Chapter 10
(Girl power!)
The two of them, three counting Xinpo, sat across from each other and discussed what they could do to change their situation. Norruff didn't seem like he'd be much help anymore though, having all but accepted his fate here and not seeing change as being possible. Jarow and Xinpo tried to be a little more optimistic.
"Xinpo's ability is different from the one your key has. It's called Passe-partout, and it can unlock not only doors, but any lock," Jarow explained. "There's also a subtext to the ability he can't yet understand. He's not sure if it's something to do with the ability now, or maybe a change it will undergo at higher levels."
"So now you're telling me your key companion can gain levels?" Norruff asked sarcastically. "What's next, it grows a mouth and starts talking for real?" He chuckled, the sound coming out almost as a wheezing pant.
Jarow smiled, she really was beginning to like this little Quigza. She still wasn't sure why this species was called that, but it was her first time meeting one. She supposed human would sound strange to other species at first too. "I guess it's all relative," she thought to herself.
Rather than continue the conversation and try to convince Norruff of Xinpo's ability to gain levels, Jarow decided a little demonstration would be the best way to move forward. "Xinpo, would you mind changing to your dagger form for me?" she mentally asked her companion.
In her hand, the key quickly morphed into the larger and more comfortable dagger form. The change caught Norruff's eye and he watched it curiously. Once Xinpo had transformed, Jarow smiled widely at Norruff.
With her wide smile and eyes still looking at the Quigza, she plunged the dagger deep into her thigh.
The Quigza's eyes widened and his mouth opened in shock. "What are you doing?" He asked surprised.
Quickly removing the dagger, Jarow touched the blade to her lower leg, down near her knee. The blood bubbled out from her wound but quickly began moving seemingly of its own accord, sliding from the gushing wound on her thigh eagerly downward towards the awaiting blade. When it neared the blade, the blood was caught in a swirling distortion and disappeared into the steel.
“Suzerain, I do not approve of you injuring yourself for my benefit. If I am to absorb and level, it should not be due to your own sacrifice.” Xinpo scolded her.
Jarow's face was scrunched up in pain, but she smiled at Xinpo's reprimand. "This is just to prove a point, Xinpo. In this huge, strong body, I'll be able to slice open tons of monsters and things to get you other blood and stuff to absorb, especially if we can get out of here."
She opened her squinting eyes and looked at Norruff who was spellbound by the sight. “See, Xinpo absorbs blood to level up,” she said to Norruff through her gritted teeth. She had done a very similar thing in her last body, although the slicing of her flesh with the dull bone blade had felt much different to being stabbed by this sharp dagger.
She also had much more strength in this body. So much in fact, that she didn’t really know how to use it properly. She had plunged the blade deep into her thigh; much deeper than she had intended, and she was almost sure she had scraped the bone.
There was also much more mass to this body than before. Not only was her thigh as thick around as her entire waist had been in her elven body, but the huge leg was practically all muscle. The blade had not just torn through the top layers of skin and lightly penetrated the thigh like before. This time the muscles themselves had torn with the puncture, which made the amount of pain exponentially worse.
She actually thought the enlarged muscles would help reduce the damage, which she still believed they might be doing, although it was difficult to tell through the pain. Whereas if she had taken a wound like this in her last body, she wouldn’t be able to move. Now though, while it would feel extremely torturous, she thought she could probably walk, or possibly run if she had to. The surrounding muscles would compensate for the damaged ones.
She watched for several moments until the blood began moving slower down her leg and in smaller amounts. “That should be enough of a show,” she said and removed the blade from where it still touched her skin. She crossed her body with her left hand, her breasts making it more difficult than it should have been to reach across, and a silvery white liquid-light formed at her fingertips.
She hadn’t thought of watching her HP bar before, but was curious to see how it was affected by the spell. She focused on the red bar at the bottom of her vision.
HP - 102 of 116
“Wow,” she thought, “I inflicted fourteen points of damage to myself.” She was both impressed and upset. She wouldn’t be able to heal the total amount of damage with one spell this time.
She focused on her MP bar next.
MP - 29 of 35
So the spell cost six points to cast. That meant she would be able to cast her spell a total of five times. She didn’t exactly know how her MP was calculated, but felt like her Wisdom attribute was the major contributor. She also hadn’t thought about how fast her MP would regenerate. “It has to refill itself over time, right?” she thought to herself.
Her eyes refocused from staring at her UI, and she watched the liquid-light seep into her leg. The strange ticklish feeling seemed amplified as it worked its magic this time. She had to restrain herself from giggling as she watched the skin knit itself together.
Once the spell had concluded, her thigh showed a pinkish layer of skin covering the puncture wound. She tapped Xinpo to the leg once again to remove the rest of the blood and looked internally to check her HP bar again.
HP - 108 of 116
Before she moved her attention away from her HP bar, she watched the number increase to one hundred and nine. She hadn’t expected that to happen and was now curious as to why. She decided to ask Xinpo.
“My health just went up on its own. Do you know why that would happen?”
