Fezzik Kaztroegh von Menstappen stepped off the airship with some hesitance, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. The winds at this height were quite brisk, and with a cutting chill you just didn’t get lower near the Mist. He gave an uncertain look around. At eighteen miles across, Joseph’s Haven was the largest island at this level and in this region, and it showed; the dock, which hung dizzyingly off the side of Haven, was sizable enough to fit more than twenty vessels simultaneously. If he squinted, Fezzik was fairly certain that the glint of arcanite could be seen further down the dock, in the shape of an as of yet unsecured shipping container of the stuff. A whole shipping container! People were just walking by, hardly giving it a second glance. The tales, he supposed, of the material riches of the higher layer were clearly not exaggerations.
Dearly hoping no one noticed his momentary lapse in concentration, the thoroughly lost boy hurried down the gangplank. The wood under his feet appeared quite new compared to the rest of the dock, though like with all modern woodworking the consistency of the planks was by no means shoddy. Magic assisted factories saw to imperfections such as those; each plank was as flawlessly cut as the next. It was a short walk to the entrance to the island proper, where the harbormaster waved him off to register his visit with an assistant.
“Your card, please?”
Fezzik handed it over, trying to avoid looking too nervous.
“Ferra Kimana?”
He nodded. And it was true, for a given level of truth.
“Duration of stay?”
“Ah, undecided. I’m at the time of my life where wandering the world seemed like a good idea.” He let out a nervous chuckle.
The scribe raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down before returning to filling in boxes. Apparently this high up, magical datakeeping wasn’t widely in use yet; Fezzik was used to just swiping the card at a turnstile before walking past. The next fifteen seconds of silence seemed to stretch out into eternity, before the scribe looked back up from his paperwork and handed Fezzik’s card back.
“You’re good to go, just remember the city is not a charity. If you end up out of money and on the street, we’ll deport you without hesitation.”
There was really no real reason to be nervous about the identity check in the first place, he supposed. The ruling dynasty wouldn’t be anything less than thorough in hiding a bastard child, after all. With a relieved, barely held back sigh, Fezzik nodded in acknowledgement before continuing on his way. The street up to the surface was carved into the rock face, a slant running upwards and parallel to the docks. When he rounded the top and came within sight of the town’s main plaza, he was distracted from the view by a suited figure with a black top hat stepping out from the shadow of a pillar.
“Ferra. Where’ve you been?”
The boy jumped in fright before recognizing the man. “Oh it’s just you, Nine. I’ve been getting checked in at the dock; it’s something us mortals have to do to keep the bureaucrats happy.”
“Inconvenient.” The man’s voice was flat and emotionless, and his irises flickered green under the shade cast by his hat. “We need to get moving.”
Fezzik sighed the sigh of someone tired of repeating themselves. “There’s no time limit here, you know.” He looked around, moving more to the side out of the way of others. No one seemed to notice or acknowledge Nine’s existence as they walked by. “I’ve got plenty enough money to keep me fed for quite some time.”
“Acknowledged.” The slightest of emotions flickered across Nine’s face. Discontent? Boredom? Fezzik couldn’t tell.
Fezzik blinked, and the man was gone. He let out another sigh, before turning to witness the as of yet unacknowledged grand plaza. It was rather provincial, by his standards. Five story buildings at most, architecture that spoke to rapid expansion and form over function. There were a number of market carts on the edge, between streets, and a central fountain in the middle, all seemingly devoid of magic. Carts traveled out and about, a couple carriages pulled by actual horses crossing the square.
He turned his eyes to the crowd, seeing one or two individuals with properly stylish equipment that possibly qualified as adventurers. The black haired drifter slipped into the crowd, resolving to follow them to what would hopefully be an adventurer’s guild or a cheap inn. It ended up being the former, which Fezzik was somewhat grateful for.
His father had made it abundantly clear that any kind of dangerous occupation would see Nine not stepping in to save him when something inevitably went wrong; he was only there to prevent assassinations and the like, prevent Fezzik from becoming a political pawn of one of his father’s enemies. It wasn’t, perhaps, as strong a warning as Emperor Grier had intended. After all, Fezzik was his father’s son; the royal bloodline’s unique traits had fully manifested in him, determination and spite included. He wanted to adventure, so adventuring is what he would do!
The actual bloodline abilities helped too, of course. The almost witchlike, instinctive luck twisting ability all true Menstappens possessed had already saved his life more than once. The possibly heretical innate well of divine magic was also quite useful, though the trait tended to be rather displeasing to Church cultists for obvious reasons.
