AbyssalRoadTrip
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Chained - 11
🕑 Added 2022-01-07 12:38:01 +0000 UTCMother’s instructions about my classes hadn’t been about control but preserving her legacy. The higher my level as a Kyton, the greater my Endurance, Dominator increases Willpower, and Fighter my Strength. Now I’ve taken classes to add to my Quickness and Intelligence, but I need to get back to progressing Willpower as soon as possible to keep up with my growing chains.
The jittering movements of the chairs last night plays within my mind. I hadn’t felt the vibrations or even distant from me at first. I’d simply willed the metal objects attached to the chairs to lift and move in time with me, and it had worked. The testing beforehand had proved it possible, but I hadn’t expected the night’s changes. The surrounding metal changed to become a web that resonated with the wind, shifting the chairs after long hours of use.
Chain Control allows me to prevent the chains from rattling, but I can feel them pressing me down into the gravel. The power coils in my grasp and flex of a mental arm slightly lift them from me. The softening of the pressure eases the rasping motion of the gravel beneath my feet. A slight withdrawal of Chain Control sets them weighing me down again. Each step creates a noise, a hiss in my awareness, the warning of a snake when I release them more, and they press harder against me.
I’d disregarded Metal Control too much. No other Kyton possesses it to my knowledge, so I’d kept it hidden since it had made little difference. Maybe I can do far more with them together than I’d expected. If so, how much longer will I be able to support Mother’s legacy?
Slowly, bit by bit, I let the control loose and the shroud’s junction is now fully resting on my head and grinding against bone. On the next step, I feel the blood drip and freeze in place. The chains are sleep deadened limbs with no sense of touch, feeding me hundreds of positions as the vibrations of every link tease with the potential for so much more. The sheer weight of the controlled chains I’d allowed to balloon to their proper size had cracked stone. When I take the weight back up and then release it fully, they drive me ankle-deep into the gravel, using my feet as a sledgehammer’s strike.
Control, my life is about control; the weight crushing down against me breaks my shoulders, my collarbones and cracks my neck. Yet all I feel is pleasure, not just a momentary release of tension but genuine pleasure, and I pull the chains back under control again. Flesh heals, bones straighten, and I’m back in control again. The chains hold me up now, with loops supporting me instead of the other way around. I’m the ultimate cutter, and the very thought makes me sick.
It’s an exercise of control for humans to cut themselves, and here I’m doing so much worse. The same emotions that provoke Humans to take up cutting are present in me: anger, frustration, and so much pain—warped into pleasure. When did I stop thinking of myself as a trapped Human?
Breathing deep, brings a taste of ice, snow, death, and something alive. The death scents provide me a count of the things cast upon the shoreline, for however far distant the wind brings them. A touch of focus on aromas catalogues them quickly as a mother bear and her young cubs.
Unlike the stench of fat-laden marrow, the living scent is promising—something interesting—beckoning me along not just from curiosity but also from the threat of my chains. It’s a predator’s scent, something strong enough to take out a mother bear. I don’t know if the predator is an animal or a monster, but my need to get stronger digs within my mind. The pressure of the chains mocking my desire to progress my new classes, knowing I’ll need to be stronger in body and will to resist them.
The taste of their scent sparks an awareness I don’t understand. Mother’s memories are so ancient; I’m not sure how she’d know of modern creatures, something not from billions of years ago. Were there bears in her previous universe somehow, or had someone brought her a snack?
But it’s not the taste of the bears that grab attention, but a frost coated scent that accompanies them. The difference almost like biting into an ice coated cold cut instead of a juicy, warm steak. Something abnormal, and memories that are odd compared to the others I’ve felt from Mother struggle and flip about until—finally—the name comes.
Winter Wolves.
[Wyrm Senses [M] (6->7)]
As much as the others disgust me, the girls’ and Gaius’ safety requires the others to know that there are dangers about. They’ll pick off the weakest in a group first, using their screams to invoke fear and improving the flavour of their next victim’s meat. I’m not sure how such information is in Mother’s blood, but the Dragon memories taste of amusement in the knowledge and aroma.
“What’s got you so distracted?” Inger asks from downwind, and I barely stop myself back from spearing a chain in her direction.
“Come to yell at me at me some more?”
Turning to see what she’s up to, I find an exhausted Gaius walking alongside her.
Inger grinds her teeth and mutters, but I can still make out her words. “You didn’t answer the question.”
The scents are playing games in the breeze. Mingling in with the stench from the dead bears makes it hard to separate them further, but I keep at it even as I risk poking at Inger. “I didn’t hear you offering to trade for the information.”