“You must have some form of regeneration, suzerain.” Xinpo replied. “That is usually a racial trait, check your race and see if it is mentioned. If it is not, then you may attempt to ask the interface.”
Upon hearing Xinpo casually say, "Ask the interface," Jarow instantly knew both what he was talking about and how to go about doing it. She needed only to concentrate on the area where she was looking for the additional information, and if it were there, it would populate for her.
She pulled up her character sheet. This time rather than focusing on a particular attribute, she mentally asked to see more about her race.
Race: Orc (current) - Orc’s are a race of strong but not particularly charismatic or intelligent people. They are strong fighters and excel at giving as well as taking damage. They gain a +[- 4 -] bonus to Strength and Constitution, and suffer a -[- 1 -] to Charisma, Wisdom, and Intelligence when base attribute is above minimum.
She could sense there was more information available beyond the basic explanation given and since she hadn’t found her answer yet, she pushed deeper into the description.
Orcs as a species are generally untrusted and often feared. Most Orc populations are found on low technology worlds where they live as hunter gatherers or work menial jobs; doing manual labor. They have difficulty with common languages due to their trademark tusks. The Orcish language is a foul and difficult language to speak as well as understand, even for the Orcs which speak it.
On worlds where high technology is present, Orcs are most likely to be trained as soldiers or used as mercenaries. Their strong physicality and endurance allows them to operate in adverse conditions and their inherent resistance and regeneration makes them an exceptional zero G combatant.
Jarow mentally invited Xinpo to read the excerpt as well. “I see. So your species has an inherent regeneration, as I had thought. You should also look into the resistances this species has, suzerain.” He told her after reading through the descrition.
“That’s all you took from that?” She questioned the blade.
“It seems the description is detailed enough to give a good overview while not expanding into origins, classes, or stereotypes. Yes, the text does a decent job of delivering the basics, suzerain.”
It took Jarow a moment to realize the difference of what she took away from it compared to what Xinpo did. Granted she was interested in the resistances and such as well, “But this tells us that there are worlds where magic and technology are prevalent and that there are multiple species and people out there in the universe beyond this place. That part doesn’t interest you?” She asked Xinpo with a hint of disbelief in her voice.
“Ahh yes, I see what you mean. The multitude of worlds and races are a part of my knowledge base, suzerain. I can’t remember ever encountering any, but I inherently know they are out there.” Xinpo casually explained.
Jarow’s mind swirled with possibilities and questions. If there were so many differing worlds out beyond this place, she wanted to explore them. She wanted to have her own adventures and meet different people, to have the thrill of using magic and flying through space in a huge ship. She wanted to explore, not just be stuck in this stupid hallway.
“AAAAGHHHH!!!” Jarow bellowed and slammed her hand into the door to her left. The wood slat cracked and splintered.. “I want out!” She screamed.
----------------------------------------
Norruf Wagglebottom watched the blood being absorbed by the blade held against the large green woman's leg. He couldn't explain why or how it was happening, but the sight made him doubt his already shaky hold on things, mostly due to what this person: Jarow, had told him.
For literal millennia, he had been here, trapped in this never-changing place without hope, without thoughts of leaving, without even a reason to move on; his only motivation was to continue with his routine. These were the truths of this place: the Fading Divide. At least, these were the truths he had always been told.
His mind began to ruminate, looking deeper into itself while, at the same time, focusing on his UI's timer. Four hundred sixty-six thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine hours, five hundred forty-nine minutes, and twelve seconds. His timer was about to turn over another thousand. He knew most people would call them years, but years had no real reference in this place.
He was one of the few people with whom he had interacted here who had any memories of their previous lives. He didn’t understand why he was gifted with these memories, but they were few and partial at best. He remembered being loved in his previous life, but never healthy. His mother doted on him all through his pup years. He remembered that he had dreams of becoming a great adventurer back then: fighting monsters, finding treasures, and rescuing beautiful bitches.
He had died young, though. It was an easy death, a mere slipping away in his sleep. He remembered no pain or suffering; in fact, quite the opposite. It was the end of such things. He had simply gone to sleep one night and never woken up; instead, he had woken up here. He had wandered these halls for days before finding his key, then shortly after, he was led to Boklojif.
The person who had led him there had told him that he would need to plead his case to become the new fetcher. Norruf hadn't understood what he had meant at the time but followed the old dwarf out of curiosity and respect. He had known a dwarf similar to that person in his youth. The dwarf had been his doctor and visited his house frequently. So Norruf had held him in high regard.
Once they arrived at the grand hall, rather than delivering him up, as he was supposed to do, the old dwarf moved to fight Boklojif. He drew his own key, which morphed into a large hammer and began swinging before Noruff had time to fully take in the scenario and what it really meant; he was able to land a hit on the fairy before the flying pink menace could escape from his reach. He was also able to smash his hammer into Boklo several times as well, but in the end, he was overpowered and devoured just as all were.
