I woke up with three faces leaning over me and one arm, straight and stiff as a board, stuck straight up in the air, my shovel held level in my hand. It was an odd sight, though the faces of the three above me were more important.
Upon waking, it took two of the three, both [Priests], about 7 seconds to start arguing about whose blessing did what.
“She obviously woke because Life has brought her back from the brink, the poor… Em, woman,” One dressed in the white robes of the clergy of Life told the other.
The second, dressed in different robes in light greens that made him look a little… suggestive, proclaimed, “I couldn’t disagree more. She was obviously tired. My boon is known to help people's virility, which includes stamina,” he said, obviously up his own ass about it.
It was uncomfortable to be below all three of them, staring up at a green codpiece, but just as uncomfortable was staring up at Anna, the third of the trio, both of us separated by the position of everything. She stared down at me, face upside down in my vision.
“Will you two stop arguing over who woke me up,” I asked them, “I have places to be… Also, I was just tired, not dead. My life wasn’t in jeopardy.”
I gave them about a second before I sat up, my head spinning slightly and my belly aching right around where I pulled out all the life mana. I checked and was surprised at the amount of life there. I had gotten it all out, sucked the whole area dry, and yet it had still started to fill back up from the edge.
I also felt strangely refreshed, considering I had fainted.
I checked myself over, trying to spot any sign that either blessing had worked, but found nothing. There was no magic I would call divine floating around inside of me. The two things didn’t add up, but I was willing to bet that I had been helped along somehow.
“Oh, still tender. Did you guys do something? Because I feel better, but I also can’t see anything.”
The green priest shrugged, and the life priest said, “The gods work in mysterious ways.”
“What kind of nonsense is that?” I chided, “Did you bless me or not? I assume you did; I should have divine mana or something… Shouldn’t I?” I asked, leaning back to look at Anna.
Anna looked down at me and got a look. It wasn’t quite disgust because she was trying not to look disgusted, but she was certainly pained.
“Saphine… You really need to finish reading that book; Divine magic is… Complicated… You need to finish it and have a bath. Now I wish I had learned [Clean] or [Cleanse],” she said.
“Why’s that?” I said without thinking before remembering I was still coated in gore, especially around my face, where I had torn gremlins apart like they were bladders of foul blood.
“Is that not her blood?” The life [Priest] asked.
“No, it’s the blood of my enemy’s,” I told him, “Gremlins… Zombies… Taxmen, you know just the bad guy’s.”
They stared at me before the green one said, “I would say I’m not so bad,” as if he was a little offended.
“Who are you?” I asked him, “Because you're not of any faith, I remember.”
“I’m a [Priest of Fertility]?” He said cockily, “You know, the single most important one?”
I looked at him, then his codpiece. I suppose it fits a male god of fertility, but did it have to look vaguely like a [Jester]?
“I preferred the old one… Still, thanks for the boost, Fertility,” I told him, letting out a quick prayer in my mind for Fertility and Life.
I got a feeling of acknowledgement, though one was dismissive and the other neutral and distant.
My arm was still level in my sitting position, and I held onto my spade, so it wasn’t a very good prayer, in my opinion, but I was going to assume the dismissive one was Fertility. Something about that god rubbed me the wrong way.
I thought about my weirdly held arm, and after focusing for a moment, I felt my skill in action. Manipulating my skill I got it to actually move properly. My arm fell to pins and needles as I did, but I managed to lay it on my lap as my fingers prickled uncomfortably.
It was odd how my skill could do that, but I supposed handling a tool was handling a tool, and If I needed to keep it level, it would continue even if I was unconscious.
“If I may? What happened?” Anna asked from above and behind me.
I turned, though I stopped before I turned all the way to avoid showing off my gory face.
“I exhausted myself, but I got some levels out of it, so I figured it’s worth it,” I told her, avoiding specificity.
“Did you get anything good?” She asked.
“Yeah, I got something that lets me carry stuff better, more comfortably,” I told her.
She sputtered a little at that.
Letting her recover for a moment, I turned to the only priest I felt I could get along with her and asked, “If I may [Priest], is there any chance you have somewhere I could deposit a mortal soul? I can’t keep carrying around… Whoever this was, but I can’t send him to the afterlife at the moment… Perhaps somewhere on holy ground?” I asked them with near-perfect casualty.
They stopped and looked down at me, and I could see them as they registered and comprehended my ask.
Anna, too, looked as though she was getting used to me at this point and more so looked around, trying to figure out where it might be.
“Uh,” they bumbled at once.
“Well? Maybe I could slip into the temple of Life? Or maybe like a pot? I don’t know if that would hold it, but it might if it's thick enough and you leave it on the ground,” I told them seriously. “I would hate to lose track of him.”
