I awoke before the crack of dawn, this time far better rested than before.
I left hastily, stopping briefly to purchase a new torch and basic canvas tent, something I’d neglected the prior afternoon. I also made a quick stop at a nearby bakery, buying out almost their entire stock of pastries, astonishing the wizened mundane couple that ran it.
It was all thanks to what I’d learned that morning.
I’d finally taken the time to examine my new Blessing’s entry in my Grimoire. All of the information had been unsurprising and uninteresting to me, save for one thing;
~~~
Personal Storage 1. The Host gains access to a personal storage vault of 40x40x40 feet. Objects of any size or weight may be stored within this area upon manual contact, so long as they can physically fit inside it. These objects may be retrieved at any point in time provided manual contact with a suitable empty space outside of the vault for them to occupy. Retrieval/storage duration and Entropy cost for a given object scales along with corresponding size, weight, and complexity. All stored objects are temporally locked until retrieval. This Shard does not affect living creatures.
~~~
It was a startling discovery.
Items, when stored inside this place, would not age. They wouldn’t deteriorate, or degrade. Perhaps, because my soulsea wasn’t the same dimension as the outside world, the rules that governed it were different, too. Whatever the case may have been, I was pleased. This meant that I could store all manner of perishables within it, without worry.
It was just a shame that I didn’t know of any restaurants open this early.
I arrived at the Agoge building in plenty of time, still well before the Hand’s mandate of 8 AM. It looked much the same as it had last I’d left, save for the now absent throng of Blessed crowding around it.
Today, the only ones here would be those who’d passed the examination, those whose future was death or glory within the depths of the World Titan.
I didn’t walk to the receptionist’s desk this time, instead following the glowing gold lights that lit up both the walls and my own gilded onyx bracelet. They led me to a room marked AUDITORIUM–01, and when I entered it I was greeted by the tumultuous din of conversation.
The auditorium was wide and tall, larger than any of the exam rooms, and seated around the many tables that occupied it were what had to be over 100 Blessed. They looked much the same as the crowd I’d encountered yesterday; knights and mages, rangers and rogues.
However, being this much closer to the lot of them allowed me to pick out a few intriguing details.
Namely, the quality of gear possessed by the prospective delvers seemed to vary greatly, some dressed in glimmering Entropic items, while others wore nothing but rags. The Blessed, themselves, varied just as shockingly.
Those present came in all shapes and sizes, all colors of flesh and hair and eye. Even their physiologies deviated from one another, some downright alien in appearance.
Most of them, well over half, were human, but not all. I made out amongst the crowd everything from anthropomorphic versions of animals to truly monstrous creatures. The most emblematic of the latter group had to be a massive ball of slime with what looked like a bird’s skull in its very center. In one of the room’s corners sat a black cat with a single sea-green stripe in its fur, slowly licking itself.
The cat, though, was probably just a cat. After all, it wasn’t seated at any of the tables.
Glancing at my bracelet once more, I now noticed it displayed a number; ‘14.’ Meandering about the place, searching for something displaying the same digit led me to the left-hand side of the auditorium. There, at one of the room’s many tables, sat three Blessed who I took to be my future companion delvers.
They, much like the group as a whole, were entirely distinct in looks.
The leftmost one was a woman who, though not old, was at least a good deal older than me, perhaps in her early thirties. She wore light leather armor and sported a pair of wicked-looking dual runic crossbows upon her back. She was comely, quite so, with long brown hair tied up in a braid behind her head and a pair of mismatching eyes, one hazel and one light blue. Her beauty was marred, however, by a deep scar that ran down her right brow, cutting her otherwise flawless visage in two, red and angry. She was further blemished by her expression, a sarcastic sneer that dominated her face as she stared at the individual to her right.
Her song was a bizarre staccato of clicking noises that reverberated eerily about her.
