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Volume 2 Bonus Chapters and Notes
🕑 Added 2025-01-06 03:23:43 +0000 UTCHello!
I wanted to make a post detailing some of the work that was done on Volume 2 after publication on Patreon and RR and to provide a couple of scenes that got added during our review of the volume.
Vol 2 Notes
Substantively, there is only one change in Volume 2 of note that has yet to be mentioned, and it’s one that doesn’t have a huge impact on the story. It’s the timing of the Dumping achievement.
Minor spoilers for Volume 3, which everyone here has probably read.
SRK and I decided it would be better for the party to earn Dumping entirely on their own, rather than rely on a third party exploiting the System’s rules to grant them the achievement. We figured that the party could save up a ton of points during the boss rush at the end of Vol 2, earning a slightly different but mechanically identical achievement for doing so. We thought this was more rewarding for the reader and involved more agency on the part of the characters.
By the time we’d decided it was a good angle, those chapters were already out there on Patreon and I didn’t have time to go back and rework everything between writing new material and keeping up with my day job. I tried out having it happen with Avarice, but I’m not a fan of how that whole situation turned out. Thus, it got changed in the edit.
This slightly changes the party’s stats during the first part of Volume 3, but after they meet Avarice and do some exploits, their stats become identical to what we see for the rest of Volume 3. All that really changes is when they get the achievement, and may have a minor impact on their evos for first leg of vol 3, but I am endeavoring to make sure they still have the things they actually used. I haven’t modified vol 3 with this in mind yet, but if it ends up mattering I’ll give you another update.
I mentioned before that I modified the staff Etja got at the beginning of volume 2, since the scene I planned for the social version never ended up happening. The staff she receives is instead a staff that stores spells, making Etja even more mana efficient, which meshes better with her build anyway. This was mentioned in the Level 12 character sheets post that goes into more detail on that here.
Extra Scenes
As for the extra scenes, once SRK and I had finished the book, we both felt that a couple aspects of the world felt a bit empty. One was Varrin’s family, who the party has spent a lot of time with off the page, but who we have seen little of during critical events. Bonus scene 1 deals with that.
The second was Eschendur as a whole, which offered little insight into the lives and culture of the ordinary citizens. Bonus scene 2 tries to flesh out Eschendur a bit more.
Bonus Scene #1
This first scene takes place shortly after Xim and Arlo return from the Third Layer, and begins shortly before Varrin tells them about the destruction of Canotha. The majority of the scene thus takes place while Arlo, Xim, and Varrin travel to Foundation for the Delver summit called by the king, prior to their decision to head off to Eschendur and fight their way through the Littan blockade.
-----
When we arrived, Varrin was cutting down training automatons with a sword that was as long as a giraffe was tall, from hoof to head. It was also so thin that there was no way physics was letting that thing exist without a whole lot of magic devilry going on. The doll-like figures he fought each held a different martial weapon and harried Varrin with a surprising amount of skill, though not as much as a fully-fledged Delver might. They were more lethal than mundane soldiers, but cost a sack of notes to produce and required a skilled golemancer to animate. I’d had my butt handed to me by a group of them on more than one occasion during my melee training with Varrin.
A group of attendants was standing off to the side, holding trays laden with pitchers and clean towels. They were close enough to the action that I imagined they had a borderline-unhealthy amount of faith in Varrin’s ability not to accidentally cut them in half. Two of them, an older man and woman, watched the scene with little interest, likely having witnessed more impressive displays from the higher level house members. The third was a young woman who was enraptured by the scene and gasped whenever one of the automatons was cleaved in half with a spray of sparks and metal components. She must have been new.
There was also a man leaning back against a wall of the manor wearing casual, but well-made clothing, watching Varrin’s motions with a critical eye. He had the typical white hair of a Hiwardian, cut short, and a bit of white scruff, just enough to seem unintentional and relaxed. He looked a few years older than the big guy and was nearly as tall as Varrin but with about 50 pounds less muscle. The family resemblance was clear–all the way down to the platinum Delver levels in his soul–although I’d never met this particular Ravvenblaq. He was level 12 and if I had to guess, he was Varrin’s older brother, Ealdric the Fourth.
“That’s a big fucking sword!” I yelled from a good, safe distance. I, for one, wasn’t willing to get within a hundred feet of the man while he held the thing.
