“Holy Seraphs lad, what did you do?”
“That was the Arsenal of the Maker, wasn’t it?”
“Get him up, fetch a healer to attend to us.”
‘Ori!? Ori!’ Sera screams added to the tumult.
Ori groaned. The commotion outside his skull increased in intensity as his consciousness returned.
‘I’m alright Sera’ Ori lied, hoping his reassurance would cut down on the amount of noise his mind was battered by.
‘What in Seraph's name happened?’ Sera responded, apparently reassured not one bit.
‘I just need a minute.’ he replied as his bloodshot eyes tried to make sense of the world. He was back within the chapel, mentally and physically this time with a ring of armoured knights surrounding him. One gruff armoured man with blue and gold trim and a particularly bushy moustache rolled Ori over to his side. He coughed wetly, his saliva salted with blood.
“Lad, what happened? D’you offend the Maker Saint Donna?” the armoured man asked him when his eyes could focus
“...looks like he was just spat out of the Maker’s asshole’
“...Perhaps we get a diviner to see wot happened.”
“...Never seen so much blood from the body of the living.”
“...Looks like he soiled himself, blood from every orifice, reckon he was cursed.”
“...Nah, Lady Lavine said he was on The Path, fortune waxes and wanes like the tide for sorry bastards such as this poor fella.”
Commentary from a chorus of overlapping voices anchored Ori as he shrugged off the knight's question and stood. “I’m fine.” He croaked as he wiped away blood from his face with the sleeve of his tunic. Unfortunately, there was little he could do about the rest of himself, feeling and smelling the appalling state of his lower half. ‘Mans got quite a bit worse than a squeaky bum.’ Ori groaned in self-reflection to himself.
“What happened lad?”
Unsure of what to reveal and generally paranoid given his treatment to date, Ori chose to dissemble, “Not sure, seemed like a dream. What did you see from your side?”
Audible groans and gasps were heard as if he had said or done something truly stupid. “That young laddie, was the Arsenal of the Maker of Saint Donna, a one-per-age occurrence that to this day, only a scant number of living witnesses remain to verify its legend. To be chosen is to have received an honour above all others, a boon as sure to better your future as any riches, artefact or accolade.” The knight continued. Ori looked around catching the gazes of the now dozens of men around him, their faces a mix of faltering interest, howling disappointment, and genuine despair. Ori caught the faces and frowned as he tried to work out just how he fucked up. “It would honour us if you could tell us just what happened inside the arsenal.”
“I… There were lots of weapons, but none of them were really to my liking, and I said so and…” A chorus of loud groans and mild shoving broke out interrupting him. “What’s going on?”
“Desperate men cling to hope lad, such as an eleventh-hour miracle like the Arsenal appearing to bless one of us on the eve of battle, except due to ignorance or arrogance, it seems you squandered this opportunity by insulting the Maker.”
Ori’s frown deepened, part of him wanted to lift morale and reassure the men around him but he also knew that would be stupid. Beyond Crucible and Sera’s warnings to keep such details to himself, he wouldn’t be swinging a sword or casting fireballs in the battle to come so it didn’t matter, whatever he had received from the Maker Saint Donna, was likely to be irrelevant for the upcoming battle anyway. So he simply shrugged, as if to confirm his blunder. “Didn’t know what it was. Felt like a dream. Besides, aren't I supposed to just cast my aura, and then get carried to the Lich?”
“His soul changed.” A new speaker strode towards the crowd, his voice deep, resonant and well-spoken. His armour was blackened steel, his aura a dim field that seemed to suffocate as much as it pressed down upon those too weak to resist. From him, Ori could feel Mana that was, if not wrong, then a weak antithesis of his inherent affinity, though of the man himself, if he had to judge, was likely another nobleman.
“What d’you mean his soul changed?” The first knight looked between them, eager for one or the other to spill.
