Is that a genuine human emotion I spot on your face?
“Don’t call me out like this. I’ll cope however I want.” Elia wiped away a tear, bathing in the afterglow as she looked down to her pudgy toad, held gently in her hands like a stress relief ball. “Squish squish. Squishy squish.”
Never would she ever have to wake up in a maze again. It made her feel all fuzzy, but as she propped herself up against a cracked tombstone that wasn’t hers, the still dripping corpse of the giant kneeling before her, she realized it was probably just the blood loss. With the way her chest creaked under every movement, she had a few broken ribs and what felt like a punctured lung as well.
“We’re free, Quibbles. Finally free.”
I still cannot believe it. You fought a giant and won.
“Damn, I’m awesome.”
“Ribbit.”
“I fully agree, Quibbles. We’ll kill God… later. After a short… nap.”
Aaand we’re off the deep end again. Where does all this hate for the gods come from? Because I cannot condone such blasphemous behavior. It goes against every tenet, heck, it goes against every instinct of basic gratitude and decent human behavior. The gods created civilization by clearing the dark forest for us. They put the beasts in their place and made a region for us humans to prosper. It’s not a paradise, but we are just guests here. Heck, they’re the ones that judge our souls when we die and put them back into the cycle of life.
Elia cleared her throat and spat a mouthful of blood to the side. “Someone put me here. Someone will pay.”
… please don’t tell me that you’re dying again. Not now.
She laughed, immediately regretting it as a piercing pain spread from her chest. “Now? No. In an hour… or two? Maybe.”
We need to get you patched up. Back to the healing cup?
Elia turned to the door, where her old friend had made her sudden entrance. The metal was bent, but the mechanism had pushed the door shut again. The surviving spiders were having a good old time hanging out in front of it.
“No. Never back. Forward.”
With a sigh that could have been mistaken for a death rattle, she pushed herself up one limb at a time and staggered to where her souls still lay on the ground.
You have regained: Bone shard [Common] x11
You have regained: Soul x7176
Soul count: x11176
Shard count: [Common] x21 [Uncommon] x6
“New highscore. Neat.” As her cache of souls flowed up her arm, she felt a pull like a second weight from close by. It came from the giant’s chest and on a whim, she tugged at the air and something came loose. A ball of fire, or water, a mixture of both swirled above her hand. It was the size of a pea and so weak, it looked like it might have winked out at the slightest gust.
You have gained: Soul of the Forlorn Giant
“Oh.” Rye wasn’t kicking up a fuss about morals this and ethics that which meant she was probably not paying attention. Elia was entirely fine to capitalize on that as she dragged the soul-orb into her pocket and gave it to Quibbles. “Hold this. If you eat it, I will be very sad.”
Cowed by the need to not disappoint his friend, Quibbles accepted with a quiet grunt.
As for the rest of the loot, her bone shards were enough for another common boon except this time, she was kind of hoping for a useless boon. She had to sacrifice one, or the next death would take more than just her time and sanity. It would take her strength, or her speed, maybe more of her sight or the ability to reason. Permanently.
The problem was that she needed to do so at a checkpoint bowl.
“Need to find. Checkpoint.”
You have fused: Bone shard [Common] x12 into Bones of Boons [Common] x1
The die fell. The result failed to surprise.
You have gained: [Sense] Weather sense [Common]
Much like the aged and crippled, you feel the changing of weather as a painful sensation within your joints.
Bless the gods for their gracious gift. Rye muttered in prayer. May the rivers flow and cities reach to golden skies.
“Rain’s comin’.” Elia barked a laugh and spat some more blood. “Arthritis boon, got.”
May the sun never set on Loften, our blessed city.
Was debating theology worth it if she drowned in her own blood as a result? Inwardly, she chuckled. At least this life was too important to waste on a joke.
After checking the fallen bodies for useful weapons – there were none, beside a round wooden shield with holes which she took – she tried to lift the giant’s sword and when that failed, that of The Maiden. She didn’t have the strength left for either, or maybe she never had it in the first place.
