other, more-unique boons besides. Their short lives cause seemingly no issue for their continual expansion, reproducing faster than any other sentient race other than such monstrosities as the Goblinoids and their ilk.
The Deep Alves, tall and lithe humanoids with long downward slanted ears supposedly born of the deep void, with their massive natural affinity for all the dark pantheons’ schools of magic. Even exceptional longevity, not enough to rival my own but great all the same.
Stonekin, literally born from the Earthfather. Wee babes crawling their first length directly out of the bedrock, deep below mountains of humbling height. Stockier frames than the average human, but much superior bulk, these grey-skinned beings are pinnacle artisans and architects of all materials, innately gifted with creative minds and the [Boon of Creation] from their patron deity.
Beastkin, Coldbloods, Goliath, Orks; the list goes on. All other races in this realm, born to nothing but innate talents and boons, yet I am gifted a life of running, of hiding. Of never being able to trust another for fear of what may come when they discover the truth. Memories of burning buildings flit briefly in my mind, the haunting screams making me wince harshly before the moment passes. I grit my teeth and grab my pack, hoisting it onto my back and start walking—nothing to do but move forward. The past holds nothing for me but grief and misery.
In my time musing and resting after finally capturing the Kitsune, I lost track of time. The day escaped from me, and now I’m left staring out into a dark and foreboding forest, who knows how many kilometers away from Groughton, the small village I last stayed in. I watch the wind sway through the trees and listen to the chirping of smaller creatures and insects. Breathing through my nose, olfactory glands churning through scents with accuracy like a hound, I don’t notice anything worrying. Other than the smell of my own crusted blood, I guess. Chuckling, I start backtracking my steps downhill before the rain ruins too much of the trail.
The trip back to town is ultimately uneventful, some predators come out of their nests, caves, burrows, or wherever, and eye me up through the cover of darkness and distance, but eventually decide I’m not worth the risk. It may have something to do with me returning their hungry glares directly, mana coursing through my eyes granting me darkvision and a menacing glow.
Realizing I most likely won’t run into any excitement on my trip, the trees beginning to thin out giving me a healthy distance to gauge any incoming threat, I relax significantly. Allowing my mind to wander a bit while I walk, I can’t help but mull over the notification I received after I knocked the Kitsune unconscious.
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Successfully subdued and captured Luna, Kitsune of the Boundless Harvest!
2 Essence of Arcana, 1 Essence of Glory, 3 Essence of The Hunt awarded.
The Pantheons smile upon your achievement. Accolade awarded.
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Absurd. Absolutely, indisputably absurd. The first time I receive any Essence at all in almost a year, and I receive bloody six? Is it because of the months of busting my ass chasing the trail of the Kitsune? One that’s apparently named. Patrons above, I abhor trying to fathom that either. A named monster is a being so old and powerful that it attains true intelligence, becomes sentient. That’s obviously the case here, system notification aside, as the bloody thing spoke to me after all. But it’s impossible. This Kitsune only has three tails! It’s nowhere near ancient enough! Only creatures in excess of a hundred years of age attain a Name… Creatures of legend such as Orakron the Eternal, or Ryzen, Serpent-lord of Fire.
“Ugggh,” Slapping my hands over my face, I groan in frustration, the warm breath turning to steam as it leaves my mouth. “This is way fucking beyond my ken…” My shoulders sag a bit as I think about all the ways having this Kitsune in my possession can go wrong. Luna, I guess. First things first, I got to stop referring to her as a beast.
Bad omen or not, I can at least look at the bright side, right? Six Essence to distribute. I salivate at the thought and lift my arm, sending a small surge of mana into the runes adorning my wrist, bringing up my class interface.