Varrin paused and turned to see us, then the sword collapsed down on itself until it was the length of a normal longsword. He took a towel from one of the older attendants and wiped his face off, then thanked the young woman as she accepted the soiled cloth and deposited it into a basket next to a half dozen others. Varrin spoke a few words to his relative, then made his way toward us. The way the young woman’s gaze followed Varrin as he walked away from her made me think that her awe had less to do with excitement over her new position and more to do with excitement over dat ass.
“We’ve got a lot to discuss,” Varrin said once he got close.
“Yep!” said Xim, trotting forward and peering over the sword. “Arlo got laid.”
Varrin raised an eyebrow and looked at me.
“Good for him,” he said. “But that’s not what I meant.”
“Have you gotten laid recently?” Xim asked. Varrin opened his mouth to reply but snapped it shut without answering. Xim patted him on the arm. “Don’t worry, me either.”
“Not for the lack of trying by your parents,” I said, and she scowled.
“Why are we talking about sex?” said Varrin. “Let’s not.”
“Okay,” said Xim. “We can move on to Arlo’s new mystery technique. Sam’lia taught it to him herself.”
“She didn’t really teach it to me,” I said. “More like she guided me to it. It’s called Gravity Anchor.”
Varrin held up a hand, his expression growing serious.
“I’ll be happy to see it later,” he said. “The crown has called a meeting of all high-profile Delvers. That includes my entire family and our associated party members.”
I looked past him to check out the unfamiliar figure again. The man gave me a wave, but didn’t move to encroach on our reunion. I imagined the requested meeting had the whole extended family forming up at the estate.
“What happened?” I asked, turning back to Varrin.
“Three days ago,” he said, expression going from serious to dark, “Timagrin’s third largest city, Canotha, was destroyed.”
*****
Timagrin was Hiward’s staunchest ally, and my mind obsessed over how Hiward might respond to the destruction of Canotha. The nations had a shared history of joint defense, and the idea that an invading force was to blame reignited my worry over the potential for a Delver war that would run rampant across the entire continent.
My worries only grew as we traveled with the Ravvenblaq retinue to Hiward’s capital, Foundation. Varrin knew little beyond the most basic facts and the Ravvenblaqs who were in the know were unavailable to our humble level 6 party.
“No idea,” said Ealdric the Fourth. The man who’d been watching Varrin train had, in fact, been his older brother. “All I know is that Canotha was destroyed, it wasn’t an accident or natural disaster, and that we all have to head to Foundation.”
We rode in a ‘carriage’, although it was really a hovercar. Like the speeders I’d ridden around Foundation, the transport was powered by ruby chips and floated a foot or so off of the stone roadway. It was the smoothest ride of any vehicle I’d ever been inside.
The interior was luxury incarnate, its black and silver upholstery soft and supple, the seats adjustable all the way back into fully flat beds. There was a small refrigerator–also powered by a ruby chip–with everything from prosecco to ale to a variety of chilled juices and cold snacks. Every hour an attendant checked in on us to make sure we had anything we needed and every fifth hour a five-course meal was provided. The roof opened up and a small ladder let us access the top, where we could watch the hills pass by on padded lawn chairs, shaded by a parasol that was mana woven to always orient itself toward the sun.
“What do you call each other?” I asked, gesturing between Varrin and Ealdric the Fourth. “Ealdric senior is Patriarch and his son is Papa Junior.” Varrin’s late father was Thundralke Ravvenblaq, but I wasn’t going to dredge up those memories. “Do you have an affectionate nickname I should know?”
Number Four gave me an easy smile. The man was handsome enough to play the lead in a blockbuster action flick, with the confidence and charm to match his celebrity appearance.
“Varrin calls me Brother. Mother calls me Son,” he said. “But the patriarch calls me Drift. That’s also how my party members address me.”
“Drift?”
“It is a long story,” said Varrin.
I shrugged.
“We’ve got time.”
Drift gave Varrin a grin and the big guy sat back, getting comfortable for a story I’m sure he’d heard a thousand times.
“My parents didn’t think too hard about what to call me before I was born,” said Drift. “By the time I popped out, they realized having so many Ealdrics running around might make things confusing, so they tried out a lot of, uh, less-than-creative names.”
“Like what?” asked Xim.
“Quad, Quarter, different variations of that, such as Quaid. They even tried out Q for a while.”
“I am told there was a brief time they simply said Four,” Varrin added.
“The Ravvenblaqs struggled to name you?” I said, feigning disbelief. “I’m shocked.” Varrin gave me a dirty look, but Drift laughed.
