-oOo-
Chapter 2: Core Skills
-oOo-
Warm light poured down upon Weed's shoulders, warming the bruised welts that covered his skin. It had been one week since Weed had created his latest character. In that time, Weed had fought Chuluun a dozen times, completed two minor quests, and successful evaded unwanted skills.
“This level of cruelty should be a crime,” Weed complained, rolling his aching shoulders. “The developers of Royal Road are sadists.”
A gust of wind tugged at the papers before him. Weed's hand slammed down, capturing the sheets before they could escape. The open pages of Fort on the Mountain fluttered, flipping in the breeze before settling on a point far ahead of Weed's translation.
With a scowl, Weed turned the book back.
Runic scrawl was the current source of Weed's frustration. Having obtained the necessary funds, Weed had set himself upon the task of learning Runic Knowledge. It was grueling work. Royal Road's runic script consisted of over a thousand symbols, one-hundred of which were considered common. For basic books, like Fort on the Mountain, translation consisted symbol substitution. So, should a player memorize all the symbols, the book could be read with relative ease.
Weed was on his forth character, and he had translated books before. So, by all rights, this task should have been trivial.
But, alas, the cruelty of the game's designers knew no bounds.
“Forcing me to memorize everything all over again?” Weed grumbled. “No wonder no one bothers to learn Runic Knowledge.”
For each new character Royal Road randomized the runic set. Because of this Weed was forced to relearn the runes from scratch.
“Through suffering comes strength,” Weed reminded himself firmly. “It is because so few players are willing to suffer that I will rise to the top.”
Though the game was cruel, it had justice. Royal Road never failed to reward the diligent. For Weed, who had often seen his effort spat upon, it was heartening experience. It drove him to work twice as hard. No rest! Weed would maximize his earnings.
It was almost enough to make Weed drool, but his rising eagerness was quickly dashed.
“This avatar is trash,” Weed was forced to remind himself. “My goal is to learn how to obtain the skills I desire. Only after will my efforts be rewarded.”
The recognition hurt. It hurt like a knife to the heart. All of Weed's work could be destroyed in an instant. If he obtained the wrong skill, if it proved impossible to learn Iron Soul, if anything at all went wrong Weed would have no choice but to start anew from day one.
The cruelty of it was enough to draw tears from Weed's eyes. Not for the first time did he wonder that maybe, just maybe, it would have been better if he gave up and accepted whatever character the game offered.
“No,” Weed told himself sternly. “I threw away those characters because they were worthless. I have no regrets.”
There was truth to his words. It was not a mere lack of skills that had driven Weed down this path, it was dissatisfaction.
His first character dropped when Weed could no longer endure the life of a sculptor.
He second surrendered when Weed came to hate caverns of the dwarves.
His third, dumped when he could no longer tolerate the arrogance of the elves.
It was only when Weed started his fourth the he devoted himself to the the pursuit of skills. Even now, Weed's hunger would be if the result was good enough.
Weed's eyes flicked up, catching the bars at the edge of his vision. His weary form perked at the sight.
“My mana is full again,” Weed noted. Clapping his hands, Weed prayed. “By the power of Freya, restore my health. Healing hand.”
Golden light flowed from Weed's palm, washing away the blackened bruises that marred his flesh.
Injury level has decreased.
Maximum life has been reduced by 47%.
Due to the severity of your injuries, additional life may be lost if you engage in heavy labor.
Though Chuluun's strikes dealt a single point of damage, the force behind them had not diminished in the slightest. Bones broke, flesh bruised, and organs ruptured. Because of that, Weed's injury level was beyond the pale. If not fore the grace of Divine Healing Weed would be left unable to recover in time to fight the instructor at all.
“That evil bastard is wounding me on purpose,” Weed said with a scowl. “Healing Hand!”
Mana pool empty, Weed returned to his book.
As he translated, the pace of his work quickened. The first page had devoured an entire day. The next three had consumed but two. Now, in a single eve Weed burned through three. The sun set. His trauma recovered. Weed continued his labor deep into the night, barely noticing when the fading sun was traded for the golden glow of the street lamps.
Finally, he scrawled the last word.
Ding!
You have translated: Fort on the Mountain
Fort on the Mountain tells the story of a dozen lonely soldiers besieged. Pinned in place, they held the pass through the Yellow Mountains for two decades without relief.
For translating a moderate length work:
Intelligence rises by 6 points. (+6 INT)
Wisdom rises by 5 points. (+5 WIS)
Fame rises by 10 points. (+10 Fame)
New Skill: Runic Knowledge
Runes are the foundation of magic. With the right runes old spells can be unearthed and new ones created. As your skill level increases, you will gain access to wider array of runic symbols.