“In the light before the Arsenal departed the realm, his soul changed, his page of fate rewritten, and not by some small measure.” The knight in black stepped forward, the gallery making way for him as they clung to the words of the nobleman knight. “Though I would suggest if Sir Summons wishes to keep such matters to himself or at the very least, not disclose such private matters to such a public audience, he is more than entitled to, and we should be more than willing to oblige.” The knight continued, his voice turning stern towards the end. As if given orders to disperse, the crowd of soldiers clanked and shuffled out of the area near the altar, their voices echoing until the last of them closed the large chapel doors.
In the silence that followed, Ori swept an anxious gaze across the men and women remaining. He gave a shallow nod recognising the sole familiar face in Cordelia. The rest, including both men who’d spoken to him after his encounter with the Maker Saint Donna while wildly different in flavour, all auras seemed to be in the same ballpark as Sera’s sister making them likely to be people at the Sovereign realms or close to it.
“Let us introduce ourselves, shall we? I’m Lord Bartholomew of West Arragat, B rank High Chromatic of the Black, and Grace Knight. I’ll be commanding our little endeavour and in the unfortunate circumstance of you suffering a mortal blow, it will be my job to keep your soul around long enough for my associate here,” Bartholomew gestured to a female, middle-aged, blonde knight on his left, “to revive you, good as new.” Ori flinched as memories of the last trials and tortures flashed in his mind. “Not to worry, should you truly wish to leave, I can’t keep you.” Ori could see an invisible golden sheen coating his pale skin and grey-speckled black hair. His jovial attitude and quick smiles did little to blunt the edge of his tall, forboding presence and commanding aura. Grace Knight? Black Mage? Ori had plenty of questions and was curious to see how those combinations of classes functioned in practice.
“Lady Jasmine of House Mc’Alister, Greater White Mage.” The woman Bartholomew had gestured to, nodded. “May I?” She asked, Ori had no idea what she intended and glanced between her, Bartholomew and Cordelia for an explanation. “Just a useful cantrip for use in polite company in situations such as yours.” She answered, her voice cool and polite.
“Sure,” Ori answered, before a familiar white light enveloped him, the sensation of stray organic matter on his skin, his hair, and his clothing, blowing away with a chill wind reminded him of the very first time he used magic. In an instant, he felt strangely clean and dry. Relieved no longer to be covered in filth, but more annoyed at the reminder of his previous state as it wasn’t even like he was conscious when it happened.
“A marvellous spell, Jas. Captain Craig of House Cattif, C rank Red Mage, at your service.” A cockney-sounding voice from a fresh-faced man who looked no older than Ori’s twenty-three years of age. He held himself loose and seemed approachable with eyes that smiled in pending exhilaration.
“Sergent Baker of Cudanow, or just call me Baker, non-com, C rank Breath Knight, I’ll be your babysitter. I would say to keep your nappy clean as my services begin and end at keeping your bottom alive as opposed to clean, though we’re well past that it seems.” A thick bush of a moustache hid the ghost of a grin his ribbing likely came with. Baker had been the first man to see to him after the Makers Arsenal. Ori simply nodded while hoping the rest of them had all gotten the jokes out of their system. He took note of the class, a non-mage? Breath Knight, wasn’t that the paracausal energy of internal magic? He wondered how it worked and how his class compared to the others.
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“Cordelia, though we are already acquainted.” The striking woman with long dark hair said, even amongst the other armoured men, she was tall, standing at least an inch taller than Ori’s six foot in height.
“She’ll be principally responsible for keeping your squishy mortal form intact. On a field where C and B rankers will be deployed, that’s no easy task.” Bartholomew added.
“Jacobin, Sir Jacobin of House Gorran, B rank of the Blue, at your service.” The final man, a middle-aged knight wearing a white tabard with gold and blue trim over his steel armour stood with a posture that seemed to unnerve Ori. It was as if every muscle in his body was clenched and ready to spring, the cords in his neck were visibly tense. His eyes were dark, narrow beads upon a pale, bearded face. For a second, Ori was unsure what they were waiting for before he realised that had been the last of them to introduce themselves.
