Nyxpera
The 18th of Mounichion
The Year 4631 in the Era of Mortals
Arche woke up feeling better than he had in weeks. Between the valerian root and the training, he’d passed out cold as soon as he hit the bed, not even having time to get beneath the blankets. To make it better, no dreams had visited him. That had been a relief nearly powerful enough to bring him to tears. What was more, his Exhaustion debuff had gone from tier three to tier one, which meant he was almost back to normal, so long as he didn’t overwork himself in the meantime. A day off might rid himself of the debuff entirely, but a day without training was a day wasted. Tartarus wouldn’t wait for him to be ready or to take time for himself. He had to be stronger, his friends’ lives depended on it.
The sun had already crossed the eastern horizon, shooting soft light over the village. Arche hefted the Tridory and walked out his door. The day before was good spear training, but he needed practice with the Tridory itself. Its weight and special properties were things that couldn’t be replicated by simple wood. Lyssa stood near a window, catching the morning light as Arche made his way down the stairs.
“Good morning,” he called out, walking over to share her view.
“Good morning, Arche,” she replied. “Sleep well?”
“Yeah. Odelia gave me a plant, valerie or something. Does wonders. Put it in my tea during a bath and it was lights out.”
“Good.” Lyssa glanced sideways at him. “And did Tess join you this time?”
Arche froze. Heat flooded his cheeks.
“Erm…what?”
The corners of Lyssa’s lips twisted up as she arched a single eyebrow. Arche wondered if it was too late to melt into a puddle of ooze and retreat deep into the ground.
“Relax, you look like you’re about to burst into flames.”
“I wish, it’d save me the embarrassment. How did you find out?”
“I had a very pleasant conversation with Tess last night after dinner. She wanted to know what I thought of you and I told her. What I don’t understand is why your face is trying to become a tomato.”
“I don’t know!” He nearly shouted it, then winced and continued on in a quieter voice. “Maybe it’s because this is all brand new to me and I don’t know what I’m doing, and it doesn’t help that you’re laughing at me.”
“I’m not laughing at you,” Lyssa clarified, the message undercut somewhat by her chuckling. “I’m laughing at how nervous you are. She’s very pretty, you’re quite lucky.”
“Can we please not talk about this right now? Or ever?”
Lyssa turned back to the window, still chuckling.
“Have it your way. Preparations are nearly ready for the venture to Ship’s Shape. Another three days’ time should do the trick, but I have a request.”
“All right,” Arche said, trying to reorient his thoughts. “Leaving at the end of the week and a request. What do you need?”
“It’s been brought to my attention that no one in Myriatos has cartography experience. No one except you and I, it seems. Maps will be vital to any trade ventures we hope to eventually establish. While you are traveling to and from Ship’s Shape, I would like you to start mapping the route you take. When things get a little more established here, I hope to start mapping the Sylv around us.”
Arche nodded.
“That doesn’t sound too bad. I can do that.”
“Excellent.” Lyssa breathed a heavy sigh and turned back to the window. “I wish I could go with you, but I am needed here. See to it that you watch yourselves out there. Just because there are more people in the city doesn’t mean that it is any less dangerous than life in the Sylv. The monsters there are not so easily recognizable.”
“We’ll be back before you know it.” Arche paused. “How long are you expecting we’ll be gone? I don’t actually know how far away the city is.”
“According to Theodorous, the city is a month away on foot, though their travel may have been slowed by their numbers. I’ll expect you back in three months’ time. If you aren’t, I’ll send Vikterandor to determine what’s become of you.”
“Three months.” That staggered him. Three months was twice as long as he’d been alive. “I didn’t expect the trip to take so long.”
Lyssa cocked her head, eyeing him like she could read his mind, then nodded.
“Will that be an issue?”
“No, I don’t think so. I just hope I can find some answers in the city.”
“As do I. Keep an eye out for any promising prospects to recruit to the village. We can always use more hands.”
“I’ll do that. Anything else?”
“Don’t ruin things with Tess.”
“Great. Awesome. Catch up with you later!”