“Finally,” Weed breathed. He relaxed back onto the bench and drank the night air, his frustration melting away.
Runic Knowledge was a surprisingly rare skill. At level 200, virtually all magical classes were offered a research oriented path that granted the skill. Additionally, Runic Knowledge could be learned through the mage's guild. But few were the players with either the reputation points or the raw level needed to learn it.
As of those who did?
'Don't get Runic Knowledge'. 'Yeah, the scripting language sucks.' 'It's not so bad if you have prior programming experience.' 'Memorizing the runes is a pain though, take it from a software engineer, it's better to stick with the standard spells.'
The Royal Road forums were filled with such laments.
As for Weed? His interest was the simplest of all. Money! If a player had Runic Knowledge they could recreate existing spell. Spells whose scripts were recorded on the net by the thousand. And now that treasure trove was his.
“Ice Slide: eleven gold. Frost Spear: forty-two gold. Spells books are a drain on a wizard's account. Without Runic Knowledge, a wizard is doomed to poverty,” Weed noted.
Racking up the lose pages scattered about the table, Weed stored the translated copy of Fort on the Mountain in his inventory. Then, gleefully, he pulled out a runic script he had copied and converted from the net a day before. Clearing his throat, he incanted the phonetic symbols recorded on the page.
“Los cunn shar long...”
The chain of nonsense rolled on for a near minute.
“... chi ma uup!” Weed finished with delight.
Ding!
Learned Spell: Icicle
Mana: 45
Damage: 18-22 x2 Water
Cooldown: 10 sec
Requires: Water Elementalism [basic 1]
Incantation:
“Chilled dagger, freeze and pierce. Icicle”
This spell produces a frozen projectile that will transverse a distance of 25 meters.
New Skill: Water Elementalism
Water and ice bend to your will. With this skill, the elemental powers of water are yours to command. Stronger magic will be unlocked as skill level rises.
Increases the Power of Water Magic (+10% Effect)
Learning a spell instantly granted the skill required to cast it. For once, Weed felt a rising hope. Maybe, just maybe, this was the one.
“No. Until I get Iron Soul and Necromancy, this avatar is trash. It is best not to get my hopes up.”
The hardest part, after all, was yet to come.
-oOo-
Smack! A giant's fist crashed into Weed's cheek. The impulse traveled through his neck, rippled through his spine, and tore his body from the ground. Weed's frame rolled through the air before tumbling across the earth.
“Damned rat, why don't you give up?” Chuluun growled, stalking his downed foe. “In the last two weeks, I must have put you down a hundred times. You are like a rash. The more I scratch, the more irritating you become.”
Weed let out low groan and dragged himself to his feet. Chuluun loomed over him, his wrathful eyes a vision of hatred. The mocking teacher ignored Weed's moment of weakness. Instead, Chuluun took his pleasure by sneering down upon Weed's helplessness.
Rolling his shoulders and loosening his neck, Weed stood. His teeth ground in frustration. This bastard. With a lunge, Weed flashed forward. His fists lashed out in a rain of blows. His repeated strikes did not so much as touch Chuluun's shadow. The aged instructor floated around Weed's limbs with a speed and grace that defied his colossal size.
Then, in a blur, Chuluun vanished. Weed's feet exploded out from underneath him. An impossibly fast axe kick followed, crushing Weed's ribs and driving him into the earth. Air gushed from his lungs. The impact darkened his vision. Weed bounced off the dirt to rise half-a-meter back into the air.
Crack!
With an air shattering sound, the ball of Chuluun's foot penetrated Weed's chest. Skin and flesh bent at a sickening angle while underlying bone splintered into dust. Weed's tiny figure blurred across the training ground and crashed into a wooden pole. The beam snapped on impact.
Perseverance raises by 1 point. (+1 PER)
After coughing up half a lung, Weed stood again. The world swayed around him as he fought against the dizziness. That was the ninth point of Perseverance he had earned in two weeks. At this stage, he hardly paid it any mind.
The only thing Weed wanted now was to plant a fist in Chuluun's face.
Thirty fights and thirty beat downs. Though it was clear Chuluun's level was higher, Weed should have been able to land at least a few hits. Instead, Chuluun had proven as distant as the Moon. Fast. Unpredictable. Whenever it seemed the instructor was within Weed's grasp, Chuluun evanesced into nothingness only to reappear wherever he pleased.
Weed had never felt more humiliated in his life.
“I won't leave until I've turned your bones into a pulp,” Weed retorted.