Fezzik stepped inside the unremarkable building, following the coattails of a smartly dressed, red haired aethermancer. While the outside was plain, the interior was clearly designed for and decorated with magic. Magelights lit the walls, and the room seemed subtly larger than the exterior dimensions of the building would suggest.
He could feel the arcane wafting off of the equipment of many of the adventurers in the room, gently breaking like waves against the bright yellow energy swirling inside him. With a slight twist of will those loose strands were siphoned inside, converted to divine magic and then sent slipping through his veins, warming him body and soul.
Fezzik approached the counter with a confident smile. This was where he belonged, he’d always been sure of it. The receptionist gave him a dismissive glance at first, before her head snapped back; focusing first on the divine wreathing him and then on his distinctly un-priestlike clothing.
“Hello, how can I help you?”
His smile widened. “Hello, yes. I’ve just arrived recently; I’d like to register for an adventurer team looking for a holy caster.”
“Your card, please.”
He handed it over.
“Do you have any prior adventuring experience?”
The smile faded a bit. “No, though I’m quite the competent caster, and have experience with combat.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Adventurers hesitate to call themselves experienced at fighting monsters till well into their fifth year. The number of different monsters, attack vectors, and dangers is dizzying.”
He gave a hesitant nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The prompt giving of ground on his ego seemed to have reassured her somewhat. She pulled a gilded orb out from behind the counter. “Place your hand on this, please. Put as much energy into it as quickly as you can, until empty. We need an up to date reading for registering your card.”
Well familiar with the concept, Fezzik was also aware that he’d need to hold back somewhat if he wanted to avoid even more raised eyebrows. A three quarter effort should do, hopefully. He placed a hand on the orb, palm down, and let out a pulse. Light bathed the room for the duration, blazing away from his hand, until four seconds later when the flow cut off. The orb was now glowing merrily on the desk, internal enchantments turning the divine into heat, light, and any other reliably safe method to burn off the received power.
She observed a number of dials on the back, then noted them down. “Impressive control. Impressive power, too. You almost exceeded the internal storage.”
He said nothing, simply stepping back from the orb and giving a slight nod. Not too long after, she was finished with whatever paperwork she’d been filling out, and handed his card back. A previously blank section had now been filled in; his chosen magic, updated information regarding his strength as a caster, his current recorded rank in the guild (rank zero, by the way,) and some other pertinent info.
“I appreciate the patience, Ferra.” She gave him a smile. “You’ve been assigned with the Nova Fists team. They recently lost one of their casters, and it seems you’d neatly close the gap. The failure wasn’t assessed as a structural problem with the team, so rather than restructure or revoke their rank they’re merely on probation right now. Doing a lower paying probational mission with them should be an excellent introduction to adventuring for you. You’ll find a stash of guild provided equipment will be made available shortly. It’s come out of your guild credit, but mandatory. I highly suggest you read and memorize as much of the monster manual as you can in your spare time. It’ll save your life, I promise.”
Fezzik gave another nod, a little disheartened by how they’d apparently already put him in debt. “Fair enough. Thanks for the help!”
“Nova Fists is out right now on a mission. They should be returning some time in the next few hours. Distinctive light coloring, four members. I suggest you be here for initial greetings with the team. If you’re hungry, or want to get rooms organized, next door is the largest inn in the city. A reminder, no casting in the city without prior authorization.”
He gave a final nod in thanks, deciding that getting dinner seemed like a good idea right about now. He left the guild and took the momentous journey of twenty steps that was required to get to the door to the inn. Fezzik slipped inside, heading straight for the bar on the far side of the common room. “Your best soup and a beer, please.”
The barrelchested man behind the counter grunted, and a short while later Fezzik found himself with a decently tasty, cheap, and nutritious meal. He ate slowly, deep in thought. The bastard still wasn’t sure how to really feel about the events of the last year. On one hand, he was far from home, evicted by fearful and covetous royalty. On the other hand, his mother was set for life, a quiet and paid for existence, and Fezzik himself had been given the opportunity to get out of the Menstappens’ collective hair and not have to worry about it. Fezzik still preferred the three months where his father had tacitly acknowledged him, before he was suddenly given an ultimatum for obscurity out of the blue, but one can't win them all.