Arche ran for the door, his ears burning, before Lyssa could make any further comments. He pushed his way out into the crisp morning air. The light was startling and the breeze was cold, but anything was preferable to talking about his relationship. Setting off at a fast stride, a few familiar faces popped up in the burgeoning crowd. Helwan wandered the traders, looking at the different items for sale. Abraxios helped the construction of the insula. Vikterandor conversed with several people Arche didn’t recognize. Everyone was busy with their own lives and business. What Arche most wanted at that moment, however, was a bit of privacy. He spied a tree a few hundred paces away from the village, put up the hood of his cloak, and set off for it.
Thanks to the Stealth-boosting power the Emerald Ghost, he was barely noticed as he made his way out of the village. The tree was large and knotted, with several high-reaching boughs. The bark was mostly white and smooth, which made handholds treacherous, but Arche was up to the challenge.
He plunged the sauroter of the Tridory into the ground, then rubbed his hands and jumped for one of the lower boughs. Arche caught it on his second attempt, his hands having slipped the first time. Pulling himself up, he continued his climb until he was high enough to see across the entire valley. Mount Hyperion stood to the north, ominous and imposing, with its peak obscured by clouds. Arche shivered at the sight of it. It practically screamed a challenge at the world around it and he had no doubt that he would one day answer that call, but in the meantime, there were other responsibilities.
He held his hand out to the side, carefully measuring the trajectory, and summoned the Tridory. The spear flew toward him, shooting between the tree limbs. It landed in his hand a moment later and he held it across his lap as he leaned back against the trunk. A small gust of wind tickled his skin, raising gooseflesh.
Arche focused his eyes onto a point far in the distance and turned his awareness inward, entering his mindscape. His consciousness condensed into an avatar, landing upon a field. It was a simple place: green grass, blue sky, crude walls. His protective barriers were still mostly mud and, though hardened stone did reinforce some portions, it was few and far between.
The wall approached as his avatar flew over the grass toward it. Inside his mindscape, he held a considerable amount of power. The avatar was a simple silhouette of orange energy with very few actual details to it. He could shape it if he concentrated, change into a multitude of different things in varying levels of detail, but the silhouette was the easiest form to use. He didn’t need an avatar, per se, but without one his concentration slipped in every direction, like water trying to fill a bowl. The avatar kept him grounded and focused. Arche extended one spectral hand toward the wall and felt its progress. The information was brought to the forefront of his mind. Unlike the typical notifications he received, it was more instinctual, like the knowledge belonged to him.
His mental defenses were currently at the lowest tier and a third of the way toward the next tier. This was visually represented by the materials, with most of the walls being made from mud and sticks and some portions from stone. The materials weren’t real, but a construct of his own consciousness rationalizing the reality of the matter in a way he could better understand.
To turn the wall from mud to stone, Arche had to funnel Mana into it. Here in his mindscape, the Mana flooded through the grass and sky, making both flash orange as the energy melded. This was only the beginning of the fortifications but it was certainly the most pressing. His encounter with Aima had reinforced the idea that he was not the only one with mind magic, and the ease at which she had rebuffed and trapped him was terrifying on a fundamental level. She wasn’t psychic, he knew that intrinsically, but she had clearly received suitable training to strengthen her own mindscape. Training that he would eventually have to emulate with his allies. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to that training and the awkward questions that would arise from it. Only Lyssa, Tess, Abraxios, and Odelia knew about his Trait, and considering the repulsed reactions of Abraxios and Odelia in the Vivitorium of Hekáte, the fewer people that knew of his Psychic abilities, the better.
When his Mana dwindled to twenty percent, Arche slowed the flow down to the barest trickle, less than his natural regeneration. The act required some concentration, but not all of it, so Arche opened his eyes and took in the world. The view from the tree was picturesque. He was beginning to see why wood elves built their cities among the boughs, though he imagined the view was less impressive when all that could be seen was more forest.
From his vantage, he could see the entirety of the village, the tents splayed out in a neat, grid-like fashion. On the far side was the insula, only a few days away from completion. Most of the villagers assisted with its construction. Alone, the insula could house half the village. It had taken nearly three weeks but had paid dividends to all who worked on the project. Another insula would be necessary to get everyone out of tents, but it would probably only take half the time. More living space was a wise plan in the long term, too. Myriatos had some two-hundred odd citizens, but it would grow. Individual housing might be far off, but it was still on the horizon.