“Ori Suba, of south London,” there was a pause as if they were waiting for something. “ah, F rank, Astral Adept,” Ori added, quickly deciding that electrical engineer and graduate likely wouldn’t translate, and just replying probably Mortal wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the situation at hand.
“Astral Adept?” Bartholomew asked in puzzlement. Ori had hoped it was a thing. He was wrong.
“I believe it was divined as one of his titled accolades, though I have scarcely any knowledge towards its meaning,” Cordelia interjected.
“It’s something to do with my affinities.”
“I see,” Bartholomew replied in the way one does when they didn’t and wanted you to elaborate. Ori refused. “Well then, let’s get to it then. Ori of South Lundon, do you have any formal martial qualifications, military training or front-line experience?”
“No.”
Lord Bart grunted in confirmation, “Will you follow orders? Without your summoner, you’ll be temporally assigned the non-com rank of Specialist, officially outside of the chain of command. But as a military operation with you as a mission-critical part to play, things would be much simpler if you follow our lead. With the chain of command being Baker to Cordelia to me, as far as ranking officers you should be concerned with. So I ask again, will you follow orders?”
“Yeah, no problem” Ori answered.
“Excellent. The edge of the enemy's forces has been spotted just over a day away from the city walls. With a forced overnight march, we aim to engage with the bulk of Eltitus’s host at dawn. Lady Jasmine’s Lesser Restoration should be enough to keep you hale and on your feet but we have contingencies for if you're unable to keep pace with our task force.
“Things will get hairy as we engage whatever B-rank threats remain, but if you can keep your aura on throughout, we’ll have a decisive edge. Do you foresee any issues on that account?”
“No, the aura doesn’t require much thought or effort,”
“Good, and the forced march? If you're unable to keep pace, Baker can carry you.”
“Should be fine.” Ori shrugged.
“Hmmm. Any questions?”
Ori shook his head.
“Good, Baker, get him kitted out, we set off before dusk.”
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Ori jangled and clanked, the not-so-subtle weight of metal feeling like the world applied even more weight to the burden upon his shoulders. He was hot, the claustrophobia of wearing a helmet magnifying his anxiety. It had been hours since his briefing with Lord Bart and the cleansing spell that had left him as clean as his arrival to this realm, and yet, the sweat, grease and stink of armour and grease, made him feel like he was due for another bath.
Beyond that, the reality that in a few minutes, he’d be going to war, had only just sunk in. Meanwhile…
‘The soul is the confluence between the body with its vitality, the Peritia of the environment, the mind and the Mana it commands and the threads of Aether and Spirit energies that tie it to the ethereal realms and beyond. Upon death, Vitality and Peritia are left behind but the Mana and the Soul remain. It’s in this moment where a necromancer or such, would normally attempt a soul forging. When a soul is malleable and unanchored to fate. To do it to a living creature is just… just…’ Sera explained.
‘So did it affect you directly or just your connection to me?’ Ori asked internally.
‘I’m not sure, there might have been a tingle but it was overshadowed by the fact that your presence simply disappeared.’ Sera explained.
‘And that only happened when my soul was put into the furnace?’
‘Goodness Ori. I still can not believe what that demon of a so-called saint did to you. As your mentor, I felt helpless as I screamed at you to turn away from that path. And yes, I saw everything up until that point through our bond and although I tried, I couldn’t interact with anything, or else something blocked my ability to contact you. It was like I was anchored over a void, a black precipice from which only oblivion awaited.’
‘You alright?’ Ori asked somewhat detached, wondering how it must have seemed to her. What did Freya feel? How was Freya now? He felt guilt for losing track of the days and clenched his fists as he reaffirmed the reason for doing all of this.
‘Am I alright? Ori, you're the one who went through a soul craft, as a mortal, while still living. Such a despicable act of cruelty I have never heard of. If it were up to me, I'd have wrapped you up in wool and forced you to heal your spirit for a season.’
