Ethan would have been happier if people stopped staring at him. After a pleasant meal at an eatery near the water, the group gazed out over the massive lake. In the center, there was a craggy island with a stone building on top. From this distance, he couldn’t make out the details of the people scattering around the island, but it appeared they were preparing for something. Likewise, those people in town were gawking at the Caller, excited for the reappearance of Telbarantis.
He’d decided on a nickname for the Great Spirit, naming it Tel for short. Standing near the edge of the water, so close to that island, Ethan could feel something stirring in his chest. His [Caller’s Core] was reaching out, trying to connect to the dormant spirit. But there was something else that came with the sensation. He knew Telbarantis wasn’t actually sleeping. The spirit worked, despite appearances.
“Time to shove off. Before the markets close,” Targe said.
“Right.” Ethan righted himself, pushing off against a rickety wooden fence. “Let’s go.”
Decorations were already being strewn around the town. Streamers of gold and blue, effigies of some massive lizard-like creature, and depictions of fields drawn on white cloth sheets. Ethan was getting a sense for what the Great Spirit’s meaning was. Just like Lucantele represented a soothing hope, Telbarantis had something to do with the land. It was tied directly to the river, perhaps even the lake.
The market stalls were still open for business, desperate to sell out of their wares. But Targe led them north, nearer the spire to a set of shops that had maintained their property better. Clean plaster walls and banners claiming many adventure-related things rested in neat rows. They stopped outside of one.
“One thing to remember. You can swap subcores anytime. Well, out of combat. So this isn’t a permanent decision,” Targe said. “We want you to take a [Healer’s Subcore]. But here’s the catch. We’re paying for it. Just remember our agreement.”
Ethan nodded, following the man into the shop. He was hit with the pleasant scent of lavender upon entering. A haze filled the air, driven by a censure burning incense in the room’s corner. Shelves crowded the floor space, filled with boxes, all of which had tags with a price. A wizened shopkeeper, half Ethan’s height with pudgy ears that swooped up and then down to his shoulders, offered a weak wave.
Targe and Twist got to searching. Ethan just perused the wares, pretending to gawk at the prices. He didn’t know what a silver coin was worth, let alone a copper one. No one had explained it to him, and he didn’t need to worry about things like food. Back in the temple, he just ate the pears. On the road, he ate whatever his companions fed him. That was important information to have, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the variety of subclasses.
There were healers, damage dealers, tanks, and an array of support classes to pick from. Ethan’s mind spun with the possibilities of attaching these cores to himself, etching away at his build to make something interesting. Anything would have been useful, but he gravitated to the support classes. If he could apply support abilities to his summon, that would be absurd. But his companions had made a selection for him, and they were already bringing it to the front.
“The strength of your build is mana endurance,” Targe said, holding the small wooden chest out. He clicked the lid open, revealing the metal cage within. “Standard stuff. Just to get us started. It’s going to be too expensive to get spells otherwise.”
Ethan examined the subclass core.
[Healer’s Subcore]
Common
Healer-Style Subcore
Description:
Dedicated to bolstering the health of their allies, healers focus on reversing damage done in combat.
Latent Effects:
Spellbook Access
It was nothing special, but Ethan didn’t know what he expected. Anything would work for him, he would not be picky. Especially not after what Targe said next.
“We’ll have to buy a spell book. Something like [Cure Minor Wounds].” He opened his coin pouch, paid the man, then handed the subcore over to Ethan.
The reality of the situation set in when he saw how few coins the man really had. They’d be lucky to stay at that tavern for a few days, let alone buy anything worthwhile. He accepted the gift graciously, holding the wooden box to his chest. The pull of the subcore sent a pulse through his body, as though it wanted to join his main core.
“We’ll get some jobs,” Ethan said. “Maybe I can charge the people at the temple to summon the spirit.
“Hah! We’re fine. Don’t worry about it,” Targe said. “Twist and I always live on a razor’s edge like this. How about you shove that core into your chest and we get a spell?”
