Rye stood in front of the bowl of respite, feeling thoroughly clean and impossibly merry. The attendant emerged from the baths a while after and Rye shot her a wink, confidence propelling her forward on her newly acquired boots.
Welp, that sounded like softcore porn.
“It was just a normal massage. Gods, you’re such a prude.” She tucked a thin lock behind her ear and smiled. It was a good massage. Few people made her feel like one in a million, but now she knew of one more, even if she still was a shriveled prune. A one in a million prune! As her Mum once said, those people one must grab by the hair and never let go. After the tribulations of the last day, it was only right to get a happy end and she had been ripe for a pampering. “You sure are oddly grumpy today. Did you not enjoy your view?”
Still a bit miffed you didn’t ask for my consent is all.
“How do you think I feel every time you kill an undead? Now all of a sudden I have to ask you for consent when all I want is some relaxation?” What next, she’d have to ask permission to eat foods Elia didn’t like? “Why didn’t you say the safeword then?”
… ok, sue me, I enjoyed it a little but, in my defense, I expected a massage, not a massage with benefits.
Which was fair. There were massages and then there were ‘massages’. “Well, good baths give good service. And don’t worry, you would have seen a lot more if I asked for a special massage.”
It’s not like every bath is a whorehouse then. Right?
“…why not? Baths are more than just a place to cool off. They are a meeting place with friends, or business partners, they offer access to the adjacent library – every bath needs a library – and, well, if someone asks for a meal or a pretty companion, chances are you can find someone offering that there too.” The only thing missing here were the books, and food. “Bathing is a culture and this is part of mine.”
… just to be one hundred percent clear on where I stand: Ask me, next time. I’ll be careful to keep your… preferences in mind. Just reminding you to do the same.
“I will. Sorry. I… got carried away. It won’t happen again. It was a very good massage though. I recommend you try it.” There was a pause while Rye debated asking what was on her mind. “Are you perhaps more interested in men?”
No, I’m only interested in fictional characters of fictional gender and unachievable proportions.
It sounded like there was a but hanging in the air.
…but you did inspire me to make a thirty-minute play titled ‘What we do in the baths’. Here, a sample: ‘Rye: Oh, egads, mine heart flutters like an apache’s rotorblades every time I lay mine eyes upon thee. Attendant: Thou art brash, little beanling, yet let me feel. My, it does flutter, and heave like a mighty bellow –‘
“That’s not–“
–actually, let’s skip the preamble and get to the sauce. ‘Rye: Yes~! Scrub the undead filth from mine grooves, ooh, aah!’
“Stooop!” Rye hissed at Elia’s theatrical moans. “Stop it! She can hear you.”
The non-existent script was flung to the winds, but that was enough. The face in her reflection was flushed purple.
And why exactly are you fine with that? I know its practical, I know the attendant is the last person who’d want to harm us but being casually ok with mind–control is a BIG red flag that you’re actually being mind–controlled. Or that you're part of a fascist dystopia, where free will is a crime.
“It’s not control, I’d feel it if it were.”
You sure?
Not at all. But she wanted to believe. “Yes, I’m sure. She probably just has some… enhanced empathy or minor future sense or something. I don’t know, if it’s a boon, it could be anything."
Like mind–control. What proof do you have that she’s ‘only’ taking a peek and not stirring our brain with magic and chopsticks!?
“… because that would require a very strong boon?”
How strong are we talking about?
“Uncommon…” Rye winced, buffeted by an ethereal sigh. “–which, I know isn’t actually as uncommon by our standards. Ruthe, they’re more common than actual common boons where I come from but that’s just because I live ten kilometers from Arvale and we’re next to our capital and that of the gods, it’s bound to be rich in miracles. Is this another one of those topics I need to be careful around?”
Not for my sake. For both of ours. Look, you do you and I’ll tell you if I notice something off about your behavior. It’s not the best solution, considering anything affecting you might affect me, but I don’t like it.
