Chapter Twenty-Eight: Home Sweet Home
Tom and Val left Corin’s Grove at dawn, striding once more towards the great green forest.
When they’d arrived the previous evening, after a brief chat with the Corin who currently ran the village, they’d been provided with a simple meal of stew and bread, with an apple and peach cobbler for dessert.
Tom was slightly taken aback by how respectful the villagers were to them. He’d expected to be treated as a pariah since his sentence, but Wayrest was too big for everyone to know his face, and the villagers seemed a lot more pragmatic than superstitious.
“The Guards might defend the villages, but we take care of the truly dangerous beasts before they even know they’re there. The villagers aren’t stupid, they know the kinds of things that lurk in the forest,” Val explained to him.
“You take that, and add all the valuable essences and herbs and such that we bring out of there for them, and you’ll find that they’re always nice and polite. The Guards too, mind you. Takes a load off their shoulders having us out and about.” She finished chewing another mouthful.
“Everyone likes a warning if there’s something too big to deal with coming, too.”
Tom grimaced at that, his thoughts going to the orcish infestation brewing in the Deep.
“What are we going to do, Val?” he asked her, his voice small in the quiet of the little hut they’d been given.
“Not much we can do. The Council didn’t necessarily disbelieve us, but they also won’t do anything until they’ve got proof. Way I see it, that’ll likely be when the orcs have already come knocking.”
“But, the village-rings? They’ll all be killed, or worse. We can’t just do nothing!”
“Didn’t say we we’re gonna do nothing, Tom. But we’ve a few things to do first. Go to sleep now, we’ve got some hard weeks ahead.”
Tom heard the implication that this would likely be his last chance for a decent sleep in a long time. He sought his bedroll and was asleep before he knew it.
~~~~~
As they made their way between carefully curated rows of peach and apple trees, Tom found himself staring at the forest ahead. The great wall of foliage, now shot through with the burgeoning colours of autumn, was still more than green enough for its name.
Tom found he wasn’t apprehensive. At least, not about delving back into the Green again itself. Manifesting Survival had awakened something in him, or rather, opened his eyes to a facet of himself that he’d previously had no cause to inspect.
He enjoyed the forest. He enjoyed surviving on his own merits, using his own skill and cunning to eke out a living. He found he was excited even, to hopefully learn from Val how to survive even more easily out here. So long spent in the Deep must have brought her great familiarity with it. He was keen to tap into that well of experience.
Within the hour they had breached the treeline and were well into the Deep. Val seemed to have a particular direction she was heading, and Tom dutifully followed after. Smitten didn’t range as far from them, now, and was constantly at attention, stopping often with a foreleg cocked to listen into the breeze. Scorn, for his part, still sat atop Val’s shoulder, his green eyes seeming to glow slightly as they swivelled slowly back and forth.
Every so often Val would gesture Tom to a stop, Scorn and Smitten both staring off through the undergrowth at the same distant point. No matter how Tom strained his ears, he caught not even a snatch of anything amiss. Eventually, at some unseen signal, Smitten would begin to trot ahead of them again, and they would continue their trek.
They walked throughout the rest of the day, saying little, and then, only in low tones. Mostly, Val communicated with him via curt gestures.
As night fell on the first day, Val led them to a hollow in the side of a hillock. It was just barely big enough for all four of them to squeeze in. Before they did, Val beckoned him to her, rummaging through her pack. Eventually she pulled out a handful of stakes.
“Wardpoles,” she explained. “They’ll make sure anything wandering close keeps wandering. We’ll get you a set when the Scriber comes through next.” And she began tapping the poles into the sod around the hollow with a small mallet.
~~~~~
The next day was free of interruption as well. In the morning, they broke camp, pulling out the wardpoles and stowing them, and marching again on Val’s bearing.
Tom began to notice small differences in the Deep. This time of year, there was a lot more deadfall on the ground. It made it more difficult to walk without making noise, but the going was also easier, the undergrowth being not quite so vibrant and lush. It was also cooler, which was pleasant. Reapings were usually held during summer, and all three Tom had joined were sweaty exercises in bulling through obstinate bushes and ferns.
That night, they came upon an enormous oak tree. It must have been near thirty feet wide, gnarled and hoary with age. Great, twisted roots burst and coiled through the earth around it, putting Tom in mind of the sea serpents marked on maps.
Val placed a foot on one and turned to him with a grin. “Home, sweet home,” she said, sweeping her arms about like an actress in a play. Smitten sat nearby, her tail thumping against the soil. Scorn looked mildly offended, as usual.