Finished with the meal, he headed back to the guild. Finding an abandoned table, he laid back against the wall to take a nap and wait. It felt like he’d hardly even begun to close his eyes, when the somnolent boy was roused by the sounds of uproarious laughter. He ignored the green eyed shadow quietly watching him from a corner, instead focusing on the brightly plumaged group of four individuals who’d just entered the room. One certainly had to agree with the desk lady; the white and orange matching outfits, when paired with the people wearing them, were indeed quite distinctive. Blindingly so, perhaps.
Fezzik slipped out of the bench, making it to his feet in one smooth motion. The discussion died down somewhat as he did so, a succession of elbow nudges and head turns having him become the center of attention among the group. There was a moment of silence as they studied him. He gave a small wave, crossed his arms.
The silence was broken by one of the four as a small, dark skinned woman bounded across the floor towards him and began furiously shaking his hand. “Oh my gods, I love the suave brooding thing you’ve got going on! Hi, I’m Mel! Sorcerer, innate flame. Don’t worry, I’m recorded having near zero bleed even while under duress!”
He’d never quite been able to picture what it meant to describe someone as beaming before, but he sure could now. Mel’s round face was carrying one of the biggest smiles he’d ever seen on a person, and her irises were quite literally miniature crackling, twisting fireballs. The face was framed by wavy black hair, which seemed to writhe with strands of orange and yellow like it was alive and aflame. Her ears bore small gold earrings, twinkling with inner light. She wore a leather brigandine that continued down past the waist into a kind of… combat miniskirt? It seemed a dubious choice for purposes of protection, but the orange and yellow highlights certainly had a style to them. Her form fitting leather boots went up to just below her knees, and shared the same color scheme as the rest.
“How old are you? How did you get yellow eyes? What’s your name? I hear you’re a cleric, what god do you worship? How good are you at healing? Have you ever fought before? Are you single? Where’d you get your outfit, I love the look!”
Even if Fezzik hadn’t already been mentally off balance, the barrage of questions would undoubtedly have bowled him over. He was left there, mouth gaping, stuttering for a response, having his hand furiously shaken and hardly even reciprocating.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Mel was undeterred and seemingly even amused by his gobsmacked expression, only relenting in the intensity of her assault when the rest of her team also approached him.
“So this is the newbie we’re being saddled with, eh?” A deep voice graveled, filling the room with its presence. A gray, cracked hand landed on Mel’s shoulder. Slowly and gently, it inexorably pulled her away from Fezzik, freeing his arm in the process. Rubbing at his abused hand with the other- Mel’s handshake was really quite firm- Fezzik turned to greet his savior. A stony, black and gray striated, chiseled face greeted his. A stoneborn!
Fezzik straightened his posture, arms by his sides, and gave a fifteen degree bow. “This Ferra Kimana wishes fair progress upon you, one far from conclave.”
Ferra got the distinct impression that had the being possessed a pair of eyebrows, they’d currently be falling off.
They bowed as well, mastering the surprise. “This Avalanche of Thought returns the wish, Stonefriend.” The stone individual paused, only continuing to speak after straightening back up. “I must confess to some surprise, meeting someone who knows the greeting. Stoneborn are an uncommon and oft forgotten race.”
Ah, so their name was Avalanche, then. Ferra gave a rueful smile. “Ah, well, I stumbled upon you in a book, when I was younger. Bugged my parents about meeting the nearby conclave until they eventually caved. Not a true stonefriend, unfortunately.”
Avalanche reached out to shake a hand, which Ferra returned. Their hand was cool and coarse, sandblasted stone. “Anyone who remembers the greeting counts as stonefriend, in my books.” Eyes like pure basalt in a face of striated granite met his. They gave off the impression of a sculpture of a human that the creator had given up on after only the broadest of strokes. A simple face, without the endlessly smaller details one might find in living skin. Blocky and stolid, Avalanche loomed over Ferra not through physical size, but through the sheer sense of weight they had. Parts of their torso were pitted and scarred, like some kind of acid had melted the very stone itself. With some curiosity, he noted that Avalanche had a number of devices mounted directly into their body. Arcane, presumably. These contraptions were all stylized in yellow and orange, of course, though the telltale blue glow of arcane power sources also shone through in spots.
Ferra’s smile grew, and he inclined his head. “I’ll keep your trust in mind, in the future. My thanks.”
Before Avalanche could respond, another individual elbowed them to the side, wincing as she did so. “Don’t hog him, ‘lanche, we’re all excited to meet Mel's newest victim.”
"Hey!"
Ignoring Mel's indignation, the newcomer stuck a hand out. “Hey. Mirana of Elm Grove. Half-elf, I’m our fae expert, healing and tracking.” The voice was quiet and self-sure, though tinged with faint amusement.
