grievinglands
patreon
Book 5: Chapter 28 - The Winds & Waves (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-02-19 13:45:01 +0000 UTCA young scholar approached the master and said, “I have watched the great waves crash against the shore, and I believe I now understand the nature of the sea.”
The master shook his head and led his student to a quiet pond. Dropping a single pebble into the water, he asked, “Does this ripple reveal the depths below?”
The young man pondered and replied, “No, Master. It is but a surface disturbance.”
The master nodded. “Just as one ripple does not show the whole pond, nor one wave the entire sea, a single event cannot reveal the totality of existence. True wisdom sees beyond the momentary truths.”
- The Book of Wise Tellings from the Land of Streams.
A splash of saltwater caught me across the visor, and I tasted brine on my lips as the surf crashed against my heavy greaves. The roar of the tide might have been deafening to mundane ears, but to me, it was little more than a dim undercurrent. My mind was too consumed by an unquenchable thirst for violence, for more precious experience, to pay much heed. Wind whipped against my armor, and the hiss of briny foam clung to every joint. Yet none of that mattered, not when my weapon sang its murderous tune. I remember the crunch of bones, the sweet screams of pain. But, before I knew it, my time on that blood-soaked stretch of the Path had ended.
Too soon. Far too soon. They fled with swift footsteps, their retreat so abrupt that my experience bar had not even reached the halfway mark. Truly vexing. In antiquity, it was seldom that soldiers stood until every last man lay dead. Instead, they broke once a fraction of their numbers, and even more quickly if an easy route of escape was open to them.
And so, as the last of them scrambled away to their elegant longboats, pushing them back into the sea, I found myself sinking in wet sand, the water washing up to my upper thighs. Each wave brought a dull chill as the water seeped in around the joints of my armor. The magical shield swirling around me, born from the elven elemental attack on me, had dwindled to nearly nothing.
The voices—chaotic and half-wild—clamored for more violence, shrieking for new victims, but even I could see that wading deeper would be ill-advised. The surf had grown treacherous, the ocean’s pull an ever-present danger, and I felt the small pang of self-preservation remind me that death by drowning would be an ignoble end indeed.
And though I could not see it, I felt a presence beneath the waves. A deeper thing that was waiting for me to intrude further into its territory.
Clenching my gauntleted fists, I let loose a scream of sheer frustration, a keening wail that tore from my lungs and carried across the surf. That echoing cry was the manifestation of long months spent in cramped caravans, of humiliations endured, of cunning negotiations that had fallen through. Anger at everything—at the elves, at the cowardly men of Al-Lazar, at the gods themselves. For a moment, that scream was cathartic, as though each note carried away the splinters of my old rage.
Thoughts once wholly devoted to the slaughter on the fight became scattered. It took several long drawn breaths before they began to drift back toward a semblance of coherence. My arm twitched, phantom eager for more kills, but the moment was long lost.
Still, I savored the undeniable triumph: I had tested elven blood this day and found it crimson as any other. Just… sweeter, in a way, for its spilling yielded much greater rewards than that of my fellow man. That heady rush of experience teased me, an ambrosia I had grown addicted to. Even their slender limbs, graceful as forest creatures, had proved no match for my black-and-gold warplate.
The arrogant elves had fled, pushing longboats into the surf, their fear lending their arms strength and their flight speed. But it was not a total rout, arrows rained upon me in a half-hearted barrage as those already aboard their escape craft sought to cover their allies. They sent a nation’s wealth in God-metal my way, clattering uselessly off my heavy adamantine plate harness. Though much, much heavier, adamantine really was the equal to Mithril. Despite being annoyed by their desperate attempts, I finally turned away from the seawater, cursing them as I stumbled onto the drier sand, each step a squelch of brine and foam.
Fate forced me to be a generous god.
I headed back toward the place of negotiations, a trampled patch of beach where we had first attempted to parley. In the churned sand, among the detritus, I spotted one of the elf women lying twisted and groaning. Her hair gleamed red in the noon sunlight, damp with salt and blood. She was badly broken, yet she tried to crawl away from me. I stepped to her side, and without a second thought, I grabbed a fistful of her hair, hoisting her upward.
The elf emitted a shrill, pitiful wail, cursing me in her melodic tongue. I silenced her by forcing a weak healing potion down her gullet. It would be enough to stem the bleeding as I dragged her across the beach. There was no point wasting good Mana on creatures such as this. Each sputtering breath, each pained sob, was an ugly harmony to the crash of waves. I spared her little sympathy. She would serve nicely as a hostage, or at the very least perhaps a source of information about these foul elves.