After defeating the old dwarf, Jif moved to him, sensing his presence. He had hidden himself behind one of the columns and closed his eyes, but that obviously wasn’t enough to hide him from the monster. The fairy came up to him, her eye swollen and purple from the fight; she told him to show her his key. He did, holding it out to the fairy on shaky paws. She then told him he would be the new fetcher; he wasn’t given the option to decline. She quickly explained the rules of this place and forced him to wear the armor the dwarf had worn, even though it was dented and remained covered in gore, as well as Boklo’s saliva.
That had been a very long time ago. From what he could remember about how time was told back on his home world, he would probably be almost a thousand years old now, but going by the timer floating in his vision, he’d been here well over four thousand years.
He had lived far longer than anyone of his species should. He had gone numb to everything and everyone who had come through. That is until this curious reincarnating person arrived.
He woke from his ruminations as he heard a guttural roar followed by wood smashing. He looked up to see Jarow wearing a scowl, her fist sticking from the now broken door to his opposite side past where the woman sat. She had screamed, “I want out!” and now panted, a look of frustration and hatred glowing within her eyes.
----------------------------------------
“Sorry, Wagg… I mean Noruff. My head’s spinning. Being killed, then finding out that I’m trapped here… it’s getting to me.” Jarow’s voice cracked, she hadn’t thought about the anxiety her outburst would cause the Quigza, but his face told of his surprise at her outburst.
Noruff, still somewhat shaken, took a deep breath and forced himself to think, telling Jarow, “We need to get moving, towards Boklojif. I can delay for a time, but if I’m not back soon, it may come searching.”
With this new information, and the desire to do something useful, they stood and began slowly walking, picking up their conversation as they headed towards the grand hall’s entrance. Noruff led the way, his spear held tight in his left hand. The rhythmic click and scrape of metal against the floor offered a strange comfort to him in the silence as they walked.
Jarow had asked Noruff about the armor he wore. He briefly told her of the circumstances surrounding his gaining of the armor, but didn't elaborate much. He also explained his key-weapon and how he had found it. The last story he told her of this place was of how he had come to own the sword at his hip.
"There was one other, shortly after I had accepted my role as fetcher. She was a Quigza, like me. She was so much more though. Her dark fur was sleek, yet soft. She stood taller than I, but never overlooked me. She was my soulmate. We stayed away, roamed the hall for what you might call weeks. It was her who found this sword. It was a key first, like most things start off as in here."
His voice thickened with emotion as he continued, "Upon her touch, the key morphed into this sword. With us both having weapons, we thought together we could face the Boklojif. We both entered the hall and told Jif we wanted out and that we would fight if necessary."
Noruff paused, his posture stiff and voice strained. These were memories he hadn't spoken of in ages, the grief still raw and fresh even after all the centuries. Jarow recognized the loss in his every tremor.
"The evil fairy just laughed and then attacked. We fought well, but when Boklo entered the fray, the fight was over." He paused again, his voice a choked whisper, "Shiarra, that was her name. She was gone in an instant, crushed by Boklo's mighty paw."
Jarow could hear the anguish in his voice, it sliced deeply into her. She longed to comfort him, to offer this poor small creature a hug. Noruff continued, his voice ragged with despair, "He grabbed me next, squeezing me tightly in his grasp. My death was imminent, he raised me to his mouth just as he had with you. But then, Jif stopped him."
"I welcomed death at that point. My heart was lost upon Shiarra’s death, the thought of oblivion seemed a relief. That, I believe, is why Jif spared me. She saw my utter despair, my crushed spirit. Saving my life wasn't an act of mercy, it was the creation of a perfect servant."
Noruff's head hung low, his whimper a mournful echo of his broken spirit.
Jarow could take it no longer and stopped the Quigza by stooping low and placing a hand on his shoulder. He stopped moving forward, but didn't turn.
"I am truly sorry that you had to go through that. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me," she said in the most sympathetic voice she could manage around her tusks.
Noruff trembled at her touch. He needed to finish his story though, so he pushed on. "Jif told me I had to wear her sword as a reminder. A reminder that anyone I ever got close to was going to die." With trembling hands, he pulled the sword from his belt and stared at it for a long moment, remembering his lost love.
Then he turned around to face Jarow and held the sword, hilt first, toward his new friend. "I don't know if you are different, but I know I am. I have suffered here for much too long and am ready to take back my freedom. Whether it's through escape or death, I cannot abide this existence any longer."
"This will do more good in your hands than mine. To me, it's a cumbersome reminder of my past. To you, it can be a weapon." Noruff offered the sword to Jarow, his voice laced with hope and desperation as he begged her to become its new owner.
Jarow nodded her head respectfully and humbly accepted the offered sword. In her hands, it looked less like a sword and more like a small dagger. "Two is better than one though," she thought to herself.
As she grasped the small hilt, several things happened simultaneously. The size of the sword began to change, extending and growing heavier in her grasp. Jarow could also feel a presence within the blade, not a sentient consciousness like Xinpo, but rather more like a lingering echo of past emotions. It radiated through the hilt, sending both the love for the Quigza who had cherished her for so long, as well as a burning desire for vengeance against the beings who had hurt her and her love. Instantly, Jarow knew exactly whose spirit resided within this blade: it was Shiarra, who Noruff had just finished talking about.
