Bacon Macleod
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B2 Chapter 228: Thy Strength…, pt. 1
🕑 Added 2025-03-13 20:30:01 +0000 UTCPorkchop pricked his ears, the guild administrators’ words grabbing at his attention.
Pushing against the delicate wooden floors—ever careful to avoid gouging the expensive materials that two-legs seemed inordinately fascinated with—he rose to his haunches.
The Trial of Will? What could that be? It certainly sounded like the kind of thing that could help him push through the final blasted barrier that had been haunting him.
Ever since that delicious fight against the bogglings, he’d felt the ember of it burning away in his chest—a heat that penetrated deep in his bones, promising to remould him from the inside out.
By the Matriarchs, he wanted it done. The tantalising promise of fire was almost too much to bear. If only he could just think himself to the finish line like both of his companions had been able to.
Unfortunately, he had yet to resonate with his pillar Mentis—and even if he had, he doubted it would be as easy for him. Even with the help of his bond skill, and the reinforcement of his mind from the racial trait it had brought, he was still affected by the curse of greater beasts. Worse, since it seemed like their slower skill development stretched to the revelations required by Aspects.
Corporus, at least, seemed to be a little better. He could feel it right to his core, it was an aspect of action.
All he needed was the right environment—he wouldn’t fail. Wouldn’t stagnate. Not like the others.
“It sounds dangerous, whatever it is.” his bond-brother muttered, the scent of simple, honest, concern wafting richly from their bond.
Porkchop rolled his eyes. He didn’t understand how Kaius could be such a stalwart and fearless fighter and still manage to worry more than a nanny whenever he had to do something a little risky.
He was a meles! Pigheadedness was his birthright.
“I’ll do it,” he said, projecting his voice to the room. It still felt a little weird, structuring his thoughts into something as limiting as words—but he’d gotten a lot more comfortable with it over the last year or so.
Rieker—Patriarch in a skin suit that he was—grinned at his words, clapping his hands loud enough that Porkchop had to flick his ears back to avoid the stinging reverb.
“See! This crop is tough, Ro. He can handle it—if he really needs to be pushed to his real limit, the Trial is perfect.”
The guild manager huffed, pretending to be furious. Not for the first time, Porkchop wondered why they persisted with pretending that they were simple allies—he could smell them all over each other.
Then again, humans seemed oddly uncomfortable with the realities of living so close together for people who seemed to do so at every available opportunity. Perhaps it was just some nicety he didn’t understand.
“I can’t in good conscience let Porkchop agree without knowing what he’s getting himself into.” Ro insisted.
Rieker waved to continue, unconcerned and clearly convinced that Porkchop would agree anyway. Which he would. The Trial could involve being sawn in half and he’d still agree—hells, it would probably work.
Watching him closely, Ro groaned as she realised that his mind was already made up.
She still explained anyway.
“Crossing through to Silver is a large jump—the threats and dangers that are faced by people in the second tier vary wildly, as does the capabilities of delvers as the stat gap between rarity grows. There’s a number of trials to assess where someone falls on the scale—the results are used to ensure that priceless delvers aren’t sent off on a suicide mission.” Ro explained.
Cocking his head, Porkchop watched her curiously. That sounded…interesting. If there were multiple trials, perhaps he could try the others if this one didn’t work.
“The Trial of Will is a looping corridor built into the earth beneath every guildhall. It’s one of the few trials like that, most are too expensive to create to be economical. With every step, you’ll grow heavier. At first, it’s just a few extra stone—but get far enough and it will feel like your organs are being pulped.” Ro continued, jumping into her explanation of the trial.
The guild manager reeked of discontent, clearly unhappy with the idea of him undergoing the challenge. He didn’t mind, as long as she didn’t try to stop him—it just meant she was nice, even if she tried to hide it by being as bristly as a boar.
“That's not all—with every revolution, a new torment starts to build. The temperature will start to fluctuate between hot and cold, the difference growing more extreme with every stride. Then, a droning noise that grows louder and louder. Then fatigue, discomfort, hunger, and thirst. It rarely kills—it’s entirely illusory—but I've seen it push people to madness.” Ro finished, watching him closely.
Honestly, it sounded perfect. It was exactly the kind of thing he needed to see where he really stopped. How far he could go if the only thing holding him back was his ability to wallow in the muck and keep on going.
Porkchop’s tail thumped into the side of Kaius’s chair.
“I don’t think that was meant to encourage you, Porkchop.” Ianmus chuckled.
Porkchop huffed at him. The elfling was right, of course—but there was no way he would let him know that.
“Of course it was! It sounds perfect—and there’s more options if it doesn’t work. What else could it have been?”
His brother sighed in defeat. “I can’t really fault you for that—I guess it’s no different than hunting down the Champions instead of waiting for our classes. I doubt anything will be able to crack you, I was just worried it might be dangerous.”
“Oh, I like these ones, Ro—so much more refreshing than the usual stock we have to work with in this backwater.” Rieker replied, shifting in his chair as he smiled with genuine pride at Porkchop and his team.
“Not dangerous, he says—fucking greenhorns.” the guild manager muttered under her breath, folding her arms. “Idiots, the lot of you. But fine—I, at least, have the sense not to fight the inevitable.”
“It’s on your head if this goes wrong.” she said to Rieker.
Then she looked back to Porkchop, her lips pursed, even if her bright eyes gave away her true feelings of concern. “Try not to die—it’d be such a waste.”
Porkchop nodded, and then she was gone, sweeping out of Rieker’s office in a blur of motion.
“Well then, guess we best get to the trial—the stairs are one floor down, so you’ll have to follow me.” Rieker said, standing from his desk.
Porkchop nodded, and rose to his feet—his team joining him.
….
The stone floor was cold under the pads of his feet, each paved slab big enough that he could stand comfortably on a single one.