“My immediate family has never been the best at naming, but the patriarch is more poetic,” Drift continued. “He wanted to call me Winter, since I would become the fourth season of Ravvenblaq. The patriarch is spring, Papa Junior is summer, our father was autumn.”
“Right.”
“Our parents weren’t very enthusiastic. They thought names based on the seasons were too feminine. Well, when I was a little less than 2 years old our family was hosting the biannual solstice festival during one of the worst blizzards in living memory. Father was busy with the servants, Mother was busy with the guests, so I was left in the care of my favorite keeper, Nurse Ami. The thing about Nurse Ami is that she was very, very old.”
“How old we talking?”
“I think she was… in her eighties?” Drift ran a hand over his scruff in a respectable attempt to stroke his nascent beard. “She wasn’t a Delver, and she was among the first generation of children born after the rebellion. The point is, she was elderly, and as she made her way ever further into the twilight years of her life, she tended to take naps at inopportune times.”
“As one does,” I said. “Our party member Etja is a purveyor of fine naps.”
“If Nurse Ami were still with us, I’m sure they’d have had much to discuss on the topic. So, while I was in the care of Nurse Ami she, predictably, fell asleep in her rocker. I, being the curious rascal that I was, took that as an invitation to go on a walk. To this day, no one can explain how I made it through the manor and past guards, servants, and guests alike without being noticed, but I found my way out onto the grounds during the previously mentioned snowstorm of the century.”
“According to Mother,” said Varrin, “he was only missing for 30 minutes. Papa Junior says he was gone for 3 days and that they’d practically been ready to organize a week of mourning over his assumed death.”
“Personally,” said Drift, “I prefer the harrowing version where I was discovered the next morning, unconscious amidst the bodies of 2 wolves that I’d slain with a kitchen knife.”
“A knife manifested by the gods,” said Varrin in a flat tone, “delivered to him in an hour of great need and heralding his future as a master of the blade.”
“Alas, by the time Varrin was 7 he had more skill with a sword than I did.” Drift looked into the middle distance, reminiscing over something. “The truth, as much as we can gather, is that the patriarch found me later that evening buried in a snow drift. I should have been frozen half to death, but as it turned out I was no worse for the wear.”
“I would have named you Lucky after that,” said Xim.
“A reasonable title to bestow, Lady Xim,” said Drift. “But we Hiwardians are known for being more resilient to the elements than others. Even so, my survival was paraded as a vision of my future by the patriarch. Given the relationship between winter and big, heaping piles of snow, he anointed me with the name I would thereafter go by. Thus began the epic tale of Ealdric ‘Drift’ Ravvenblaq the Fourth, legendary Delver and gentleman of the highest caliber.”
“A prologue worthy of the name,” I said. “Did large quantities of frozen water end up being an important part of your life?”
“I’ve spent some time in Mittak, but otherwise not really.”
“His first active skill was Frostbrand,” said Varrin.
“It is also my least used skill,” Drift countered. “I picked it up in a juvenile pursuit of that ‘prophecy’, but my other skills focus more on control effects. They suit me better.”
“Did you at least become a master of the culinary blade?” asked Xim.
“I prefer shortswords,” Drift answered. “No proud Ravvenblaq would specialize in daggers and knives.”
“He spends more time in the kitchens than with the family when he’s home,” said Varrin.
“When else would I have access to such fine ingredients?” Drift asked. “My party operates more effectively when we have good food stored in inventory.”
A look passed between the brothers that could only be interpreted with a lifetime’s worth of context, a single passage divorced from its opus, indiscernible by either me or Xim. After a moment, Drift heaved a nostalgic sigh and took to looking out of the window at the passing fields of grain.
Minutes passed, and we all concerned ourselves with our inner worlds, taking a moment to pause and reflect on our recent journeys in the way that platinum Delvers seldom have time to do. Eventually, Drift’s voice softly intruded, tone thoughtful and morose.
“I’ve spent some time in Canotha,” he said. “I did a special-grade Delve in that area at level 10.” His gaze drifted across the horizon, his chin resting in his palm. “We spent a month there afterward. Made a lot of friends while we celebrated. It is– was a beautiful city.”
The rest of the journey was somber and made frustrating by the lack of information given to us by the older Ravvenblaqs. Finally, we arrived in Foundation, Hiward’s largest city. Varrin’s brother, Drift, excused himself to meet with his party, and we were reunited with Etja and Nuralie.