Jarow's character sheet manifested in her view at the same time as the transformation occurred. She scanned it eagerly, her eyes landing on two new additions.
Name: Jarow
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Level: [- 2 -]
Age: 24 (current)
Race: Orc (current)
Gender: Female (current)
Attributes: (current)
Strength [- 9 -] (+4 racial bonus)
Dexterity [- 5 -]
Constitution [- 9 -] (+4 racial bonus)
Intelligence [- 3 -]
Wisdom [- 3 -]
Charisma [- 4 -] (-1 racial disadvantage)
Skills:
Sneak Intermediate (racial skill * ) (non useable)
Dagger Beginner
Sword Beginner
Abilities:
Berserk Buff +[- 2 -] Increase to Strength +[- 2 -] Increase to Constitution - +20 HP per level added to max HP **
Minor Heal 6 HP 2+4 (Charisma bonus)
Power Blow Increase to hit chance 20% - Increase to damage 20% - Increase to critical hit chance 20%
First off, she noticed the "Sword” skill had been added. She hadn't thought she would need it, but as the weapon in her hand continued to grow, she was glad the ability was now there. The once small blade continued to transform until it had the length and heft of a real sword.
Then she saw the "Berserk" ability listed lower.
She had to read through the description twice, not fully believing the amazing boost the buff would give her. She was already strong and sturdy from being an Orc, but an additional two to STR and CON would make her crazy strong, at least comparatively to what she had started off with in here.
She noticed the small stars next to the description of the skill and was tempted to look more into it, but instead decided it was more fitting to pay attention to the spirit held within the sword rather than staring off into space reading her character sheet. She also needed to make sure and thank Norruff for his gracious gift.
She moved her character sheet to the side, where she could still see the edge as a reminder for later. Then, she refocused on the sword in her hand. She saw Norruff watching agape as the blade elongated and grew. The hilt had grown to fit her hand and the weight had increased exponentially.
When it finally stopped growing, it looked and felt just like a longsword made for an Orc would, at least what she imagined it would look like. Jarow moved the blade to her right hand and tried a practice swing. She found out quickly how little room there really was in this hallway as the tip bounced off the wall, a small mote of the unknown substance which made up the walls broke off and left a tiny rough patch on the once smooth surface.
If possible, Norruff's eyes widened even further. His lower jaw trembled, and he pointed a shaking finger at the blade.
"Noruff, Shiarra's spirit resides in this blade. I can feel her," Jarow said, holding the blade out and down in a non-threatening gesture for Norruff's approval.
The poor Quigza was speechless. His eyes darted from the blade to the wall, then back to Jarow. His mouth opened and closed several times, but no words escaped his lips.
"Noruff? Are you okay?" Jarow asked, concern lacing her voice after seeing the Quigza's inability to respond.
"I believe he may be in shock, suzerain. By the way, I hope you aren't planning to replace me with that thing," Xinpo quipped, his voice sounding strange in his attempt at humor.
"Xinpo, no one could ever replace you," Jarow said, her tone disarming. "But think of how much more blood this sword will spill for you to absorb?"
Jarow could feel the blade thinking, the itchiness at the back of her head held a distinct note of hunger.
"I concede your point, suzerain. It will indeed expedite my leveling, so I approve."
Jarow chuckled mentally, detecting Xinpo's suppressed desire for more rapid leveling.
Norruf finally touched the blade, and his expression shifted. His jaw clenched, then relaxed. His eyes slowly shut, and a peaceful stillness settled over him. Jarow remained still, granting the small man a moment with the sword. She couldn't sense anything directly, but thought she felt a faint whisper of the spirit residing within the blade communicating with Noruff as he touched the metal.
Jarow smiled, finding herself drawn into the moment. She could tell Xinpo sensed the unspoken exchange between Shiarra and Noruff as well.
The air in the hallway felt strangely peaceful, the silence no longer oppressive but reverent. The moment stretched out until finally, Noruff's eyes opened. Tears had traced tracks through his fur, leaving glistening streaks. Down his muzzle.
"Thank you, Jarow," he rasped, wiping at his eyes. "I had no idea Shiarra's spirit resided within the blade until now. I believe it took you, and your desire for freedom, to awaken her, that was her desire as well."
Jarow wasn't sure if it was her, Xinpo, or Noruff's acceptance that had allowed Shiarra to emerge within the blade once more, but she was glad he could commune, even in some small way, with his lost love.
"There is also an amazing power within this blade," Noruff continued, picking up the small fragment that had chipped off the wall earlier. He held it up, his voice thick with awe. "These halls cannot be altered. They can't break, burn, or chip. They are forged from the souls of the people who have been lost here, forever present yet nowhere. Yet, you and this blade have done so effortlessly."
Jarow didn't quite grasp the significance. She hadn't meant to hit the wall. "Sorry?" she questioned, unsure of the appropriate response.
