Octophobia
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Spire's Spite - Arc 2 - Chapter 46
🕑 Added 2024-10-13 02:00:02 +0000 UTC"For now we stay together, avoid the other crew and search through the books for anything useful," Fritz stated to his team, gathered as they were behind the lightly groaning door.
"What if they try to shut the next door on us?" Rosie asked.
"Then we cut through it again. Hey, George," Bert said.
George smiled proudly and nodded once from where he and his greatsword leant against a stone brick wall.
"We'll have to strike an accord with them," Fritz said with a sigh. "Should have sent those two with a message to their captain."
He also chided himself that he hadn't extracted a promise not to tell the Nightshark about all they knew about him and Bert. A mistake. He had been too preoccupied fighting with his cold anger, his deep desire for revenge. Though he did doubt that even if he had made them swear to secrecy, that those traitors would hold to it. What was another betrayal after all?
"Lucky for you, that I, as the second command, have already done as such," Bert said, puffing out his chest in an exaggerated manner.
Fritz blinked slowly, brought out of his dark thoughts by Bert's voice. He put aside his plans of how to deal with the danger that the pair held, instead dwelling on the present, as he should. There were immediate problems that needed to be dealt with, and as for Toby and Jane, well, there was an entire Floor to explore and anything could happen. Even if there was a time limit in the form of flooding.
"Good work, Bert," Fritz said donning his usual affability. "I knew I did right making you my right-hand man."
"Best decision you've ever made, but that's not saying much," Bert replied.
"Well, let's not dally in this hallway, we have books to find and sort," Fritz said. "Oh, and weapons ready in case they want to ambush us."
"Is that likely? Won't your 'friends' dissuade them from such an action?" Lauren asked.
"They're not my friends," Fritz stated, somewhat harshly.
"Then who are they?" she asked.
"Former crew, we Climbed together for a time, but one floor went wrong, horribly wrong," Fritz explained. "The Spire tricked us, lied to us about how many exits there were. Tried to force us to fight amongst ourselves rather than search for the other, hidden, ways out. Unfortunately, it mostly succeeded. And those two turned traitor, fleeing rather than fighting, leaving Bert and I for dead."
"Come on, Fritz, I was basically dead. I did tell them to go. We're thieves, not knights, there's no honour in fighting to the end. And holding onto that grudge will do you no good. Let it lie would you?" Bert said, and in his eyes amber eyes Fritz could read the "please".
It was an earnest entreaty, one that sought to make sense of the traitorous actions. In this world of backstabbing and broken bonds, what more could you expect? What more could you demand? Even from crew.
Fritz decided, that for now at least, he would heed Bert's words. How could he refuse?
"Fine. I'll leave it be," Fritz sighed. "Though that doesn't mean I'll walk into a trap forged of naivety and forgiveness. Blades and flails at the ready, we set forth to treat with the others."
"Are you going to talk to them?' Cal asked anxiously.
"Yes, who better?" Fritz replied. "Bert? George? You?"
"No thanks," George said.
"Dibs not it," Bert blurted.
"Maybe Lauren," Cal suggested. "She's great at negotiating."
"When it comes to merchants and bartering I would agree," Lauren said. "However, I have little experience with these rough sorts. And could make some terrible blunder"
"So that leaves me or Rosie," Fritz concluded.
"Not me," Rosie declared. "Unless they're fish I don't think I could charm them as well as Fritz."
"Exactly," Fritz agreed. "Now let's stop the chatter and get moving. Eyes wide team."
Cautiously, carefully, Fritz and his team stepped up the stairs, stopping in the arch of the still-open double doors, on the threshold of entering the ancient archive beyond.
Fritz could see the six members of the other team lurking outside the lantern light, their own glowstones put away so as to hide in the shadows in the alleys between bookcases. He pretended his eyes couldn't pierce the dark as easily as a cloudless day and stood there, waiting as they whispered amongst themselves. The members of the other team, save Toby and Jane, were at least a decade older than Fritz's own team. They were likely veterans of the Mer and Sunken Spires by the look of them, their scars and stony faces telling a story of long-suffering and longer survival.
Toby and Jane seemingly had the most to say, though he couldn't make out their soft words. A breeze danced around them, sweeping up sound and dust alike.
Through his Awareness, he could feel the wind was connected to an Ability used by a thin, tall man in dark leather armour holding a long staff of gnarled wood. He brushed shoulder-length dirty blond hair from his face as the wind played with the greasy strands. The air caster looked to have little interest in the conversation, as did the small woman beside him. She was athletically built, had violet hair and fit tightly into those same dark leathers the other crew wore, seemingly she had gone with a size too small for even her slighter frame. The woman was also armed with two mismatched daggers, likely both magical, possibly even Imbued.