Ethan nodded, removing the metal cage from the box. “Just like this?” he asked, miming shoving it into his chest.
“With intent.”
The moment Ethan thought about taking on the new core, it pulled itself toward him. It touched his chest and vanished in a flash of pale light. He didn’t feel any different, though. He stood there, waiting for something to happen but nothing came.
“Alright,” Ethan said. “Time to get some spells?”
“One spell,” Twist corrected. “You have room for one spell.”
Ethan knew to dig through his interface when someone said something like that. He found a new, smaller core resting near his [Caller’s Core] and mentally clicked on it. A new screen showed up, allowing him to slot learned spells. But there was only a single slot in this spellbook, giving him limited options. He’d need to be happy with having the one spell.
The group was off from there, heading to an adjacent building and entering. This one burned a censer the same as the last, putting off the vague smell of flowers. Targe had to search far longer to find the book he wanted here, sifting through piles of tomes stacked on shelves. Ethan found books for every class imaginable. They started out cheap enough, only in the 10 copper range. But there were some books that were locked behind shimmering barriers with price tags in the tens of gold.
“What is the conversion rate,” Ethan asked, watching as Targe sifted through a pile of books.
“What?”
“How many copper to a silver? Silver to gold.”
“Oh. 100 copper makes a silver, same for silver to gold,” Targe said, finally raising a book in triumph. “Got it. Rank 0, level 1 [Cure Minor Wounds]. Better than nothing.”
The tome of [Cure Minor Wounds] was one of the cheapest in the stores. It was common for people to take a healer-style subcore to cure themselves in combat, but as they left the store Targe explained it better.
“Combat classes get little chance to heal themselves,” he said, directing them to some vendor’s stalls. “The mana problem aside, if you’re taking damage or moving, you can’t cast spells.”
“Movement is important,” Twist put in.
“Right, so unless you’re a backliner, you hurt yourself by taking a healing core.” Targe pushed himself to the front of a vendor’s stall, getting the short man’s attention. “Yeah, gimmie 10.”
Money was exchanged, and the man left the stall with an armful of copper-colored bracelets. He handed one to Ethan, who slipped it on and inspected the item.
[Bracelet of Looting]
[Bracelet]
Rank 0
Common
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Description:
Using a charge on this bracelet allows you to loot any monster.
Charges:
50/50
Effect:
Touch a monster to loot it.
Ethan couldn’t keep his mind off how much loot he’d lost. At least that was in the past. The group headed back to the Marsh Wolf Tavern, even if the Caller wanted to stay out for a while longer. According to Targe, it was hard to learn a new spell. Best to wait it out in the comfort of a musty tavern. The room they’d rented was cramped. There was only one bed, but two bedrolls set out already. They had a decent view of the lake from the second floor, though. And a pitcher of watered wine.
“Right. Settle in on the bed with your book. Get ready for a wild ride,” Targe said.
Ethan kicked off his new shoes and hopped in the bed, not one to wait after such an invitation. The frame groaned under him, but it held firm. For now. He opened the book and began reading. Only after a few moments did he realize he wasn’t actually reading. His eyes flew across the pages, but he wasn’t reading the words on the pages. The book sucked him in, causing the room around him to swirl with gold streaks of light. Trying to shout and push the book away, the Caller squirmed in the bed. Then he snapped back, blinking away his confusion.
It was night outside. Twist was laying in his bedroll, mask and gear still on, while Targe paced on the far side of the room. “You good?” he asked.
A system message flew up before he responded.
[Ethan Stout] learned a new spell!
[Cure Minor Wounds] has been added to your [Known Spell] list.
Without hesitation, Ethan went into his [Healer’s Subcore] screen and found his new spell. With a mental command, he sent it to occupy the only free slot in his spellbook. His mind expanded as he realized he could now cast the spell innately. The book had vanished.