"There's no need to apologize. You've achieved the impossible without even trying," Noruff said, a smile breaking through his sadness. "I think this means we have a chance."
Jarow examined the tip of the sword, making sure it hadn't suffered any damage. She estimated the length to be just slightly longer than her arm, the tip was easily within view when she lowered her hand and angled the sword upward in front of her chest.
Satisfied with the blade's integrity, she swung it again at the wall. The clanging sound of metal scoring a deep gash echoed through the hallway, prompting a startled yelp from Norruff.
"Oops, sorry. Figured I should give it a real go, just to be sure," Jarow said once the ringing subsided.
Noruff looked up at her with a playfully scolding eye, then started gathering the broken pieces of rock littering the floor. "Damn, I wish I had somewhere to put all this," he mumbled.
"Why not put it in your inventory?" Jarow asked.
Norruff paused, his face a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "What is an inventory? I mean, I get the general idea, but what do you mean?"
Jarow hadn't actually considered her own inventory in a while, assuming it was a universal feature. She extended her hand towards him. "Here, let me show you."
Jarow mentally thought of her inventory, and a black void ripped open before her. A sliver of reality torn apart, a place of nowhere which could hold whatever she deemed worthy of carrying.
Noruff leaped back at the sudden tear in space, falling to his haunches and scooting away in terror. Jarow stared at the Quigza, understanding his fear of the unsettling rift, but also knowing her inventory was nothing to fear.
"It's alright, Noruff," she said calmly, reaching out in reassurance. "This is my inventory, how I access things I need."
Her calming words didn't quite work as she'd hoped. It wasn't until the portal closed that Noruff cautiously approached again.
"I don't understand that power," he admitted, dropping the fragments into Jarow's hand. "Please, don't use it near me again."
Jarow agreed. She knew there were things people instinctively feared, although she couldn't think of anything like that for herself. It could be that she had things like that, but her limited memories kept that information from her.
As Noruff turned away, Jarow placed the small gray chips into the second slot of her inventory. As the void closed, her inventory window automatically refocused in her vision, showing the slot filled with the shards and a small number below their icon. Four shards had been placed there, and the number below reflected the quantity.
"Do you think this stone will come in handy?" Jarow asked.
"I don't know, but if I find something that shouldn't be possible, I always want to keep it, just in case," Norruff replied.
Jarow considered the sentiment and agreed. "Makes sense," she said, offering to carry the rest of the shards.
Noruff readily agreed and began gathering them. Once they'd collected the remaining fragments, they continued down the hallway.
Jarow decided to take the moment to further investigate the asterisks next to her newest ability as they walked.
*[- Berserk -] - (Duration: 1 Min. - Cooldown: 10 min.) When activated; HP equal to (STR + CON x LVL) is added to the user’s total. This HP is considered temporary, if more damage is taken than the user's original HP when ability ends, the user will suffer from the [- Fatigued -] debuff. The [- Fatigued -] debuff causes the user to remain at one HP: the user is also immune to healing as well as rendered immobile for one minute.
**[- Berserk -] - This skill has been modified from the original ability ‘Shiarra’s Revenge’ due to the user being of a different species. It has been renamed [- Berserk -] which is a common ability among the Orc species. Orc’s receive [- Berserk -] beginning at level 3. Modification of this ability changes the level requirement to level 1 and shortens the duration.
Jarow finished reading through the ability's description and let out a whistle. The sound flowed out of her mouth almost like an old habit, not a deliberate attempt to make the noise. It happened instinctively, and as soon as the sound escaped, she questioned her own ability to produce it with her large protruding tusks. To her surprise, it was remarkably easy. Instead of the typical pursing of lips, her bottom lip extended slightly, allowing the air to whistle around her large teeth, creating a strangely unique chorus.
The sound was peculiar, a blend of multiple whistles harmonizing together. She figured that instead of a single stream of air escaping her mouth, it somehow split into two, producing the whistling effect on both sides. It was oddly captivating, and she repeated the action several times, enjoying the first genuinely pleasant sound she'd heard from this body.
As for the Berserk ability, its power impressed her even more now that she knew she couldn't have unlocked it until a higher level. "Xinpo," she asked mentally, still whistling to herself and filling the empty hallway with the enchanting sound, "will Berserk disappear if I die, like Sneak did?"
There was a pause and an itch behind Jarow's head while Xinpo contemplated. "I don't believe so," he finally said. "It's been modified to fit your character, so even if you're placed in another body, it might just be modified again. Does that make sense to you, suzerain?"
It actually did. She knew she could relearn "Sneak" if she wanted, since it was a common skill. The text implied "Berserk" was common too, so even if it went gray like "Sneak" did, she should be able to either relearn it or, as Xinpo reasoned, it would be modified to work in her new body.
As much as she longed for magic, it seemed the system, or maybe just her circumstances, kept pushing her towards a more melee-focused role. For now, she didn't mind, especially in this body. The more she moved and used its strength, the more she felt comfortable with it and excited to truly see what it was capable of.