“With those scrawny arms and that clumsy footwork?” Chuluun huffed disdainfully. “I have seen monkeys fight better than you, brat. Even if we battled for a hundred years, you would lucky to touch a wisp of my clothes.”
Weed eyed Chuluun carefully. Nothing showed in the instructor's stance. The giant of a man rested easily on the heels of his feet as though Weed offered less threat than a passing insect.
Weed leapt forward. His foot whipped out, aiming for Chuluun's knee. Chuluun effortlessly danced to the side, then casually leaned to evade the fist grazing his chin. In a blink, the giant vanished into a whirlwind.
Weed jumped, narrowly avoiding the thick leg that blurred underneath him. Weed twisted, lashing out with a foot directed at the crouching instructor's face. With incredible grace, Chuluun slid around the blow. Rising up, the giant's broad right hand snagged Weed's face. Chuluun twirled. Weed was wrenched from the ground then thrown into the dirt.
Weed struggled to stand. Chuluun, in cruel amusement, stomped on the small of Weed's back driving him back into the earth.
“That was slightly less pathetic than usual,” Chuluun commented. “Of course, even a dog can dodge if the same attack is used twice in row.”
Weed trembled on the edge of tears. A vile window had appeared before his eyes.
Level Up: Iron Fists [basic 2]
The terrifying fists of a monk. With this skill, a punch can replicate the power of a sword.
Increases attack power of fists (+140% ATK)
Increases attack speed of fists (+6% ATK SPD)
Iron fist, the cursed skill of a monk. Though the associated bonuses appeared high, they only served to raise the attack power of Weed's unarmed strikes to a level comparable with a sword. Rather than Iron Soul, Weed had been afflicted with this worthless skill. Now, as though joining Chuluun in his torture, Royal Road taunted him by raising Iron Fist to its second level.
Two weeks. Two weeks of pain without earning Iron Soul. Weed would have been better off bribing the master.
Releasing Weed, Chuluun lazily walked a few paces away with his back turned. Though it seemed a weakness, Weed knew better. That bastard. He was waiting for Weed to attack so that he could mock him when Weed inevitably failed.
“I grow bored of these battles. Brat, why don't you give up and go home?”
With a groan, Weed stood.
“Teach me Iron Soul and I will be happy to leave,” Weed retorted.
Chuluun grunted a laugh. “I must admit, I do not hate your tenacity. Are you certain that you do not wish to follow the path of the fist?”
Ding!
You have been offered the chance to become a monk. A monk is a class specialized in unarmed combat. As a monk, you will be a fearsome warrior that can kill an armed soldier with your bare hands. Do you accept?
Yes/No
NOTE: By accepting this class, you will locked into this path baring special quests or offers.
“I refuse.”
“And why not?” Chuluun demanded. “Give me a reason, brat. You owe me that after irritating me for two weeks on end.”
Weed shrugged off Chuluun's dark glare. The instructor's malice was nothing when set beside the pain he had already caused.
“I am going to be a mage,” Weed said stubbornly.
“You? A mage?” Chuluun's booming voice burst into laughter. “I suppose it fits your scrawny figure. But I suggest you give up on that dream, brat. You have eyes filled with fire. You were born for the battlefield. I know it. Become a monk, and I guarantee that you will be amongst the strongest on the continent.”
Ding!
You have been offered the chance to become a monk. A monk is a class specialized in unarmed combat. As a monk, you will be a fearsome warrior that can kill an armed soldier with your bare hands. Do you accept?
Yes/No
NOTE: By accepting this class, you will locked into this path baring special quests or offers.
Weed's brow twitched. How many times did he have to refuse this class?
“I already told you no.”
“I should have known from your bullheaded commitment that you would not be swayed by mere words,” Chuluun grunted in disappointment. “Very well. I will teach you Iron Soul, brat. Though it is a waste to train a puny little book worm, watching you flail about on the battlefield should bring a bit of amusement.”
Weed's heart soared. Through all the suffering he had endured shown a ray of light. Weed bowed his head low in a sign of respect.
“I will be honored to receive your teachings, great instructor Chuluun.”
Chuluun let out a low chuckle, his eyes holding a strange gleam. “Do not thank me yet, for I have not given my conditions. I will teach you Iron Soul, but in exchange I have a task you must complete. In my youth, I once encountered an irritating beast. Though it shames me to admit it, when faced with its prowess I was forced to flee. All I ask is that you take strike it with strength so that it knows my vengeance.”
Chuluun's amused smile was taunting, then that faint glimmer vanished into stone cold seriousness. “But if you are so pitiful that you can not do even that, brat, then I demand that you kneel before me and call me master.”