Ferra returned the handshake, pleased to find that Mirana’s hand was neither a crushing vice nor edged stone. “A pleasure to meet you. You already know my name. Boring ol’ human, cleric of Kiara. Presumably I’ll be defense and field control.” Her eyes were slitted like a cat’s, with the faintest of green irises about the pupil. Her hair was brown and long, plaited back in a braid that reached her waist. A single red highlight ran down the length of it from the front of her head. She was tall, and slimmer than he. Some aspects of the elven unearthly slenderness was still in her, though unlike a full blooded elf, Mirana didn’t trigger the same instinctual sense of unease in Ferra. She wore what looked like stereotypical green ranger equipment, cloak, tall boots, and all; It still had the same yellow and orange theming as the rest of the team, of course, but it was considerably more subdued. More umber and other shades that melded well with the forest green of her cloak. Ferra also realized at that moment that actually focusing on details regarding Mirana’s appearance was quite difficult. Without active concentration, she naturally faded into the background of the scene. Fae magic, he was certain.
Mel pouted. “You think being a human is boring?”
The fourth member of the team entered their little circle, towering above the rest and stealing Ferra’s hand as he chuckled. “You’re a sorcerer, not a full human. It doesn’t count.”
Mel slugged the man on the arm, though from the way they both smiled, Ferra could tell this was a well worn and long running group joke. He turned his attention back to the new entry. The voice that had previously spoken was surprisingly deep, sure, but perhaps more surprising was how smooth in tone and how precise in enunciation the words were. Ferra had met orcs, before, and never had he heard an individual with such clear speech; the shape of the orcish voicebox was inherently unsuited to Common, as unfortunate as that may be.
The man was well built and broad shouldered. Covered head to toe in shining plate that produced no noise as he moved. Broad lips with two jutting fangs, and a bald head like the rest of his people. The hilt of an absurdly large sword was poking over his right shoulder, and his helmet currently hung off his belt from a loop of rope.
He returned the handshake with enthusiasm, though Ferra had little doubt that the orc hardly felt his tiny paw in that massive hand. “The name’s Grek, of clan Thundering Steppes. Paladin, Law. I’m our frontliner, our specialized counter to innate magics, and the captain of this motley crew.”
It was Ferra’s turn to have eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “My, a law mage! Even in the capital, you’re as rare as solid land in the sky.”
Grek let out a laugh like the thunder his clan claimed moniker of. “Indeed, indeed. I’m far from home.” He looked around with a smile at the group. “Though with good company, I assure you.”
Ferra nodded as he retracted his hand for what was presumably the final time. “If it’s not impolite, may I ask how your voice is so suave? To my understanding it was physically impossible.”
Grek pointed to his throat with a hand the size of Ferra’s head. “Law. I practiced changing the density of air while speaking until I got the tone right.”
“Oh, wow! If my layman understanding is correct, that’s quite the statement of skill, isn’t it?”
Grek folded his arms with a self satisfied grin, and addressed the group. “I think I like him.”
Mel punched him in the arm again. “You would, you big egotist.”
The orc turned back to Ferra. “Right. We just turned in our previous contract, and of course it’s quite late right now. We haven’t eaten yet; I assume you’ve already had dinner, but you’re welcome to join and drink while we eat. It would be a good opportunity to get to know each other more.”
Ferra gave an agreeing nod. “I agree, and I could certainly go for a drink.”
As the group turned to head out onto the street, Mel elbowed him in the side. “Kiara, eh? Goddess of Love? Good choice!" She gave him a wink, and ran her tongue along her lips. Ferra blushed, looking away awkwardly. Surely she knew Kiara was more about passion for a craft than the, uh, carnal kind? He’d been flirted with before, but never so aggressively by someone he’d just met!
Grek ‘accidentally’ shoved Mel at just the right moment so that she almost tumbled on her next step. “Lay off the poor boy, at this rate you won’t even need your magic to make his head ignite.”
A rumbled chuckle escaped Avalanche. “Personally, I find it quite entertaining.”
Ferra did a double take, his surprise brushing past the comment. “You’re uhh. You’re levitating.”
Avalanche let out a ‘hmm’ like tumbling stones. “So I am.” A blue glow suffused the area around him, and the stoneborn was floating after Grek without moving a limb.
“Ah!” The cleric grinned as he connected the dots. “To prevent wear and tear from motion, right?”
“Indeed. I also have protections from sun, wind, water, and any other kind of weathering. In the long run I hope to master grafting new stone to myself and others through my craft, but for now this is how I maximize the time to my death.”