They spent some time in silence, Rye blowing bubbles into the bowl of respite. At least that part of the water behaved like it normally would. It didn’t make her wet and wouldn’t stay if she cupped her hand or used a bowl.
Also, did you just use the metric system?
“Yes? What else would I use but what everyone else does? Did you think I’d use my feet like the barbarians do, or the ells of a giant as measurement? Stones for weight, drams for volume? Please,” she gulped down a mouthful of water, “I’m civilized. I have standards.”
And then they fought. Vigorously.
----------------------------------------
Elia and Rye spent the next three days at Crossroad Temple, time measured by swaps after sleeping since the sun never set. They had agreed to laying low and not putting a big target on their backs – also known as dying over and over – in fear of the great Rhuna (who Elia stubbornly claimed was part of a so called ‘inquisition’) coming over to kick down their door and ruin any chance at getting home.
Elia was mostly found running across the temple grounds, bounding from titanic tombstones to grab branches and swing herself in susurrating summersaults. Less than a day into her own turn, she had become accustomed to elastic ligaments and muscles that could put in work and was now testing out the limit.
Hours, not minutes, passed by in parkour madness before she could collapse in a panting mess. All it took was a gulp of basin water and she could do it all again.
You sure seem like you’re having fun.
“Hell yeah.” Elia said, walking on her hands. “I feel alive. ALIIIVE!”
It went so far that one day she found herself on the temple roof, inspecting the damage wrought by a massive bronze bell that had fallen from the nearby belltower which was now little more than a stump. She wasn’t an architect but sleeping beneath this behemoth of metal could not be safe.
Don’t touch it! You’re gonna make it worse!
Calling Bell
A great bell atop a temple of rest. When the time of the grail comes to an end, bells like these call the undead from beyond the grave, to make them fulfill their ancient promise.
The awakening appears at first a trickle, yet over time all will heed its call.
“Really?” Elia kicked the bell with a dull thud. “Is this all?”
She spotted a hand, clasping dull glowing objects as it reached out from beneath the bell.
“Yikes. Sorry dude, but your bad luck is my good fortune.”
You have gained: Nuptial offering x1
You have gained: Bone shards [Common] x2
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
You have gained: Bone shards [Uncommon] x1
Rye meanwhile approached her days with a more segmented regime. There was a tunic to be stitched, a cloak to be embellished, a Morningstar to get used to (she wouldn’t be relying on Elia forever), people to chat with (Avice of Viln was as blue as always) and, most importantly, her magic to practice.
“Ready?”
Sure. What are you aiming for? Just so I have a reference for how much you missed.
“Oh shush.” She peered out into the field of gravestones and knotty trees. Some aggressive dregs still patrolled this place, but she was safe this close to the Temple. “I’ll try to hit that treestump over there within two meters of it.”
I bet a candied fruit that you won’t come within four. Actually wait, how many feet is a meter?
“No idea.” She settled into a secure stance and concentrated on her [Heavy Hailstone Bolt]. The coldness took hold of her arm, flowing down channels laid by her boon before her focus sucked it up and ordered the flow so ice would be conjured from nothing. No, not from nothing. The ice came from somewhere, that much the boon told her through innate knowledge. But deeper contemplation left her just as unknowing as before and with a mild headache.
She completed her cast as the projectile materialized and instantly tugged at a string deep inside her spirit, a dog wanting to be let loose. But it was too slippery for a dog, too smooth and too crude. Ugly. This was not how the spell was meant to feel.
Is that a… bomb?
Tentatively, Rye opened her eyes and beheld a transformed bolt. Its back portion narrowed much earlier, only to fan out in two rough triangles pointing up and down respectively.
“Fins.” She gulped, renewed awe inspiring her to pull the spell dangerously close. “Like a fish.”
A fish nugget. Kinda fat if you ask me.
“Shush! It’s… beautiful.” And it was all hers.
