Chapter 4: Of Mystics and Madmen
"Ranger? That can't be your real name?"
"Why not?
"Well..." Isais hesitated. "I mean, it's not very imaginative."
"Well, maybe it's not muh real name. But it'll dor fuh now. If uh trust ya, maybe one day ah'll give ya muh real name. Now quiet. We're near the village, don't wan' no jumpy guard to put uh arrow through ya."
Isais fell silent. He disliked the idea of having an arrow through him just as much as Ranger did. Perhaps even more so.
He saw the windmill first. It poked through the treetops, blades still and covered in small black and brown birds. As they left the treeline, the rest of the village slowly came into view. A wicked-looking wooden palisade ran around the settlement, circling a host of crooked rooftops that poked over the fortifications.
“Ho the town!” Ranger called out.
Two heads appeared above a gate tower. “I see ya there Ranger! Anything crawl out from tha’ ol’ sewer?”
“Jus’ this!” she shouted back, poking Isais in the ribs.
“You sure ‘e’s not a fiend?”
“Not too sure o’ that one but I’ll put uh arrow in ‘im if he is.”
The guard chuckled, leading Isais to believe she wasn’t joking.
I’ll stick a sword in her if she tries it.
“We don’t even have a sword.”
Ranger frowned at him, whispering closely as they walked in through the low wooden gate. “Enough o’ that talkin’ tuh yaself nonsense.”
“I wasn’t—” Isais began to protest, but Ranger silenced him with a finger.
“I swear boy, if you had a sense in that ‘ed o’ yours it would die o’loneliness.”
Isais couldn’t help but grin at the irony of that sentence.
“And don’t you be smilin’! Walkin’ ‘round ‘ere wi’ ya mouth all blabberin’ tuh nobody. Bound to attract the wrong kind o’ attention. Ya understand?”
Isais did not, but he nodded silently anyway. No point offending the only person who might offer him food and shelter and a little help.
“Good,” Ranger continued. “This ‘ere is a superstitious bunch. Can’t blame ‘em. Village is plagued by ‘em critters, crawlin’ up an’ attackin’ the town at all hours o’ the day. That’s why we put this wall up, ya see?”
Isais ran another eye over the palisade. It looked impressive enough, but it was hard to imagine why anyone would want to attack a village such as this. It was disorganized and, judging by the condition of the homes and the people, it wasn’t particularly well off. There certainly was a charm to it, however. They strolled by a river that bisected the hodge-podge houses. Sunlight glanced from it, creating a silvery shadow atop the water’s surface that followed them on their walk. It ran perfectly parallel, never speeding up or slowing down. Above it flew insects, large and small. Occasionally one of the insects would dart down to the water, hovering for a second before taking off again. When Isais peered closer he could see the fish that swam freely, hunting the winged creatures above them.
Beneath their feet the ground was slippery and wet, a red clay-like substance sticking to the outside of his old boots. It was the same red-brown color that made up most of the homes of the village, Isais realized. Up ahead a group of children played in the water, whilst an old, heavily-bearded fisherman cursed them from the safety of a small wooden jetty. As they grew closer, Isais heard him bemoaning the kids chasing all the fish away.
To their left the regular sound of metal against metal ran out through the village as a large, heavily muscled man hammered flat a rod of iron. Behind the blacksmith was a whole array of axes, swords, and knives. There seemed to be more weaponry than people in the village and Isais ruffled his head. Perhaps Ranger wasn’t exaggerating the danger these people faced from the outside world.
It wasn’t a comforting feeling. If a sleepy little village such as this was seen as a prize worth attacking, what must the rest of Vermasse be like? He made a note of the blacksmith’s location, vowing to return and find a way to purchase a sword before he left.
“That’s Banger,” Ranger said, nodding her head in the direction of the Blacksmith.
“Banger?”
“On account that he bangs.”
“I’m sorry?”
“He bangs. ‘Is ‘ammer. Bang. Bang. Bang. All day, every day. Puts a real duck in my quiver, if ya know what I’m sayin’. What can ya do though? Village needs weapons.”
“I see.” Isais did not see. “Where are you taking me?” he asked, as the blacksmith faded from view. Houses of clay, thatch, and wood came and went. Occasionally small market stalls sold a variety of brownish veg and meats that only served to remind Isais he was feeling hungry again. Unfortunately, his pockets lacked coin, or anything worth trading.