While they walked, Jarow, Norruff, and Xinpo devised a simple strategy. The first step was to test Passe-partout's effect on the grand hall's imposing door. They all expected it to simply unlock, but Xinpo held out hope for something more.
Once inside, Jarow would spearhead the attack against Boklojif. Norruff would provide support where possible, but his continued safety was extremely important. The Boklojif had granted him (or perhaps cursed him) with the ability to bring people to the grand hall, which is where they were now headed; therefore, his survival was essential. If they needed multiple attempts to defeat the monster, he alone was able to move in and out of the hallway. So, if he were to die, Jarow would have to deal with a completely new fetcher upon returning.
If Jarow died, Norruff would retreat to the hallway and wait for her to return. Beyond this first attempt, everything rested on Jarow's next incarnation. They had to believe she would return, yet at the same time, they feared this might be her final body. They were dealing with a lot of unknowns, but at the same time, they felt they had a decent chance at winning, even if it took several tries.
----------------------------------------
Before long, they arrived at the grand hall’s entrance: the room surrounding the massive doors was a large, cavernous space, like a hollowed-out stone foyer. Jarow halted them there; instead of running in, she wanted to prepare as best she could.
“I want to feel what it’s like to actually swing this sword a few times before trying it out on the Boklojif,” Jarow said as Norruff looked at her quizzically.
Norruff, understanding her desire, nodded his head after Jarow’s explanation. He retreated back into the hallway to give her the space she needed and settled onto the floor to watch.
He was finally coming to have some small hope that this Jarow person, who apparently could return from the dead in another body, could maybe defeat Boklojif. He still wasn’t sure if doing so would allow them to leave, but simply being free from their control was worth the effort, and he decided he would lend her any support he could in completing the task.
----------------------------------------
Jarow now had the sword skill, but that didn't necessarily translate to practical sword usage. It was as if her brain had the concept of what wielding a sword should feel like, even though she hadn't yet had the opportunity to swing it properly. That's why she wanted some time and space to practice, so that she could really learn how the skill functioned and to determine if the theoretical knowledge in her head would translate into actual ability. She wanted to assess whether using the sword would be more instinctual, like it was when she whistled, or if the time it took for her to think about the weapon's usage would affect her performance in battle.
She began by placing her feet in the manner her brain instructed, but the positioning felt awkward and wrong. Experimenting with her feet, hips, and shoulder movements, she adjusted the sword's angles until she found a stance that felt balanced for her long legs and ample chest. Holding the sword in her adjusted defensive stance, she extended it in front of her.
Shifting the sword to her right, she practiced parrying an imaginary blow. When she thrust forward, however, the tip of the sword dropped low, the blade wobbling under its own weight. At that angle, she would likely have been parried herself, or the sword might have easily missed any vital spots on a challenger.
Cursing beneath her breath, she muttered, "Shit, no, not right," and readied her stance once again. Blocking to the left, she thrust forward, but her disappointment mirrored the sagging tip of the sword. She surmised that the combination of the knowledge in her head and the strength of this body wasn't sufficient; her movements lacked grace, and the sword itself felt alien in her hands. This was precisely what she had feared.
"Grip the hilt higher and tighter," Norruff called from the hall where he sat watching, "and raise your arm up when you thrust."
Jarow nodded, grateful that her small companion was willing to assist. She shifted her hips into a wider stance and brought her arms up while maintaining a stance her brain told her was still correct. Once again, the way she held herself felt awkward, but she unleashed a two-handed sideways swing, and the blade sang as it sliced through the air. However, as she finished the arc, the tip still dipped left, revealing the extent of training she would need to get the movements correct.
Norruff's voice, sharp but patient, guided her again. “Follow through and, for now, try to angle up while you swing until your body does it naturally.”
Frustration gnawed at her, but Jarow was determined. Setting her feet anew, she raised her arms back into the position Norruff had indicated. This time, she swung her sword in the opposite direction, actively willing her arms to raise the tip upward. However, she watched the tip of the sword droop down once more. Clearly disappointed in herself, she grunted in disgust. Raising the sword once again, she brought her arms across once more. She wasn’t quite the sword master she had hoped to be, but she also knew that practice was the only answer to this problem.
"Norruf, what would happen if we didn't open this door and enter the hall right away?" Jarow asked in between her swings.
The Quigza pondered the question, bringing his paw up to scratch at his whiskers. "I believe the hallway begins to shrink, although I am not sure if that is the correct way of putting it. When Shiarra and I tried to run, it took a few weeks, but eventually, the hallway just didn’t lead anywhere. This place was always just beyond the fog, so we were forced to stop trying to move back. Most people would lose interest in this life and die well before that happens, though. Also, Boklojif is not restricted to the grand hall and frequently enters this chamber."
Jarow nodded, thinking for a few moments. "So technically, Boklojif can control the length of the hallway and can leave the grand hall to come to this place when it wants," Jarow stated. “So basically, you’re saying that we don't know how much time we have before Boklojif decides to come out. It could be a matter of hours or maybe weeks?"