Round shield
A standard wooden round shield, heavily worn after weathering an overwhelming force. This shield is light, reliable and protects surprisingly well against magic.
“Great.” She could have used this before fighting the giant. Then she’d just have run past the magical spider. “God. Fuck. You.”
La-la-language~!
With ambling pace, she walked to a great gate that towered in the same green as the smaller one before. She looked for a keyhole and after brushing away a patch of dried lichen, found a place for a key.
The door ground open to the sound of an unseen mechanism. The key was the first to give her a name for this place. A garden. Out of a passing curiosity, she used her [Psychometry] on the key.
Key to the undead garden
Key to the undead garden, once known as the great maze during its construction. Made of wrought iron yet held in pristine condition by the Forlorn Giant.
Though meant as a jailer for the accursed and unwanted, he saw himself as a judge and would have once granted the worthy passage both in and out.
“Huh.”
Elia watched curiously as the words formed in front of her but dismissed them as soon as the door had opened wide enough to let her squeeze through. She didn’t look back at the lifeless corpse of The Old Maiden, it hurt to simply think about it. She was part of the past, and now her eyes needed to focus on the future.
The view was breathtaking. To her left, the world just seemed to end, a sudden cliff trailing for miles down until it terminated atop snow-covered mountain peaks. To her right, the path continued, and her heart beat painfully as she spotted her goal: A temple flanked by toppled towers, nestled under the overhang of a great mountain that she knew had always been to her right on her journey, but had never bothered to think much about.
As she got closer, she noticed a giant bell resting where it had fallen upon the domed rooftop. The statue of a bird cresting it seemed much larger from this angle. Elia eyed it suspiciously for a moment before carrying on along the path. The exhaustion and her wounds made the trek uphill an ordeal and not just a physical one. The dream of an outside without undead died as she spotted a desiccated body here, a broken cart there and found the general vicinity heavily neglected.
A single fight in her condition could undo all her progress and so she snuck past all of them, past the moan of another undead coming from behind a bush, from around a corner, or down a dip in the mountain swerving in between rocks more frequently than was to her liking.
After over half an hour of slow, quiet ascent, she made it to the temple’s doorstep. If God willed it, she would die of a heart attack a foot away from her goal. Luckily, she felt no sign of divine pettiness.
Civilization at last. But I don’t see any smoke, and everything is… quiet.
“Don’t care. Water,” Elia said, conjuring up warm and fuzzy ideas. “Bed. Bath. Hamburger.”
As she marched past a row of gravestones and took a moment to catch her breath near a shriveled tree, a dark figure peeled away from its shadow.
“What have we here? A late arrival.” A low voice sounded out from an armored man squatting upon the tree. “Not a dreg, but not truly alive either. Curious.”
Ack!
“Gah!”
His armor reached from toe to the top of his head and his face was obscured by a great helm with two round cutouts for the eyes, black voids revealing no hint that there was a person on the other side. The drooping metal muzzle shaped like a dog was in perpetual displeasure and was blackened like all the rest. He rustled ever so slightly when he cocked his head and neither of the two girls failed to notice the belt of curved knives nor the twisted, two-handed sword.
“Who the hell… are you?” Another obstacle, another creature god put in her way to mock her?
There was a tinny chuckle, like she had just said the funniest joke in the world. “I won’t give you my name, not that it’d be any use. I came here to hunt demons and you’re not one of them. Move along.”
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Not… a demon? Wait, there are REAL demons here? FIRE, ATTACK, ALARM– actually, how does he know, which order or lord or god does he serve? Does he have a boon? Maybe he can smell it. I’ve never heard of any order that wears all black or looks like an executioner but his voice sounds… scary, and knights aren’t supposed to be scary.
Elia gave her best approximation of a smile. “Good doggie. Now go. Leave.”
The man chuckled. “On the other hand, you are an accursed undead, and still with your wits about you at that. How a frail little girl like you made it out of the maze, I have not the faintest, but you did. How much did it cost, who had to die for you to live? Oh, I see. What a poor, wretched thing.”