The idea of what Myriatos could someday be brought Ship’s Shape to mind. The idea of going to the city was exciting, if a bit nerve-wracking. There was the promise of so much information and so many more people than he’d ever seen before, but Lyssa wouldn’t be going with him. He’d grown to rely on her skill and insight. Her absence had been brutally apparent in the delve into the dwarven ruins and would be exacerbated even more by three months away from home.
She was easily the most competent fighter Arche had ever met, but he couldn’t deny that she faced the more difficult battle. She had an entire village to build from the ground up. Arche could barely fathom the daily tasks she had to deal with. He was more than happy with his position, but it didn’t feel fair to saddle her with all the administration of the village. At least Theodorous was around to help out. The steward had been a stroke of dumb luck, there was no getting around it. Arche didn’t know the first thing about leading a community and would have been less than helpful. Still, when he got back from Ship’s Shape, he would do his part. It was only fair, after all, as he was the one who had talked Lyssa into becoming the archousa in the first place.
His Mana was nearly full again, despite the constant drain, so he reentered his mindscape. The flow opened again, pouring forth through the channels of his mind. It was a strange feeling, expending Mana without it actually leaving his body, but the nature of his ability gave him some intrinsic understanding of the process that went behind it. His Mana was layered and hardened into a protective barrier around his mind; this prolonged its existence but removed it from the supply he was capable of using, which meant his Mana was expended. It would take several days to finish upgrading his defenses as even with his decent Mana pool and regeneration, he was only capable of converting a little bit at a time with each full expenditure of his Mana, and the walls were extensive.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Every three-hundred points of Mana he spent upgraded about a tenth of a percentage point of the entire barrier. To completely upgrade his mental defenses, he needed to dedicate nearly three hundred thousand Mana. Thankfully, he didn’t have to do it all at once, or he’d be stuck flooding his Mana into the barrier for over a week without sleeping.
When he’d first started upgrading it, he’d made the mistake of going below ten percent of his maximum Mana, which had given him a migraine that lasted an entire day. Since then, he’d set a hard cap for himself at twenty percent, which was still uncomfortable, making him feel hazy and stupid, but far more manageable.
The sun crawled through the sky and Arche’s stomach gurgled, twisting around itself in hunger. Mid-morning had crept up on him while he had been distracted with his mindscape. Dropping the Tridory to the ground, he clambered down the tree. The going was treacherous and slow, as the easy handles he’d found on the way up were slick against his boots. About halfway down, he grew annoyed with the pace and jumped. His body shifted, knowing instinctually what to do to lessen his impact. His right foot hit the ground first and he folded over it, rolling forward across his shoulder. The momentum brought him back to his feet, completely uninjured despite dropping more than four times his own height. With a flick of his wrist, Arche summoned the Tridory to his hand, trying to think of ways he could fasten it so he wouldn’t have to carry it all the time.
Mana Manipulation has reached Level 14.
+2% Control of Mana Flow (+28%)
+2% Speed of Mana Flow (+28%)
Climbing has reached Level 2.
+1% Speed of Climbing (+2%)
-1% Stamina Drain while Climbing (-2%)
There were, of course, no notifications about the progress on his mindscape. With some mental math based on how much Mana he needed to dedicate and his rate of Mana regeneration, he reckoned that the two hours of constant Mana drain had brought him one percentage point closer to the next tier. It was a disheartening level of progress for a morning spent doing nothing else, but Aima had demonstrated how dangerous a strong mind could be. He needed to be ready to use every weapon he had against her when they next met.
The thought of the vampire made Arche’s pulse quicken. The striations of the Tridory’s haft bit into his hand as he lengthened his stride toward the village. The last wall of the insula was set to rise that day. After lunch, which the village cooks graciously brought to the laborers, they would attach ropes to their strongest builders and have them stand on the roof supports, pulling the wall up as other villagers pushed from below. It was grueling work, with a high risk of injury, but it was necessary for the people of Myriatos to have a safe place to lay their heads.
