Drusilla’s Font

It was a sphere of Gnosis which, once Irina cast it, floated in the air between herself, Redmane and Radovid at about navel height. The Font was roughly the size of the cannonball that struck Redmane in the gut recently, though this ball was more pleasant to look at. Colors swirled across its surface like blots of oil or paints that refused to mix, making its glow prismatic.

Redmane leaned toward it, opened his jaws…

“What are you doing?” asked Irina.

He stopped with his mouth open, eyes flicking to the Magister.

She shook her head. “ wait a moment.”

Redmane closed his mouth and waited.

Gnosis: 20

Gnosis: 30

Gnosis: 40

Gnosis: 50

His eyes grew wide. He stared at the glowing sphere.

“Remarkable…”

“This is new to you then?” She laughed and shook her head. “All that muscle and no knowledge. Ah well. If you’re not smart you’d better be strong, isn’t that what they say.”

Redmane felt the Gnosis flowing into his body at a steady trickle. It was a cool, pleasant sensation. It quieted the growing strength of the hunger urge in his stomach. As the number continued to climb, he even felt more clear minded, as if his powers of cognition were enhanced by the mere presence of Gnosis in his body.

Gnosis: 100

Gnosis: 110

Gnosis: 120

“How do Magisters get by without this Skill?” asked Redmane.

Irina’s eyebrow arched. “This merely speeds the process. Gnosis recovers naturally, as does Corpus. Yours does as well, does it not?”

Redmane shook his head no. “I have to eat to recover anything.”

Her other eyebrow shot up, joining the first. “I see… Truly you’re a different sort of beast.”

Even with a calmer, clearer mind, Redmane felt excitement growing in his gut as he watched his Gnosis tick upward again and again.

When Drusilla’s Font reached the end of its duration, however, he felt a bit crestfallen. That would be it for now.

But at last, he had power.

Gnosis: 250

These fool beastmen didn’t know what was coming for them.

But best not to be reckless with it. Save the power for when it matters most. For the high priest and the burgomaster. Unless they found themselves in a dire situation.

He took a breath slowly, exhaled it, nodded.

Irina chuckled at him. “Feels nice to be topped up, aye? The mind’s as clear as spring water.”

“It does indeed,” said Redmane. “Now, let’s meet up with your comrade and slay a few cultists.”

He broke out into a run and leapt onto the nearest rooftop, then the next one, then the next one, sprinting on his hands and feet between long leaps over the streets below. It wasn’t until he was several hundred yards away from where he started did he pause and look back, to see Radovid and Irina walking down the street far behind him.

Evidently they didn’t share his sense of urgency.

But he noted their caution. The way they covered each other’s blind spots as they advanced through the streets. Methodically.

Redmane could wait for them, or he could proceed on his own. Either way he would reach the high priest of Kraal and slay him tonight. He crouched on the rooftop for a moment and considered the best course.

He’d scout ahead, circle back if he ran into more foes than he could handle, or if he found a clue as to Vella’s whereabouts. In the mean time he could keep an eye on them from above, in case they were the ones who stumbled across more than they could deal with.

And he had a few eyes to spare.

Redmane closed his eyes and reached out to his Spawn, finding two nearby. He dispatched both to come flying over here on the double, and commanded them to keep an eye on the two Imbued while he got the lay of the land.

And wet his claws with blood, at the nearest opportunity.

His mind may have been clear from hunger, for the most part, but his lust for violence never seemed to abate.

Once his birds had their eyes on the Imbued siblings, Redmane took off across the rooftops once more, in search of prey.

He didn’t have to go far. Up ahead there was a small plaza with a circle of lawn in the center, surrounded by the vacant storefronts of inns and taverns and various other businesses.

Upon the center of the lawn stood a cultist of Kraal in his red stained robes, arms held up to the sky as he droned through a sermon in some forgotten tongue. At his feet huddled feral beastmen, who gazed up at the cultist as if he himself were their deity. The rapturous look on their feral faces gave Redmane the impression that even if they didn’t understand what he was saying, they were receiving the message.

Either that, or their minds were dominated by a Skill.

Redmane decided to test that theory.

He crept around the congregation on the rooftops, until he stood behind the chanting priest, upon the edge of the roof of an ale hall. He hopped down from there and crept toward the red robed figure, crouched low, and even though the gang of beastmen were facing him directly, none so much as glanced away from the priest.

Beastman Shaman

Monster Type: Corrupted

Level 37

Redmane stopped, well within striking distance.