There was something vexing about the man’s tone. It was not completely arrogant, but his condolences carried more than a hint of condescension. His words on the other hand had a bite to them that felt all too piercing.
“Shove your… pity… ugh.” Elia bent over to retch blood against the tree trunk.
He laughed again; movement setting his armor into a disharmonious clatter. “I won’t stop you. Go on. Join the mass of lunatics, sycophants, and misguided fools. I’m certain you’ll fit right in. Just as deluded as all you unchosen curselings.”
Elia wondered whether lethal force was a moral response to trash-talk. With a deadpan expression, she turned towards the wide-open entrance to the temple, ignoring the cackling laughter from behind. She was way too tired for social bullshit. She’d come back to push his face in the dirt when she was feeling better.
What a rude fellow and with a weird accent as well, almost as weird as yours. I don’t hold it against you, we can work on your crude tongue together once you give my body back. N-not in a weird way! I mean, unless – no wait, how would that even work… ugh, I could have phrased that better.
The smell of old stone laden with lichen and dust filled the room as Elias stomped down a winding set of stairs. “Won. Bet.”
That is not true! You died one, two, three… ten times. That means you lost.
“Ten. Or less.”
I, you… I never agreed to the bet.
“Mhm.” Complaining was quite easy from Rye’s spectator backseat, especially without the need to stop and breathe.
You pushed it on me, it wasn’t fair, I had no idea how anything worked, and I still know frighteningly little, are ten deaths little or a lot, where even are we, what year is it, why am I undead?
As Rye continued listing questions of decreasing importance, Elia entered the main chamber of the temple. It presented a rough circle, with stairs leading up and down a single story and hallways branching off at each and every level. Walls made of large hewn stone slabs or seemingly carved out of an entire solid piece of bedrock enclosed the dimly lit room. A smell of age clung to the architecture and in the middle was a bowl she instinctively knew to be a checkpoint, though it was as large as a small swimming pool.
For a place in fantasyland, Elia had expected there to be more elves, dwarves and all the other staple races. There was a person with three arms who regarded her behind a stone mask like a globe and from somewhere else three rather loud voices rang throughout the temple walls, but them aside only undead humans milled about. One was even lounging in a little nook in the wall it had filled with pillows. They seemed non-hostile, all prostrate and either mumbling in delusional prayer or completely silent.
None bothered looking at her arrival, like nothing mattered more than counting the cracks in the stone floor. The water tasted like cranberry juice. A familiar feeling of coolness washed through her, and the pool lit up for a brief moment before the light faded with a distant gong she could have imagined.
*Gong*
“Checkpoint. Got.”
Feeling the bones in her ribcage crack and twist to reconnect on their own wasn’t comfortable, but was more easily ignored when she considered how the healing water would soothe and stitch her body back together inside and out.
Sacrifice a random boon to gain absolution?
–but here it was, the world’s way of telling Elia that she couldn’t have nice things.
She had three boons divided among the two of them, [Psychometry] and [Weather sense] for her, [Alternating Ruthersday vigor] for Rye. Elia bet that it would take her [Psychometry], because every gambling system in existence was rigged. There was no point in crying about it. Boons could be gained again but degrading her body lasted forever. It was the way the world ran. God hated her and she simply had to deal with the consequences.
You have offered a boon: Alternating Ruthersday vigor [Common]
Undead curse quelled.
Elia stared at the message for way too long, water slowly dribbling from her mouth.
WHAT DID YOU DO!?
“Oops.” She gave a weak laugh. “That was, uh, unexpected.”
THAT WAS MY BOON! YOU JUST SACRIFICED MY BOOOON!
“Look on the bright side.” She gulped a mouthful of unflavored water, mouth moving before her mind could sign off on the following words. “At least we know this can happen for future reference.”
…I had that boon for less than a DAY. It was mine. Mine! My first ever boon and now it’s GONE! This is horrible. You’re horrible! You owe me a boon now.
“Sure, but since you owed me a boon that makes us even. Now, enough business, time to find a bed.”