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[Rhynohan Arcanist]
Attributes
Strength 19 Intelligence 31 Constitution 25 Wisdom 30 Dexterity 22 Willpower 27 Agility 20 Spirit 16
Available Essence
2 Essence of Arcana - 1 Essence of Glory - 3 Essence of The Hunt
Accolades
Rhynohan – Clan Atsukoh, Prodigal Student, Survivor, *Legendary Hunter*
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“Holy shit.” Seeing the new blinking addition to my accolades caught me off guard. Looking back at the prior notification, I realized I glossed right over the part where it told me I gained one. I immediately expand the accolades section to see the details of my gains.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
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Rhynohan – Clan Atsukoh:
Born to a Clan with its beginning stretching back to an age long forgotten to all but your kin, you hold the capacity for true greatness. Grow. Thrive. Ascend. All is within your reach.
Restrictions on acquisition of Skills lifted.
Clan Atsukoh: Skill growth significantly impaired. Innate ability significantly increased.
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Prodigal Student:
Your natural ability to comprehend new ideas is exceptional.
New concepts are more easily understood, new knowledge more easily acquired.
Prodigy befits prodigy. When taught by a Prodigal Teacher, learning speed greatly improved.
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Survivor:
Survivor of an event vastly beyond one’s ability to foresee, prevent, or deter.
When on the brink of death, all attributes' effectiveness is doubled.
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Legendary Hunter:
Successfully captured or killed a Legendary creature. Your relentless pursuit and capture of Luna, Kitsune of the Boundless Harvest, permanently adds your name to the minuscule list of those that have faced beings of immense power, challenging the limits of their mortality, and emerged victorious.
Value of Essence of The Hunt doubled.
When in pursuit, your presence is significantly masked.
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My eyes go wide, my foot falls short of the rock I was about to climb over, and my arms don’t even come up in time to balance before I trip. Slamming face-first into an unfortunately located puddle of mud doesn’t do anything to dampen my mood, however. “If that means what I think it means, then…” I quickly send mana back through my class runes and focus on my available Essence.
Essence of Arcana [2] Essence of Glory [1] Essence of The Hunt [3] Intelligence 31(+) Strength 19(+) Dexterity 22(+) Wisdom 30(+) Constitution 25(+) Agility 20(+) Willpower 27(+) Willpower 27(+) Intelligence 31(+) Spirit 16(+) Spirit 16(+) Wisdom 30(+)
I consume an Essence of The Hunt without hesitation, deciding to increase my agility attribute, and buck back with a wild laugh right after as I feel the change take effect.
Essence of Arcana [2] Essence of Glory [1] Essence of The Hunt [2] Intelligence 31(+) Strength 19(+) Dexterity 22(+) Wisdom 30(+) Constitution 25(+) Agility 22(+) Willpower 27(+) Willpower 27(+) Intelligence 31(+) Spirit 16(+) Spirit 16(+) Wisdom 30(+)
Every Essence value doubled. Absurd, so fucking absurd! People would kill for this boon! Core below, I would kill for this boon… I shake my head briskly to rid myself of those dark thoughts, my focus shifting back to my attributes. My decision for the rest of the Essence is easy. With both my combat and crafting needs strongly relying on my mental attributes, I dump the remaining Essence of The Hunt into intelligence, raising it to 35, then use the Essence of both Glory and Arcana to raise my lagging spirit attribute to 19. Right on the cusp of the first milestone. The resulting surge of Essence altering my mind is electrifying.
Feeling mentally refreshed and fleeter of foot, I climb to my feet with a content huff and wipe the mud off my face. Overjoyed at increasing my attributes by so much after so long, I hop a couple times experimentally and start laughing again. I feel instinctually better at judging the weight distribution and contouring of my feet as they land, muscles working in greater synergy, my mind able to process and react to the signals coming through my nerves much faster. Breaking off at a brisk jog, it feels as if every stride travels farther than it did before.
The new gains and wind rushing past me as I race through thinner and thinner foliage leaves me feeling more content than I’ve been in months—finally, no more stagnation.
After roughly an hour of jogging at the same pace, I finally reach a trail. From the size of the path and the density of the soil underfoot, I can tell it’s little more than a lumberjack or hunter’s trail, but I know that Groughton sits nestled comfortably at the base of this mountain. So long as I follow this trail downhill, I’ll be back in town in no time.