Fritz casually leant on Quicksilver as if it were a cane, and after a tense minute a man cut off their low argument and strode forward into the bright ring of light his team's lantern cast. It wasn't the man who took a swing at him while they were fleeing from the flood. That man stood back in the dark, his hand on the haft of his hammer.
Fritz assumed the approaching figure to be the opposing Captain. He was on the shorter side, had a shaved head and face beginning to bloom with stubble. He was clad in dark leathers over his limbs while his chest was covered with a dull rainsteel breastplate. What little could be seen of his arms were corded with thick muscle and his face was grim, even when he attempted to smile, which he did. It looked brutal. Though not quite as brutal as the large, stone-grey, bone club he carried over his shoulders, one hand on its hide-wrapped handle.
"Take it you're Fritz, and you're not a ghost," the man said, coming to stand before him just out of the reach of his blade.
"You are correct on both accounts," Fritz began in polite tones before he noticed disdain of his noble speech creeping into the man's dirt brown eyes. Abandoning his airs, Fritz continued in a more appropriate, coarser, manner. "I'm Fritz, not a ghost. Used to do jobs for Kind Ron. Who are you then?"
"Larry," the man provided.
"Larry legbreaker?" Fritz asked.
"The very same," the man said with a smirk like a bludgeon. "Glad you've heard of me. I won't need to tell you why you should do as I say."
Fritz didn't need telling, the man had quite the reputation, one almost as bloody as Jagged Nic's. He was suspected to be one of the Nightshark's most trusted enforcers and a brutal, effective way of sending a message to the gangs that displeased them. Fritz dearly wished for a way to be able to sense a man's level or relative strength, while he knew the man was strong, he didn't know if his reputation was just due to the power disparity between him and those he 'visited' or an actual show of true strength.
Larry couldn't be a higher level than Nic, could he? And Fritz had been able to cut Nic, and now he was even stronger. Fritz was sick of being pushed around, especially in a Spire, where the eyes of the powerful weren't able to watch. It was time to test the waters, see how far he could push.
"I should do as you say? And why should I do that?" Fritz asked affably, which caused Larry's gaze to harden.
"'Cause if you don't I'll break your legs," Larry said, shifting the heavy club on his shoulders.
"Yes, yes. It's in the name, I get that," Fritz said feigning no concern. "However, it might be simpler and less painful to let us go our own ways, or trade information."
"Less painful for you maybe," Larry said.
Fritz smiled a charming, only slightly smug smile, and Larry bristled.
"Fritz is right, Larry," Toby said. "Who's knowing what kind of tricks and Treasure they all have. We already lost three on the last floor and two more just getting to the sixth. Best we just go our own ways."
"Yeah, and we don't want any needless wounds," Jane added. "If you make us fight here I won't heal you."
It was an unexpected call for peace, though it was one Fritz welcomed. As much as he didn't want to be bullied and bulled over by Larry, he wasn't exactly keen on fighting him either, even if the man could prove a good way to measure the progress of his own Powers. He looked like a Striker or perhaps a Defender, an interesting match-up to be sure, but one that might be a toss-up depending on their respective kits.
"That, and Fritz is a pain in the arse and a half," Toby grumbled. "Triply so if he's not on your side."
"That so," Larry mused. "He's the mad one that robbed the duke, yeah?"
"We helped, but yes," Toby said.
Larry smiled at that. "Good, I hate that prick. Upped the rent and got the drizzlers to chuck me and me ma' out when we couldn't pay. Lousy skulgspawn, throwing all us to the gutters like that," he spat.
"Hate them bastards," Rosie agreed.
"His son was on the sixth floor," Fritz provided.
"Damn, must have got there after we left, woulda' waited and followed if I knew," Larry groused.
"You would have met resistance, they were with both a Guide and an important scion of the Empire," Fritz informed the man.
"Damn, maybe it's well that we didn't wait too long on the sixth then," Larry sighed.
After some thought the man seemed to come to a decision.
"Right, you leave us be and we leave you be," Larry said.
"Really?" Fritz said, letting some surprise show.
"Yeah, after you show us what you got stuffed in those packs," Larry stated.
Fritz stiffened and his team raised their weapons, it seemed there was no need to consult them on what they considered to be the right action. And they were right, show even a little bit of weakness and this team would roll right over them and take what they wanted.
"No," Fritz said smiling sharply.
"No?" Larry asked, frowning, then slinging his club off his shoulders. Its knobbly head hit the stone with a loud crack, sending up dust in a small cloud.