‘That would be nice.’ Ori agreed as he swung the Kite Shield buckled to his left forearm to test its weight. He also wore a heavier, enchanted Round Shield on his back and a chainmail shirt that came down to his knees. A sling-pack that slotted to the right carried meagre supplies of food and water, while a knife and its sheath, and a Nascent Channeling Wand of Life and its sheath attached themselves to a thick, study belt.
Full plate armour was deemed too heavy and impractical without training, though Baker did stare long and hard in prior consideration.
‘I fear to admit that a growing part of me wishes to leave Astor to its fate, I believe it’s my new perspective on life and death, one where I’m eager to begin the next chapter of… my life? Except…’
‘Except Eltitus won’t exactly leave all these souls alone, would they?’ Ori countered as he padded his pouches finding bandages, alchemical coagulants and healing powders.
‘No, he certainly would not.’
‘Well, do you have any idea what Maker Saint Donna did? Was it worth it?’ Ori asked. He wanted to rub at a place in his chest far beneath his chain mail, like a growing rawness, an exhaustion that seemed to sap colour from the world.
‘I’m sorry Ori, what he said about your soul being full, did ring true. And logically speaking, there would have to be firm limits on the capacity of souls and soul bonds, else those with multiple familiars and soul-bound artefacts would be a common sight, as the benefits these could provide would accumulate, if not multiply.’ Sera sighed, her presence the sole source of comfort in a mind trying to pull itself into pieces. ‘So maybe you’ll be able to form more bonds? Though I’ve never heard of this being done before, Soulcrafting a living soul that is.’
‘Alright, well, that’s good I guess. You know, it’s your presence that really makes being summoned here worth it. Knowing that when this is done, you’ll still be with me, it’s making me feel happy. If soulcrafting lets me do this again someday, then it's not so bad.’
‘Oh? Looking to get yourself a gaggle of familiars and kept souls bound to you throughout eternity are you? Pray tell, is myself and your existing familiar not already enough for one man?’ Sera asked with more than a hint of indignation, only partly feigned.
‘You are plenty, thanks.’ Ori laughed aloud.
‘Hm!’ Sera harrumphed, ‘Either way, I’d suggest waiting for your soul to heal before attempting any new bonds. What the entirety of human civilisation knows about the soul would not be enough to fill a single textbook.’
‘Really? With the aeons of time you’ve all had to explore and study this stuff, I’m surprised more isn’t known?’
‘Too much knowledge is lost, most is never written down, a lot about souls is never known by the living. The circumstances such as the ones we find ourselves in are surprisingly rare, meanwhile, a lot of human study has focused on replicating what the elves do with Grace, on the practical use of Breath and Mana for everyday tasks and advancement. Aether, Spirit in comparison, and how it ties with spirit has always been harder to explore as no one understands the conditions, with the practical implications always more nebulous.’ Sera said.
‘Couldn’t you just ask the Fae? Don’t they have more knowledge on Soul stuff?’
‘They have talent with Aether and Will-based magic, but such talent often begets understanding. They just do, they do not know how, and besides, asking the Fae for anything is a notoriously perilous endeavour. A lesson I’m surprised you, with your very own wild Fae familiar haven’t learned yet.’
‘I mean, yeah. You need some sort of magic lawyer before striking up an agreement with them if my experience is anything to go by.’
“What you smirking at Specialist?” Ori was brought out of his mental conversation by Baker, he returned with a clanking bundle that he promptly tossed at him. Ori caught it with an oomph. “Put it on, and then it’ll be the last meal before we muster at dusk.”
“Yes, Baker.” Ori untangled the leather sword belt to reveal a Short Sword and its sheath as well as a Hammer with a long steel handle. Ori mentally and physically confirmed his loadout. A knife, a life wand, a soul-bound crystal wand, a sword, a hammer, two shields, pouches with healing supplies, food water, chain mail, padded leather clothing, studded boots, and an enchanted helm.
‘Looks like I’m all tooled up and ready for war.’ Ori said to himself as he prepared for what was to come.