At Tom’s confused look she beckoned him to follow, leading him between tumbled roots and rock. As they neared the trunk, Tom felt the familiar buzz of enchantments on his skin.
He peered more closely, and could see tiny runes scrawled all over particular roots. Chasing each other round in swirls, sweeping up the trunk, disappearing amongst leaves and branches.
Val reached the confluence of two great roots and tapped a single rune right where they both rose from the soil and met at roughly shoulder height. Suddenly, the earth between the soil shook and lowered, settling by increments, until a gap large enough for a person to walk through opened in the base of the tree. Val ducked inside, and Tom followed.
Once he was on the earthen ramp, under, or inside the trunk of the oak, he found he couldn’t see much of anything. He heard Val fumble with something beside him, and suddenly, gentle light began to bloom.
As Tom’s eye adjusted he let out a small gasp. Below the tree, at the bottom of the short ramp, was a wide, circular space, as wide across as the tree itself. It was easily bigger than most houses in the village-rings, bigger than a modest Artisan’s house in Wayrest proper. Tiny enchanted runes sat at intervals all the way around the walls, giving out a steady yellow light.
Val ushered Tom down the ramp and into the room, then turned to tap another rune on the wall above the entryway. The earth trembled again, then rose to fill the gap. Within a minute there was no indication there’d ever been a door.
Val laughed at the incredulous expression on Tom’s face. “What? You think we all slept in trees every day we’re out here?” She grinned widely at her own joke.
Tom wasn’t quite sure what he believed, he hadn’t put much thought into it. He supposed having a home base to range from and return to made a lot of sense.
“You wouldn’t last a month out here without somewhere like this,” she continued, more seriously now. “We’ll need to find you somewhere you can make your own, but that can wait a while. We’ve got plenty to do, and you’ve got plenty to learn til then. Now, make yourself at home. Put your bedroll over there, maybe. I’ll fix us some dinner.”
And with that, she unbuckled the thin sword at her belt, and rested her bowstave against the wall by the door. Then she bustled over to the other side of the room, which was fixed with a low stove, enchanted for heat, and another enchanted plate embedded in the roof above it. Tom had seen them before, much larger versions though, in smithies in Wayrest. They caught smoke and turned it back into fresh air.
Tom leaned his spear against the wall in an unused looking section of the room, set up his bedroll, then unbuckled his sword and left it and his pack on top of it. He sat down, and began undoing the straps to his breastplate, taking in the room as he worked.
It was, as he said, circular, and ringed with enchantments. It boggled the mind. Enchantments were supposed to be incredibly rare, taking an arduous amount of work, and only made worse by the tiny number of people who manifested Enchanting.
In one portion of the room was the kitchen, where Val was working away with a pot. Another, where he sat, had Val’s bedroll set up, laid atop carefully pruned willow branches for extra warmth and comfort. Next to it was another, smaller sack, that he had to assume was Smitten’s bed.
The walls were lined almost all the way around with various shelves, a few chests neatly stowed beneath them. There was a barrel with bow staves and spears, and a few spare swords, all thin like the one Val had been wearing, hung on the wall above them in sheaves.
Dried bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling in a few places, some that Tom had seen before, others he recognised the descriptions of, and others he couldn’t guess at what they were.
All in all it was …cosy. Surprisingly so. Tom was still marvelling at everything when Val announced that she was done and brought him a bowl of steaming stew, gesturing him to sit with her as she took up a low stool.
They ate in silence, aside from Tom’s noises of appreciation. Val was a good cook. Some of the flavours were unfamiliar, and he guessed they must be fresh herbs or produce straight from the Deep. Eventually, he settled back, his bowl empty and stomach full. Val gathered the bowls and spoons and placed them on a barrel in a kitchen area. At length, she settled back onto her stool, and watched Tom for a few moments.
“Right, let’s get to it then,” she said, and Tom’s wisp pulsed pink next to him.
Party request received: Val Cutter. Accept?
Tom mentally acceded. A wisp popped into view, just in front and to the side of Val’s head. It was a deep crimson at its core, and limned in a light, vibrant green. Unlike Tom’s, it had no striations in between, Val only having a pick, not a full fall. He shot Val a curious look.
“I need to check your skills, and it’s much easier this way than you relaying it all to me. Check mine, while I’m at it. We should both understand each other’s strengths and limitations. Besides, now we can communicate at range too.”