That Avalanche had deigned to bow back to him took on a new note of significance in Ferra’s mind, and he resolved to do something nice for the stoneborn later. “Impressive! You all seem so competent, I’m surprised they’d put me with a group like you.”
Mel leaned over to stage whisper, confiding a secret to his upper arm as well as half of the street. “To tell you the truth, a lot of it is glamor and show. We need to sell the part on what we are to get the good contracts.”
Then after straightening and in a more regular voice, she continued. “Though of course, Grek, ‘lanche, and Mirana are all quite competent.”
Another elbow from Grek had her almost tumbling again, causing her to pout at him with hands on hips. “Don’t sell yourself short, little Mel. That fiery temper of yours has gotten us through a great many scraps.”
Gouts of flame spouted down her hair in ripples. “A fiery temper, huh? How about I show you how fiery I really am?"
Grek shushed her with a comically large finger to the lips, as he opened the door to the inn they were staying at. It wasn’t the one Ferra had eaten at previously, though it was still only a short walking distance from the guild. “Nah, we know you wouldn't do it. If you were gutsy enough to start a brawl in a city we’d all be in jail already.”
The banter continued as they headed into the warm and well lit common room. It was fairly empty, perhaps eighteen other patrons, with a band quietly playing in a corner. The face of the lady behind the counter brightened as she saw the group enter. “Fists, hey! You’re back! How’s my favorite adventuring team?”
Grek greeted her with a grin as he claimed a seat at one of the central tables, ahead of the rest of the team. “Tyra, my girl, how’s business? Things have been just fine with us. Another successful mission, and we’ve picked up a new member!”
Tyra gave a mock scowl while carrying a mug over to the table for him, weaving around a red haired man. “Business was better before you scamps rolled in. But hey, that’s great news! Who’s the newbie?” This last she asked, looking at Ferra.
He waved as he sat down, giving her a polite smile. “Ferra, cleric of Kiara.”
Tyra leaned against the table between Mel and Grek. “Kiara, eh? I bet our little firebrand here has already been hitting on you.”
Mel slugged her on the arm and glared, a smirk teasing at the edge of her lips. “I don’t ‘hit on’ people, that doesn’t sound like something I’d do.” She turned to give Ferra a wink. “Though in my experience, followers of Kiara often are as well practiced in the bedroom as they are with their chosen craft.”
Avalanche rumbled his way into the conversation, rolling pebbles tinged with amusement. “I may just be a talking lump of rock, but I do believe that falls under the category of ‘hitting on’ someone.”
The small woman mock fainted in her chair. “Alack and alas, foul treachery!” She straightened back up. “Come on ‘lanche, I thought you were on my side!”
“I’m on the side of whatever leads to the most amusement.”
“For being nothing more than a talking rock, you’re awfully full of basic human flaws.”
His response was smooth and instantaneous. “You must be wearing off on me. It happens, with stoneborn.”
Mirana broke in. “Ugh, puns, now? I thought we were better than this.”
The conversation continued in this vein for some time, though they did make an effort to keep Ferra included in the banter. Eventually meals and drinks were ordered, almost as an afterthought, and the newest member of the team learned some rather interesting trivia about the rest.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, there were no stereotypical tragic orphan adventurer backstories. Avalanche was one of the few of his kind struck with wanderlust, and so it was only natural for him to eventually leave his conclave. It was traditional, Ferra learned, for half-elves just come of age to get out and see the world, new sights, and form new friendships among previously unmet or undocumented fae spirits. Grek was in it solely for the money. His parents were getting on in age, and he wanted a plentiful retirement for them. Mel was in it for the fame, and ‘hot guys;’ apparently her parents met while adventuring, and it was somewhat of a recurring trait down their family line.
“Nothing makes a man into marriage material quite like the danger, responsibility, and physical regimen that the adventuring lifestyle demands,” she proudly declared, before downing a full mug in one go.
“On the topic of danger, and at the risk of bringing the mood down,” Ferra sipped at his drink as the four looked at him expectantly. “Sorry to ask, but what did happen to the previous member? The receptionist didn’t give me details, just that it wasn’t your fault.”
The exuberance at the table was instantly snuffed out, though it did not come to anger. “Ah, that.” Grek finished his own drink. “No hard feelings, and it’s a reasonable question to ask.”
“It was my fault,” Mirana popped back into the forefront of his vision as she spoke quietly, gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles. “I should have seen it.”
