As the healing potions were consumed immediately after the injury, there were no lasting repercussions from the stab to the heart. Neither of the pair mentioned it again, which honestly felt appropriate for this outing.
More and more, it was striking Hallvar like a dad and progeny adventure into the woods to go camping, and uh-oh! The tent poles broke! Child gave themselves a new pierced ear with the fishing pole! The bears got into the food!
Except, this dad was actively trying to injure Hallvar, while teaching them at the same time. Perhaps something was deeply broken about Hallvar, in that the promised and delivered bodily harm was a bonding experience.
…. Oh, well! Hallvar was having a great time, honestly. They enjoyed the rest of the day’s experience, which was to learn how to set traps for beasts.
Kiran taught them some, but they were mostly for small game. The Aestrux equivalent of rabbits or squirrels.
Viktor seemed to be teaching these methods for plausible deniability, as he would build a trap then remove a few pieces to show Hallvar how it worked for beasts. The extraneous parts were then added on, making the traps significantly more lethal for, say, a more bipedal game.
They moved camp to an abandoned structure, partially buried in the ground like an ancient bunker. The guildmaster indicated that these were somewhat common in Amnasín, as magical studies used to be conducted solely underground before libraries became normal.
This was a small one, more like a house than an ancient study hall.
The pair spent some time outside relaxing during dinner while the sun sank lower and lower.
While Viktor wasn’t an artist like Hallvar, he certainly knew how to conduct a technical drawing. He outlined a few more traps in Hallvar’s sketchbook, the ones that were entirely unfeasible to produce as a mere demonstration.
These ones required pits or spikes, or even hallway-mounted devices strung up with green trees and rope that would swing down to impale some nosy… beast, of course.
When the sun finally set, Viktor ushered them inside.
“Try not to die this time,” the guildmaster said drily.
“What.”
Caught off guard, Hallvar had to move to defend against yet another stabbing. What was this? They thought they were done with the aggression earlier.
Now, they were in a fucking crypt thingy with limited space, certainly not built for Hallvar’s 6’2” frame, and it was pitch black.
“You have two options.”
Alright, Saw movie puppet motherfucker. Go on.
“Your class or subclass undoubtedly has skill for enhanced senses. Find a way to access it.”
The system only wanted to cooperate when it was convenient for pushing Hallvar into a choice, not when their fake dad was trying to stab them in the fucking dark.
“Or there are several abilities that anyone can learn. [ general spell: nightsight ] has an activation fee of participating in combat at night thirty times.”
Could Hallvar survive thirty fights with the guildmaster?
“[ general skill: lock-on ] provides a System focus on your target, giving you information about their health, status, as well as providing an idea of where they are in limited sight.”
That did seem useful, just maybe not in this situation. Hallvar didn’t need to know how much health Viktor had, only where his stupid dagger was.
“Fuck you.”
The hero heard Viktor laugh.
“You deposed an unfriendly prince from his cushy throne. When someone tries to stab you while you sleep, you’ll thank me.”
Despite numerous protests welling up, Hallvar fell silent. They attempted to locate the guildmaster via sound, which… was not going well.
The little shit was too quiet. Was he using a stealth skill or was he always this uncannily silent?
A rustle of armor was too close for comfort. The sudden spike of pain only indicated where the dagger was in proximity to Hallvar, who swiped to grab the guildmaster’s arm. No such luck.
It seemed Viktor anticipated being grabbed when attacking from the front, so he switched to a rear approach.
Being stabbed in the back was not Hallvar’s idea of a party. It fucking hurt and honestly, the lack of sight made it feel worse. The whole amplifying senses when one sense was gone was a made-up lie, but the lack of distractions and the mind’s ability to home in on discomfort were very real.
Viktor fought with his left hand. If Hallvar spun around fast as soon as the strike happened, they should be able to use their dominant hand – the right – to snatch the guildmaster’s arm.
The first few attempts failed. Hallvar took some other action to try and lull Viktor into security, then did the spin again.
This time, they did not try and grab Viktor’s arm. Instead, they swung back elbow first, launching their left hand in a quick raking motion with their full body weight behind them.
The talons caught on something that certainly ripped.
“Stop.” The guildmaster’s voice was off, maybe a little nasal. “You’ve taken too many wounds.”
He pressed a potion vial into Hallvar’s hand. In the quiet, the hero heard the man pop open a second one.
“Where did I hit you?” Their tone was curious, not gloating.
In the silence, the contemplation about whether to lie or not was obvious.
After a huff, “Eye.”
Hallvar gagged a little, realizing that the ripping sensation was exactly that, except on someone’s eyeball.
“Do we need to take a break?” they hazarded, suddenly self-conscious about whether the intensity of this exercise would increase ten-fold.
Viktor’s voice was sharp and soft. “I am old; that is a fact. If I was not forced to retire, I would be dead already from any number of enemies.”