Y-you could at least say sorry. You’re such a rude, inconsiderate-
“Greetings, lost undead,” a gentle voice like honey said to her left. “Welcome to Crossroad Temple.”
Elia didn’t notice the woman approach her, though when she looked up she met a face that welcomed her with closed eyelids and the slightest smile on a perfectly symmetrical chocolate face. She reminded Elia of a nun, if habits were made of tightly knit silver chainmail and they automatically applied the newest Instagram filters. Her face was too perfect, uncannily unblemished, like an idealized version of herself. It seemed such a surprise to see someone not afflicted by signs of undeath that Elia couldn’t help but be suspicious. At least she carried no obvious weapons with her.
After a cursory inspection deeming her a non-threat, Elia returned to supping on the cranberry goodness of the healing water. The only thing annoying her more than base envy was the seeming intent of the woman on standing in her way – or worse, having a conversation.
–wooow. She’s so pretty.
“I am a humble servant of the cerulean waters and bound to them as I am bound to thee, forlorn undead. You may use me as thou sees fit, for that is my purpose as an attendant. Allow me to lighten thy burden. If thou wishes to look within thyself–“
“Nope.”
“I simply offer-“
Elia was already leaving.
W-Why are you so rude!? That was a real person. She didn’t even look like an undead. She was nice. She can help us.
“She uses too many ‘thou’s’ and ‘thine’s’. I don’t trust people who speak in Shakespeare.” She climbed a set of stairs, peering into one of the halls. It was collapsed, gray roots digging into the rubble. She turned around stomped back to where the woman was patiently waiting.
The mailed nun blinked only once. “Has thou come to gaze within thy reflection, to nourish thy inner strength?”
“Where are the beds?” Elia said while pointedly ignoring how the woman didn’t have any eyes. She pointed down another of the halls, evidently having no problem seeing without them.
“A weary soul may find humble chambers for rest and respite at the end of the hall,” she said, “but thou art welcome to wander the premises, or give sacrifice to the gods. There is an altar in the garden, though I implore you not to approach it alone.”
“Cool, neat, spiffing, do you have food here? Burgers, fries, a stack of pancakes maybe?”
This time, the attendant pointed to the swimming-pool sized bowl. Maybe she had a form of echolocation or a third eye hidden under her faded headband. “All undead may take their nourishment from the cerulean waters.”
No grub then. At least the beds were still available.
“’Kay, thanks, bye,” Elia said and speedily vacated the premises
Ruuude!
“If thou requires water, warmth or affection, thou must but call,” the woman called but her gentle tone fell on deaf ears as Elia raced towards the promised dreamland.
Rooms were a dime a dozen and instead of a door a cloth divider hung airily from the frame, but she didn’t care as she practically stripped mid run and flung her body into the feathered sheets but found it to be stuffed with straw.
“Oh my god, this is the best bed I’ve ever–” she said and promptly passed out.
Languaaage! I’ll keep yelling if you keep swearing, don’t think I’ll grow sick of it. Hello? Are you listening?
All that came from Elia was a quiet snore.
How are you already asleep, it’s been five seconds! And why am I not asleep? Hello? Hello-o! Can you hear me? Anyone?
…
I didn’t know that I snore this loud.
…
Are you awake yet?
…
Ok. No need to panic. This is fine. I should just offer a sacrifice to the gods for advice on how I can get out of here.
She tried to move but found herself still limited to a single limb at a time.
Alright, this is still fine.
Elia’s head hit the floor with a dull thud as Rye flopped her out of bed.
Oh beans, oh man, I am SO sorry. Here, let me just fix… this…
Elia didn’t wake up over the long time it took Rye to lift most of her back on her bunk. By the time she was finished the ever-present snoring had taken on a soft, calming note and for lack of anything to do she let herself relax in turn. She never noticed when she nodded off, only that she felt herself drift off into an oddly angled dreamland as she grew smaller and smaller and smaller.