Grek slapped the table. “Bollocks to that. I’m the one who pushed us too hard, who didn’t give you time to scout. I’m the reason he was out of position in the first place.”
Blue light flashed from Avalanche temporarily, grabbing their attention. “You’re both wrong. I’m the one who made our emergency amulets, and it was my measuring devices that failed to detect the vibrations. I’m the flaw in our stone.”
Mel’s body swirled with flame for a moment, neither scorching the seat or giving off heat. “Look, what’s done is done. Our intel was faulty, and no one here was equipped to deal with a void wyvern. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; there was no failing by any of us, with the info we had at hand. ‘If this,’ ‘if that;’ you can run yourselves ragged assigning blame and going over how you weren’t perfect fucking people for every second while on deployment, but it’s bullshit. We’re good at what we do, great even. But no one short of a Hand is casually able to deal with a surprise fucking void wyvern.”
There was a long moment of silence, both over the table and over the entire room.
Ferra cleared his throat nervously. “Ah, I see.” The tension faded quickly, like infernal energy siphoned by a fae.
Grek waved him off. “Ah, it’s no problem with you.” There was another pause as he took a long swig from his replacement mug. “The man’s name was Terell. Aethermancer. A human, like you. Our second heavy hitter, paired with Mel.” He let out a sigh. “It was a routine mission, or should have been. Apparently, unknown to the contractor, there was a void breach deep in the island. It’d not been there for long, but it was present long enough to begin corrupting the wyverns that used the island as a nesting ground. We’d taken steps to hide our presence from the locals, of course, but by its very nature the void rips straight through enchantments such as those.”
He sighed, and itched at his arm. “We never even saw it coming. We got half a second of warning, exclamations of fear from Mirana’s fae friends, and then a wyvern shaped hole in reality was rounding the corner and removing Terell’s head from his torso at lightning speed.
“We have single use emergency amulets, of course, but his didn’t even trigger. The only conclusion we have is that the void had already seeped into the spell matrix enough to corrupt the activation sequence. Avalanche is a good artificer, but not perfect, and void corrupts enchantments far more easily than even skilled warlocks can.
“Law magic doesn’t even affect the void; it’s not real, and so law can do nothing about it. Mirana’s fae friends refused to get close, her own power was ignored, and Mel’s fire simply got slurped up like a child given free rein over dessert.
“Only ‘lanche had much luck, his telekinesis enchantments holding the creature back from the rest of us. He managed to collapse the tunnel behind us, cutting the creature off. The escape was rough, but we managed to get out and signal the empire. Within six hours they’d fully mobilized. Half of the island was scoured to bedrock by the end, but the breach was closed.”
Mirana seemed to be holding back tears. She spoke again, even quieter. “There wasn’t even a body to send off.”
Ferra sipped at his mug. “So the void is real, then.”
“Yes.” The half elf straightened in her seat, speaking more confidently. “The void exists, and it is absolutely inimical to all life. Infernal creatures might be mindless vessels of hate, but they are still life, twisted as it is. The void corrupts, it corrupts absolutely, twisting the base laws of reality and producing nothing, less than nothing. Only divine magic can stabilize a damaged area, and only the direct attention from one of the main pantheon can even close a breach. And even after all that, there are always… remnants.”
“Trazak’s skull.” Mel shivered as she spoke under her breath.
“Indeed. Relics or curses like that, however you may call them, do exist. And every void breach makes more. Luckily people like Violetta are keenly aware of this, and it’s been quite some time since a previously observed curse has been seen in the wild a second time. They keep a tight lock on things like this.”
“Hmm, why not just drop them into the Mist?” Ferra saw her face blanch.
“Well sure, that might work. Or it might corrupt the base framework of all reality. We don’t know what the Mist is, or how it plays into the structure of the world. Better to keep them contained, layered in pocket dimensions, smothered in the divine, and kept slumbering.”
Mirana seemed to realize she’d been going on for some time. “…apologies. Researching the void is somewhat of a side passion of mine, moreso since the incident.”
The cleric inclined his head. “No worries! It was an interesting thing to learn, and one I hadn’t heard prior.”
There was another moment of silence around the table. A collective sip of their respective mugs, before the conversation turned to lighter matters. They talked long into the night; Ferra first assumed he’d regret it, due to them needing to wake up early to leave in the morning. Grek reassured him however, that he could nap on the ship. Avalanche only smugly remarked that as a stoneborn, they needed no sleep.
It was with a smile on his face that Ferra stumbled up to his bed, passing out near instantly. “This is so much better than being the bastard son.”