Oh, did Hallvar hit a nerve? They felt kind of bad about it now.
“I am disabled. You may exceed my physical abilities faster than you expect, as you are a hero. You have shown an excellent ability to adapt to new situations and cope with pressure your peers will cave under.”
Viktor was being nice.
It was dark as fuck, so there was no awkward eye contact during this encouragement, but Hallvar still felt a burning embarrassment in their cheeks.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Your friend Rubert is interested in you for a similar reason. You show great potential.”
Huh, that was oddly telling. Viktor clearly knew more than he was letting on.
“I don’t want to be surpassed. But whether it’s Stella or you, I have an obligation to see that you are as prepared as possible. Teaching you what I know means that you will become better than me, or one of us dies in the process.”
The man huffed again. Hallvar imagined that eye trauma caused some sinus fuckery or at least watery eyes after healing.
“I possess a singular arrogance, as I’m well-aware. But, even with your luck, I would hope that you continue progressing. The price of an eye injury is small compared to setting the Guild up for the future.”
Viktor was so blunt and emotionless in his delivery. This was a matter-of-fact statement stripped of all sentiment.
Hallvar pulled the man into a hug. Given that the hero was 6’2”, it was sort of a bear hug for the guildmaster, who suffered under the big oaf’s sentiment for exactly ten seconds before stabbing them in the side.
This invoked a scramble for dominance in the dark.
Had this been Anton and Viktor, this would be a delightfully kinky scenario, rife with suggestive commentary.
Instead, it was like a cat and a dog having a spat. Lots of unnecessary complaints and swearing, plenty of new injuries, and a very clear reminder that Hallvar needed to buy a codpiece.
Viktor fought dirty, remember? Even if it had only been half a day since the first incident.
Many stab wounds and a few talon marks later, the guildmaster let Hallvar give up. Rest would come easily, even without their sleep skill.
➳ ➳ ➳
new beastmaster skill
chimeric
Spend magic to alter one or multiple senses for 10 minute intervals.
➳ ➳ ➳
The camping trip took a total of two days, after which Hallvar was pointed in the direction of Claylake Post and shooed off like a stray cat.
The hero was grateful for this trip, however.
They were certainly becoming weirder under the influence of the guildmaster, for better or worse.
Their endurance 20 was now 21, sheerly due to the amount of stab wounds received and healed over the course of 48 hours.
They would accumulate, what, seven or eight stab wounds before movement started to become difficult. The pain wasn’t the issue, but the location of the injuries were. The guildmaster was aiming for less fatal areas, but damage to those locations would severely limit Hallvar’s movement.
So, eight stab wounds in translated to one potion vial. They were small but potent. The higher quality, presumably. Perhaps the guildmaster didn’t fuck around with the lesser quality, or perhaps that windfall of 40 odd silver heads made Viktor a little more generous with his purchases.
Hallvar counted in one of their more ornery moods. There were 52 vials visible in their travel container. The hero was a mix of horrified and impressed to learn there was a second layer of vials.
104 vials. None remained.
Over the multiple sparring sessions – woods, the indoor dark, the indoor daytime, and rough terrain – that meant Hallvar was stabbed, at minimum, 720 times.
Yeah, that felt like it was worth a point of endurance.
Yet, that was only one of the weirder parts of this trip.
The endurance was cool. The growing capacity to ignore pain entirely was somewhat new.
They didn’t know how to feel about it. On the one hand, it’s not like they weren’t already enduring a lot of hardships and pain. The finger, and all that.
In their fight against the tarrusmaw, Hallvar noted that their endurance allowed them to push through and not wallow in the pain of an injury.
This was… it felt like an extension of the endurance, really. Physical and mental endurance. The guildmaster was one of the scarier people Hallvar knew, in terms of combat prowess, so if they could take his stabs and keep fighting, where was the limit?
The hike to Claylake Post was easy, though the sun was setting quickly. Hallvar could fly, certainly, but they didn’t want to risk being spotted entering the little town when they could simply walk.
It was too early to meet with Grim. Hallvar didn’t spot the man anywhere outside or at the inn after the hero paid for a room, and Grim was kind of hard to miss.
There were adventurers here, a few parties and duos filling the seats of the tavern side to eat and drink and prepare for tomorrow’s adventure.
Hallvar felt like the [ territory ] wasn’t large enough to accommodate this many adventurers at once, but thinking back, their travel form seemed to make distances a lot smaller than they were on foot.
What would Hallvar be doing in this party? Observing? They weren’t exactly of great use, especially not without beasts. Even Pipkin would be helpful here, but the guildmaster ordered that the little beast stay home for their training. She would have tried to fight him, certainly, so it was a good call.
A few people glanced Hallvar’s way – that made sense, they were new here – but one particular pair kept looking and gesturing in their direction.