Ding!
Chuluun's Challenge
Through repeated battles, you have earned Chuluun's respect. He will teach you the skill Iron Soul, but only if you agree to his task.
Difficulty level: Unknown
Quest requirements: Unique
Weed scrutinized the giant. What kind of creature would trouble the evil and monstrous Instructor Chuluun? No matter how he looked at it, Weed felt that he was being swindled.
He stiffened his spine.
If Chuluun sent him after some terrible beast, so be it. The stronger the monster the more satisfying it would be when Weed rubbed his victory in Chuluun's face.
“I accept.”
Chuluun's eyes gleamed with poisonous malice. “Then this is what I ask. Venture forth into the frozen north. There you will find an ancient wyrm known by the name Nithhogr. Using nothing but your fist, strike him upon his head with such force that he is left staggered.”
Chuluun's Task
Chuluun's respect is only matched by his rancor. He has commanded you to strike Nithhogr, Tyrant of the North with nothing but your fist. The blow you deliver must be mighty enough to drain 1% of the serpent's life. Success, however might be the least of your worries. After angering Nithhogr, survival may well be an impossibility.
Difficulty level: S
Quest requirements: Unique
WARNING: If you fail or forfeit Chuluun's task, you will be immediately forced into the class monk and all future class changes will be forbidden without Chuluun's express approval.
Weed's mouth went dry. Though Royal Road was merely a game, a chill crept along his limbs. Nithhogr, Tyrant of the North. In all of Versailles, there were only four serpents that had been crowned with the title Tyrant. These were not mere dragons. They were dragon kings. The strongest of the strong. The very pinnacle of dragon kind.
And they ruled over their territory as though they were gods.
Since Royal Road's release, the Tyrants had been challenged but once. It had been early in the game, shortly after the highest-level players earned their first lordships. With armies at their beck and call, players had grown drunk with power. Believing themselves invincible, they had formed a host a hundred thousand strong and used it to assault Vasuki, Tyrant of the East.
The word massacre could not begin to describe the horror that befell.
When the first shot was fired, Vasuki took to the air. With his mighty breath, he scoured the throng. With his godlike magic, he tore battle lines apart. Great storms were summoned. Titanic cyclones were dropped from the sky. During the blood bath, Vasuki never once landed. He did not grant the lords the grace of scratching even one of his gleaming scales.
Players called it the War of the Paper Cut. The name, according to Internet legend, derived from the fact that Vasuki lost no more than a single hitpoint throughout the entire battle.
No one had attacked a Tyrant since.
It was at that moment Weed realized how much Chuluun hated him.
“And what will you do when I bring you Nithhogr's head?” Weed spat with a furious expression.
Chuluun unleashed throaty laugher. “Brat, if you bring me Nithhogr's head, then I swear I will teach you every skill I know.”
Now it was Weed's eyes that gleamed. Chuluun had made a grave error. His quest lacked a time limit.
“I will hold you to your word, oh honored Instructor,” Weed said without a shred of politeness. “Now, give me my reward.”
A crooked smile spread across Chuluun's face. The monstrous man cracked his knuckles. “Then hold still for a moment, brat. I promise that this will not hurt... me.”
Crack! Snap! Crunch!
Ding!
New Skill: Iron Soul
The hardy resilience of a monk. As skill level rises, natural defense will increase.
Increases natural defense by +10%
Increases natural defense by +1
Weed wondered, as Chuluun tore his bones apart, was there something wrong with feeling this much satisfaction?
-oOo-
New Skill: Earth Elementalism
Rocks and plants bend to your will. With this skill the elemental powers of the earth are yours to command. Stronger magic will be unlocked as skill level rises.
Increases the Power of Earth Magic (+10% Effect)
Slam!
The cover of a book smashed closed with echoing force. Nearby readers jumped then shot glares in Weed's direction. He was impervious to their stares.
“It took four days of prayer to gain Divine Healing, twenty-nine uninterrupted hours to learn Meditation, and two weeks of suffering to obtain Iron Soul,” Weed hissed with fury. “And what does it take to learn Earth Elementalism? A passing mention in a book!”
Weed's anger was driven by his latest setback. He had returned to the Great Library of Serabourg in search of the hidden skill Necromancy. Instead, Royal Road saw fit to reward his diligence by afflicting him with the skill Earth Elementalism.
Weed let out a frustrated a breath. “Two slots,” Weed reminded himself. “I still have two slots.”
Of the ten skill slots granted to unclassed characters, Weed had filled eight. If Weed had desired an ordinary skill, that would have been more than enough. But this was Necromancy, an ultra secret skill so well hidden that not a single player in all of Versailles had obtained it.
