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Stepping Wild, Draft 2, CH 64
🕑 Added 2025-06-09 13:00:02 +0000 UTCPurity clerics had buildings in all large cities. They took in the sick and cared for them. How each worked varies between cities, and
Trigger Warning: this chapter contains elements of body horror(starts roughly 2/3 of the way, after the scene break)
Purity clerics had buildings in all large cities. They took in the sick and cared for them. How each worked varies between cities, and sometimes between locations if a city had more than one. Some only served those who paid, others tended any of could reach their doors, but most fell between the two extremes.
Tibs had learned that for clerics away from their dungeon city, how they defined ‘hard work’ changed, and that influenced those who worked under them. Some still adhered to the core beliefs and went out to heal as many as they could, but those were often new arrivals. They either learned they could accomplish more good by pacing themselves, or killed themselves attempting to uphold what they had been taught.
The clerics’ house in Brokentia fell closer to the ‘help everyone’ when it came to those things easily fixed, but pushed toward an expression of gratitude in the form of coin donations when what needed fixing proved complex. Often, that gratitude needed to be expressed before the healing took place.
Fortunately for Nariss’s sister, the clerics didn’t ask where the money came from. This led to tenuous relationships with the city, but guards needed healing too, so they were allowed to keep operating. It cost more than he’d expected, but Tibs arranged for her to receive the treatment she needed.
Cynta had already arranged for things to improve at the theater; not that he saw any of it when he gave in and came for a performance. The only way he confirmed it was that anytime he asked one of the actors, their claims of not knowing what Tibs could mean glowed while looking convincingly surprised.
The few times Tibs saw Charlie, during Cynta’s weekly meal, the man complained about numbers and why they had to be involved and what good they were for merchants, anyway.
As soon as she’d realized Tibs and Uzoma wouldn’t immediately vanish, she’d insisted they ate together once a week. It was the only time he saw the archer, and the man always looked like he’d rather return to where he hid himself while waiting for the caravan he would leave on.
Tibs told the others he wasn’t done with his research, but he was enjoying the chaos they had created among the nobles.
There was something of a war now, between the Fyrbrend and Kimcolial. Any attempt at smoothing things over had been rendered useless when a maid found Fleet Fingers’s leathers in one of the room. The Fyrbrend proclaimed not to know how they had ended up there, going so far as to claim the Ladies had arranged for them to be placed, but when the deed to Lady Jenifer’s ancestral home was found among the Fyrbrend’s documents, the war went from the shadows to the open, pulling multiple of the other families along.
The one family that refused to be was that of Lord Rastmyre.
Tibs hadn’t paid attention to them once he had to shift his focus to the job proper, but he kept hearing of the lord’s hatred for Fleet Fingers and how the man’s action was destroying his reputation. Then, in what Tibs felt was an unbelievable turn, the lord opened his home to any of the servants of the families pulled into the war and offered protection.
Neutral ground, criers within the noble neighborhood proclaimed, to any who wanted nothing to do with the conflict. And because of the building reputation as someone helping others, that Fleet Fingers had built, they flocked to him.
Tibs tried to convince himself the man would forget his promises as soon as things calmed down, as all nobles did, but his actions were raising his status among the nobles. Were showing him to be a man of high morals and willing to stand up to those who would bring the rest of them down.
When the city stood behind Rastmyre, Tibs thought he might have accidentally created one of those nobles who could do good for everyone around them.
Not that it mattered to him. After weeks, the chaos showed no sign of slowing and it was no longer the distraction it had been initially. His research had offered little during that time, and as he returned to the room, the noble he pretended to be occupied, he was considering it could be time to finally leave the city and head zenith.
When the blade entered his side, he wasn’t surprised. He’d felt the person approach, and once they slowed to keep pace, he knew he was the target. He let her guide him toward the alley, as pressed her mouth this his ear and whispered.
“The Master sends his regards with an added message. You should have joined him. You shouldn’t have thought yourself too good to work under him. If you had, the theft of those fabrics wouldn’t have been your death.”