Bonus Scene #2
This second scene takes place after Fortune’s Folly has made it through the Littan blockade with Zenithar Zura’s assistance. While they travel toward Eschendur’s capital of Eschengal, they stop at a village along the way. In the original version, the group camped out in the woods through the night. Instead of doing that, they visit this village.
-----
The Zenithar looked very pleased with herself afterward and hadn’t so much as shed a single drop of sweat. Her robes were also immaculate, while the rest of us were soaking wet, covered in mud, and had enough random plants stuck in our hair to start a small botanical garden. My beard was riddled with an assortment of thorny burs that I had no memory of acquiring, and as I painstakingly plucked them out the Zenithar made a 20-foot vertical leap into the canopy with all the effort of a cat hopping onto a low stool. I began to suspect she’d been taking it easy on us.
I heard voices from above, and looked up to find Zura chatting with another Geulon, a woman in slick leathers not unlike Nuralie’s. She had a bow as well, though she wasn’t a Delver, and a few small animals hung limp on her belt next to a pair of sheathed daggers. She must have been some kind of hunter.
The pair spoke for a minute, then Zura hopped back down, landing with nary a splash. She smiled at us.
“We have been invited to partake in Lodurfen’s harvest festival for the evening,” she said. “I believe it will be more comfortable than sleeping in the trees.”
I looked up to see the woman in the branches looking down at me, so I turned to Nuralie and swapped to the Eschen language, Losonbinora.
“Why don’t you take the lead here,” I said. “It’s your homeland.”
Nuralie gave me a pause, I paused with her, and she nodded. The exchange caused Zura to raise an eyeridge.
Nuralie turned to the woman above.
“We would cherish the experience,” she said in Losonbinora. Pause. “And we will share our own harvest in turn.”
The woman in the trees blinked, then silently disappeared into the foliage.
“Now I know where you get it from,” I said to Nuralie. She cracked a rare grin, and we set out at a leisurely pace for the village ahead of us, nestled in the swamp.
As we approached, the swamps thinned out some, the thick vegetation transitioning to a field of widely spaced trees bearing watermelon-sized fruits of blended red and gold. They were like enormous, pumpkin-shaped Honeycrisp apples, and filled the air with a sweet, fresh scent. Many had been picked, leaving only the immature fruits on the limbs above, smaller and greener than the few ripe fruits on the ground.
Each tree grew from a small field that had been elevated out of the swamp, a ring of clean water trickling around its edge. Near the roots were sprouts of yellow mushrooms and a small garden of minty, light-green herbs. Both Nuralie and Zura stopped to survey the crops, knocking on the rinds of the fruit and smelling the herbs and fungus. They picked what they found suitable, storing it away into Nuralie’s inventory, and moved on to the next tree.
The ‘harvest’ was a less intensive affair than what I’d imagined. The Geulons of the village would set out during the day to hunt and gather delicacies and other natural resources, and on their return pick whatever ripe fruits and vegetables that they could carry from the cultivated groves. Nuralie showed the rest of us what to look for, and soon we were all loading our inventory with hundreds of pounds worth of produce. Given my inventory size of “a whole fucking lot”, we could pick and carry everything worth having that we came across. We were doing the work of half the village on our way in.
Nuralie was taking to the work with the hint of a smile, and I came close to pick a toadstool with a citrus scent.
“Having fun?” I asked. A sprig of lemony grass disappeared into her storage, and she sat in a squat, then looked out into the dark grove.
“My village is far to the east of here, but the harvest culture is much the same across Eschendur,” she said. She looked up at the knobby tree. “Our gelvind fruits are more orange”–pause–“but it has been years since anything felt this familiar.”
“Maybe after the Delve, we can spend a few weeks here,” I offered. Her smile faded and she looked down, running her fingers across the rest of the grass, too short to pick.
“I do not know where my place is,” she whispered. “Eschendur is my home, but–” She paused for much longer than normal, then met my eyes. “I do not think it is where my family is anymore.”
I reached out and placed a hand on her back, giving her a gentle rub, then stood.
“Whatever you need, we’re here,” I said. “Unless you need us to pick everything between here and the village, because I have to imagine it’s getting late as hell.”
Nuralie’s smile returned and she stood as well, rubbing her hands together to brush off the dirt.
“I think we have satisfied the custom.”