Jarow would feel better about the upcoming fight if she had more time to train. Unfortunately, her time frame was not up to her. She didn’t know the exact amount of time it would take her to progress her skill, nor could she tell how much time remained before Boklojif arrived. If they took the chance to train here and Boklojif decided to exit soon, they would lose the advantage of surprise.
On the other hand, if they rushed in, they could lose the fight due to Jarow's inadequate training. Jarow wondered once again how long it would take for her to gain the muscle memory required to increase her skill.
As she pondered her training and the raising of the skill, it dawned on her that she wasn't truly sure just how she knew the skill could increase in the first place, or that the increase came from training and muscle memory. At first, she thought the information must have come from the additional details placed in her mind when she gained the skill, but that didn't feel right.
Unlike before, where she automatically knew what information had been placed in her brain, this idea felt more like she had remembered something from her previous life. It was like how she understood what a tree was even though she had never encountered one in this dungeon. The information was just there, not implanted like many things had been now.
Sweat began to bead upon her brow as she kept swinging. She measured each stance, tweaking her posture, feeling the blade slice through the air. Left, right, the arc traced by the sword became a measure of her progress. The higher and better the swing, the further she had progressed.
Noruff's gruff voice chimed in, guiding her and telling her when she needed to adjust her inefficient thrusts. She lunged, blocked, parried, each move an improvement, a step in the marathon that was a test of what her skill could become. Lost in the rhythm, the ache in her muscles became a sweet lullaby, pushing most thoughts of the looming fight aside. This training, this honing of muscle with steel, was worth the delay.
She needed to be prepared, to become a honed edge against this upcoming storm. She’d already lost two bodies here, the first not as much of a loss as the second, but still a loss, something she could never get back, just like her original body. The image of her corpse and the defilement she had been forced to do to it blossomed in her mind’s eye, encouraging her continued progression. “If I had a weapon back then, I wouldn’t have needed to do all that,” she thought to herself as she continued to swing her sword.
Her last body, though, it had such grace, and a voice beyond compare. The image in her mind melted away and instead revealed the image of what she imagined she looked like as an elf. The marbled skin and bark brown hair tightly wound around long elven ears. The new image also worked to set her mind and body to moving forward. Although she truly missed living within that body, she’d never been a woman before, and in this body she could feel the power coursing through the muscles, waiting to be tapped into. This body, this life, she decided, if it were her last, she would make it her best.
She continued for hours. Her arms hurt. Her feet were raw and blistered from the actual stone floor beneath her instead of the too flat and unreal substance of the hallway. Her hips burned from the repeated swiveling. There was no visible damage to her body, but she could feel the internal struggle her body was having with itself.
Finally, when she had no more to give, she sat down across from Norruf and cast her Minor Heal spell. The silvery liquid-light penetrated her skin, and the pain in her hips began to ease. There wasn’t any actual decrease in her HP, but she felt the pain nonetheless. Thankfully, the spell targeted the wear she had done to her joints and eased the soreness.
"Norruf, can I ask you a few more questions?" she said once the healing magic had done its job.
"Of course. It's not like I have much else going on at the moment. I was somewhat entertained by watching this big green lady swing a huge sword around, but she seems to have stopped for now." The Quigza chuckled to himself.
Jarow was startled at the sound but delighted to see the Quigza actually displaying some small form of cheer, so she quipped in her own way to keep the mood light. "I think her ass was hurting, and not in the good way. But I'm sure she'll be back at it soon," Jarow said and winked.
She didn't want to change the mood, but there was a pressing question on her mind. "You said this place is for souls, right? So why do we have bodies here? Isn't that a contradiction?"
Norruff raised his paw to his chin once again and absently scratched at his chin, thinking. "I am not sure I know the real answer to that question. From what I understand, though, the bodies we have here are not technically the flesh and blood bodies we’d have normally. Instead, they’re made up of magical goo that is solidified on the outside."
Jarow raised an eyebrow in speculation at the strange explanation given to her, but Norruff didn't seem to notice and continued. "I believe in some places the magical goo is called something like ecos, ecto, ectosplat, ectoplasm. Yes, that's it. It's like a byproduct of the 'magic' which makes up a soul." He raised his hands and wiggled his small furry fingers before saying the word 'magic.' Jarow took that as meaning quotation marks.
"So, souls are made up of magic?" she asked both Xinpo and Noruff.
"I believe that is a vague generalization, suzerain; there isn't a proper word in most tongues though," Xinpo told her.
Noruff continued after a brief pause to consider his answer. "I don't think there is a proper word for it. It's akin to a magical property, but the word 'magic' isn't specific enough," Norruff continued. "It's like the word 'liquid.' There are many types of liquids. Since everyone knows what water is, it is usually called a liquid. But there are different kinds of liquids, as well as other things other than water which are also liquids. There are even things inside water which can change it from one type of liquid to another, but overall it's still a liquid. So magic is like the term 'liquid,' it's the cover-all term. The more specific word for the specific type of magic isn't known to me, or most, I would imagine, not known to most. Does that make any sense?"