He told himself he didn’t need to use any Skills. But…

Oh, why not. It’s been a goodly time since the last.

He stood up and drew a long, full breath of air into his lungs. The air mixed with a fire in his belly.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Flame Breath

Gnosis: 230

He opened wide and exhaled, hunching forward with his core muscles flexed, and a cone of fire poured from his maw with force.

The priest’s robes ignited instantly. It took the poor fellow a moment to even notice what was going on. He stopped chanting, looked down in mild alarm. And then his alarm wasn’t so mild, because he was on fire. Worse yet, Redmane’s Skill wasn’t over. He continued bathing the priest in flames for several more moments, even after he began running around the sqare howling in pain.

The run didn’t last long. The priest made it a few paces to the left, to the right, and then down he went.

His flock of beastmen remained prostrate throughout most of it. It took a few moments after his chanting ceased, and the screaming began, for them to begin to come to their senses. It was as Redmane thought, a Skill of some kind, used to keep them docile. Perhaps to make them suggestible as well.

Regardless, they were no longer under its sway. They shook their heads, blinked their eyes clear. Many of them saw Redmane and snarled threateningly.

Dominated or not, they were still enemies.

A few leapt to their feet and ran at him, and the rest followed suit.

Redmane dodged claws and knives and cudgels, answered with his own claws, and in a few moments the square was painted red with blood and chunks of beastmen in a number of sizes.

Which meant it was time for a quick snack.

Corpus: 6123

He would have liked to have eaten the priest as well, but it looked as though he would be on fire a while longer. Perhaps it was whatever dye they used on those furs, but the flames endured with no signs of guttering out.

He supposed he could eat something that was on fire, if he were hungry enough. But that wasn’t the case at the moment.

Now would be a good time to check on Radovid and Irina.

He closed his eyes and sent them to a little bird nearby.

They too were engaged with a pack of beastmen and their shepherd, a priest of Kraal. They had wisely retreated to a narrow street, so that Radovid could halt their advance with sweeping strikes from his great blade, while Irina pelted the priest with spells from behind him. He admired their efficiency.

But it looked like they had a handle on things. No need to run to their rescue yet.

He opened his real eyes and took to the rooftops again, searching for the next kill.

He was ostensibly searching for their comrade, Vella, and the High Priest of Kraal. But truly he was hunting. Engaged in the simple joy of stalking prey, slaying it and eating it. His prey came alone and in pairs, sometimes in groups, sometimes in whole flocks such as the one he’d dispatched in the square.

Corpus: 8262

He periodically checked in on the Imbued siblings and found them in good condition. Sometimes they were doing as he was, moving about the town cautiously, slaying foes as they came upon them. Sometimes they paused to rest and talk.

During one such rest, Radovid leaned against the pedestal of a huge statue towering over them, depicting some manner of nature goddess. The statue may once have been copper, but was now covered in a patina of verdigris green.

He folded his arms, shook his head. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Irina came over to sit next to him, hopping up on the ledge of the pedestal to sit at the goddess’s feet.

“What troubles you? We became Imbued to suppress Blight when it came, did we not? Well, now one is upon us.”

“But why has it corrupted so many?” he asked. “It’s taken nearly the whole of the land. What manner of curse reaches so far and wide, and spares so few.”

Irina took a moment to think about it. “Most of the people of Volos have common ancestry. Descendants of the ‘Five Founding Families’ of the reconstruction.”

“Are we not people of Volos?”

Irina shrugged. “Perhaps it could not touch us because we are Imbued.”

“I wish that were so. But consider the one we just met. Redmane. He’s Imbued, no question about it, but the curse is upon him as well.”

Irina canted her head to the side, curious. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, come on sister. Look at him. Observe his manner for but a few moments. What other explanation could there be?”

She paused again, in thought. Tapped her nails against her staff, kicked her foot.

“The System shields us from curses of that kind. We may be afflicted by lesser things, Skills that place a temporary curse of poison or weakness or misfortune, but not of the sort that cause Blights across the land. If we begin there, we must conclude that Redmane was special before the System accepted him.”

If Radovid looked unsettled before, now he looked appalled.

“But why… Why would the System choose such a beast…”

Irina gave him a smirk. “I think I sense some jealousy, brother mine.”

Radovid’s ears turned red. “Of course not.”

Redmane came back to his own senses wearing a smirk of his own.

He proceeded westward along the rooftops, dispatching beastmen in ones and twos as he came across them, until he reached the cluster of churches they had seen from the bridge. They were arranged in a circle, each facing a central plaza. Each building had a different architectural style, which suggested they were built at different times.