When she pushed him against the wall, they were deep enough in the alley no one would see them.
They’d talked.
It was the only way the Master had learned about it. So much for sparing them and hoping they would explain away how they’d ended up in that room. They’d talked about what they’d seen and it had made its way back to the Master. And now the others were in danger because of it.
He pushed away from the wall, smirking, and she stabbed him again.
His smirk vanished as she pulled the metal knife out, and he realized there was a wound there. And also one from the previous stabbing.
How? How could metal have hurt him like this?
“You’re a dead man, Thibaud,” she said. “Poisoned. Fight as hard as you want. It just moved it deeper.”
Poisoned? It couldn’t be. There was no corruption on the blade or in his wound.
But there was something. Some other element he couldn’t identify. It was the only explanation for the injuries, the bleeding.
For him feeling hot?
He staggered against the wall, more acting than effect, but not entirely. What else could be made into poison? He couldn’t think of it. There had to be something. If any element could be used to create their version of what other elements could do, didn’t it make sense the same could apply to what people could make out of them?
It was possible to kill with objects of every element, after all. They simply changed how it happened.
He slumped to the ground. If she thought he was as good as dead, he might as well hurry her belief in it while he tried to figure out how to stop what was happening. His clothing was thick with blood, so the etching of Purity’s work was hidden.
He grew still, stopped his breathing, while ensuring air still reached inside him. It wouldn’t work for long, there was more to air keeping him alive than it being in him, and he’d never paid attention before, and he also had to stop that heat from building, Purity hadn’t help with that, and somehow, it wasn’t Fire, he’d sense it if it was Fire.
But it only had to last long enough for her to decide he was dead and leave him here. Then he’d go see his team was okay. And made sure anyone who threatened them regretted it.
She placed a clean knife under his nose and waited. She waited longer than most for a sign of breath, and when she didn’t get it, she placed a finger on the left side of his neck, where blood passed, feeling for its motion.
She didn’t feel anything.
Blood was more water than the other elements, so his to hold still. Something else he couldn’t do for long, but long enough. For something that caused people to die if too much of it flowed out of them, it had surprised Tibs with how little life essence it contained. No more than any other part of himself.
He thought his body was like the sky. There needed to be a balance between the elements; otherwise, it stormed. Where that resulted in dark cloud, thunder and lighting, rain and winds with the sky. It meant death for the body.
She patted his cheek and searched him. She took his knife and heavy coin pouch. She paused at his bracers, but even remade by Firmen, they looked to be made of ordinary, worn, unadorned, leather. She left them be, stepped away, and let out a whistle.
Why couldn’t his life be simple anymore?
The group of people he’d sensed a few intersections away rushed to her. Swords and knives. He’d thought they were thugs unaffiliated with her.
“Take the body to the Master,” she instructed. “He’s going to serve as a reminder to anyone who thinks they can work free of his protection.” She hurried off.
Did she mean his team?
Two of the thugs grabs a leg each and pulled him further into the alley.
Were they going to drag him like this all the way to the Master’s court? It was nearly on the other side of the city. Or did the man have more than one? One closer to them?
It didn’t matter. The heat was spreading, so he couldn’t wait, not that he wanted to make it there even if he didn’t have something more urgent to deal with.
He needed to go make sure his team was safe and deal with this heat poisoning him.
They were far enough.
Earth took hold of him, causing the thugs to lose their grip. When his feet his the ground, an etching of Air caused him to stand.
“You’re dead,” one of the thug said, confused. His words cause the two ahead to stop and turn.
The sword Tibs made was through that man’s chest. It cut the other’s head off before his hand reached the pommel of the sword at his belt.
An etching created metal spike that impale the other two against the wall, blood and life essence leaking out of them. He absorbed the essence as he jumped to the roofs and ran for his team.
Three roofs later, he was panting and sweating.
Not exhaustion, but that heat spreading within him. That poison. Purity barely helped. It repaired damage, but didn’t keep the heat from spreading, increasing. He focused and thought he made out a reddish tint to the life essence in his channel. It reminded him of when Corruption had soaked into him.