“I am a fool,” Weed lamented, clutching at his hair. “Instead of aiming for the jackpot, I should have focused on Necromancy from the start.”
Weed had created this character to map out a path for his sixth. But, for all that claimed intent, he wanted to start his adventures at once. He had reached for too much. This avatar is trash. Though Weed had repeated that line, the words had failed to reach his heart.
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What a fool he was.
“Can I really start over now?” Weed wondered. He stared at an open hand, wondering if he had the strength to try again. He shook his head, dismissing the train of thought. “No. I have two shots left. If I can obtain it....”
Squaring his shoulders, Weed prepared for another day of research. But, the moment he looked down at the books scattered in front of him his stomach curled in knots.
“This is a pit full of vipers.”
If the game could inflict Earth Elementalism for a glance at an page, it could just as easily grant a second skill. Suddenly, the library ceased to be a house of knowledge and instead became a mine filled battlefield. One wrong step and Weed's plot would meet its end.
“I can not learn Necromancy here,” Weed realized.
Royal Road had tens of millions of players and the fascination with Necromancy ran deep. There were entire factions of players who constantly begged the Unicorn Corporation to unlock the class. 'You know what would make the whole game better? Necromancy.' 'I really want to raise an army of the dead. If you let me do that, I swear I will worship you as a god.' 'It isn't fair that the only the NPCs can raise the dead. You really should let the players do the same.'
The complaints never ceased.
“If Necromancy could be obtained by normal methods, many players would have the skill already,” Weed deduced.
The secret of Necromancy would not be found in a library. With a hundred thousand players searching, all the ordinary clues had been uncovered. If Weed were to obtain a super-secret skill, he would have to rely on the sole advantage that unclassed characters had. Spontaneous skill generation.
“The 'Necro' in Necromancy means death.” Weed mused while pacing back and forth. “A necromancer, therefore, is a wizard that studies death. Thus, to learn Necromancy, I must study the dead?”
Weed nodded to himself decisively. With quick strides, he left the Great Library behind.
Rather than a cemetery, Weed sought the nearest park. Grave robbing was a serious crime. If Weed were to be caught in the act, he would be forced to spend a week in prison. Worse, he could be sentenced to community service. Either punishment would be the end of him, as Weed would be sure to generate a pair of undesired skills.
“The park belongs to the city but the animals belong to no one.”
Weed searched four locations before he found the one he wanted. The park was a quiet clearing situated in the far corner of the city. A dozen trees provided shelter from the sun and soft grass offered comfortable rest to any adventurer. Few visited here, as signaled by the birds that sang in greeting to the morn and the squirrels that danced amongst the branches.
Weed sat under the tallest tree.
At first there was silence. Fearful of the passing human, the animals held their breath. Then, slowly, they grew used to Weeds presence. The birds resumed their song and the squirrels scurried once more. Still, he waited. An hour passed. Then two. Only when the tree above him had filled with creatures did he act.
“Ancient earth, open your bowls and release the stench of the swamp,” Weed whispered. He raised a hand. “Poison Mist.”
A cloud of dense, green fog surged upward before ballooning into a massive cloud. In a rustle of feathers, birds burst from the leaves. Their squawks and cries ended in a terrible thump-thump-thump as their dying bodies rained down upon the ground.
Callously, Weed plucked the spasming creatures from the earth.
“Mommy, what is that person doing?” A child asked.
“Ignore that child,” a stern mother replied, quickly dragging her little girl far away, clearing the park of its last few visitors.
Weed ignored the murmuring of the public and settled himself under his tree. Drawing a small knife from his inventory, Weed set his blade against the chest of a quivering sparrow.
“If it is the study of death, then it must be dissection,” Weed declared with authority.
Whether it be Doctor Frankenstein or the Ancient Egyptians, all those who sought the secrets of death started their journey by tearing open a rotting corpse. To know death was to know life. If Weed was to gain the skill Necromancy, he had no choice but to do the same.
Weed pressed down. His blade slide into the sparrow's chest, cutting open a slit. With skin and feather peeled back, he poked at the creature's organs. The mesh of pink flesh was beyond his understanding, but amongst the pieces were a few parts that even Weed could identify.
“That must be the heart and these are the intestines,” Weed murmured. He prodded the sparrow's internals with his knife, forcing them to the fore so he could see more. “I'm not sure what this is. Lungs? Liver? Who has time the time to memorize a sparrow's body parts?”
Casting the bird aside, Weed reached for the next and cut it open.
Ding!