“The book gets consumed,” Targe said, noting the confusion on Ethan’s face. “Try the spell out.”
Ethan focused on his companion, taking a breath. Motes of golden light flowed from his body, filling the air with their gentle glow. About 5 seconds later, Targe flashed with golden light. The big man clapped his hands together, causing Twist to jolt in his bedroll.
“Excellent!” Targe said. “Easy as that.”
The spell had taken 30 mana to cost, although he didn’t know how much it restored. So long as it cured enough health, it would have been worthwhile to cast. But that was his job as a support healer, to patch people up the best he could. Otherwise, he could rely on his [Mana Regen] attribute to outpace the rate at which they took damage. Now he was a support summoner. Whatever that meant.
“So, subcores,” Targe started. Pale moonlight was filtering in through the window.
“Wait, what time is it?” Ethan asked, interrupting the man.
“Tenth bell. You’ve been out for a while,” he said with a chuckle.
“Tenth bell—like ten at night? Damn, I was out for a while,” Ethan said.
“As I said. Anyway, subcores. They level just like your main core with one problem. They’re never as strong as a main core, and they can never level past the level of your main core. Unlike your main, you can take these out whenever you want. It’s not uncommon for an adventurer to have several subs on them. Just in case.”
“Makes sense,” Ethan said. “Can I just spam my healing spell to level my subcore?”
“Not really. Just like you can’t level a combat core by smacking your fist against the wall,” Targe said. “Well, while we’re on the topic… both Twist and I have fairly bad cores. I have a [Fighter’s Core] and he has a [Rogue’s Core]. Common rank cores. I got lucky with a [Blademaster’s Subcore], but our old rogue friend has been stuck with a [Tracker’s Subcore] since the start.”
“Makes me feel bad to have a [Caller’s Core],” Ethan said, slumping on the bed. “Am I your meal-ticket?”
Targe threw his shoulders back with no shame. “Yep.”
The pair got into the watered wine and began sharing stories about their life before they met. Targe was interested in the way things worked back on Earth. Some people spent their lives studying outworlders, but it was all an oddity. Something that they could compare their world to, although the Fighter said something surprising.
“I’ve heard of outworlders from worlds with magic,” he said, pouring two more mugs of wine. “So, no. Earth isn’t the only place people come from.”
“But why do we come here?” Ethan asked.
“Come on. Finish your glass and we’ll get some sleep,” Targe said with a shrug. “No sense worrying about it.”
“You just poured a new glass! Can’t leave me hanging like that.”
Targe smiled, and didn’t offer an answer. Once the wine was finished, Ethan took a bedroll before his companion could object. He had no desire to be treated like something special, even if that’s exactly what he was. It felt senseless to elevate himself, literally in this case, when the pair of adventurers had done all the work so far. Sleep came easily after the exhaustion of the day. Between arriving in Oudsted, meeting with the functionary at the Adventurer’s Guild, and learning a new spell he was tired.
----------------------------------------
“What?” Ethan asked.
The Caller sat at one of the many tables downstairs, groggy from the late night and alcohol. He was busy shoveling greasy eggs into his mouth when a messenger arrived. The moment the man with too many frills strode over, every patron was staring.
“You’ll join Duke Leonard at the docks in an hour. He doesn’t have time for a formal meeting. Just be there.”
Without further explanation, the man spun on the spot and sprinted from the tavern. The constant buzz of chatter returned the instant the man was gone. Targe offered Ethan a sympathetic look.
“At least you can talk to the spirit,” he said.
“I’m not even sure how it works. Luca just showed up when I asked him to,” Ethan said, suddenly finding his food less appetizing.
“Do the same thing,” Twist offered.
“I wonder if they’ll let us come along,” Targe said, scraping the stubble on his chin.
“Doubt,” Twist said.
Ethan picked at his food for the rest of the meal. He could feel the minutes melting away, and experienced a crisis near the hour mark. But when he inspected his robes, he saw that the tears and stains were mostly gone.