"No," Fritz stated again, though he made no move to raise his own blade, instead choosing to project an air of casual confidence, and wrapping himself in Dusksong.
"Are you sure? What's in those bags ain't worth your life kid," Larry warned. The team in the shadows shuffled, unsheathed their blades and prepared to strike if commanded.
"We would rather die," Fritz declared, weaving his curse into his next words. "Take one step closer and I'll cut your throat. Is that worth it?"
Larry scowled while the draining power of Lethargy sunk into his body, making his shoulders sag slightly.
"Larry, leave it," Jane hissed.
A tense silence fell over the two teams as they stood off against each other, each glaring and waiting for the other to make a move.
Larry sighed wearily. "Have it your way. We'll go left, you go right, and hopefully, we won't have this conversation again. And close the doors before you go, it'll buy more time to search for the way out and Treasures."
He motioned to his team and they lit up their magical lights, then he walked away, gathering his crew and leaving through an alley to the left. Before they set off, the hammer man approached smiling sheepishly. He was an average-looking fellow, with brown hair and blue eyes, and decently muscular. He wasn't in the same dark leathers, instead, he wore armour of muddy scales.
"Just thought I'd come make me introductions and offer me apologies," the hammer man said. "Name's Fred. I know it's a little late, but sorry for the whole hammer-to-the-face thing. In my defence, I thought you were going to do the same to me."
Strangely enough, Fritz believed his words and the friendly demeanour didn't come off as an act.
"Good of you to apologise, though you needn't do so. We were foes at the time, hard to hold a grudge for something like that," Fritz said.
"Just didn't sit right to leave without saying anythin'," Fred said with a shrug. "I'll buy you a beer on the outside. No hard feelings."
"No hard feelings," Fritz agreed, and shook the hand Fred offered.
Then he turned and followed his team, leaving Toby and Jane who said a stilted farewell and quickly retreated.
When the sight of the last grubby back had disappeared, Fritz let out a long relieved sigh.
"That was close," Bert said.
"Too close," Fritz agreed.
"Did you have to antagonise them?" Lauren asked. "I thought we wanted to avoid a fight, yet you were basically taunting them."
"That was the way to avoid bloodshed," Fritz explained. "You can't back down in front of thugs like Larry. Like any predator if you show any hint of weakness they'll pounce."
"True as the rain," Rosie said.
"If we gave into his demand to see our stuff he might have thought us easy prey and pushed further. I must say it was well done displaying both your metal and your mettle the moment he asked," Fritz said. "Really made him think twice about attacking right then and there."
"Think they'll try again," Lauren asked gloomily.
"Certainly, though not right away," Fritz espoused. "Likely in one of the other rooms. Once we're sure to have gathered something good."
"Toby and Jane don't want to fight," Bert said.
"Yes, that was a surprise," Fritz mused. "Or maybe not, they are cowards."
Bert rolled his eyes.
"They'll definitely try before the Stairway, if not right by the Stairway," Fritz said. "Now bar the door and let's get to searching."
"Searching for what?" Cal asked as he and Bert hefted up a thick wood plank that was conveniently leaning on a nearby wall.
"Techniques," Fritz said with a wide smile.
---
"Are we sure there are Techniques here?" Bert grumbled, pulling book after book off the shelves, perusing the pages for a moment before dropping them on the floor. "This is all nonsense."
"Maybe," Fritz croaked, his throat clogged by the dust. "The other team seemed to think so."
They had been searching through the piles of books scrolls and tablets for hours at this point, rooting through shelves upon shelves of meaningless scrawlings and unidentifiable diagrams.
"I don't even know many letters," Rosie said. "Don't know what I'm looking for."
"That's actually an advantage here. If you can read it, it's likely a Technique book," Fritz theorised.
"Still, it's like a needle in a haystack," Lauren bemoaned as she sorted through some scrolls.
"Cal don't touch that big leather-bound tome there," Fritz warned. "It's trapped."
He had been periodically pulsing his Trap Sense, finding and flagging the cursed or runed books and papers, saving him and his team from whatever miseries lay within.
Cal pulled his hand back with a grimace, then selected another book beside it, this one having a stiff wooden cover.
"How long will we search?" He asked, setting the book back when it proved to be unreadable.
"A couple more hours," Fritz said. "If we find nothing we can change our strategy."
"Wish you picked Treasure Sense," Bert grumbled.
"You had the choice of Treasure sense!?" Lauren asked frustratedly, unfurling a scroll, then throwing it over her shoulder.