They’d been lucky with the weather so far, only suffering the occasional storm, but some of the farmers had raised concerns over the coming weeks. The camping tents could only offer so much protection from the elements and it wasn’t feasible to have everyone in the village stay in the hall. The insula was a first step toward permanency and Arche could see the effect it was having on morale. People were excited about having a place to stay and, though it was a far cry from being a permanent solution, it was undeniably a move in the right direction. Personal housing would come later, once they had built up enough infrastructure to support the needs of the village. Not the least of which, in Arche’s opinion, was a wall.
So far, the most dangerous creature he’d encountered near the village, not counting the dungeon of beastmar he’d cleared, was a mantikhoras. The creature had been high leveled, in its thirties, and possessed a deadly venom that promised death to all unfortunate enough to feel its sting. It would have killed Arche, had Divine Body not served to counter the degenerative effects. If the mantikhoras had stumbled into Myriatos, Arche could not confidently say that the village guard could have repelled it. Certainly there would be heavy casualties. Proof and memory of his encounter lived in his armor, fashioned from the creature’s hide. The shiny red was not very helpful for stealth but it was made up for by the magical effects of the green cloak he wore, the Emerald Ghost. The two extremes together, red and green, reminded him of something, a name on the tip of his tongue that he couldn’t quite push past his lips. Something to do with presents and snow. The feeling dissipated before he could give voice to it.
Arche shook his head, reordering his thoughts. His stomach gurgled, reminding him that he had skipped the morning meal. He headed toward the insula, where the cooks doled out bowls of stew and chunks of bread. As he approached, he was recognized on sight by several villagers, who smiled at him and called out greetings. The attention made his insides burn, but he did his best to quell his discomfort and responded with smiles and hellos. Part of him considered activating his Stealth skill or drawing up the hood of his cloak, which would likely have allowed him to slip past without notice, but it was a crutch. He was one of these people now, a citizen of Myriatos. Furthermore, he was on the council as one of Lyssa’s administrators. It was important for people to see their leaders amongst them, to get to know them.
At least, that was what Tess had told him.
The thought of the Rogue—with her flaxen hair and deep, brown eyes—nearly tripped him. He caught himself quickly, offering a sheepish grin to the couple passersby who turned toward him, honest concern showing on their faces. Tess invaded his mind as easily and thoroughly as if she were Psychic herself. He could still feel her lips pressed up against his; the subtle taste of her, strawberries and mint, was infinitely more tantalizing than whatever passed for lunch. The memory of their embrace was so present, so intoxicating, that he didn’t notice he was being addressed.
“I said it smells good today, doesn’t it?”
“Huh?” Arche turned to see Basil standing in the stew line next to him. “Oh. Hey, Basil. When did you get here?”
The guardsman gave Arche a curious smile.
“Wow, you must have been really out of it. I got here the same time you did. What’s on your mind?”
“No one.” Arche coughed. “Nothing, I mean.”
“Right.” The Warrior grinned at him.
“Shut up.” Arche glanced around. “Where’s Cora? Is she not with you?”
“Nah, she skipped off back to the hunters as soon as we made it to town. I haven’t seen her since. I reckon she’s trying to hone her profession more.”
“Ah, strange. Well, not my business. What have you been up to since we got back?”
“I drill with the Captain in the mornings, then help with construction until suppertime.”
“Captain?”
“Captain Gigator.”
“Oh, right. I forget he has a rank.”
“I think you technically have one, too.”
“What, Captain Arche? No thanks, sounds like a comic book hero.”
“A what?”
“Never mind.”
Arche turned away from the conversation to produce a bowl from his inventory, holding it out for a cook to ladle in deer stew. Basil went next. The young warrior sniffed it, stuck a finger in to taste it, then produced a small pouch from his inventory and sprinkled something into the broth.
“What’s that?”
“Want some?”
Arche shrugged and held out his bowl. Basil sprinkled colorful dust into it.
“Black pepper, coriander leaf, and some specially imported cayenne I’ve been saving. Gives it a little something extra.”
Arche took a spoonful, swishing it about his mouth, then grimaced.
“Taste’s a bit like spicy soap, doesn’t it?”
“What? No it doesn’t!” Basil held the bag of spices against his chest like Arche had threatened to dash it against the ground.
“Didn’t mean to hit a nerve. I just don’t think that particular blend goes well with me. You want it?” Arche offered the bowl.
“I didn’t mean to ruin your lunch.” Basil looked down, his face a portrait of regret. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. You want it or not?”