~~~
Quarrel
Attunement: Echolocation 7
Grain: Alacrity
~~~
The apparent object of her ire, or perhaps her ridicule, was the man seated directly adjacent to her on the right. Or rather, the creature. It was less a man and more a beast, one of the many non-humans I’d noticed before. A massive, hulking, man-wolf hybrid with dark fur like raven’s feathers covering the whole of his body. Most of him was humanoid enough, save for hands tipped in brutal-looking claws, but from the neck up he was as lupine as could be. Tall triangular ears sat atop his head and a long canine snout protruded from his face, filled with viciously sharp teeth. The aforementioned maw was bared combatively at the archer to his left.
His song was fangs and fury. Twin axes hung loosely from each of his hips. And embedded within his neck, just above the collarbone, was a charm in the shape of a silver moon.
~~~
Rover
Attunement: Therianthrope 9
Grain: Chameleon
~~~
My final future teammate, seated to the wolfman’s left, seemed uninterested entirely in the enmity exchanged by his two companions. In fact, he seemed rather indifferent to his surroundings in general. He, much like the female ranger, was strikingly attractive, with smooth skin so dark it almost looked like polished onyx stone. His eyes appeared more metallic than soft tissue, pools of golden ore that twinkled softly in the light cast by the room’s arcane lamps as he stared off into the distance.
He was well-dressed, or so I imagined, in what certainly seemed to be an expensive suit and tie, but his song was…blank. It was unlike anything I’d heard before. Present, yet featureless. It was as if I stared into a mirror, or the smooth surface of a still pond, reflecting nothing back at me but my own features.
~~~
Vox
Attunement: Broadcast 14
Grain: Sonic Projection
Marble: Directives
~~~
I ground to a halt in an instant.
Broadcast.
His Blessing was Broadcast, the same as my first Gift.
I hadn’t even considered such a thing might be possible, but it offered a potential explanation as to why his song sounded so bizarre. After all, it followed logically that my own power, which allowed me to hear the Shardsong, would be ineffective against itself.
The real question was, could he hear the song, too? Or did his power manifest itself in some other way?
My brow now furrowed, I resumed my approach, at last able to discern in detail the fierce argument within which the leftmost two, Rover and Quarrel, were entrenched. As I neared them, I could just make out their conversation over the cacophony produced by others in the auditorium.
“...that not all Thirds are Wer, cunt,” the wolf-man said, snarling, “or Therians. And not all Wer serve the fucking lonely mountain.”
The archer, Quarrel, merely smirked at him, evidently not the least bit fearful as she snapped back a retort.
“Oh, so you’re not from Erebor, then? My mistake, I’m sorry. I always thought Grimnir had you lot wrapped around his finger like little puppies…”
Rover’s growl deepened in tenor and increased in vibrato. He dragged his claws slowly across the metal table at which they sat, producing a terrible screeching sound and leaving deep furrows in the steel. Before he could reply, or perhaps escalate their bickering to blows, the third man, Vox, noticed me and spoke.
“Well, well, my fellow Blessed,” the well-dressed man whispered.
His voice was soft and sibilant, with just a hint of a twang to it, yet somehow had no trouble propagating forth towards us, despite the auditorium’s ubiquitous clamour. It caressed my ears like supple silk, a true pleasure to hear.
“It appears as if our fourth compatriot graces us with his presence. Perhaps, you might find yourselves inclined to exercise restraint a while longer, prior to slitting one another’s throats.”
The eyes of the other two Blessed snapped towards me and those of all three flared slightly, each observing me in turn.
The moment they’d done so, Quarrel burst into a peal of high-pitched cackles. She rocked back in her chair, slapping her thigh repeatedly, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. Even Rover’s snarl dissipated, anger seeming to abate for the time being, a rough chuffing rumble emanating from the depths of his canid throat as he leaned back, crossed his arms, and chuckled.
The third man wasn’t laughing, though. Vox said nothing at all, but I noticed the corners of his mouth turn almost imperceptibly downwards.