"I did. Though it was either that or my Umbral Phase, which saved my life," Fritz replied flippantly. "And I have a feeling that it would be shrouded on this Floor anyway."
"Shrouded?" George asked.
"It happens, some Floors will have 'rules' that affect Abilities or other properties, especially Senses," Lauren said. "Sapphire said that Floors in larger Spires are more likely to be affected in such ways. Like the Rain Spire, it will often suppress fire-aligned Abilities or shroud certain sight and sound based Senses."
"Good to know," Fritz said, glancing over the covers of a whole series of books.
"Annoying too, considering I have fire Abilities," Lauren said.
"I'm sure your Fire Breath will still be potent on the other Floors," Fritz consoled. "More than potent, deadly, disastrous even."
"You're likely right," Lauren said with a small sigh that stirred the dusty air.
"Oh ho! What's this!" George boomed, uncovering what looked like a bound-up bundle of neatly cut sticks from beneath a stack of books. Immediately Fritz could tell something was different about the object, and soon the crew was gathered around the fortunate find.
George unwrapped what seemed like a scroll made of small slats of thin pale wood tied together with lines of white, silk thread. It clattered as it was unfurled like a loosely packed bedroll and in the light of the lantern, Fritz could make out the writing and diagrams of a robed man moving through fluid stances, all depicted in black ink.
"Mist Art: Mystic Forms," George read to the apprehensive team. Then he frowned, disappointed. "Damn. It's not the sword forms."
"No, it looks more to be a magical shaping Technique," Lauren said, she pointed to a section at the top of the scroll. "It mentions here that it can transform water-aligned Abilities to be more mist-like and give you far more control over already mist-aligned spells."
"Too bad we have no water mages," Bert observed. "But those stances look exotic! Very eye-catching."
"Don't you dare learn a Technique useless to you because you think it's aesthetically pleasing," Fritz warned.
"Do you think it'll work with my acid?" Bert asked.
"Of course not," Fritz said. "Idiot."
"Maybe," Lauren corrected.
"Maybe?" Bert asked eagerly, pushing closer to the wooden scroll.
"It may work, or it may have unintended effects, or it might just not affect your Abilities at all," she replied, shrugging. "I don't really know, I've only heard about the Sword-style version. It's rather famous, due to the tales of the peerless swordsmen that come from the Land of Mist."
"Not exactly peerless, there are other great sword Techniques; The Inevitable Blade, The Scouring Sandstorm, The Peak Splitter and The Sun's Zenith all have a claim to being the most lauded or most powerful. But the Mist style is definitely one of the great or just the most mist-erious of the sword Techniques," George explained. Obviously, he had done some digging on the subject of swords and swordplay, although that did nothing to sharpen his sense of humour, judging from the pun.
Bert grinned and laughed. "Hand it here, I'll look it over later. Wouldn't mind turning my spray into a mist."
Fritz briefly thought on how the Mist Art may affect his own Abilities. He failed to see how it could change Stone Pit or Gloom Strike, though it might have some promise when paired with Lethargy or Illusory Shadow. A mist of darkness or stamina sapping could come in useful. The Technique could also highlight some interesting ways to use his Passives, but he only had one Technique Channel left before he had to start the painful process of forgetting the Arte Pugilist.
He had decided to remove it some time ago. Not because it was useless, no it had likely saved his life a couple of times at least. But because he felt that it would be the easiest to part with when compared to 'The Observations' and whatever other Technique he would choose to internalise. And now that he had Quicksilver and Mortal Edge the benefits it conferred to unarmed combat would be largely wasted.
"Fritz, you interested in it too?" Bert asked as he rolled up the Technique and stored it away in his pack.
"Perhaps," Fritz allowed.
"I might have a look at it too," Lauren said. "Wonder if it could make my Fire Breath more mist-like, and as I have no Techniques yet I'm not worried about experimenting a little."
"Remember it can influence the Spire offerings," Fritz reminded her.
"I know, I think it's worth the risk," she stated easily.
"Fair, and if worst comes to worst we can always just sell it," Fritz said.
"It'd be worth hundreds of gold, maybe thousands," Lauren said. "We've been incredibly fortunate so far. Are you sure you don't have a Treasure Sense or maybe Attract Treasure Ability?"
"Alas, I only have my Trap and Danger Senses," Fritz bemoaned.
"Only," Cal grumbled, though he smiled while he did so.
"Well, now that we know that there are Techniques hidden within these archives, we should get back to searching."
The chamber shuddered for a moment, and after a minute something slammed against the double doors. The wood groaned under the new pressure.
"Or maybe we should take our leave."
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Prudence seems clear when water you fear