“The seer o’ course,” Ranger responded, cursing colorfully as a gaggle of small children ran past her, spraying clay and dirt onto her dark green leggings.
“What’s a seer?”
Ranger stopped and tilted her head, giving him a look as if he might just be the dumbest fool alive. “He’s someone who sees.”
Obviously. Berserker mocked.
“But sees what?” Isais pressed, doing his best to ignore the voice in his head.
“Well that depends, don’t it? Guess we’ll see what he sees,” she replied, and then chuckled merrily to herself, murmuring ‘see what we see! See what he sees!’ to herself as she continued on.
She’s mad as a Chickajed in a pea field, Berserker mimicked Ranger’s words from earlier that day. Then after a pause, I think I love her.
Isais scoffed, then held his tongue.
They came to a halt outside one of the more lavish looking houses. That was to say it was one of the few that had nothing obvious falling, crumbling or peeling off it. Outside, in well-constructed boxes were rows of pretty flowers in yellows and reds.
“Take ya boots off,” Ranger ordered him.
“My boots?”
“Aye. Trust me, ya don’t wanna trek mud into the seer’s house. Ooooh no. No, ya do not.”
Isais frowned but did as he was told, noting with distaste how much more worn, torn and old his boots looked in the sunlight. The heel was almost scuffed through, the leather itself was cracked and caked with mud. Not that the rest of his clothes were any better. In a village of little coin and where more than one child had run past him completely naked, he was still the sorriest looking bugger for miles around.
Following Ranger through the rounded front door of the seer’s house, he was amazed to see the interior decorated with all sorts of strange and unusual objects. Objects that suggested they originated from more than one culture. There were colorful cloths and carvings of animals, monsters and things Isais could only guess at. One giant mask caught his attention, three times the length of a human head and twice as wide.
“Don’t touch that!” a voice called. Isais, whose finger was only inches away from the mask, paused and looked around. There was nobody else in the room besides Ranger, and the voice, old and manly, most certainly wasn’t hers.
“Hello…?” Isais responded cautiously.
“Come,” the voice replied.
Isais frowned questioningly at Ranger, who pointed him at a second door. Isais saw it, nodded, opened it and stepped inside. A small man sat there, eyes closed, legs bent so that his feet rested on their opposite thighs. He wore a flowing grey robe and an even longer flowing grey beard, despite no hair remaining atop his head.
“Sit,” the man commanded, though his eyes didn’t open, his head didn’t turn and his hands, which rested atop his knees with the thumb and middle fingers forming a circle, never even twitched.
Isais looked around the room. It was even more lavishly and eccentrically decorated than the room he had just come from. Huge flowing sheets of all the imaginable colors were draped from the ceiling. Tugging one out of the way, Isais lowered himself onto a cushion opposite the strange old man.
“Good. Now adopt my pose and close your eyes.”
Isais, still not entirely certain what was happening, did so— though he found copying the position of the man’s legs to be more difficult that it first looked.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Now chant with me.”
Did he say chant?
“Huuummmmmmm ohhhhhhhh,” the man began.
Isais shifted uncomfortably.
“I said chant with me! Huuummmmmmm ohhhhhhhh.”
“Huuummmmmmm ohhhhhhhh,” Isais echoed with significantly less enthusiasm.
“Good. Huuummmmmmm arrrrrrrrrrr.”
“Huuummmmmmm arrrrrrrrrrr.”
“Eeeeeee yaaaahhhhhhhh”
Isais’ eye twitched. “Eeeeeee yaaaahhhhhhhh”
What the Pasht are you doing?
“Umdida umdida umdida ummmmmmmmmm.”
“Umdida umdida umdida ummmmmmmmmm.”
The seer giggled. Then laughed. Isais’ eyes flared open and he saw the old man jump to his feet.
“What are you doing, sitting there like that, humming to yourself like some kind of half-wit!” the man declared, bouncing around the room from one floor cushion to the next.
“But you said—”
“My boy if you always follow without questioning, you’ll never complete your quest!”
“If this is your idea of— wait. You know of my quest?”
“Do I know of your quest? Of course, I know of your quest!”
“Then can you tell me how I ended up in that sewer?” Isais had to spin his body to keep up with the seer’s eccentric movements.
“Yes, but that is not the right question.”