New Skill: Biology
Through the study of the natural world you can gain greater power over it.
Anatomical Study: Passer [23% complete]
+4.6% organ harvest rate
+2.3% critical damage
The effectiveness of skills dependent upon knowledge of the creature's body plan will be increased.
Weed froze. As he read the words his hands began to tremble.
“I want Necromancy not biology!”
Weed slapped the closest corpse aside in frustration, spilling blood and intestines across the ground. Body shuddering with anger, he stood and stalked back and forth for a few moments.
“It is impossible to completely avoid unwanted skills,” Weed reminded himself.
Two skills. Two unwanted skills in a handful of hours. It was enough to drive Weed insane. It was as though the game itself had realized his plot and was slamming the window closed in his face.
“I can't give up now. I still have one skill slot.”
Weed stared down at the corpses of the creatures gathered upon the ground. He looked at the knife in his hands.
“No. If I dissect another, I might get a medical skill like Anatomy or Surgery,” Weed muttered as he paced. He needed another approach. “'Necro' relates to corpses and death, but 'Mancy' derives from divination and magic. So, if I want to be a necromancer, I have to use magic on a corpse?”
Folding up his legs, Weed reviewed the dead animals arrayed before him. He ignored the dissected birds, fearing that a mere touch would be enough to spawn his final skill.
Weed contemplated his next action. With Runic Knowledge he could create any manner of custom spell, but he knew next to nothing about Royal Road's spell creation system. What runes would one use to animate a corpse? How were spells constructed?
“'Animate' derives from 'animus' which is life. So Necromancy is a magic that grants life to the dead?” Weed mused.
By that logic, a spell that brought back a zombie was one that granted life to a corpse. But the undead remained dead, so actual resurrection was incorrect.
“Animus is that which grants life or breath. So rather than life, perhaps what I need is a soul?”
There were hundreds of spells in Royal Road. There were magics that called forth great fires. There were potent buffs and vile curses. There were even rituals that summoned forth an elemental spirit to fight at the caster's side.
Surely then there was magic to turn a corpse into a puppet.
Weed rummaged through his inventory then pulled out a dictionary of runes. Ink and paper jointed it, the blank pages set atop a hard cover book to provide a surface. Ideas fluttered through his head. Weed looked up many runes. Symbols of binding. Sigils of summoning. Runes that granted life to dying flesh. Weed scrawled out the words in poetic prose.
Ding!
Spell Created: ????
Arcane Value: 1
… you do realize the magic is not poetry, right?
Number of spells created: 1
Runic Knowledge has gained experience.
“I am a genius,” Weed pronounced. With great pride he held up the parchment inscribed with runes. “Those who said creating magic was hard were wrong.”
Weed pulled a dead crow close. Mana pooled between his hands as he began his incantation.
“Heavenly spirit descend.
Enter into this dying flesh,
And grant to it renewed breath.
Then to me your will shall bend
and become my loyal friend!”
Light pulsed. Weeds mana pool drained to nothing. The crow's corpse jerked and shuddered. Muscles contracted and wings fluttered. The bird's neck contorted, twisting around with a nasty crack. A beady black eye glared into Weed's own.
Pop!
The crow's head exploded. Blood was splattered across Weed's face. With the sleeve of his newbie robes, Weed brushed meat and bone aside. He looked down upon the mess with a grimace then tossed the corpse aside.
“A failure,” Weed noted with a disappointed tone.
“I'd say. I mean, what were you thinking? Did you even read the words you wrote? It said 'dying flesh' not 'dead flesh'. Yeesh.” The voice chucked its tongue. “And don't even get me started on the loyal friend bullshit. Why, if I weren't so desperate for a body, I would have left you right then and there.”
Weed startled. His gaze swept the park, searching for the speaker. But the plaza was empty of life. The last pedestrians had long since fled Weed's macabre examinations. The trees themselves were silent, the remnants of nature having slipped into hiding in the face of his magic.
“Who's there?”
“Whoa! You can hear me? Sweet!” A cheerful voice called out. “Imagine that. A guess that spell was good for something after all. Must of put us in sync or something. That rhyme was really hideous by the way. In the future I would recommend that you... uh... stick to actual spells.”
Weed's head twisted, tracking the disembodied voice. The invisible speaker was bobbing and swirling around him in a way that left Weed dizzy.
“Yes I can hear you,” Weed responded, sounding miffed. “Now, who are you and what do you want?”
“Who am I?” The voice paused. “You know, that's a pretty good question. Well, I guess you could say that I am a nature spirit. Been floating around the parts for ages, bored out of my mind. So, when you tried that spell of yours, I tried to hitch a ride and got blown up for my trouble.”