By the time we’d made it to the village, it was approaching midnight, but the festival was in full swing.
Lodurfen was a traditional Geulon settlement, albeit one of the larger ones with around 1500 residents. Houses made of dark lumber sat at spacious intervals, their roofs of dried and packed fronds rustling in the warm night breeze. The buildings rose from lilypad-spotted water, their lowest levels ovate in shape to part the gentle current bringing life through the village. Their interiors were partially flooded, and gave the Guelons space to live and sleep in still waters, filtered by an algae mesh that kept the private ponds fresh. I was somewhat surprised by this, as Nuralie had always taken to dry beds, although she did stay very well hydrated.
“Sleeping in the water is like sleeping on a cot,” she explained. “It is cheap and easy since we do not prune or suffer from being damp all the time, and floating is”–pause–“comfortable enough.” She lowered her voice. “But I prefer a feather mattress and a thick blanket. It is much warmer.”
On either side of the rows of buildings were dry pathways paved with brown stone. The material was porous and let water pass through without accumulating, allowing the rest of us to walk in relative comfort without Zura’s assistance.
As we entered the village, an entire welcoming committee awaited us. The village priest greeted Zura with a brief ritual, the waters dancing as humble gifts of wine and berries were presented to the Zenithar. It ended with Zura giving a small sermon on how the soil given form by Hyrach enriched Geul’s gift of life and was breathed into the land by Deijin. It ended with a prayer, Zura blessing the harvest and all those who partook. It was a very literal sort of blessing.
You have received 1 stack of Blessed!
The Zenithar’s presence in the village was the equivalent of royalty showing up, since she was both one of the three rulers of Eschendur and also one of its highest ranking religious leaders. She drew a good bit of attention, but not as much as I’d expected. It quickly became an informal affair, with Zura taking on the role of a respected elder, counseling those who approached, but not being harried by the entire village.
Part of this was due to her 6 attendants, who’d fallen behind as we swept through the swamp, but who had reappeared a couple hours into our fruit-picking session. They spread through the village, handing out blessings and accepting gifts or messages for the Zenithar.
Part of me was slightly bothered by the gift-giving, since it didn’t look like these people were exactly living in luxury, but for the Zenithar it was a two-way street. As we approached the village center which was lit up by bioluminescent plants and a small bonfire, Zura went to the series of tables piled high with food and summoned a half dozen barrels of wine. She also performed a ritual that purified all the water in the village, and would protect the inhabitants from any harmful parasites or bacteria for a month afterward. Seeing that, I decided some gifts of fruit, nuts, and knick-knacks were a pretty good trade.
The rest of us followed and laid out all of the produce we’d harvested, which drew some shocked looks as hundreds of pounds worth of fruits, fungus, and herbs continued to pile out of our inventories. I worried that some of it might spoil before it could be eaten, but Zura came in clutch again with a preservation ritual.
“Is this what sharing our harvest meant?” I asked Nuralie.
“No. Gathering the fruits was merely custom,” she answered. “It is not expected that we give more, but it is polite.”
“Oh, do other Geulons like beer?” I asked. Nuralie nodded, and I pulled a cask from my inventory.
“Are you giving away my ale?” Xim asked, brow raised.
“It’s not your ale, it’s our ale,” I said. “And now it’s everyone’s ale.”
She gave an exaggerated sigh and produced a mug.
“Guess I should get every drop I can while it lasts!” she said, then proceeded to tap the barrel, a vial of Nuralie’s ‘shitfaced’ potion in hand. I chuckled and pulled out two more. A line of curious villagers was already forming, and I handed one a full mug.
“Cheers,” I said. The man smiled, and took a drink.
“By the Stonelord’s marbles!” he said. “That is pretty good!”
I smiled wide and clapped him on the back, only sending him stumbling a few feet (he held onto his drink though) and started playing bartender for a while.
A half hour later, the village priest came by to check in with us. He greeted Nuralie, who introduced the rest of us. The man looked warily at Shog, but more or less ignored the c’thon afterward. The exchange was a bit stilted, as apparently Nuralie’s reputation preceded her. The man’s pauses were exaggerated, and it sounded like he was reigning himself in from making some uncomfortable comment, which wasn’t lost on Nuralie either.
After some pleasantries, Nuralie pulled out a half-dozen potion vials, which I identified as low-grade antidotes. Since none of the villagers were Delvers, the good stuff would have done more harm than good. Nuralie had spent a year or two running an alchemy shop for mundane folks back in Foundation, so she knew how to brew to get the job done without melting anyone’s mana matrix.