It made perfect sense, and Tom immediately set to checking Val’s skills. He was immensely curious what they were like.
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Request status: Val Carver.
Status: Val Carver.
Ideal One (Exemplary): Love.
Skill One (Exemplary): Love you to Death (Active).
Mana cost: High.
Cooldown: High.
Range: Moderate.
Damage: Extreme.
Place extreme health degeneration buff on target.
Skill Two (Exemplary): Heart of Gold (Passive (Aura)).
Provides nearby allies with a minor buff to health and mana regeneration. Provides a minor buff to nearby allies’ cooldowns. Caster gains a trivial version of each buff.
Skill Three (Exemplary): Labour of Love (Channelled).
Mana cost: Moderate.
Cooldown: Moderate.
Range: Short.
Damage: Nil.
Duration: Channelled.
Target gains moderate heal (channelled). Target gains moderate buff to health regeneration.
Skill Four (Supreme): Puppy Love (Ritual (Familiar)).
Mana cost: Extreme.
Cooldown: Extreme.
Requirements: Thirty life essence, four hunger essence, four blood essence, three sound essence, one love essence, and one loyalty essence. Five aspect essence.
When summoned: Familiar can make high damage physical attacks. Familiar has an attack that deals moderate magic damage up to short range, and low damage up to moderate range. Familiar has a channelled ability.
When subsumed: Extreme buff to caster’s sense of smell and hearing.
Ideal Two (Exemplary): Hate.
Skill One (Supreme): Spite (Active).
Mana cost: Moderate.
Cooldown: Moderate.
Range: Moderate duration.
Damage: High.
Place major defensive debuff on target.
Skill Two (Exemplary): Bad Blood (Passive).
Any attacks made against the caster place a minor defensive and offensive debuff on the attacker.
Skill Three (Supreme): Spit Venom (Active).
Mana cost: Low.
Cooldown: Low.
Range: Low.
Damage: High.Damage over time: Low.
Duration: Low.
Spray venom in an area in front of the caster. Affected enemies are damaged, and take damage over time. Damage is acidic and venomous.
Skill Four (Supreme): Curiosity Kills (Ritual (Familiar)).
Mana cost: High.
Cooldown: High.
Requirements: Twenty life essence, three hunger essence, three blood essence, two wind essence, two silence essence, two dark essence, and one curiosity essence. Five aspect essence.
When summoned: Familiar can make low damage physical attacks. Familiar has an attack that deals moderate magic damage up to short range. Familiar has a channelled attack which causes extreme magic damage while channelled.
When subsumed: The caster’s movements are completely silent. Caster can see in the dark. Extreme buff to caster’s sense of smell. Moderate buff to caster’s hearing. Extreme buff to caster’s reflexes and agility.
Tom finished reading through Val’s skills, and found her still occupied with her own wisp. He was impressed, and more than a little jealous. She had a much more traditional skill set than him, ignoring her two familiars out of eight skills. Seeing someone else’s skills had made him self-conscious.
He only had one direct damage skill, for starters. Combat Idealists usually had a much larger ratio of them, like Val for example, who had three, all of which were extremely nasty from their descriptions. She would have no trouble fighting orcs. At least her ratio of familiars was just as unusual as Tom’s.
What surprised Tom the most was how advanced her Ideals were. Ideals began at Classic, and were uplifted to Complete when all four skills under them had manifested. From there, the Ideal was uplifted again each time all the skills under it reached the next tier, after Complete: Consummate, Exemplary, Supreme, and finally, Flawless.
From Val’s status, he could see she had only recently uplifted Love to Exemplary, but was very close to uplifting Hate to Supreme. Or perhaps she had been stalled at those tiers for a while, slowly grinding out her skills or waiting for epiphanies. It tended to get harder and harder to uplift at each tier.
He suddenly felt a little nervous sitting next to her, in the centre of her domain. The woman must be an absolute monster, and he had no doubt that if she wanted to, she could end him in a heartbeat. He had barely managed to beat his father, and only then by luring him into overconfidence and ambushing him with Silence. Val had two Exemplary Ideals; she would be physically about twice as strong as him.
“Well then,” she said, startling Tom from his reverie. She gave him a wry grin that said she’d done it on purpose. “You’ve got a strange skillset there, Tom. What’re you gonna do with it?”
He understood what she meant. Everyone, especially those trained at the Academy, had plans for what they would do when they manifested. How they would fight, exactly. What role they would fit in a team. Tom had given it some thought over the last few days, but he hadn’t had much time, otherwise.