Weed strained his eyes searching for the nature spirit a moment longer, but the unknown being remained out of sight. Finally, he folded his arms a plopped himself back on the dirt.
“Whatever you are, go away,” Weed said with a dismissive wave. “I'm working.”
Settling back into place, Weed scrutinized the lines. Where did he go wrong? Why did his spell fail? Weed stared at the page, seeking an answer within the runes displayed before him.
The nature spirit's annoying voice was quick to interrupt.
“Spells don't have to rhyme, you know.”
Weed shot a glare over his shoulder in the approximate location of the voice. “Go bother someone else.”
Silence pervaded for a few more minutes. Weed opened the Field Guide to Runes and the scanned the book for new sigils. Symbol by symbol he inscribed another line.
“Err, are you sure you can handle that rune? I mean, judging from your mana output, you are not what I would call a high level wizard,” the spirit ventured.
Weed ground his teeth and pressed on, but not before scratching out the previous sigil and replacing it with another.
“Honestly, you should just scrap the whole thing. It's obvious you don't have a clue what you are doing,” the spirit commented after another long moment.
Weed threw down his book in frustration. “Can you shut up?”
“Well... I suppose I could,” the spirit intoned, thoughtfully. “But, seeing as you are the only one who can hear me, I would rather annoy you until you get me a new body. Believe me, being a spirit is not all its cracked up to be.”
“If you want a body, just take one,” Weed spat, thrusting a hand toward the many corpses.
“Yeah.... About that,” the spirit drawled. “You see, I am what they call a nature spirit. That means I only play well with natural things and by natural I mean 'living'. Also, I'm going to need your mana, because I can't exactly influence earthly beings without a little 'umph', as they say.”
“As long as it's alive, it doesn't matter?” Weed asked, keen to get rid of the annoyance.
“Well no,” the spirit admitted. “You will have to displace the existing soul too. So unless you've got some serious mojo, that means my brand new body will have to be on the edge of death or otherwise weakened.”
“I see,” Weed said with narrowed eyes.
He stood and cast his eyes across the overhanging branches. Though the avian wildlife had fled, terrestrial creatures could not escape so easily. It took Weed but a few moments to spot his target.
“Poison Mist.”
The cloud of death exploded. A lonely squirrel fell from its tree. Weed watched the animal spasm for a few cruel seconds before approaching.
“Great Freya, cleanse this creature of this hateful venom,” he intoned. Weed waved his hand toward the rodent. “Antidote.”
Embers of white light fluttered around the suffering squirrel, leeching tendrils of green from its flesh. Eventually, the pained struggles stopped. But, before the creature could fully recover, Weed stooped down and snagged it by its neck. At first the dazed animal ignored the new threat, then as its awareness returned it began to claw at his hand.
You have lost 1 life point (-1 Life).
Grimacing in pain, Weed continue to hold the beast. His life drained away at a slow trickle, but Weed had no choice but to wait until his limited mana returned.
Minutes passed. The ravaging of the squirrel's claws rent his flesh, leaving behind a crimson lump of meat. Blood dribbled onto the ground, but Weed endured the pain with gritted teeth. No matter how the squirrel struggled, it was impossible to deal fatal damage to a limb. So, while Weed's health slowly faded it approached the critical point.
Weed's mana reached full.
He squeezed.
The squirrel squeaked. Its ribs cracked. The creature's life bar began to tumble. The rodent's struggles became all the more desperate as it fought to draw breath.
“Yeah, that's the point, right there. That fellow's soul is just seconds away from escaping this mortal coil,” the spirit informed. “Now pump that baby full of mana and I will slip right on in.”
Weed's brow scrunched in concentration. Slowly, mana pooled in his hands, flooding the dying squirrel. A sudden chill swept over his shoulder, ran down his arm, then dived into the animal. The rodent jerked once, then twice. Weed loosened his grip. The creature's jaw wiggled, stretching from side-to-side before gaping in a great yawn.
“Ah. Wow. It has been a long time. Feels weird,” the squirrel declared with a surprisingly deep voice.
The creature squirmed its way from Weed's hand. With quick, scampering steps, it leapt from the limb to land on a rock. There it stretched its spine, contorting its body until is resembled little more than a flat rope
“Yeah. That's the feeling,” the squirrel said with a contented sigh. “Let me tell you, a body is a wonderful thing. Thanks for that... uh... what was your name?”
“Weed,” Weed said. He glared down at the creature, his bleeding wounds already restored thanks to a a whispered Healing Hand. “Now that you are done, will you stop bothering me?”