And then the spell leapt loose. Rye near stumbled as it floated dutifully at her side in one moment, then flung in a clear arc towards her goal in the next.
It was going to miss. The bolt was already veering thirty degrees to the side and it wasn’t even halfway there. But as she watched her bolt reach its zenith, the deviation had nullified and was beginning to reverse. It tumbled towards the stump, right on target. The stump, belonging to a once thick tree, was obliterated, splinters and shards of ice exploding in every direction while the bolt thunked into the earth.
They both stared silently as it dissolved into nothingness.
That. Was. Awesome! Now that’s a good boon–essence synergy. It took some time to get a move on but worth it for perfect accuracy. Think you can do it again? Oh, did it change the number of shots you can shoot? Did you steer it with your mind or was that automatic?
Too many questions all at once. But she was twice as ready now to test her limits as well.
The essence didn’t increase the strain every bolt put on her soul, for which she sent a short prayer of infinite gratitude to the gods. It made the change all the more impressive, but in an ironic twist of fate the target seeking behavior of the bolts proved near worthless against targets below ten meters, simply not adjusting their course fast enough to offset her abysmal accuracy. It was that weak spirit of hers. If it weren’t for that, her accuracy would be one hundred percent up close too, and her bolt wouldn’t look like an obese trout.
As it stood, her bolts only achieved nine out of ten hits at distances above twenty meters and under her furthest record of fifty–five. Though by flinging them that far, she had to shoot nearly straight up, lobbing them like a catapult.
“I must’ve practiced a thousand shots,” she said, gasping in between her migraine and shivering arm. “Why am I not getting better?”
I dunno. Maybe it’s a mindset thing instead of a gains thing? Or maybe your spirit is undead as well. Hard to break down and build up spirit muscles if they’re not alive.
One bout of externalized frustration and existential crisis later, she decided to stop for the day and head to the baths. It wasn’t much besides a small spring burbling in a small room beneath the temple, but the service was exquisite.
“Every day should end in a bath.” She said, stretching her foot while the attendant massaged it with soap the odor of cinnamon.
“Baths provide a most bolstering effect to body, mind and soul, for humans and undead.” The attendant said. There was a hint of pride in between her professional courtesy.
“Mmmh, I can feel that. Oh, yes, right there.” Toes curled, mind blank. The woman was a god at kneading feet. An impulsive thought surfaced in her mind and she found with delight that the attendant didn’t go as far, but shifted her ministrations far up enough to loosen the stiffness in her ankle.
Eventually, all good things had to come to an end.
The attendant gave a curt bow and left with her sparse utensils. Even though she’d had all the time in the world to ogle her, Rye snuck a peek at her receding form. Nice butt. How the heck did she manage to retain such dignity while wearing nothing but bathwear?
Aww, I was hoping to get some material for ‘What we do in the baths IV’.
“What happened to numbers II and III?”
An ethereal click echoed in her head. Click, click clack. Sorry bud, you’re gonna have to pay for those. Artists gotta eat as well.
Rye stretched, eliciting a contented sigh. “We share our souls, Elia. This is not a sustainable business model.”
I was more thinking favors. Tit for tat.
She giggled. “You’re already doing me a huge favor by fronting during all the bad stuff. I feel quite generous giving you so much time with my body.”
And all it took was to bribe you with daily baths.
It was totally worth the price. But now, letting matters pleasant make way for matters significant, it was time to plan. The portal opened by their first nuptial offering had closed after a minute, and since Elia didn’t want to “waste” their only remaining one, they were left with a return by foot to Glenrock castle. The three legionnaires didn’t leave their previous model of the road and castle ahead lying around, sadly, and though Harris sold maps and nuptial feathers, both were well out of their price range.
“I still can’t believe he wants four thousand for a single feather.”
We could always steal some.