One resembled a primitive longhouse with a thatched roof, the next was a small but sturdy structure built from heavy, squared off stones. Those two styles repeated a bit, perhaps because they were chapels to different deities worshipped at the same time period. They all appeared to be well kept and cared for, which suggested, at least to Redmane, that whatever religions these folk practiced were still practiced today. Up until the Blight, at least.

The center of the plaza featured a monument consisting of five statues, facing each other in salute. Each was a monster with four legs and wings on its back. A Dragon, a manticore, a kirin, a sphinx, a gryphon.

And then there was the big church. It loomed over them all, a far grander building in not only size but in quality workmanship. Its front face had a peaked roof, with a tall central steeple and two shorter ones on each side, for a total of five. Gargoyles crouched on turrets and pedestals, silently watching the plaza below. A wide stone staircase led to the church’s immense double doors, which at the moment were wide open.

Redmane figured he’d find Pietr in there.

But first he had to make his way through the plaza. Going from rooftop to rooftop wouldn’t work, the small churches were simply dwarfed by big one, there would be no way to land on its roof from anywhere but the town’s wall. Which was an option, but it would require much backtracking and climbing.

Better to take the direct approach.

Down in the plaza, he noted the locations of shamans preaching to flocks of enthralled beastmen. Armed guards patrolled in groups of two and four, and these weren’t clad in armor and toting firearms like the bridge guards . And then there were larger ones, larger perhaps than Agneszka’s Stitched Sentinels had been.

These giant beastmen wore mantles of red dyed fur, and they were posted at each of the plaza’s entrances on the north, south, east and west.

Church Town Guardian

Monster Type: Corrputed

Level 45

Redmane jumped down from a rooftop, to land at the end of the street.

At the other end stood a hulking Church Town Guardian, itself the height of most of the buildings around it. The brute was clad in a loincloth of furs belted around the waist by ropes so thick they had probably come from a shipyard. It wore a mantle of red upon its head like a cowl, no doubt dyed by the same method as that of the priests of Kraal. The Guardian wielded no weapons but its fists, most likely because there wouldn’t have been anything else around for it to wield besides boulders or uprooted trees.

The Guardian squinted down at him, as if trying to discern friend from foe.

Redmane helped him figure it out by roaring a challenge.

Evidently the Guardian wasn’t expecting such a roar from one so small. But it understood the meaning. Its eyes bulged and it roared back, breaking into a run, each footstep shaking the earth under its huge feet.

It occurred to Redmane that he hadn’t come up with a plan for this.

He made one up on the fly. It was a good plan. Simple. It would most likely work, or else he’d be crushed. Either way there would be nothing to worry about.

The giant Guardian raised a hand as it neared, as if to swat Redmane flat against the street like a bug. At a glance Redmane knew it would miss without even having to move, but the shockwave from that hand’s impact on the ground might send him hurtling backward through the air, so he leapt away anyway.

Sure enough, the clap of a giant palm on the stones sent a blast of air into his face, blew his hair and cloak backward while pelting him with a spray of ground rock and debris from the street.

As quickly as he’d dodged back, he sprang forward.

His claws raked across the Guardian’s wrist before he could move it out of reach, swiftly carving four bloody furrows into the flesh.

Bleeding (4)

The Guardian bellowed in pain and raised its other fist to smash Redmane. Again a hand struck the stone and blasted wind and pebbles in every direction, and again Redmane leapt out of the way, this time running between its legs to slash at its exposed heel on his way by.

Bleeding (8)

This was the plan.

Run around, stack Bleeding at each available opportunity, and don’t get crushed.

Bleeding (12)

Bleeding (16)

Bleeding (20)

The Guardian had a lot of vitality, that much was clear. It bled freely from many wounds and yet it still chased after Redmane at full speed, roaring its frustration as he eluded it again and again. Redmane began to suspect that this was going take a while. Which was all well and good. Sometimes a predator must be patient.

He leapt and rolled, slipped into narrow alleyways and even took to the rooftops to evade the Guardian’s slaps, hammerfists and awkward grabs.

But he couldn’t dodge them all.

The Guardian swept its hand down at Redmane and he miscalculated, evaded in the wrong direction, ended up with his back to a wall. A giant hand snapped shut around his body, cracking bones, forcing all the air out of his lungs in a croak.

With gut-wrenching swiftness, the Guardian raised him high in the air, and then spiked him on the ground.

The last thing Redmane saw before blacking out was the cobblestone street racing toward his face.