“I’m not too sure, if I’m being honest,” he told her. “I’ve still got three skills to manifest, and they could completely change any plans I make. That’s not even mentioning whatever pinnacle skill I get.”
“True enough, though you’re best to put some kind of plan in place now anyway. It’s likely that the rest of your skills will follow the same pattern, to a degree. You know this.”
He shuffled uncomfortably. “Yeah, I guess. I guess - I dunno. I had just always planned on manifesting the Sword. And it’s obviously still the weapon I’m most comfortable with, but I’m not sure it …fits, anymore.”
She cocked her head at him, assessing. “That’s not the whole of what I meant, and you know that too. Your weapon is best fit to your role. Most Idealists don’t work alone.”
Tom sighed. Any time he’d had assignments on this in class, he had obfuscated.
“I guess I want to lead. I want to fight. But my Ideals aren’t suited for it, now. I don’t have enough damage upfront, I’ve no inspiring auras, or area buffs. And besides, who would follow me, anyway?”
“You’ve got a good mind, Tom, but you’re naive.” Val wriggled her mouth in exasperation.
“You’re thinking too small. You don’t have to stay a Hunter, you know? You can just leave. There’s plenty of cities that would hire a mercenary, make you their own.”
The idea sent Tom reeling. He opened his mouth to reply, but Val cut him off.
“Think about it, first. I won’t let you run off until I’m sure you can survive in the wilds by yourself to start with, and that’ll take time. Until then, we need to get you in shape.”
He thought about it for a long time. Val gave him the space, letting him turn around the idea in his head. Eventually, he spoke.
“Maybe. Maybe, I will. I would like to see the world someday. But I couldn’t live with myself if I ran away when Wayrest is about to come under siege. My mother is there, and Ella, and Rosa and… they’re not all bad people, is what I’m saying. We need to do something, and I won’t just stand by, or worse, abandon it.”
“Good,” she said with a small smile. “I thought I detected a backbone in you. I wouldn’t have you run from what’s to come either. The song remains the same though. We need to figure your path.
“The way I see it, you’ve got several options, but quite a few are contingent. You’ve got more than a few passive skills, and some good staying power with Echo and Grit. Misery, Echo and Agony will help you wear down opponents. Sweet Suffering is a bonus, and extra insurance against any sneaky types. You’ve even got two sources of typeless damage, and I know you know how rare that is.”
Typeless damage was much sought after by combat Idealists. It was, in essence, the most versatile type of damage possible. Where fire damage might be more effective against cold-attuned enemies, and so on, typeless damage, while not having any particular effectiveness, would damage anything. Many Idealists had died when they ran into some monster that countered their damage types perfectly. Tom would never have that issue.
“Your one true trump card, though, is Hush. I don’t know if you understand how good it is. With it, you will easily beat any creature or monster that isn’t significantly larger or more numerous than you. And so long as you are more skilled with your weapon, you will have a very good chance at beating almost any Idealist.”
She paused for a second then.
“So long as you don’t go fighting any Flawless Ideals, that is.” She chuckled to herself at the thought.
“With Silence and Suffering, you would make an excellent assassin.” She nodded at the flash of revulsion on his face when she said it, as if confirming something.
“It’s funny you say you want to be a leader, because that is exactly how I would cast your skillset. You want to draw attention, help shore up any allies that are being pressured, use your familiars to distract, funnel enemies, control space - and when you see the tipping point, hit it with a Silence debuff and turn the tide.”
The idea seemed novel to Tom. He liked it. He’d always imagined himself leading a Guard unit, directing his allies, helping them however they needed to ensure they overcame any challenges they met.
“You are what we call a utility caster, Tom, with perhaps more than a splash of ‘off-tank’. And I am going to teach you how to survive as one.”
She stood, walking across the room to a chest. Picking it up, she returned to her stool.
“We need to get you some practice with those skills of yours, hopefully get those last few skills manifested. Then we need to get you comfortable with them, and pick a weapon. But first, we need to get those familiars of yours manifested. Smitten tells me she smells essence stones on you. What requirements do you have left?”
And with that, she clipped the catch on the front of the chest and spun it so it was facing Tom. Then she pulled open the lid.
Tom’s eyes just about fell out of his head. The chest was packed, every single inch of it, with glimmering, softly glowing essence stones.
Val and Tom grinned at each other like kids with stolen candy.