“Weed?” The squirrel let loose a series of guffaws. “What a horrible name. If I had a name like that, I would curse my mother until the day I died.”
Weed's eyes narrowed into dark slits. “I chose that name for myself.”
“Wow, and I thought your poetry sucked,” the squirrel replied callously. “I am... err... well....” Silence dragged on, then the creature gave a low chuckle. “Ha ha ha. Funny. It seems I have forgotten my name. Say, since you gave me a body, perhaps you could name me as well?”
Ding!
Please name the nature spirit.
Weed seethed. This irritating creature! Was it ever going to leave him alone?
“Spirit,” Weed spat after a mere moment's thought.
“...” The squirrel's tiny eyes narrowed, perfectly conveying its contempt. “No. Seriously, can't you scrounge up a better name than that? I mean yeesh, if I'm going to have to deal with a master this bad, maybe I ought run off and make you suffer for it.”
Weed's brow twitched. He glared down at the creature daring it to defy him further. “Ghost.”
“.... I see. My worthless master wants to start his adventure with half his mana missing.”
Weed froze. His eyes narrowed. “Show stats!”
[quart=Health,Mana]111,102 (162)[/quart]
[quart=Strength,Agility]11,10[/quart][quart=Vitality,Intellect]11,16[/quart]
[quart=Wisdom,Charisma]15,5[/quart]
[quart=Luck,Faith]5,2[/quart]
[quart=Perseverance,Endurance]9,1[/quart]
[quart=Attack,Defense]7,1[/quart][quart=Fire,Water]0%,0%[/quart]
[quart=Earth,Dark]0%,0%[/quart]
[quart=Name,Alignment]Weed,Neutral[/quart][quart=Level,Profession]1,None[/quart]
Title
None
Fame
10
Resistances
This bastard!
Weed's maximum mana had been reduced by sixty points. Not only was the spirit wasting his time, it was stealing his mana! Rage eclipsed reason and Weed lunged from his seat. His arms shot out, closing upon the creature. The squirrel hopped back, leaving Weed's face to crash into a rock.
“Whoop. Careful there master, you could hurt yourself doing things like that,” the squirrel mocked.
Weed's hands flashed out, chasing the quick footed creature. The spirit danced out of range, teasing Weed with its greater agility. A few futile seconds, Weed sat back on his haunches in a huff.
“Give me back my mana, bastard.”
“Ha ha,” the squirrel fake laughed. “How about you give me a name instead?”
“Phantom.”
“No.”
“Specter.”
“Are you even trying?”
Weed glared. Not only was this creature stealing from him, it had the gall to mock Weed's naming sense. With grinding teeth, Weed pondered. A name. A name fit for a spirit. Spirit. Ah!
“Bem ju!” Weed declared.
The squirrel cocked its head to the side. “Bem ju,” the creature repeated as though tasting the word. “As in a liquor aged with a snake inside? Ha. My master's naming sense is truly terrible. But, I like it. From now on, you may call me Bemju.”
Ding!
You have gained the service of the greater nature spirit Bemju!
With your help, Bemju can possess weakened creatures. Possessed creatures exhibit the powers and attributes of the original, reduced depending on the binder's skill. However, as a greater spirit, Bemju will add his abilities to that of the possessed, potentially creating a being far superior to the original.
Bemju is an independent entity. His loyalty and service are not guaranteed. But as long as you to treat him with respect, Bemju will continue to aid you.
New Skill: Spirit Binding
There are innumerable spirits wondering the continent of Versailles. With this skill you can bind them into a prison of flesh.
Bound spirit stat modification: -29%
And just like that, Weed's final skill slot was filled.
“You,” Weed spat hatefully. “You cost me Necromancy.”
Bemju seemed to shrug. “Please, master. Did you honestly think you were going to raise the dead with that crappy incantation?”
Weed glared. “From now on, you are my meat shield.”
“Like hell,” Bemju retorted. The squirrel returned to the initial rock, where it stretched itself out lazily. “If you want someone to die for you, bind a lesser spirit. Dying is the only thing those idiots are good for anyway.”
Weed's nose curled at the lazy display. “Lesser spirits? What do you mean by that?”
“Yeah. Lesser spirits. There are hundreds of them wandering all over the place. As long as you have the mana, you can just snag them right out of the air and stuff them into any body you want. Every last one of them is an idiot, so they will die for you without question.” Bemju said with a light chuckle.
A dark gleam grew in Weed's eye. A cruel smile curled on his lips. “Really?”
“Really.” The squirrel glanced up, its face taking on the same dark expression as its master. “You know, I think this might be the start of a beautiful relationship.”
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