I was not, however, the only one who desired her retrieval. Moments after I had seized the red-haired elf, a new sound split the sky. It was not the sharp whistle of arrows or the beat of war drums, but a keening shriek from above. I peered upward, teeth clenched behind my visor. Dark shapes against the brilliant sun, winged silhouettes coming towards me at speed.
The creatures were massive eagles—impossible beasts out of a fable—each bearing a slender rider astride its back. They swooped overhead, their shadows dancing across the surf and sand. My first expectation was a volley of arrows, but the riders had something deadlier in store. They threw great flechettes, heavy metal spikes that rained down in lethal arcs. Their impact was violent enough to crack the earth and send plumes of sand into the air. In short order, my battered magical shield born from the confluence of elven offensive magic and my aura spells, finally gave way under this onslaught.
An explosive clang rang through my armor as one flechette slammed into my cuirass, staggering me back. Though there was no pain, a harsh jolt made my vision flare. My armor did not yield, but the blow did damage nonetheless, and I saw my Health bar dip. It was not a clean, one-shot kill, but enough repeated hits would whittle me down eventually.
Snarling, I pulled the half-conscious elf woman closer to my side. “It seems they do not value you at all,” I hissed, letting cruelty drip from my voice. “Your people leave you to the mercy of a mere Dayspawn. You should have chosen better friends if your kind understands such a concept.”
Ignoring my words, and though her voice quavered, she spat at me. “Let go of me, you primitive ape!” she cursed, her eyes flashing defiance beneath her pain. Yet I saw fear lurking there, a knowledge that there would be no rescue. Her life did not matter one whit to those who had taken up command of her expedition.
Another flechette thundered into my right pauldron, and I grunted, nearly losing my grip on the elf. My Health continued its slow bleed downward. These winged riders circled like vultures, well beyond the range of my crossbow or offensive spells.
I thought to hurl my magical dagger, blessed with the power of the Wind up at the eagles, and picturing it flying into the blue beyond. The voices clamored in dismay at the idea of losing my weapon, and though they shrieked for me to feed them more violence, they also whispered caution.
You are the anchor for this vessel. It is not time yet to release the calamity, they spoke with words filled with a dangerous sanity.
“I am the anchor for Zariyah, it is not quite yet time to free her. Not just yet,” I echoed to myself, my voice hollow. Of course, that was it, it had to be.
So, instead, I summoned my Mimic Shield. A writhing mass of black, worm-like threads extended from my left arm, shaping themselves into a broad barrier, a near-perfect replica of Gersal’s spiked tower shield. The flechettes continued their assault, hammering down in a barrage that felt like an unrelenting thunderstorm. Each impact bit into the Mimic’s Health, a slow but constant wearing away of its essence. Every so often, I would feel a slight drain of vitality as the shield tried to regenerate, feeding upon my own reserves.
Despite the punishing hail, I pressed forward, trudging across the sand. Al-Lazar’s walls rose in the distance— weathered by centuries of conflict and the elements, but still standing tall. If I could reach those walls, their siege engines might provide cover, the ballistae and spring-powered Hwacha analogs forcing the aerial threat to disperse. And, if memory served correctly, there should be Mages too upon the walls capable of making some form of a magical counterattack. The question was whether my Mimic Shield and I could endure all the way there. And that was before counting the dead weight of the woman in my arms.
I needed to move faster. My feet pounded in rhythm with my fast-beating heart. I activated Dash, feeling a sudden surge as I burned Stamina to empower my limbs. My movements became a blur, though carrying an extra load—namely a battered, screaming elf—was not ideal. Sand flew in every direction from the force of my sprint. Flechettes whizzed overhead, shrieking as they tore the air around me. My shield was battered relentlessly, each impact causing me to grit my teeth. Still, I made progress.
But then a particularly vicious salvo descended. I saw only a flicker of shadows in the corner of my vision before I was forced to use Improved Rush Strike as Dash was on “cooldown.” With a grunt, I lunged forward, striking nothing but air, but the movement let me dodge a fresh cascade of deadly spikes. The game’s system recognized my desperate maneuvering.
You have learned Improved Dodge (lvl.4)
I almost laughed aloud, despite my dire straits. Still, should I survive this, I vowed to no longer play the empty role of the hero.