It wasn’t the red of fire. This was darker, richer in a way he finally recognized.
Fever.
That was the poison that had coated her blade.
He filled himself with ice, and its coolness soothed him, but didn’t stop Fever from spreading. He thought Fire would work, since it was something herbalist did to keep wounds from getting bad when they didn’t have enough herbs to help. But it would have to be more than the essence. He would have to fill himself with Fire, and he that would hurt him just as much as Fever could.
He forced himself to run. He still had to see to his team.
He stumbled before he reached the end of the roof, then needed to lean against a chimney to keep standing.
People died of fevers.
Bards sang of Adventurers of that element, setting their enemies with a fireless heat.
His research had told him it was the element of the body.
He could have acted sooner to keep it from…. From what? What could he have changed when he couldn’t control the element?
He slid down.
He had read nothing about Purity helping against Fever, but purity clerics loved their secrets almost as much as Khumdar. It could work, Tibs thought. Purity was about fixing what was wrong, and this was definitely wrong.
Fever was going to take him. There didn’t seem to be anything he could do about it.
He’d have an audience, a new element and—
Where was his fear?
Had this happened so often he no longer cared?
Yet one more audience, one more piece to a puzzle he didn’t understand.
Except he needed his fear to have the audience, to survive what was happening to him so he could go keep his team safe.
So why wasn’t he feeling it?
Did he want to die? No. He wasn’t ready to die.
But he was just so tired. The heat was eating at his strength, and he didn’t have enough left for even fear.
Was this why there were so few Fever Adventurers? He’d read about that in his research. It said that Fever was a harsh element. More difficult to please. But there never was anything about the emotions when talking about getting an audience. It was always all about the rituals.
If the Runners didn’t know. Wasn’t it easier to just let the heat take their strength until there was nothing left?
Would knowing help?
He knew. And yet he lay there, unable to muster fear. Unable to even worry about not being able to manage it.
He closed his eyes.
He was going to die.
Soon, he’d be with Mama again and—
No.
He forced his teeth together.
He wasn’t done. He hadn’t avenged Mama. He hadn’t made the guild pay for how they’d left his town unprotected against Sebastian, twice.
He wasn’t dying until he made them all pay.
And he was wrong.
He didn’t need fear to have an audience.
He needed an intense emotion.
And if there was one emotion he felt stronger than even fear when he thought he might die, it was hate.
He hated those men for taking Mama from him.
He made himself remember their mocking laughter as they walked out of the hovel that was his and Mama’s home. They’d had their fun and left him nothing more than a cooling body.
He growled.
He was going to find them.
He was going to inflict unending pain on each of them. He’d use Purity to keep them alive, and they would suffer the way they made Tibs suffer. He would take everything from them. He would destroy everything they held dear and he would force them to live through it all.
Do you hear me, Fever? Do any of you hear me? You aren’t taking that from me. You will not take my rage, my revenge. I will live and I will—
*
Trigger warning here
“Oh,” a silky voice said. “I so want you to live.”
He opened his eyes. Where was he?
“Here, of course.”
The…person before him was…. “Fever. You’re Fever.”
It was hot, burningly so, and wet, and cloying. Everything was red and wet in a way he’d seen before, but couldn’t place.
“I am. And you are the Child of Humans.”
They approached, and Tibs took a step back reflexively at their…nakedness was the wrong word. Something needed skin to be naked; they were…like everything else here. A fleshy red form that shifted. Sometimes they looked like a man, other a woman, often some of both.
His back pressed against the wall, and it moved.
He tried to pull away, but it didn’t let him. It touched him in places he’d never been touched.
“Stop!”
He didn’t want this.
They paused. “You don’t want this?” They ran a hand over their chest in the way he’d seen women do when they offered themselves to passersby. The flat chest gained a large breast in the hand’s wake, while the other move over their stomach, an erection growing between their legs.
And the wall oozed over his back, his ass, between—
“Is this not why you have visited each of us?”