“Oh, fuck me, that’s good,” the brunette archer managed to eke out, still gasping in mirth. “Fuck me. What’d ya do to get a name like that, kid, fellate the High Priest himself?”
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“Good fortune for us, I suppose,” the wolfman added, though his humor seemed a good deal more benign than his female companion’s. “Why, with a warrior such as this on our side, what have we to fear, even from the World Titan?”
“Right, right,” Quarrel cut in once more, still giggling. She batted her eyelashes at me, equally sarcastic and seductive.
“Will you save me, then, lord Hero? The Labyrinth is so dangerous, after all. Of course, I’ll make it worth your while…” she whispered, leaning forward and pressing her crossed arms up beneath her already ample bosom to further enhance it.
If the archer’s intent was to induce embarrassment in me, she’d be disappointed. I was hardly a vestal, and her efforts to entice, even if insincere, only served to elicit sour memories of the far dearer woman I’d already lost. I simply stared back her way, somber, expressionless. At my indifferent response, Quarrel recoiled, feigning disgust.
“Wonderful,” she said. “Another icicle. This is gonna be a fun fucking delve. Well, at least ya’ll have someone to get along with, eh, Vox?”
The dapper, suited man said nothing in reply. Perhaps his frown deepened slightly, but it was difficult to tell. Before any of the trio could continue their mockery, I spoke.
“Well met, my lords, my lady,” I greeted them, politely, inclining my head slightly in their direction. Quarrel rolled her eyes.
“Well met,” she mimicked, in an exaggerated falsetto. “My lady. Oh, we’ve got an Aristocrat, alright. What Cell you from, kiddo?”
I ignored her, taking a seat opposite the abrasive woman and remaining silent. Quarrel grinned at me.
“Not a sharer? Don’t worry. I’ll find out eventually. I always do. Me and secrets, thick as thieves. Just ask Rover, here.”
“Those who search for truth in others, often seek to hide themselves.” Vox commented, musingly. Then he smiled softly at the archer. “Purely a rhetorical observation, of course.”
“Nice quote, prick,” Quarrel replied. “Who said that?”
“I did, just now,” the dapper man intoned sweetly, still staring across the table at her.
“Priest above, woman,” Rover interrupted the two, groaning growlingly. “Do you fight with everyone you see?”
“It’s in the name,” Quarrel said, smiling proudly as she did so. “Who am I, to deny my own Blessing?”
Rover snorted. “Yeah, right. That’s not how they’re assigned. You’re probably just a Blaster.”
Quarrel removed one of the arrows from the satchel slung over her back, twirling and fondling it suggestively. “Wouldn’t you all like to know?” She taunted.
Except, I did know. I knew exactly what her Blessing was, and had a very good idea of how it functioned. She wasn’t a Blaster. Near as I could figure, she was a Shaker, which meant her gear was likely enchanted, not enhanced by her Blessing.
More and more, I was realizing just how powerful my detailed hearing was compared to conventional observation. Attempts to deceive me by Blessed like Quarrel would fall flat in the face of my Shard. I’d have a huge advantage in knowing, even in uncertain terms, what exactly were my adversaries’ capabilities.
Not that I intended to share such information with these three. Already, I harbored concerns about our delving prospects. My teammates seemed competent enough, but their personalities left a lot to be desired. They bore a greater resemblance to mercenaries than the haughty nobles I’d expected. Were they even native to the Cells?
The soft tapping of approaching footfalls roused me from my brief contemplation, as our fifth party member arrived. A young man, quite similar to me in height and build, in fact. And of all my teammates, the closest visually to my own age. Where he deviated from me was in what remained of his appearance.
He was gorgeous.
Not merely comely, or good-looking. After all, I was no slouch when it came to looks, even if I said so myself. And Vox, too, was quite handsome.
This man, however, was simply stunning. He blew us both out of the water.