I thought the priest might cry when he saw them.
“Lady Vyxmeldo’a,” he said, cradling the potions like infants made of liquid gold. “I was just about to ask. The Zenithar said you were an alchemist… Each of these will save a life. Forgive me, but I must take these to our infirmary immediately.”
Nuralie and I exchanged a look as the man began to rush off, and the pair of us went to follow after him.
“What’s going on?” I asked the priest in Losonbinora. The man spared me a surprised glance when I spoke, but continued on.
“Many things in the swamp are venomous or poisonous,” he said. “It is normally not a problem, since we learn to avoid these things while young, but all of us have at least one childhood story of falling ill from a sting or ill-judged mushroom.”
He stepped into the water between a pair of houses and began swimming across. Nuralie followed, whereas I cast Shortcut to meet them on the other side. The priest started when I appeared, but didn’t break his stride.
“We have natural remedies that help,” he continued, “but a few generations ago it was not uncommon for one child in ten to be lost to such things. However, we began importing mana-infused venoms from Hiward. When a small amount is added to our cures it improves the survival rate to nearly 100 percent if administered… in time.”
“And now you can’t import them,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “The blockade has cut us off from many medicinal supplies.” He stopped in front of a longhouse, hand on the door. “Lady Vyxmeldo’a, I do not wish to stretch your generosity, but if you have any more–”
“I would need to craft more,” Nuralie said. “My shop in Foundation has many, but I only brought a few on this journey. I– I didn’t think–”
“There are other illnesses as well,” he said, dropping his hand from the door and stepping closer. “Please, if you have anything for bogrot or the pox.”
“I can set up a cauldron,” she said. “But it could take days.”
“Hey,” I said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Xim might be able to help with the diseases.”
“Her magic would be too strong,” said Nuralie. “Maybe if she does not use a skill. But that is not her focus. She has little experience dealing with mundane afflictions.”
“We can still ask. Besides, you have everything you’d need at your shop, right?
“I do,” she said.
“Is an hour enough time to go from Formation to your shop in Foundation, get what you need, and get back again?”
“It… would be? Especially at night. I am much faster and can Shadow Walk.”
“I have a Checkpoint at my house in Formation.” Nuralie’s eyes widened as she realized where I was going. “I can open a portal from the Closet for an hour a day. If you can get in and out, you can be back here in no time with all the medicine you can fit into your inventory.”
“I also have raw ingredients,” she said, turning to the priest. “I keep a store of the venom you mentioned.” Pause. “I can give you enough for this village and to distribute to the others nearby.”
The priest looked between us. I didn’t think he quite followed what we were saying.
“Go inside and get those kids sorted,” I said. “I’ll get our cleric and Nuralie can be back in an hour with more medicine.”
“Thank you,” he said, voice nearly a whisper. “I’ll be here when you return.” He gave a shallow bow and then swept into the longhouse, the smell of illness wafting out behind him.
Nuralie handed off everything in her inventory to me so she could carry what she needed. I opened the Closet, went in, and activated the Checkpoint to my underground mini-mansion in Formation. Nuralie disappeared almost immediately as she teleported through.
I went back out and Shortcut my way back to Xim, giving a few half-drunk Geulons a scare as I went. I told her what was happening and she cast Cleanse on herself to get rid of the minor buzz she’d worked up. Then we ran back to the longhouse, where my Closet entrance was still open.
We went inside to find 20 of the Geulons bedridden with some sort of illness. Eight were children who’d been poisoned, while most of the rest had some deadly disease. One man had a pair of broken legs from tumbling out of a tree and landing badly on some rocks.
Xim got a sense of the room and bit her lip.
“If I’m very careful, and very slow, I can help them,” she said. “My normal healing would be like pushing a river through their mana matrix when it’s the size of a straw. I’ll need to trickle it in.”
“Is anyone in immediate danger?” I asked the priest, who was dripping antidote into one child’s mouth. He looked around.
“The venom is slow, affecting the flesh and festering. The diseases take their course over several days as well. I fear that Fetchor’s legs will be lost if he cannot fight off infection, however.”
“Guess I’ll start there,” said Xim. She found a stool and pulled it up beside the man’s bed. She spoke with him for a few moments, before laying hands and beginning to channel a thin stream of divine mana into him.