“I don’t care if it’s the right question! Just tell me.”
“No, no, no. You must control your anger my boy. You are a will mage so anger will come often to you. But the angrier you get, the more you will feed the Berserker inside of you.”
He knows of me! Berserker hissed.
The seer stopped his bouncing then, an expression resembling seriousness falling over his face. “And I can hear you.”
Isais’ eyes widened and he audibly gasped. “You can hear it! Are you saying there really is something inside of me? That I am not mad?” Despite Berserker’s apparent legitimacy, Isais had been harboring a fear that he was quite insane from the first moment he began talking to the voice in his head.
“As to your first question- yes. There is something inside of you. But for your second? Who can tell? I think you will need a little madness if you are to survive.”
Stop speaking in riddles or I will wring your throat old man! Berserker bellowed in Isais’ mind.
“You will not for you cannot. Not without Isais’ say so, for that is not your body. You do not belong.” The seer shook his head and began to tut. “Such a wicked thing to be done to you. Wicked, wicked, wicked. But then this is an age of wicked powers, is it not?”
“I have no idea!” Isais was beginning to understand, even agree with Berserker’s rage. This man, who knew so much but gave so little, was infuriating. “Please,” he continued, fighting for calm. “Tell us what you know. What has been done to me? how can I undo it?”
The seer’s head hung. “I cannot answer all of your questions, though I wish it were not so. I too have been cursed. Cursed with the gift of sight and a tongue that can change fate. You may hate me, but perhaps one day you will come to understand. Though I fear that day is not today.”
Isais huffed in irritation. “Then what can you tell me?” He hissed.
“I can tell you that you must travel to Daggerheart and that there you will meet a man in an Inn who will offer more answers. I can tell you that if you travel there alone you will die, but if you take a friend you will find more than you know but less than you deserve.”
Isais scoffed. “Well, then I will die, for I have no friends.”
“Is that so? Well then if death it is to be- then so be it!”
“That’s your answer? Just die?”
The seer giggled again. “What is death, but a new chance?”
“A new chance? What nonsense are you spouting? Death claims all of your chances. There are no more chances if you die.”
The seer put a finger to his lips as if pondering. “Did you see my pretty flowers outside?”
“I…what?”
“The flowers! The flowers boy! It is a simple question. Did you see them?
“I saw them.”
“Well let me ask you— what is the flower? When you chop it's head off, does it die? No! Another grows.” He paused then to remove the finger from his lips and hold it above his head. “Ah but is that the same flower as the one which died? Is the flower the head, or is the flower the routes, the leaves? When one head dies, it nourishes the earth for a new head to bloom. A new head that springs forth from the same source as the old. That new flower contains the essence of the old. The routes haven't changed, the flower still lives. It just lives anew, in a new form. Something is taken from the old flower, but it is not life.”
Isais’ head began to swim. “Then what is taken?”
“Who knows! Memory perhaps? The experiences of the old head are lost? Does that sound believable to you?”
“None of this sounds believable to me. I am not a flower.”
The seer chortled. “That you are not, my boy. That you are not.”
Pasht’s balls, is everyone in this town mad? This has been pointless.
The seer looked up at Berserker’s voice. Something sparkled in his eye. Something that looked a lot like sadness. “Let me offer one more warning. You must learn to control your powers, or your anger will kill you both.”
“My powers?”
“You are a mage. Those of mankind blessed with magic draw their strength from their bodies, but for the men it is channeled through something inside of us called testosterone. Testosterone makes us strong, but too much of it can make us angry. You feel it, I know you do. After using your powers you feel angrier than before. Yet inside you lies the soul of a Berserker. A soul naturally geared towards anger, a soul that feeds off it. If used in balance, this can make you both incredibly formidable. Your weakness is his strength, you see? But if you cannot control it, if you fall into it, you will never find what you are looking for.”
“And what am I looking for?” Isais made no attempt to keep the irritation from his voice.
“You know that already, Isais. ‘Find her. Stop him.’”
Isais felt the blood drain from his face. “How do you know those words?” he whispered.
“It is your fate. Though not even I know who she is. Go to Daggerheart. More will be revealed to you there.” The seer collapsed back onto one of the cushions and flicked the fingers of his right hand. “Now go,” he said. “This seeing has drained me more than you know. Oh, and don’t forget to spend those skill points!” The seer called after Isais.