Basil hesitated.
“What will you eat?”
“I’ve got some rations left over. I was going to have the stew because it’s available, but I’m not about to stand in line again. Here, take it.”
Arche pressed the bowl into the Warrior’s hands and pulled a seared wolf-steak from his inventory. Foregoing utensils, Arche held it in both hands as he tore into it. They watched the construction play out ahead of them. Most of the workers had stopped for food but a few hammered away at various projects.
“Are you going to ask your question or are you waiting for me to bring it up?”
Basil had the grace to blush.
“I heard you’re putting together a group of dungeoneers under the archousa’s orders. I wanted to know if you’d consider me on that team.”
Arche took another bite of steak, thinking about how he was going to respond.
“Dungeoneering is only half of it. What I’m putting together is going to be an elite unit. Our objective is to eliminate threats to the village before they become threats. Part of that will include dungeoneering, but there will also be scouting, diplomacy, and likely the eventual killing of other sapient beings. Is that something you can handle?"
The last item made Basil hesitate. His excited look of wonder gave way to uncertainty.
“I’ve never killed anybody before, but I want to be useful to the village.”
“There are many ways to be useful. Not a lot include killing, but you are a Warrior. If you really want to join, you can apply for the position.”
“Apply?”
“Yes. I’m opening positions to the guard corps, the hunters, and any mages that wish to join. Applicants will have to display their abilities. Upon passing, they’ll be put on probation to determine if they have what it takes and if I can work with them.”
“Oh. I would have thought the mission we did together was my application.”
“No, that was the probationary period. What you did proved we can work together. What I want you to do now is think about what I said very carefully. I need people who can do whatever it takes to protect this village. Let me ask you, are you willing to die for Myriatos?”
“Of course I am,” Basil said defensively.
“And Cora? Are you willing to hold her while she dies for it? Or me? Are you ready to watch the people you care about die in front of you? For the people you trust with your life to no longer have one of their own?”
Basil opened his mouth but no sound came out. There was pain and uncertainty in his eyes.
“I don’t know,” he said at last.
“Then you’re honest. My group is going to be the tip of the spear that slams into our enemies. Myriatos may be at peace, but we will be at war with every threat. Safety is not guaranteed. Survival is not assured. I need every person under my command to be brutally and painfully aware of those facts. If you can’t handle that, then you’re better off for it. You can be a guard under Gigator’s command. There is no shame in that. You will still be useful; you will still have purpose. You just won’t serve my needs.”
“I need to think more about this.” Basil’s voice was quiet, as though he was talking to himself.
“Honest and wise? You must be a hit with the ladies.” Arche smiled. “I’m glad you didn’t agree right away. I wouldn’t have believed you if you did. You have time to make your decision. I won’t hold try outs until I’ve returned from Ship’s Shape.”
“Thank you for speaking with me. I need to process this.” Basil poured the stew from Arche’s bowl into his own, then made the whole thing disappear into his inventory.
Arche accepted his bowl back and watched the Warrior leave. Part of him wondered if he had gone too far with his rhetoric, but it was better that Basil learned now before the fantasy of adventure and glory took too firm a hold in his head.
“With a sales pitch like that, who wouldn’t want to join?” Arche muttered bitterly.
The laborers finished their meals and returned to the insula. Arche watched them toil away, attaching ropes to the final wall, ready to haul it into place. On a whim, he decided to help. Other than his training, he didn’t have much to do before his trip. At least this way he’d be useful.
Before he’d even reached them, they started lifting the wall into place. Several villagers pushed from the ground while large men standing on the roof beams pulled on heavy ropes, all trying to lift the wall into place. It was an impressive demonstration of collaboration. Arche admired the cumulative effort of the laborers, both the skilled craftsman who had made the wall as well as those who had the strength to lift it into place.
When the wall reached a forty-five-degree angle, the men on the roof strained as hard as they could. The wall was too high for the men on the ground to push or help anymore, so the entirety of the weight now rested on the people in the most precarious position. Arche felt anticipation rise in his chest. A single badly placed foothold could send one of the men tumbling to his death. It seemed impossible that the men would be able to bring it up the rest of the way, but still the wall rose.
Then a rope snapped.