Yet I pressed on, caught in the open with no solid shelter in sight. There would be no refuge among the dunes, and the abandoned farmstead buildings would never withstand the flechettes. Their roofs would be shredded in seconds. So I continued my plodding run toward Al-Lazar, every muscle aching, every breath tasting of salt and blood.
My captive moaned, struggling in my grip. In a desperate act, she twisted her head around and tried to claw at my gauntlet. An ill-timed flechette nearly knocked me off balance, so I retaliated with a slap that broke her feeble defiance, sending her into unconsciousness. Part of me hated having to take my hand to a woman, but survival took precedence.
I was struggling, it would have been much easier without my captive, and for a heartbeat, I considered tossing her side. But, I felt the overwhelming need to complete the bonus objectives for this stage. There would be more rewards for that after all.
Where was the city’s promised rescue? Where were the cavalry sallying forth to escort the First Tamkar of Al-Lazar? The gates remained shut in rebuke at this thought.
Cursing under my breath, I drew the magical dagger from my belt and hurled it skyward in frustration. The blade whirled end over end, trailing a faint, glinting arc. For an instant, I prayed it might lance through one of the eagles. Instead, I felt my connection to the weapon become ever tenuous and the voices within roiled in alarm.
Bring it back, they whispered again. You are the anchor; it is not yet time to release the calamity.
I snarled and called the dagger back, feeling it snap to my open hand, blade quivering with frustration. My lips twisted into a bitter grin. Not yet time to free Zariyah from her confinement, no matter how badly I wanted to unleash the storm on those flying gnats.
A savage barrage of flechettes rained down again, each clang ringing in my ears. My Health dipped steadily. The Mimic Shield’s surface had grown ragged and pitted. At this rate, it would soon run out of Health. Still, I maintained my pace, breath rasping, and my blood still boiling.
Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of movement on the horizon—a lone figure riding out from the gate. At first, I thought it a scout, or maybe a foolhardy champion who believed they could drive off the eagles. But as the figure drew nearer, I saw the lumbering shape of a donkey rather than a warhorse. Then a flash of pale hair. My heart gave a confused jolt.
Larynda.
But, she looked different. What happened to her ears?
The Silver-ranked adventurer rode with surprising speed, the donkey’s hooves kicking up clouds of sand along the beach. My first thought was that she had doomed herself by coming to my aid. Did she think her presence would help me somehow? More likely, I would end up protecting her.
But as she drew closer, perhaps no more than two hundred paces to me, the eagles and their riders took note of her as well. A cluster of flechettes sailed down, aimed straight for the girl. My heart clenched, but above Larynda’s head swirled a disc of twisting purple energy. A flickering protective spell that deflected each spike with a sizzle of magical sparks. My eyes widened. The girl had learned new tricks.
She reached me, reining Patches to a halt. The donkey brayed nervously as flechettes gouged fresh craters in the sand around us. I forced myself to stand straighter, ignoring my battered ribs but slowly regenerating ribs.
“So, they sent you,” I muttered through clenched teeth, turning slightly to shield her from the brunt of the next barrage.
“Captain Tikirit was going to sally out with a proper force,” she explained, her voice trembling with anger, “but when he saw the eagles, he panicked. Claimed he wouldn’t risk his men with ‘uncertain factors’ at play. It was all I could do to make them open the gate for me!”
“You are telling me that a Captain of Al-Lazar is cowering in the courtyard while a little girl rides out alone?” My bitterness was evident. “Cowardly men like that will be the death of civilization. They will be dealt with in time.”
She bristled for a moment. Shaking her head, the girl pointed to the unconscious in my arm. “And who is that?”
“My hostage,” I spat, hoisting the elf’s limp form onto the donkey behind Larynda. I tried not to wince as I did so. My body was resistant to pain not immune to it and had suffered quite a bit of damage. “We’ll need to learn everything we can about these elves. It seems they have armies at sea and in the sky.”
“You should have brought a spare mount,” I added.
The girl gave me a long, level look. “It was not something I had enough time to plan for. It was more of a heat of the moment sort of something. Besides, I don’t think a normal mount could bear the weight of well… all of that.”
Another flechette thundered off the edge of the Larynda’s magical shield, dimming its purple hue. “You should not have come unless you had a real plan.”
Her eyes flashed with rebellious defiance. “I do have a plan. Just give me a few moments to gather my Mana!”