“Does everything have to be a trade with you?” Inger asks, through still clenched teeth.
“Not always, but my terms this time are simple. I tell you, and you tell the others while I hunt them down.”
Ilya looks at me suspiciously. “That sounds entirely too reasonable, but it’s also not what I’m here for Titus asked me to escort Gaius to see you. Since you pointed out he should remain protected.”
“Wow, taking his safety semi-serious at last. Gaius, I’m not interested in a kiss when you look like you could fall asleep partway through.”
“I’m not here regarding your payment,” Gaius refutes almost nervously. “I’d like some answers, and I’m willing to trade for them. You’ve only just started learning to be an Artificer, and while I could use some assistance with the sword, I don’t need to do anything but teach you by rote. I’m offering to teach you Artificer skills properly for answers to questions. It will save you time and stop you having to discover things like the energy backlash you had with the rock at the first camp.”
“An interesting suggestion, but I can wait until I’m back in Hell before I bother to learn.”
“You’re not waiting, so don’t play that game. If you were going to wait, you wouldn’t have practiced engraving runes into tiles and stones.”
I smile mockingly and shrug. “How do you suggest we begin, then?”
“Answer some questions from Inger and I’ll start by teaching you runes for setting a basic conditional structure around runes to trigger an effect.”
“You’re already in debt to me for the last leg of travel,” I say,
“I’ll include a condition rune in the first lesson,” offers Gaius. And yet, while tempting, it isn’t what I’m after now; I’ve too little information.
“I want something right now as well,” I state.
“What, me kissing you then?” sneers Inger.
“A line from this Mithras’ prophecy for every question you ask, paid in advance,” I say, tilting my head to catch the scent still coming over my shoulder.
“What does that get-”
The twitch of my lips silences whatever Inger was about to ask. “Those are my terms: A line from this Mithras’ prophecy for every question you ask, paid in advance.”
“You’re just going to take—”
Gaius’ cutting motion stopped her, and he gives me a wary smile. “She can taste the truth; she’ll know if we’re lying.”
“Oh, very good, you remembered—at last.”
Gaius doesn’t even pause but talks over top of my interruption, ignoring the glare he gets. “She would have taken that question as the first one you wanted to be answered. She was sociable initially. I don’t know why she’s playing word games now.”
His passive-aggressive tone only earns him a snicker. “I was told I was the bitch. Are you looking to take that role on?”
“Perhaps I need something to answer your questions,” says Gaius, crossing his arms, though exhaustion weakens his stance.
My swaying chains give but the merest hints of skin, and I emphasise my husky voice. “I’ll let you see me naked again.”
“You already said you wanted me to fuck you,” counters Gaius, keeping a straight face despite his bulge.
I just show him my palm, but their blank reaction prompts me to respond. “I already pointed out my limited options there, so don’t flatter yourself.”
The scent of anger flows so sweetly from him, an emotion far safer than an infatuation with danger.
Inger steps between us, and flushes under my wandering gaze.
“The prophecy isn’t that long; one line should get three distinct questions answered with any reasonable clarification requested.”
“Two, and reasonable clarification means an explanation of words, not additional information.”
The wolves’ scent has been growing stronger, but a shift in the breeze from the ocean has them vanish. Inger’s gaze widens—my rumbling growl startles me as well—but she stands her ground.
“Four, if that is the limit you’re placing on reasonable.”
“Ask your questions,” I snap, moving back towards the camp, tasting the air for a trace. “Two in advance, the line, and the next two.”
“Why did you lie to me about the girls? What’s got you so distracted now?” Inger asks trying to get in my way as I start moving
Stepping around her, I keep moving for the camp, and Inger follows light-footed across the snow. “Horatia already heard what I told Iarien. You’re going to waste a question on that information?”
“I want to hear your response for myself, not relayed.” insist Inger, grinding her teeth at the smirk, but I don’t stop.
“You lied to yourself. I didn’t say I’d even asked for their Souls, I just agreed I’d release them. You would have been better off with the first request you made to let them out of the contract,” I say, and motion northward. “Your second question, Winter Wolves are somewhere northward of us and coming closer, but the breeze shifted and I hadn’t figured out exactly how close.”
“Níðingr,” Inger spits the word, and turns northwards, words already flowing in Celestial. Only her focus having shifted away stops me from dropping her to the snow. The thing that shimmers into existence tastes born from the wind, and is the first Air Elemental I’ve seen. The outline of it dancing about in my vision, but Gaius’ gaze doesn’t even flicker, clueless to its presence.