Jarow had a hard time following but did actually understand what Norruff had been trying to explain. "Yes, actually, I think I get it. It makes a lot of sense, even though it was kind of hard to follow. So the magic that makes up our bodies, or the ectoplasm, is a specific type of magic but not one that is well known," she re-explained to verify.
"Exactly," Norruff said happily. "And since these bodies are magic, they don't need food or sleep, the normal stuff that physical bodies use."
Jarow had wondered about that. It was a complexly simple explanation, riddled with unanswered questions and yet weirdly simple to understand; in its own fantastical-magical way. It was vague enough for her mind to grasp but allowed for a plethora of additional questions, just like everything else in this bizarre place. Shaking her head to discontinue her further ponderings on the subject, she pressed on, "Okay then, is magic like the major force of the universe then? You said there are worlds, plural. Are there a lot, and do they all have people on them?"
A large grin spread across Norruff's face. "There are more worlds and more galaxies than you can think of. For every star in the sky, there's probably another sky full of stars worth of worlds out there."
Jarow's eyes went large. While she couldn't remember ever seeing stars, she still held a vague impression of a dark night sky pricked with millions of small lights. "That many?" she asked in awe.
"Oh, yes. And to answer your question, magic is one of two major forces of the cosmos. The other is technology."
"Technology? Like robots and stuff?" Jarow asked.
Norruff smiled. "Yes, that's part of it, I think. I am not very well versed on Tech worlds, though. All I really know is what I’ve been told by other people who I…” he trailed off and looked away, ashamed. “My own memories are a bit fuzzy. But my world, it had both magic and some technology, I think, but I couldn’t tell you much about it."
The mood shifted when Noruff hinted at all the people he led to their deaths by Boklojif. Despite the heaviness, he continued answering Jarow’s question. "I remember big sky-ships, like giant eagles with wings spread wide, sailing through the clouds. There were also small spells for daily stuff, like lighting your hearth or cleaning your clothes. And then there were powerful mages in towers, summoning golems and magical beasts for wars."
Norruff's tone darkened. "War, always war. That's what I remember. I dreamed of being a warrior, but I was too frail. I barely made it past puphood when darkness took me."
Jarow's huge arm reached out, gently touching Noruff’s small leg. "I’m sorry, Noruff. About your short life. Mine was short too, I think. We were both sick and died young, it seems."
Norruff looked up, a small smile curling his dark, slim lips. He knew there was still much to atone for, but he was glad to have a true friend here. It had been much too long since he’d been able to open up to someone. "Thank you. I think if your world were similar to mine, you'd have more knowledge of these things. You must be from a magic-deprived world, where technology is the only power. If you could remember more about your life, you might know the grand sciences."
Jarow wasn’t sure what “grand sciences” implied, but she didn't think that would be the case, though she truly had been stripped of nearly all memories of that life, so anything was possible. She nodded along, as if agreeing with her companion.
Hearing Norruff's tales of his world and its magic reignited the desire within Jarow to leave this place and be able to explore. "Thank you for your stories, Norruff. I think I'm ready to swing my sword again. We're going to leave this place and forge our own stories, sound good?" Jarow asked, smiling down at her small companion.
----------------------------------------
Even though Boklojif could exit at any time through the large door in front of which Jarow practiced, she continued to spend the next few hours swinging her sword. Now that she was rested, she noticed her stance and swings had improved a great deal. She confirmed with Noruff, and with his continued assistance was able to improve her swordsmanship even more.
Congratulations: Skill [- Sword -] has improved to: Intermediate. Reward: +[- 1 -] has been added to base attributes: STR & DEX
The small bluish window popped into Jarow's view as she switched from practicing her lunges to swinging her sword in overhead chops. "Oh good, this is working then," she said to herself and dismissed the window. She then opened her character sheet to see the improved skill for herself.
"Very good, suzerain. This will greatly increase our chances of defeating Boklojif," Xinpo congratulated her since they both could view the improvement on her sheet. "Will you continue to train this way, or do you feel it is time to battle?"
Jarow wasn't sure. Even though she had accomplished a huge goal, her head still swam with doubt. She didn't know if her improvement was enough to tip the scales in their favor or whether she should continue to train. She didn't know if there would be a way out if she managed to defeat Boklojif, and if she were being really honest with herself, she wasn't sure there was a way out of here at all.
Instead of answering Xinpo right away, she moved back over to where Norruf sat against the wall of the hallway. The Quigza’s attention had been focused on her the entire time she had been swinging and training, but not in a creepy way, more in astonishment and perhaps a little admiration.
"I have reached an intermediate level in my sword skill. Do you think we should try fighting them now, or should I continue to train?" she asked Noruff once she settled herself on the opposite wall.
Norruff looked up at her, his dark eyes glinting with a deep seated hope but also a flicker of sadness. He smiled slightly and said, "I believe we are as ready as we will ever be."
Jarow smiled back at him, her tusks sticking out. She was happy to hear at least one of them could think positively. "Ok then, let's see what Xinpo can do to that door,” she said, “One way or another, let’s get this over with."