Well, one person did.
He had warm brown skin and sharp features, but movie star sharp, not cutting. This person was gesturing emphatically toward Hallvar, a teal fabric with yellow embroidery draped over their arm swishing from every motion.
The person sitting opposite to Mister Moviestar was hard to describe. Feminine, as classically feminine as one could be. She was wearing a grey-blue dress whose design covered up almost every patch of skin that could show through – then various tights and underlayers covered the rest.
Her face was covered with a veil, something detailed although it was hard to see across the room and from a quick glance.
It reminded Hallvar of a movie character too. Or maybe a video game one. Just very intricate and mysterious.
The hero became increasingly nervous as the pair left their table with drinks in hand, their trajectory clearly Hallvar who left tiny scratch marks on their pint of cider in introverted distress.
“Gooood evening,” the more enthusiastic of the pair began, the onset of a flourishing bow cut short as he was smacked in the chest by the lady’s lacework fan.
The man began to protest, but the fan was snapped open in front of his face, effectively hushing him.
This seemed to be their usual game, as he sighed and conceded defeat. The grey lady returned her fan to hold it delicately in front of her chest, a demure and elegant gesture.
“We were expecting you, Hallvar, but not ‘til the morn.”
Her face was covered by a dark veil, nearly black, but underneath Hallvar could see a rigid white lacework mask. The lace provided lots of holes to see and breathe out of, yet completely obscured her appearance.
Hallvar was taken aback by, well, everything, so they stuttered out a confused response. “Uh, hi – sorry, I don’t think I know you.”
“Rajiv,” said the cheerful man, bowing graciously though he stayed behind his partner’s invisible boundary.
His hair bounced as he moved. It was immaculately tousled, raven black curls pinned to delicately frame his face. Hallvar was hesitant to label the man a playboy – they had only just met – but he was certainly a socialite.
“And I am Dagmær.”
Hallvar could hardly see her behind the beadwork veil, a net of dark seed beads interlinked with thin threads. But the veil shook gently as she spoke, indicating that she was a flesh-and-blood being.
“At your service,” Rajiv finished.
The man shifted. He clearly was a very animated person who was paired with the least animated person Hallvar had ever met, but it was a little endearing, not going to lie. They reminded the hero of that goth tv family.
Hallvar spotted a little leather pouch on Rajiv’s belt, the guild’s insignia embossed onto the surface.
“Oh, you’re with the guild.” The words were almost sighed in relief.
These weren’t strangers, they were guild members! Of course, a loophole for introversion!
“Not just the guild!” Rajiv started, as he chose a chair to occupy, leaving the other available for his partner.
Dagmær sat with grace and propriety, waiting until she was properly adjusted to finish the sentiment, a warmth seeping into her low voice. “We are the other members of Grimvold and Ikraam’s party.”
Oh, to be so intimately known by another person that you finish each other’s sentences.
Hallvar was momentarily transfixed by the delightful romance of it all that they forgot to react appropriately.
“Oh, sorry!” They fumbled. “You both were just so cool – stylish, I mean – that it was distracting. A good distracting.”
10 out of 10 introduction.
Hallvar continued. Endurance 21 had to be good for emotional distress too, right? “It’s nice to meet you, though. What, uh, what do you do in the party?”
The hero wasn’t sure if there was a set of different roles people played in a party. A lot of video games had, what were they called, builds? That had like a fighter, a tank, a healer, and a magic user.
“Are you asking for our subclasses?” Rajiv called out with a coy grin.
He leaned on his hand, palm down, fingers so perfectly left askew. “You should buy us a drink first. Something as sweet as you.”
Hallvar narrowly avoided inhaling their cider, coughing all the same.
“Raj, please mind your manners. Did you not see the invius patch?” Dagmær scolded the flamboyant man so casually.
“Oh, was there one?”
It took Hallvar a moment to remember what they were talking about. The hero let out a little noise of recognition and lifted their bag. The two patches – the one for they/them pronouns and the one for “please don’t flirt with me” – were attached to a little cloth sleeve on the satchel’s strap.
“My apologies, darling.” Rajiv replied quickly, though Hallvar suspected the term of endearment was still directed at themselves, not Dagmær.
He placed a hand on Hallvar’s. “I promise to not flirt with you, but please let me know if the general affection becomes too much.”
Rajiv gestured with his hands, gold and red bangles flashing on his wrist. “I’ve been told that my family is very enthusiastic and forward. I’m afraid Dagmær here has to be my keeper – a full time career, unpaid at that!”
“You do keep me well compensated, however—” Dagmær added knowingly.
“Yes, love, but mind your manners, the patch!”
The hero burst out laughing, entirely amused by the couple’s affection and exchange.
They’d been a little nervous about working with professional adventurers, but it was refreshing to know that the rest of the party was composed of more weirdos, just like Hallvar.