She began chanting softly, an incantation that tugged at some old memories. I recognized fragments of the invocation—she was trying to do a Water Calling.
“This is no time to conjure a drink for that donkey!” I half-shouted, spittle flecking my lips. “We need to move!”
But Larynda ignored me, shooting me a dirty look as she continued to focus on her spell. The ambient Mana prickled against my skin even as flechettes continued to rain down, each blow sapping more strength from Larynda’s shield. The donkey brayed and shifted restlessly, but at least the brave beast was not yet fully panicking.
Then I felt a sudden shift in the air. The sky overhead had been bright, nearly cloudless, yet now the atmosphere rippled. With a final word, Larynda completed her incantation. The air cracked, and the first droplets of moisture began to fall.
At first, it was only a drizzle, almost laughable compared to the violent storm of flechettes. But that drizzle swelled into a steady downpour in mere heartbeats. The raindrops struck my armor, forming a thin layer of ice upon it. In the distance, the sky darkened as if roiling clouds had gathered from nowhere.
Miraculously, the eagles shrieked in alarm. The giant birds, which had been so confident moments before, began to falter in their flight patterns. One rider tried to hurl another flechette, but the eagle beneath him bucked and banked sideways. Its wings were getting drenched, and it could no longer ride the thermals.
I blinked, half-incredulous. The next moment, the eagles retreated, turning back toward the elven ships. The riders seemed desperate to escape the downpour. Within seconds, the metal rain of flechettes ceased entirely, replaced only by the patter of water.
I exhaled a ragged breath, dismissing my battered shield back into my body. Larynda’s magic had unexpectedly saved us. A strange and most illogical miracle. But I guess that was what magic was, the absence of logic. The bridge between its user will and the current state of reality. The game was generous today and gifted my revelation with another small bonus:
You have gained 1 Wisdom
I snorted. Wisdom. An attribute I rarely valued as highly as Strength, Constitution, or Intelligence. Still, I would not refuse it. Any sliver of improvement was better than nothing. It was also rather ironic that I was, according to the spread of my attributes, “Wiser” than I was “Smart.” Such utter piffle.
When I glanced at Larynda, smiling at me weakly. Her complexion was pallid, the spell had taken much out of her. The roiling purple disc that had shielded her from flechettes was gone, likely dismissed to preserve her remaining Mana. The donkey stood patiently, soaking wet but relieved to no longer be the target of a barrage.
“What… how?” I asked incredulously, trying to piece together the logic. I had half-expected something more overtly destructive, like slicing water blades or columns of scalding steam.
Larynda mustered a smile, though I could see the exhaustion behind her eyes. “A spell like that, I needed to get close to the sea to better connect with it and focus my Ma’at. Birds—especially large ones like those there eagles—don’t fly very well in heavy rain. Their feathers get waterlogged, I think. Anyway, I’m glad it worked.”
I stared at her, momentarily dumbfounded. “I… suppose so, but we would have been in a worse predicament if they were like seabirds,” I shot back defensively. “You took a big risk.”
She rolled her eyes, punching my shoulder guard lightly. “And you took a big risk coming out here with no support. I guess foolishness cancels foolishness.”
A bitter laugh escaped my throat, cut short by the ache in my ribs. “I did not remain out there alone by choice. Negotiations turned sour and someone had to act in the role of rear guard. I thought Al-Lazar would stand by me if the elves turned hostile. Instead, I find myself abandoned and I question how much the city values me.”
To this, she simply just gave a shrug that spoke volumes. Larynda glanced at the captive elf, who was still unconscious but now stirred slightly with the donkey’s jostling. The red-haired prisoner moaned in pain. Blood matted in her hair, and I wondered if she might expire before we reached the city. It would not do to lose such a valuable source of information and I forced another Health potion down her, spilling much of its contents on the sand. It would have to serve.
“Let’s get back behind the walls,” Larynda said, ignoring my rough first aid and coaxing Patches to start moving. The donkey trudged forward, water streaming off its hide. The sky cleared overhead, the last remnants of Larynda’s spell disappearing into the aether. “The gate should be open for us now.”
I nodded, gesturing for her to lead on while I took one look back.
In the distance, I watched the eagles make their landing upon the massive elven ships, each a floating fortress in its own right. Though temporarily stymied, the elves had the advantage now over the ground-based forces of Al-Lazar. However, for now, at least, I hoped I had given them enough of a bloody nose to spare us from immediate further assault.