I watched over their work, wondering if there was anything else I could do. It was possible my aura might help, since the healing was relatively slow compared to Xim’s, but I worried even that might be too harsh and I didn’t have much fine control over it.
I decided to sit down and keep a couple of the kids company. They perked up when they saw my emerald and black starlight eyes, and I told them a story about how I stole them from the sky. I don’t think they believed me, but it seemed to brighten their mood. I did a few tricks with Gracorvus, floating things around and made a couple trinkets from my inventory disappear with Oblivion Orb. They asked that I make them reappear, and were disappointed when I told them that was outside of my skill set. I recovered by popping in and out with Shortcut, but the priest shut that down as it was “too much of a disruption.” I stuck my tongue out at the man when he turned around, eliciting some giggles.
I continued thinking about the problem while waiting for Nuralie, and decided there had to be some way mana shaping could limit the impact of Xim’s healing spells, potentially making the process easier and quicker for mundane people. It was frustrating to have all this power and realize it mostly helped those who were already powerful. Eventually Nuralie returned, and although the remedies were not an immediate cure-all, the relief in the room was palpable once she’d administered her medicines.
I stayed for a while, until everyone had fallen asleep. Xim continued to help Fetchor with his legs–he’d be fully recovered in another hour–and Nuralie remained to observe the effects of her potions. I left, deciding it was time to find a bed, preferably one that wasn’t submerged.
While I had the option of retiring in my lavishly appointed Pocket Closet penthouse, I thought that immersing myself in the local culture would be more valuable. If nothing else, the slow rhythm of the chirping insects, the gentle croaking of the frogs, and the violent shrieks of the distant, unseen nocturnal predators made for a soothing lullaby.
I found Zura speaking to a pair of nightowls up in a tree, who said their farewells as I approached. I decided the Zenithar probably knew where I could bed down, and I had a few questions to run by her as well. She was happy to indulge me.
“How are the patients?” she asked in Losonbinora as I floated into the tree on Gracorvus. I stepped off onto the branch, so thick that it didn’t even budge under my weight.
“They should all be fine by morning,” I said.
“That’s wonderful. I fear most of these remote villages are suffering the same troubles.”
I took a seat across from her, letting my legs dangle off the side of the branch.
“Would you have been able to heal them?” I asked. “Not to be impolite, but I thought it was strange you stayed at the festival instead of going to see them.”
Zura nodded, unbothered by the criticism.
“Geul is the goddess of the ocean and of life,” she said. “My revelations give me insight into the waters around me and all the living things they flow through. I checked on them, in my own way, and guided the priest toward a cure. I will visit with them in the morning when they can better handle the excitement of a Zenithar appearing.”
“You knew we’d be able to help.”
“I know Nuralie has expertise in alchemy. I suspected the rest of you could assist her.”
“And as for my first question?” I asked.
“Could I have healed them myself?” The Zenithar sat back against the tree trunk, studying my features. “I could remove toxins from their blood and clean the wounds, but the injuries to the flesh would remain. Diseases are often alive, and purging them strains the body. I would be acting in violence toward something living, which takes its toll on myself and the patient.” She gave me a woeful smile. “What I did to the Littans will haunt me to the end of my days. I expect it will take many years for me to reconcile their deaths with my faith, and for my connection to Geul to once again become as strong as it was yesterday.”
“I see,” I said, letting silence fill the air between us for a time. I decided to move on from the subject. “Earlier, when you were talking about revelations, you mentioned that they were the types of things that change with you.”
-----
The rest of this scene plays out as it did originally, with Arlo picking Zura’s brain on the nature of revelations. The following are Arlo’s thoughts as they leave the village the next day.
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When we left Lodurfen, the swamp was still shrouded in morning mist. Rays of light reached through the fog as though the sun were stretching away the lingering grog of a good night’s rest. Despite the early hour, a group of families joined the village priest in seeing us off, giving heartfelt thanks for our intervention in the illnesses of their loved ones the night before.
We were leaving behind a much healthier and happier village. I felt good about the work we’d done, but some part of me felt bad that I didn’t feel better about it. It was a small kindness in a threatened world.
Like the deaths of the Littans, the swell of emotion from the lives we’d saved were raindrops on an oilskin. They rolled off of me as quickly as they came.
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And that's what I got. If you have any questions, feel free to drop them here, send me a DM, or hop on and @ me on the Discord.
Thanks!