“You seem obsessed with the girls so I won’t ask you how far away their scent tastes; I’m sure you’ll provide information to keep them safe.”
“Two, maybe three kilometres, but they were getting closer.”
Dropping a plate of iron from my Inventory I hover it near Gaius. “Get on, I’m not leaving you behind. I’ll keep it just above the snow, wouldn’t want you getting too excited.”
“There’s no need for that,” Inger says, before switching to musical words, and a point spent adding Auran to my languages lets me catch the end of her request—not order—to kill the wolves and bring their bodies back. Not sure when I’ll need to speak it next, but it’s a language kinder to the ears than Infernal. The Elemental vanishes northwards in a blur when Inger asks it to begin its sweep.
Moving the plate back within reach, I store it away and phrase my question carefully. “You can show respect to an Elemental, but you can’t show me any. Most Wizards consider Elementals mindless drones, yet you requested it to aid you.”
Inger snorts and distaste twists her lips. “I’m not a Wizard, and their energy is part of the world in which we live, not something to treat with contempt.”
“You were pretty quick to treat me with contempt despite my repeated warnings on other matters.”
“I don’t know what to think of you, you played me,” grumbles Inger. “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”
“Is that another question, before I’ve even received one line of prophecy?”
Inger’s gaze goes flat and recites in sing-song Norse, not the Latin I’d expected. “When the blade of the eagle’s guardian stabs the sky, the hoary-frost way will open.”
I don’t know my expression, but Gaius speaks up quickly. “We revere Mars as the God of War, but also the Guardian of Agriculture.”
“Do you know what the conditions of the pact sworn by the High Priests in this expedition are?”
“I love the precision of your wording, trying to close loopholes off—a valiant effort. Only what the general taste of energies tells me. It will be fun to see if the contract causes me to violate it in a fashion that causes an extreme penalty, don’t you think? Mutually exclusive terms with terminal consequences could make things interesting.”
“If our pact destroys you?”
“Then I get sent back to Hell and can’t fulfill the contract. Gaius gets free, but Mithras is out of luck. Now I’ve a question for you, but I don’t need an answer—I merely want you to think about it. The question is: why did you assume I’d bargained for their Souls?”
“You’re a Devil,” sneers Inger, and goes wide-eyed in surprise. “No, you’re not, and you’d already told us all that.”
Anger burns in my chest, and only her quick retraction stops me from spitting in her face, but my growl has her stepping back. “Shocking right, maybe you should actually listen, and not just ignore my warnings. Are you done with the questions for now? Or do I have the pleasure of your company for longer?”
“Yes, I am. Done with the questions, I mean. I’ll go back once the Elemental returns, otherwise it might get confused.”
Gaius speaks up to break the uncomfortable silence after minutes with no sign of the Elemental. “Do you agree to trade information for lessons?”
I count to ten before I answer, struggling to pull in my calm against the tide of anger still pounding through my brain. “As long as the information is about Hell for whatever writings you want to leave behind. I won’t be answering personal or expedition questions with our arrangement. You two can wait here; I’m making sure the wolves haven’t gotten the girls already.”
“I think that’s your answer to that, Sidero,” Inger says, motioning to a mass lifting over a northern ridgeline. The returning Elemental carries three wolves that look shaped from frost and stone. Their bulging eyes and lolling tongue make it clear it suffocated them.
The Elemental races above the gravel faster than an arrow’s flight, and halts instantly, before dropping the wolves at Inger’s feet.
Fur like iron wool barely shifts to a nudge, and I press down with my foot before it bends at all. Crouching near the biggest beast doesn’t get a reaction, but a spike slapping into my hand and changing into a blade prompts Inger to step clear. The fur hisses against my senses, its odour a bubbling froth digging at the scents and sounds about me. To me, the scent and sound of dry ice burns the surrounding air, but the Mortals seem oblivious.
“What are you doing?’ asks Inger.
The blade touching the wolf’s fur doesn’t cause a reaction, and it seems the Mountain Elves aren’t the only creatures that keep immunity to cold in death.
“I thought I’d skin them, or did you want the fun?”
The first long cut along its leg that breaks down through the fat and intention again proves to be the key to unlocking a Skill.
[Skinning Unlocked!
Skinning (1)
Scarification Synergy detected Adept rank
Skinning (1) -> [Ap] (20)
Hunter Class bonus levels added
Skinning [Ap] (20->26)
]
“Have you ever skinned anything?” Inger asks quickly, only to hiss in frustration.