“No! Elia! Bad!” She went over her belongings one more time, fastening belts and armor to her body. “Besides, he’s never absent from his pile of loot and pillows because he doesn’t have feet to walk away.”
… do you think he has a piss jar?
“EW! Elia, that is the single most disgusting thing I’ve heard all day.” With the certainty that all was in order, she plopped herself down on the stairway and closed her eyes shut. “If anything, he has a pot. A chamber pot.”
See, now we’re both disgusted.
“That’s because you’re weird.” Rye yawned, nestling further into her cape. It was a nice cape. It would keep her warm and hide most of her undeath-stricken body. “It’s perfectly… normal…”
One eternity and an aborted dream later, eyes fluttered open, and Elia was in control. She flexed her arms and cracked her neck, reveling in the energy, the sheer power bound within her coiled muscle.
“Feels like I’m finally stepping out of limbo. Like I’ve finally run out of bad luck.”
You have fused: Bone shard [Common] x12 into Bones of Boons [Common] x1
The die with a million sides leapt from her fingers, did half a pirouette on a smooth cobblestone, and then teetered towards a green symbol. With a single nudge of fate, it fell the other way, on a symbol of a familiar animal’s mane curling down in fanciful twirls.
You have gained a divine boon: Noble Equines [Common]
[Sense/Mind] Noble Equines [Common] [Empty Socket x2]
A steed in need is a steed indeed. You have dedicated your life to the care and upbringing of horses and have attained an instinctual understanding of their needs and how to satisfy them.
“TWO Sockets!?” On a useless boon? Nevermind, she was still cursed.
… Bless the gods? I would have LOVED to get this boon while back at home. Imagine, we could have started breeding horses, the best ones. I’d comb their manes, watch them canter and whinny all over the grasslands and I’d have an excuse to assign Marcus to Grug–stall duty PERMANENTLY. Alas, ‘twas not meant to be. Also, I’ve got a question Elia, if I may.
“Sorry. My head was busy being filled with horse facts. Did you know horses can’t breathe out of their mouths?”
No, but Elia, you have three boon slots, right?
With a swish, her breath solidified into a picture of her boons.
1 – [Spirit] Psychometry [Uncommon] [Essence of Ego]
2 – [Sense] Weather sense [Common]
3 – [Sense/Mind] Noble Equines [Common] [Empty Socket x2]
“You’re gonna ask why I didn’t use an uncommon one, seeing as we had enough shards for both.”
I assume you have a valid reason.
“I do! See, whether common or uncommon, boons are random. Sure, I’ve gotten more helpful green boons than gray ones, but I feel plenty strong as I am.” Though she could spring for a new weapon. Her morningstar mace was nice, but the metal latches were digging themselves loose and the wooden hilt had a bit more give after every blow. “Now, you’re aware of the difference between a common boon of horse knowledge and an uncommon boon for magical bolts. Imagine the difference then between uncommon and rare.”
That is… oh. With the flood of bone shards in these undead lands around Loften, I can see how that might be achievable, especially with Harris there to trade for rares. Three commons to one uncommon, four uncommons to one rare, right?
“Exactly.” She fiddled with her armor a bit, noting that she still was woefully unprotected around the knee level and that her left bracer was missing, eaten by the Fane Eater’s acid bile. “If the tendency of boons to require less shards the rarer they are holds true, then with twelve uncommon shards we’re already halfway there. The rest should be easy as pie.”
Uh-huh. I trust you won’t just up and lose them all for no reason, unless you fall off a cliff… but I’m cheering you on no matter the result! I read about a few kings and queens who gained a rare one before. Did you know that Lord Obronne, a knight of old who was said to have been doubly blessed by rare boons once called down lightning from a clear sky and smote a demon from below in a single frightful blow?
“Girl, you couldn’t have chosen a better time to tell me that. Let’s get to the castle and then onwards.” She cracked her neck again, then tightened some of the straps even further. “Alright. Let’s speedrun this shit.”