“Him?” The [Priest] of Fertility asked.
“In life, at least. You know how it is… They work in mysterious ways and all that,” I told him backhandedly.
They took a few steps back, and I got to a knee as they did, standing up until I dwarfed them; standing a foot above them, my shovel lifted level the entire way up. They stared at me, looking up at my imposing height, my candle flames dancing in the black of their eyes.
They looked afraid, and not just spooked, but like whole ass afraid. I could understand being spooky, but they were staring up at me like I had just crawled out from under their beds.
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I looked back and forth between the two fully grown men and asked, “What? I’m one of Death's people. Life here keeps people breathing, and we handle everything else. It’s not that hard to wrap your head around. I can’t send him over yet, but the people currently trying to end your way of life are [Necromancers] that use the souls of the dead. I couldn’t very well leave him somewhere he could get nabbed up, could I?” I asked them, gesturing to the shovel where the screeching mad soul whirled around in the scoop of the shovel.
They looked at the shovel as if it carried some great sin and backed up farther. They were transfixed, bewitched by the knowledge that I held a soul, a person, in my shovel.
“I hate to break up whatever spiritual turmoil you two are currently experiencing, but any chance I could get that pot, it’s a matter of forever here, and I have somewhere to be,” I told him, gesturing vaguely in toward the distance, unsure of where I was. “As a [Saint], I would appreciate your help, [Priest of Life], please, if you need help, seek someone of your faith… And I suppose if you want to help, you could maybe find me somewhere to wipe my face. It's rather unsanitary,” I told them, ending with the [Priest of Fertility].
Honestly, I only asked him because I wanted to be rid of the two of them and didn’t want to be near him. He looked like a clown with a fake dong and acted like his faith was the best, ok? I was biased, but he was weird.
They scuttled, and I waited until they were on their way before I gently lay the soul down and planted my shovel. I took a steadying breath.
While I had hidden it, standing had winded me, my vision going spotty for a moment. I took in the scene around me.
It was properly dark, stars peeking out slightly as the clouds passed. To my right was the looming shape of the wall that I could pick up in the light of the nearly full moon, though it was drowned out by the looming shadows of the distant, omnipresent, shifting light. The air was strangely clear of smoke, either due to the shifting of the air or divine providence; I had no clue. What wasn’t missing was the heat. The air was hot and tasty as if I were standing next to a fireplace.
It was a wounded camp, by the look of it. Several people who were hurt were laid down on makeshift rolls to keep them off the ground. They were a sorry sight. If I had to guess, there were at least a hundred people here. Some were civilians, either hurt while they tried to escape or from standing up for themselves.
I could see several people that had been bitten. [Gaze of the Coming Spring] showed me the ebb of life and death in their bodies.
I stood as straight as I could, trying to stretch out my back and limber up, only for my belly to shift in a way that made it scream. I contracted back in on myself, cussing lightly while the spade took my weight, letting out a few light-sucking breaths of pain.
“Are you sure you are okay, Saphine?” Anna asked, though most of the worry was gone.
“I could certainly be better, but I think I also figured something out. I know you don’t like seeing me getting hurt, but this is more of a scraped knee kind of situation…” I told her, not quite looking at her.
In the corner of my eye, I could see her looking at me.
“You know, Saphine, you can look at me. I’m not going to swoon over blood… Even if it is a lot,” she said with a little gesture, a kind of wave toward me.
I turned to face her, pivoting toward her with the shovel.
“There, now… What did you learn? What’s the scrape over?” She asked conspiratorially.
“I figured out I’m going to become some kind of death mage. I picked up [Death Magi]. I think I happen to be uniquely suited for it…” I felt that Anna would dislike my thoughts on the next bit, so I decided to soften it.
“I thought,” I started, “That it was weird that as a [Saint of Death], as a Psychopomp, that I got [Death Magic Affinity] and [Tenebral Bane], but no way to use death magic. I didn’t get [Magi] from it, and I didn’t get some kind of spell… You mentioned that spells of a specific nature required mana of that type, but at the same time, I had no reservoir of Death mana, no place to pull it from… But I do,” I told her hesitantly.
She looked at me, and her brilliant mind did its magic, the lights behind her eyes blooming as she figured it out.
“You used your own body as a reservoir for death magic… That’s… That’s… Well, I want to say idiotic, insanely stupid, and broaching on suicidal… So please tell me I’m wrong,” She asked.
“Somewhat. I don’t know if it’s a me thing… Or if it’s a property of my skills or what… But I have a lot of life mana. I also can’t truly die. I think that it was intentional... I can draw from myself and heal from it over and over again, and if I make a mistake, I can just… Come back. It doesn't mean I want to, but it makes sense to me,” I told her.