Despite likely boasting fewer than a couple of years on me, unlike mine, his features were well-chiseled and mature. A crown of fine, nearly glowing, blond hair waved from atop his head, as if blown by an inexistent wind, and within his mouth, a gleaming white smile made up of perfect teeth dazzled me from afar.
He was clothed in a mage’s garb, though form-fitting, neat and expensive-looking robes of deep indigo, trimmed with gold thread, seamlessly mixing learned wizard and gallant knight. He held his arms casually behind his back as he neared us.
His song was grand and gaudy, all sonorous trumpets and shining lights. But something staring back at me from behind his beautiful blue eyes seemed almost…sad, to my hearing.
~~~
Glare
Attunement: Photo Emission 14
Grain: Spectrum Sight
Marble: Hard Light Armor
~~~
“Oh, my Gods, I think I’m in love,” Quarrel murmured, for the first time not entirely sarcastic. Glare smiled genially back at her.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” the lustrous mage addressed us in a warm, full, welcoming voice. “My name is Glare, but you can feel free to call me Caleb–”
“We shouldn’t share our real names.” A new voice cut the mage off in the midst of his introduction.
Our sixth and final party member had somehow managed to mask her arrival, surprising us all by manifesting behind the handsome Glare in a sudden coalescence of shadow.
She, much like the argumentative archer, was beautiful, but this girl’s beauty was unmarred. And she was a girl, just as much as I was a boy, the both of us being the youngest-looking Blessed present, even more so than Glare.
A sorceress dressed in all black leathers, but possessed of far fewer pouches than the aforementioned Quarrel. And, much like the man she’d interrupted, the girl bore no apparent weaponry. Long, dark hair fell in great tresses about her shoulders, and her eyes glimmered with lime-green light, a lighter and more uncanny color than the azure of my own.
Her song was the cold wind that whistled above cemeteries, the soft, startled gasps of murdered men, the eerie, occult light that emanated from candles lit for a seance.
~~~
Thaum
Attunement: Necromancy 10
Grain: Shadow Form
Marble: Nightmare
~~~
“It’s foolhardy,” the girl, Thaum, continued undaunted. “We’re strangers, and the death rate for the Agoge is high. We don’t know how many of us will make it through this.” She shot the archer a cold stare. “Best not to get attached.”
Quarrel bared her teeth at the girl in a feral challenge I’d have expected more from the wolfman on her right. Glare frowned. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Vox’s lips twitch in a slight smile.
“I meant nothing by it,” the blond mage assured her. “Merely, to set you at ease. After all, my birth name is no secret, as a member of the Faith–,”
“Yes, I know well who you are, Glare,” Thaum said, cutting him off once more. “High Inquisitor. Patrusc’s golden boy.” She gave him a fierce smile.
“The Immolator.”
“Woah, hang on.” Rover cut in, canine eyes widening. “You’re the one all those songs are about? The Light over Lynchausen? A Dance with Demons?”
Glare snapped his fingers and pointed at the wolfman, sunny disposition recapitulated effortlessly.
“The very same, my friend.”
Rover’s ears perked up, and a bushy black tail that poked out the back of his chair began to wag back and forth.
“Wow, that’s amazing!” The lycan exclaimed in a much higher pitch than before, eyes still wide. “You’ve no idea, I’m a huge–” Rover paused for an instant, seeming to collect himself, before he mumbled in a considerably deeper, and somewhat embarrassed voice.
“I’m, um, a fan of your work.” He finished, feebly.
Thaum rolled her eyes.
“Yes, yes, we’ve all heard tell of your exploits,” the sorceress said, “Very impressive. How’s it looking in the Stain, these days? The Spawn still pushing forwards?”
Glare’s expression hollowed a touch. “Always,” he intoned quietly.
“I don’t doubt it,” Thaum replied, nodding at him, “I’ll be glad to have you by my side.” She swept an unimpressed gaze over us. “At least.”