“My robes should be filthy,” he said, inspecting his shoes. “These too.”
“Magic stuff cleans and repairs itself,” Targe said. “Depending on the level of the item.”
“Neat.”
Ethan left the tavern with his two companions. Even if they couldn’t come across the lake with him, they could escort him to the docks. When they arrived, they found a length of dock crowded with people. Town guards stood, holding back the tide of people. Only Targe was able to push them aside, creating a path for them to approach the line. The Caller held out his medallion and the guard nodded with approval, forming a gap.
“Not them, Bells,” he said.
“They’re in my party. Let them pass,” Ethan said, trying to throw some weight around.
The guards shared looks for a moment. But one of them shrugged and waved the group past.
“Bells?” Twist asked, giggling.
“It’s a fine adventuring name. Look how many bells this man has on,” Targe said, swelling with excitement. Ethan could see the Fighter had no hope of crossing the lake. Now he seemed more like an excited child, ready to see something fun.
“This way, Caller,” a ducal functionary said.
Those serving the duke were easy to distinguish from the other functionaries. They wore frills and finely crafted clothes that put the regular adventuring folk to shame. The clothes were too high above Ethan’s fashion sense, rendering all of the duke’s staff as fluffed poodles, rather than people holding stations of power. Settling into a long rowing boat, Ethan spotted a procession on the island.
Flags, holding the sigil of the duke, mingled with images of that big lizard. There must have been several hundred people on the island, forming a crowd near the shoreline. Ethan’s concerns were eased when they drew closer, noting that they weren’t excited to see him. They wanted to see the Great Spirit.
But the closer the rowboat drew to the island, the more Ethan felt the pull of something. The Great Spirit wanted to greet him there on the lake, bursting forth from whatever realm he had remained in for all this time. But the Caller refused the summons, pushing that feeling down. The spirit seemed to understand, even just through intent. The water seemed to swell, then calm as though breathing.
“Get ready for a lot of nonsense,” Targe said as the group dismounted the boat.
The shoreline was rocky, ending only twenty paces up from where a well-trimmed lawn rested. Ethan learned his shoes were indeed waterproof, but that did little to stop liquid from soaking inside from the top. With sloshing shoes, he ascended the steep bank, noting they hadn’t dropped the group off near the dock. But they found their way up the rise all the same, pushing through the crowds of people.
Ethan pegged those that wore blue robes as the keepers of the temple. Those with frills and collars belonged to the duke’s party. And the one with the largest fluffs of them all must have been Duke Leonard. He wore an outfit of tights, frilly half-pants, and a frilly long-sleeved shirt to match. Added to the absurd appearance was a spear the length of two men. The Caller noted some spear envy between Targe and the duke.
“Caller Bells,” Duke Leonard said, beckoning Ethan toward the dock. “What a fitting name. Would you care to do the honors?”
“If it means I can get out of here,” Ethan muttered, approaching the dock.
Twist grabbed him by the arm. “Add a little more. Summon Lucantele.”
Ethan nodded, surprised at the Rogue’s awesome idea. Before approaching the duke’s party, a line of frilled goons by the dock, he channeled [Summon Lucantele]. The moment the silver squirrel burst from the circle, they let out a shout of delight. The Caller felt the pull of Telbarantis nearby. Somewhere out in the depths of the lake. A soothing song he couldn’t ignore.
Passing the duke without making eye contact, Ethan stood at the end of a wooden dock. He watched the water swirl below, fish darting to get out of his path. Invoking the effect on his staff, he slammed the end on the dock. The bell rang, and Luca grew to twice his normal size.
“Telbarantis!” Ethan shouted. “Heed my call!”
A moment of nothingness, until Ethan sent his intent into the lake. Distant water stirred, creating eddies over calm water. Man-high waves formed, crashing out from the depths. Then the surface of the lake burst to life, sending a jet of water hundreds of feet into the air. Telbarantis’ titanic form burst forth.