“And Death magic is good at destroying the undead… I hate that it doesn't make sense… Just… Don’t use it irresponsibly. Alright?”
“I would say a bellyache in exchange for learning a second-level spell is worth it,” I told her.
Anna whistled.
“Second level… That’s… Yeah, okay, that makes more sense. You probably exhausted yourself. I didn’t even realize you could do that, but I guess with enough skills, casting a spell that costs 2000 mana base would knock you unconscious. No wonder you dropped like a rock.”
I didn’t expect it to be that high of a mana cost.
“I genuinely did not know it was that high… That’s, like all of my mana.” I told her.
“Yes, but as you’ve pointed out, you have skills. Proficiency, affinity, and multiple magi skills will do that and help cut down on bigger spells by making it easier to cast them,” She said frankly.
I nodded, paying attention to the sound of feet clapping on the ground. An [Acolyte], not quite a [Priest], and not quite an [Initiate]. She hefted some kind of clay pot or vase, taller than it was wide.
It looked and felt like, for all intents and purposes, a simple vase, and as far as I could tell, the only other mana was small amounts of water.
“Is that a flower pot?” Anna asked.
“I do believe it is,” I told her back.
“I- I have a vessel for you to… Up… Deposit the… The thing you need to deposit,” She said, minding her words.
I looked at her, and then sighing, I hefted up the soul with the shovel and carefully let it drop. It fell through.
I stare at it for a moment before thinking and reaching into me.
“Hold on, let me try something,” I told her.
If I was going to be a [Death Magi], no matter what stripe, I should try to use death mana. Taking a little, I pulled it out of me, burning a small amount of life from my body and expelling it death mana. Then I moved it over to the vase and tried to make grave mana, one of my other affinities that was good at burying people.
If it could stop an undead from being raised, could it hold a soul?
After a few more infusions of death mana, when my skill told me it was proper grave mana, I scooped the soul up and repeated it.
It slapped into the clay vessel and stayed.
“Very useful to know,” I muttered.
“Grave mana?” Anna asked from beside me.
I gave a grunt of agreement, which got me a little slap that I pretended to hurt more than it did, which was not at all.
The confused [Acolyte] sat there like a rat, and I quickly told her, “You can go; go place it in your temple, and I’ll be back for it later.”
I didn’t tell her; I had no idea how to deal with it. I could only leave it at home to scream until I stopped noticing it, like the other soul. It was an odd thing to get used to; it just seemed to fade over time, like an itchy sweater.
They scurried away, too, and I got Anna to lead me back to the slowly growing platoon of guards. They were being handed a small bit of buttered bread and a tiny bowl of stew by the church of Hospitality and Hearth. They didn’t have enough bowls for all of them; some had cups. They fed the wounded and the fighters the same.
You could always count on the two of them to help out when people were hurting, it was just what they did.
What they also did was make people not want to leave and get them to suck down their watery stew and buttered bread instead of savouring the food. It was a fight in and of itself. After everything was said and done, it only took six minutes; they were six minutes of the city burning.
To me, it felt too long, but at least they seemed to have more of a pep in their step.
Grouping up, we were heading out when, frazzled and red-faced, the [Priest of Fertility] came back to me with a bucket and a cloth.
He looked harried as he waddled up and dropped the bucket, huffing and puffing.
He looked up at me and said, very succinctly, “Never mention your views on my church that you mentioned to me… Ever. Here, clean your face before you catch something.”
I looked at him confused, and not knowing what he meant, asked, “The bit about how my preferred-”
“That one, yes. Don’t go talking about that. It’s bad enough to know that, but it is far, far worse to say it aloud. Don’t do that.”
He spoke in a panic that spoke of mortal fear so potent it sent shivers up my spine. I blinked, first at him and then at Anna, who looked just as confused. The whole group was confused.
Leaning in, he whispered, “No one is to know of them; whatever they were, they are not that anymore. Never spread the knowledge of their existence.”
His tone was pleading and disturbing in equal measure. The weight he put into his words was serious and dead cold.
I did not know why he said it like that, but what was left unsaid was, ‘There will be consequences if you do.’ The method of consequences was also unsaid, but I decided I didn’t want to find out.
“I’ll take your advice, but only if I’m owed an explanation on why I can’t talk about stuff. I’m not going to listen to you if it’s an issue of your church,” I told him evenly, doing my best to not let him unnerve me.
He looked like he wanted to vibrate out of his skin before he hissed, “Fine.” And stalked away.
I watched him stalk off before hooking my shovel under the handle and carrying the bucket with me as we headed out toward the center of the city.