“Now,” the girl continued, looking down on us imperiously, “we must needs decide upon a leader. I suggest, myself.”
Quarrel snorted. “Of course, you do,” she sneered. “‘Crats think the world revolves around them.” She leaned forward, still leering at the girl. “I don’t suppose you might see fit to enlighten us plebeians as to what exactly qualifies you for such a position? Have more experience than the Immolator himself, do you?”
“I doubt it,” Thaum admitted, unperturbed. “and I imagine Glare is certainly a fine soldier. But that’s exactly what he is. A soldier. No offense,” she added, turning towards the blond-haired man in question. Glare shrugged, and gestured for her to continue.
Thaum turned back to address all of us. “I’m the heir to the main branch of a Cell.”
“And, I’m a Master.”
Quarrel, about to snap back some manner of rejoinder, suddenly recoiled. Her mouth shut firmly, disposition far more guarded. Rover’s muscles bunched nervously, and Glare’s gaze upon the girl intensified.
For my part, I didn’t react at all, being not particularly worried by Thaum’s declaration.
I had a strong feeling that, given its prior behavior, ADMINISTRATION would be unlikely to let attempts to control us both go unpunished. And when it came to direct Shard-on-Shard combat, my primary Blessing had yet to display apprehension towards any other I’d encountered.
Vox was equally calm. Unsurprising, considering he was likely some manner of Master, himself. It was difficult to say for sure, but I had my suspicions. Broadcast, and by extension the Shardsong, weren’t exactly Master Blessings for me, but they almost were. And his Marble Gift, Directives, had the distinct sound of domination to it.
Out of the very corner of his perception, Vox noticed my own lack of reaction, and narrowed his eyes. Not good. Perhaps I should have feigned anxiety.
“Oh relax,” Thaum snapped at us. “I’m a summoning Master. Which means–”
“You’re from Nycta…” Quarrel murmured, brow furrowed in concentration, suddenly serious. “I should’ve known it, what with the colors. Black and green, Master Blessing. No doubt about it.”
Thaum frowned. “Believe what you wish. In any case, as I was saying–”
“You’re a Slaver,” Quarrel choked, mismatched eyes alight with fury. Rover mirrored her disposition, a low growl emanating from his barrel-like chest.
“You got a lotta nerve coming here, girlie,” the archer continued, knuckles bone-white as she gripped the shaft of one of her quarrels. “No big, bad Soultaker to protect you, not here–”
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me,” Thaum snarled right back at the two. “I’m a summoning Master. I don’t enslave anyone. I don’t control anyone.” Then she fixed the still-fuming Quarrel with a glare that gave even me pause for a moment. “And if you think here, or anywhere, is outside of Angmar’s reach, then I can only envy your ignorance.”
“As I was saying,” she continued, “being a summoning Master, I can scout, manipulate, and communicate from afar, without a moment’s delay. I am, as such, in the ideal position to direct us in combat. Outside of combat, well, I doubt any here have received the same quality of education as the heir to a Cell.”
She turned to speak sardonically, though still somewhat respectfully, at Glare. “Unless, of course, all those years in the Stain included afternoons of tutelage in the Arts and Sciences?”
Once more, the handsome man merely shrugged, shook his head, and bade her continue.
“In that case, and in all honesty, I truly see no better option than myself. Or do you disagree?” Thaum asked. Quarrel’s scowl remained fixed upon her face, and Rover seemed unconvinced, but they both said nothing, as did the rest of us.
“Hate me if you must, or fear me, but we need someone to lead us, so unless any of you can suggest an alternative, then I–”
“I, for one, would like to hear what our lord Hero has to say,” Vox suddenly interjected. “He has, after all, been awfully taciturn of late. Who knows? Perhaps,” the suited man said with a small smile, “he, too, is the heir of a Cell.”
Five pairs of eyes fixed themselves upon me, and I froze.