Inscriptions covered their surface, but he had little idea of what they did—even Kaius had been out of his depth, only able to identify a little of High Lothian, though the working was too complex for him to ascertain how it worked.
Laid end on end, the paved hall stretched in a wide circle—the curve gentle enough that it must have been a couple of hundred strides in total.
The Trial of Will—he couldn’t wait.
Looking to his left, Porkchop met his team's gaze. A second row of pavestones lay on the outer edge of the hall, half of its twenty stride width. Clear of the effects of the trial, it was so assessors could keep pace with those being challenged—and pull them to safety if need be.
His team looked just as excited as they did worried, though he could tell that Kaius’s concern had mellowed out as they’d walked to the trial.
Rieker had explained more as they walked.
While what Ro had said was correct, there were a few things that had been marginally overblown. For one, it was extremely rare for anyone to perish during the trial. Those that did were usually those with weak nerves, the constant assault of pressure and sensation enough that their heart gave out. Even then, it was only a real risk if their strife went unnoticed.
Madness was a possibility, but one that Rieker thought was unlikely. He’d seen many undergo the Trial, and had done so himself. In all that time, the guildmaster had said he’d never seen someone with Porkchop’s unyielding mentality give in to that particular weakness.
Porkchop had asked about the trial being illusory. His main worry was that if it was not actually challenging him physically, it wouldn’t be enough for his aspect. Rieker had only laughed—saying that it was plenty physical. The illusion aspect was only used so that most of the trial's effects wouldn’t do direct damage to the body—they would still affect him just fine.
The weight especially—that was real enough. It was something of a badge of honour to persist until it started to break bone.
Rieker had warned him that while he, Ianmus, and Kaius would be able to keep pace with him, there would be a silence effect, and a barrier that would prevent him from seeing out of the trial. He’d have to complete the challenge without hearing the urging of his companions.
That was a bonus, in his mind. No doubt Kaius would get all blubbery the second so much as one of his toes broke.
“Ready?” Rieker asked, standing behind his team with the medallion that controlled the Trial in his hand.
Porkchop nodded.
“Good luck! You’ve got this, you know you do.” Kaius called, giving him a wide grin—his brother did his best to hide the undercurrent of nerves that pulsed through their bond, but Porkchop caught it.
He chuffed, stepping forwards to butt his head into his brother's chest.
“Stop worrying. I put up with you blowing a hole in your hand every few hours for weeks.” he replied.
“I suppose that’s true,” Kaius replied with a chuckle.
“Still, good luck.” Kaius finished, this time this time with less biting anxiety, and more warm support.
Porkchop grinned, before he stepped back onto the track. Rieker gave him a nod, and a faint haze of the man's mana infused the medallion.
A second later a haze snapped into place, cutting off the Trial from the track that ran parallel to it.
Weight settled on his shoulders—a miniscule amount, a bare fraction of the burden of his armour.
Shaking himself limber, Porkchop took the first step. More weight, though still almost unnoticeable.
He decided to take a comfortable pace—the insight he’d been tracking on his hunt was not one of explosive power, or swift speed. Instead it was persistence—unyielding strength did not need to rush.
And he did need to be unyielding.
Porkchop knew his fate—knew who he was. Outsider. Malcontent. Changeling.
A quarrelsome burden to the people of his birth—unwilling to bend the knee when it was expected of him. Required of him.
He loved his family, but their obsession with tradition and stagnation was their own weight, not his.
The cracks had already been showing by the time he had left. The dwindling numbers of young, the growing tensions at the meet, the fading strength of their elders in the face of what had been achieved in the stories of lost glory.
The increasing distance from the elves galled him the most—annoying they may have been, but there was no honour in isolation.
They may cower—refuse to change in the face of what should have been obvious. No doubt they were already splintering, old wounds flaring as the phase change shoved a claw in the gap between scales.
A burden, they said. Isolation to be a burden of his own, by dint of his differences.
They’d been wrong—on so many fronts. The weights he carried were many, but loneliness was not one of them.
No, he carried the burden of understanding. His people were slowly diminishing, and would continue to do so unless someone could beat some sense into them.
There were no crowns amongst his people, it was not their way. But leaders? Those of action and strength? They were there by the dozens.
If he could just prove what could be gained from interacting with the world outside of their cloistered burrows, they would change. He knew it.
At first it had been a childish fancy—a simple want to show his people what should have been obvious. Yet every day since he had fallen into the Depths, it seemed more and more like a possibility.
He hadn’t told Kaius yet—they had far more pressing issues, none the least the vermin behind his father’s death. He knew when he did he would have his brother’s support.
It wasn’t about rule, or glory, or leading his people. That was not the way of the meles, they did not have kings in the ways of men.
They just had to be forced to see the error of their ways—stopped from falling into petty infighting and nonsensical isolation.
He just had to prepare himself for it—this little Trial was only the first step.
When he was ready, he would force them to accept the reality of the situation.
He could only hope he would get there before the growing changes of the integration caught up with them.
Porkchop took another step, the weight on his shoulders pressing him ever harder into the flagstones below.
Comments
AsuraFalling
Oh! Ro is banging the guild master. I feel like I should have known that already.
BelligerentGnu
Makes sense as a metaphor, but it may be a bit of an obscure reference.
Bacon Macleod
kids in medieval europe who were off/weird/didn't fit in often got accused of being changelings, and were usually ostracized/shunned
Tsorov
I think it is meant in a more metaphorical way. In this chapter he says he wants to bring change to the Meles, because they were losing their way.
BelligerentGnu
A Changeling? What?! Is that metaphor or literal?
Joshua Little
Thanks for the chapter.
DeadicatedReader
Kaius finished, this time this time with less biting anxiety -> this time x2