----------------------------------------
The heat of summer burned down onto rubbery pavement. A nearby truck momentarily drowned out the laughter and cries of children before it disappeared into the distance. The playground was alive with pent-up little kid energy. They stuck to slides, see-saws and the sand box and the sand responded in turn for the snottiest. A giant construction of twisted metal and blood-red lacquer towered as a challenge to all who dared approach.
The monkey bars. The big-kid version. A six-foot fall onto dried rubber awaited as punishment for failure. But today was the day it would be conquered by Elia, mighty Elia, great and beautiful.
She put down her robosaurus-princess doll, scratched her head and wiped away her snot, distributing it liberally over her face. With practiced ease, she climbed up the ladder part until she was eye to eye with the ten-foot-long danger-dangle.
That’s what they called it on TV anyways. She saw it on a show about ninjas and warriors with real people and real ninjas once. She didn’t know what a ‘ninja’ was or what it meant to be ‘ninja’, just that she wanted to be one herself.
And this was the final test. After this, she would be ninja. The ninja-est. The most ninja-y.
She pretended to spit into her hands – she saw that too in a cartoon and actually spitting was icky – and grabbed for the first horizontal bar.
Everything good so far.
She grabbed the second.
Feeling very ninja.
Then she swung forward, letting go with one arm and skipping an entire bar before grabbing the next. There was no time to scratch the itch on her head. She could feel her feet dangling under her but didn’t let that stop her progress and only cried a little when she spared a peek downwards.
The other end of the monkey bars was within reach, and she put all her little child ninja strength into throwing her feet forward and latching onto the other end.
She dangled over the precipice, straining every muscle in her body, slowly pulling herself forward. And then, it was done. Success! Elia was now a ninja. She didn’t feel much different, but let her cry of victory join the playground ambience.
Liberated, she climbed down but noticed a group of giggling kids pointing fingers at her.
“Monkey girl, monkey girl!”
“C’mon down, we’re playing tag!”
“You’re it, monkey girl!”
“Mon-key. Mon-key.”
Monkey girl wasn’t her name but saying as much had only gotten her into a fight with this gaggle of goobers before. Elia pretended she didn’t hear them. They didn’t really want to be her friends and they were only mean to her because they were too scared to become a ninja themselves. She blew a wet raspberry towards them, delighting in their screeches as she carpet-bombed them with spit.
One of the kids, a snively one called Tony who always sucked his constantly runny nose in instead of blowing it into his hand and wiping it on someone’s clothes like a normal kid, held up her robosaurus-princess doll.
“Is this yours? She’s so ugly. My brother has a cooler mecha.”
“He does not!” Elia yelled.
“Does too! He has one–one hundred of ‘em and th’–they don’t have stupid dresses.”
How dare he! Robosaurus-princess was a Disney princess and just because she lost her head during a little accident involving a runaway skateboard and just because her dad glued the head of her favorite plastic dinosaur (who also was involved in a similar accident involving her tools her dad now stored out of reach) on top of it didn’t make her any less pretty!
She immediately grabbed it and flicked a switch on the back. The battery powered dinosaur head roared to life with the sound of cheap servo motors and chomped Tony’s finger.
He started crying of course and that’s when parents got involved. His parents. Elia’s were off at work, and she lived practically around the corner. Her grandma always told her to play nice after dropping her off, but nice clearly never worked out for her.
Being told off by other people’s parents either made her cry a lot or not care at all. It made her mad, seeing Tony being peppered with nice words and promises of ice-cream. She wanted ice-cream too, especially since she was normally not allowed to eat any.
“C’mon, let’s get you home,” Tony’s mother said and then added in a whisper, “You don’t have to play with her if you don’t want to just because she's sick.”
She never understood why adults did that, whisper so loud that everyone could hear them anyways. And sick? Elia wasn’t sick, just weird. She couldn’t eat ice-cream. Or drink milk. Or have pudding. That wasn’t a sickness, just a weirdness and weird never hurt anybody.
She scratched her itchy head as Tony was escorted out and the rest of the kids went back to playing in the sand or picking their noses. Maybe it was something else?
Her hand came away with another few loose strands of ginger hair.
…no, it was definitely the ice cream.