Glancing up the conflict on her face has me smiling far more honestly than I remember for an age and the words come out free of anger. “If you attempt to treat me with respect, we might get back to having a conversation instead of an interrogation.”
Inger motions to the cut I’d made and keeps her voice polite. “Sidero, have you much experience skinning kills?”
“Why Inger, how lovely to talk in a civilised fashion. Never a kill, only myself or one of my kin, when I messed up a tattoo, but that’s different. Apparently, my scarification techniques don’t carry over to straight skinning, so it feels awkward. Why do you ask?”
“If you haul it aloft, it’s easier to manage the corpse and to make clean long cuts,” Inger suggests and starts when I give her a nod of thanks.
Her suggestion prompting me, I haul all three of them up by their back legs and adjusting the chains start towards the camp with them. “Let’s get closer to the camp. Your Elemental killed three, but I don’t know how big their packs are on this world.”
“There are other worlds?” exclaims Gaius and groans when he realises it came out as a question.
“Your kin have a reputation for being sadistic torturers,” Inger says more carefully, and I smile at how she’s adapting.
“It’s not an undeserved reputation. It’s hard to understand another’s pain when your own body translates it all to pleasure.”
“Have you ever tortured someone?” asks Inger hesitantly.
“Do you want those questions answered?” I ask, stopping to glance back at them. “Because neither of them is really about our situation, so I’d like another line of your prophecy. That first one was essentially what Gaius had already told me.”
At the scent of their uncertainty, I shake my head. “Have a think about what you want to ask and what you want to trade, but for now be good and keep track of Gaius. Though by the way Gaius, how dangerous is the craft of Artificers?
“I don’t see what that has got to do with what we were talking about,” states Gaius.
“It has a lot to do with your offer of training, and about you.” I reply quickly.
“It can be very dangerous, Sidero. With spells they’ll either form or not, that’s not the case with runes. You could make only a slight mistake in forming one in a hundred, and you won’t know the object is flawed until you test it. Flaws can range from wearing the object’s material out too quickly, to it exploding, unleashing the effect on the wielder, or dozens of other things.”
The scents coming off him thicken with excitement as he goes into details, and I keep a grimace from my face.
“I’m pretty sure you’re addicted to danger, likely it’s why you got to be a Master Artificer so fast—you were happy to take chances others wouldn’t. Does danger get you excited? The blood pumping make your nerves and mind feel sharper? I’m not sure that’s really a healthy thing, and certainly it isn’t what I’d hoped. I’d prefer a teacher not excited by the potential to blow us both up.”
Their gazes weigh on me when I walk away for two very different reasons, and I’m not sure being desired for being dangerous is really what I want. Gaius’s scent changes to something completely different—desire rather than excitement—rolls off him and rubs itself through my nostrils. The scents of satin and honey make me want to tease, but I keep walking without flashing skin.
Getting out of Hell seems to have made things more complex rather than less. The mocking blue sky I’d been so pleased to see looks down spitefully from among broken storm clouds that echo my shattered happiness.
“Everything has a price.”
The words crossing my lips break my mood, and I focus on the sound of the footsteps following me.
Am I taking out my disgust at the situation on the rest of them, or did they really all have a part to play? Were they just looking at it from a similar point of view to me? It was someone else’s concern until his reaction rubbed it in my face. His distress that he’d endangered the others with the negotiated contract. I’d expected to be summoned by an arsehole, not someone forced into it through family loyalty. He hadn’t even wanted revenge on the idiots that had stuck him in this mess.
My footsteps take me off the path they’d trudged through the snow to the beach and aiming for a position downwind of the camp. Their protections let the rest of the expedition set themselves in a lean-to against the rocks. Titus and Senca are focused on keeping watch, and the taste of the camp’s wards reassure me. The pair keeping watch would be more reassuring except for the eyes Senca has on the Elven girls sitting cross-legged by the fire, their expressions showing the tranquil repose of reverie.
Holding the wolves upright when Senca glances my way, I slice off the Alpha wolf’s ball sack and smile at his wince. Long straight cuts down the centre of the wolves’ bodies, sends blood draining to the ground and pooling around my feet.
Claws digging under the wound’s edges I slowly peel their fur away, and Senca decides a different quarter needs his focus. Skinning the three beasts gives me more increases in the Skill. Salvaging the fur, claws, and teeth, I grimace at the meat’s chemical residue before hacking it free from their bones and dropping it into a pit with their guts. The remains’ Mana energies promise they’ll hold similar power with ease. The bones join the salvaged materials in Inventory to keep fresh for when I’ve learnt enough to use them.