Isais, his mind awash and overrun with confusion, exited the main room. Only when he’d closed the door behind did he realize the seer had only proclaimed not to know who the ‘she’ was. He’d said nothing about the ‘him’. And there was something else he had said too that lingered in Isais' mind. Something about memories.
“So, how’d it go?” Ranger asked, standing in the front door to the house. The light from outside fell over her.
Isais shook his head, emptying it of the seer’s words. The man had been crazy and babbling and Isais himself was tired. He opened his mouth to answer Ranger, but quickly found he did not know what to say.
Ranger laughed. “Aye, Seer has tha’ effect on folk. Come on—let’s go find some more food for ya. And maybe a change o’clothes!” she finished, eyeing him up and down.
Isais nodded. That sounded like a fine idea to him.
“Hey,” he said, turning to face Ranger. “What’s a skill point, and how do I use them?”
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Character Sheets
[https://i.imgur.com/j6LUa87.png]
Isais:
Willpower: Lvl 2. Unused SPs: +1
Kinetic: 8
By manipulating energy itself, the user can send powerful shocks that knock back or stun enemies. Some powerful wielders have been known to kill mighty foes with their kinetic power. It is rumoured that the great mage Dal O’shar once toppled an entire mountain with the force of his push.
Physical: 2
A strong physical wielder can manipulate the energy around their very body, granting themselves further strength and speed. Physical mages use the world’s energy to become super powered humans, stronger, faster and sturdier than all others.
Battlefield Aura: 0
Everything has energy; battle is no different. Someone who understands this can manipulate the vitality of a battle, strengthening morale and spirit of allies and reducing that of enemies. If at a high level, a wielder can actually bend the will of enemies and allies alike to their control. A true aura master can send entire armies fleeing.
Psyche: Lvl 3. Unused SPs:
Luck: 2
Everyone needs a little luck in their lives, right? Whether it helps them to find more riches, or narrowly dodge an enemy's attack, there is no such thing as too much luck.
Intelligence: 11
Puzzle-solving, tactics and trickery are all essential to surviving in the world of Vermasse.
Charisma: 4
Looking for love? Want a better price on your goods? How about talking your way out of a fight- or talking your fellows into one? You’ll definitely want charisma on your side.
Fortitude: Lvl 2. Unused SPs:
Strength: 3
Sometimes the best form of defense is a good offense.
Constitution: 4
Other times the best form of defense is a good defense.
Dexterity: 2
Of course, above all else, the best form of defense is just not getting hit at all. Afterall, prevention is better than the cure, right?
[https://i.imgur.com/9Ih5uAd.png]
Berserker
Skills
Martial: Lvl 4: Unused SPs: +3
Melee: 13
This is the basis of any good warrior. It controls the speed, power and skill with which a warrior wields their weapon.
Adrenaline: 7
Tired and exhausted, this skill allows a Beserker a new lease of life. It sends them to new heights of martial ability If their stamina or health ever falls below 25%. However once engaged, a Beserker can no longer be controlled or healed by allies.
Leach: 4
Berserker’s are tuned to the darker emotions of those around them and can draw on the anger of enemies and allies to further increase their attacks. Casting this before an attack can result in high levels of damage. Be careful though- some mages rely on anger to increase the potency of their spells.
Psyche: Lvl 4: Unused SPs: +2
Intuition: 8
The ability to spot danger is often a warrior’s most useful tool. The keener the eye, the more advanced the warning and the more time to prepare battle tactics. Intuition also heightens awareness during battle.
Rage: 11
Dormant rage allows Berserkers to fight. The higher the stat, the higher their stamina and melee capabilities. However, it often comes at the cost of social skills and a high rage can lead to others avoiding you altogether.
Intimidation: 4
When charm doesn’t do the job, intimidation usually does. Bully people into giving you what you want, shame them into fighting or just roar at enemies until they go away.
Fortitude: Lvl 4: Unused SPs: +1
Strength: 8
Break their necks, shatter their bones or rip their limbs from their bodies. Muscles are a madman’s best friend.
Constitution: 4
Defense? Never heard of it. Still, it doesn’t hurt to be able to survive the odd attack from time to time. The longer you live, the more you can kill.
Dexterity: 10
Speed. Dodge. Faint. Elude. A skilled warrior doesn’t just bash- he bashes fast.