“Please stop,” he pleaded. It pressed between, there, and he didn’t want that. Didn’t want it anywhere. This wasn’t what Fever was. Why was this happening?
“Oh, Child of Humans. I am so much more than your kind thinks, or admits.”
The pressure lessened, and Tibs breathed.
Which was stupid. There was no air here; only the element.
“You’re the element of the body,” he said, not thinking about what had almost happened. What still might, if Fever decided to start again.
“I am the heats contained in it.” They moved closer and Tibs felt heat radiating off them. They nearly touched his ear with their mouth and whispered, “I am that need which burns in all that have life within. That need to make more of them. To consume and be consumed.”
“I don’t have that. I don’t—”
Their laugh was throaty, and it too carried heat. “You do. I am part of all life. I am what sends you to the roofs to run until you ache, and pleasure fills you.”
“But you are….” Why couldn’t this be simple?
“Because Humans always add to what is there.” They stepped away and straightened; their body shifting.
For a moment, they looked so much like Jackal Tibs had a lump in his throat. Which went away at the lewd smile and far too large erection. Were they trying to temp him with his best friend?
No. This was simply what they were.
They didn’t care what Tibs wanted. This was his test. This was what he needed to do if he wanted Fever’s shadow.
They touched themselves and moaned, and Tibs looked away. Only to force himself to look at them, search for the shadow.
And he found it, right there, within them. All he needed to do was reach in and take it.
To touch their writhing, red and wet…flesh.
Bile rose as he pressed a hand to their chest, and he pulled it away as it shifted, a breast forming. He put it back and pushed, but instead of giving, the breast was hard. He pushed harder, and it resisted. He considered punching, but doubted it would work, and annoying Fever wouldn’t cause anything good.
And he already knew what he needed to do.
They were telling him with every undulation, every touch they gave themselves.
All he needed to do was touch them in a way he didn’t want to.
He slid the hand down and over the stomach, only to back away as their moan filled his ear. Their desire, their need.
He swallowed the bile.
This was more than getting the shadow. He needed to do this if he wanted to live.
He approached and touched them again. He fought not to hear them as he slid his hand and pressed. It sunk, only for them to pull away with an amused chuckle as he attempted to quickly push deeper for the shadow.
He couldn’t rush this.
It was more than touching them the way they did. He needed to do it, so they’d want this. He had to make them pull him in deeper until his hand reached its goal.
He closed his eyes.
A puzzle, nothing more. A series of motion that would produce the result he needed.
This wasn’t…. This wasn’t sex.
He slid his hand, and they moaned. They moved, and it sunk in. He slid it toward the shadow, and encountered resistance. He placed his other hand on them and moved it down. He ignored what touched his arm as he moved his down over the leg.
They shuddered, and the motion moved his hand deeper in, closer.
Down there, his fingers encountered lips, and he almost pulled away.
He knew how women’s bodies were. Back in Kragle Rock, some had made sure he knew. He didn’t mind looking, but touching?
His shudder wasn’t like theirs, but he forced his fingers to move over the lips, and they moaned.
Closer.
The cavity filled, grew in his hand, and he kept it there.
Jackal had taken delight in giving him shows, until he and Kroseph had become serious. Their moan, as he moved his hand along it, was deeper.
His finger touched the shadow. It melded into him and he hurried to pull out and let go of them. To not think about what had happened, as a trickle of sickly red essence forced its way between Fire and Earth.
They sighed with such satisfaction Tibs felt sick.
“Send me back,” he said without opening his eyes.
He felt their heat against his ear. A hand on his chest. “Take care of it,” they whispered. Then they pushed.
Author's thoughts
This one has had a few changes.
The big one is the trigger warning.
After that, I added the fallout of what Tibs and his team did.
I also shifted his motivation when running the roofs as Fever takes hold away from ‘revenge against the master’ and to ‘I need to go make sure my team is okay.’ My co scripter pointed out that it was odd Tibs never even worried about them after the murder attempt on him.(it was me forgetting they existed)
I don’t think I changed anything to the audience.
