Chapter 117: Unearned Power

witness ***Orev Harti, Level 57 Trickster Raven*** “Children, what you see before you is the epitome of the Ranger archetype,” Orev said, gesturing to himself. “I’m the fastest sonovabitch that ever graced the Graneshian military. I’ve never let a target get away from me. My tracking ability could trace the sun through the underworld, and my arrow always takes down its mark. I could shoot here to the southern palace blindfolded and take the wings off a fly.” All this is good, but you know what the most important tool in a ranger’s arsenal is?” The children’s wide eyes followed Orev as he paced back and forth in front of them. He stood in the center of a clearing in the lush Ring, lecturing a group of snot-filled noble-sons. Several of the children unconsciously shook their heads while the rest gaped like beached fish at his question. “The ability to adapt to unexpected circumstances!” Orev said. “You never know what the world is going to throw at you ne-“ Crunch! Crunch! Orev glanced off to the side and spotted Caddock marching through the waist-high shrubs that afforded the lecture clearing a bit of privacy from the thriving city around it. “Oh, look, it’s the high paladin Caddock. He was my commander in my twenties. These are the kinds of classes you’ll be working with as a Ranger, and they have a completely different style. You have to learn to accommodate their slowness.” “Caddock, would you like to demonstrate what a Paladin is capable of for the children?” Orev asked, gesturing towards the kids. Caddock glanced at the children watching his steel-covered bulk with awe. “Sure.” Caddock’s arm snapped up and seized Orev’s ear before he started yanking him away, the sheer unexpected nature of the attack preventing him from dodging it despite having better reflexes. “Ow, ow, OW!” The raven-feathered Ranger hooted in pain as he stumbled along behind the paladin’s determined march. “Orev Harti, you’ve been conscripted into my Party until such a time as I release you from service. Do you accept?” Caddock said. “Do I have an, ow, choice?” “Not if you want to keep the ear.” Caddock replied. Orev thought about that for a moment, until another tug from Caddock made up his mind. “Fine, fine!” Orev said. You have joined the Warbringer Party! Orev’s eyes widened as he saw who was in it. Caddock, High Paladin, level 65 Maybin Glasswind, Devastator, level 63 Imtithal Thuy, Bloodsoaked Berserker, level 61 Orev Harti, Trickster Raven, Level 57 “Is umm…the High Saint Council okay with you having this many people above level fifty in your Party?” Orev asked. There was enough firepower here to topple a city. Or give the Church a run for it’s money. “They declined to provide me the personnel I requested, but never explicitly stated I could not gather them on my own. I will avoid receiving any correspondence from them until I have settled my current conundrum, therefore I will not receive any order to desist, should they send one, which I am confident they will not. There is no conflict of interest.” “The sheer balls on you, sir,” Orev said, accidentally falling back into his old way of referring to his commander. “What do you need us for?” Orev lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Are we hunting a Lord?” “Nah, some fifteen year-old kid.” Caddock said. Orev straightened. “The Abyss do you need fo-“ “A fifteen-year-old Deceiver who stole the Prophet out from under our noses and killed over a hundred level fifteen soldiers in the process as well as a handful of level thirty commanders and level twenty-five Scouts, without Kit, and with barely any Charge.” “Oh.” “We are currently in a race to get to him before he gets back to his kit, which has, at best, become a seven-part soft-set, and at worst, a legendary Set.” “Who the abyss is this kid, William ?” Orev asked, his long legs easily matching his commander’s stubbier pace. The man was big, but he didn’t have Caddock glanced back at him meaningfully, but didn’t respond. Allowing Orev to draw his own conclusions. “No way. I thought William Oh was a joke character that people liked making up stories about. Abyss, I’ve even made a few William Oh jokes myself in the bar.” Orev processed that for a moment. “Wow, I’ve never killed someone famous before.” *** Jason Salazar, level 1 Prophet of the End*** Jason took a deep breath and began shoving the chest. He was wearing both rings, amulet, boots, and the dagger on his waist. Together the Relics made him feel like some hero of old, his strength and stamina more than doubled. Jason felt his face turn red with effort as he shoved the chest with every fiber of muscle at his disposal, aiming for the Door. time, the chest moved. “I am a golden god!” Jason shouted in triumph as the chest began sliding easier and easier under his powerful shoves until it slid right out the Door. Jason followed shortly afterwards, eager to complete his Trial and become a real Climber. It was what he’d been waiting for his entire life. Jason remembered Will’s warning, his head rearing up to scan the environs. He was on the slopes of a mountain, with short, dead grass that spoke to a dry spell. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Jason narrowed his eyes and peered down the mountain, spotting a puff of smoke near the bottom of the mountain. Jason thought, able to make out a few figures shuffling around the firepit. It made sense though. Hype didn’t exist in a vacuum. He needed people to hype up… It was starting to niggle at the back of Jason’s mind that maybe he was involved in something a bit bigger than doing a hype job for a friend for five silver. The biggest question now… Jason thought to himself, peering down at the box. Jason glanced up at the distant people, and caught a hint of movement inching across the horizon. The war-band. There was no way he could expect to wait long enough, nor did he have time to go grab the people down there and guide them up the side of the mountain. Leaving Will’s stuff unguarded felt like leaving your hard candies unguarded at the orphanage. You just didn’t do it. Jason had peeked into the chest several times a day in the beginning, but he’d eventually gotten bored with it, and simply amused himself by skipping the pits of dried fruit off each other, inventing complex games with intricate scoring rules for the sake of maintaining his sanity. When he drank the final sip of water, Jason had decided that it was time to go. There wasn’t exactly a day or night in the room, so he just ate when he got hungry, slept when he got tired, and so on. Jason pried open the chest and peered inside. The ash inside was dead, having spent all its miasmatic glow. Just to make sure, Jason lowered the lid, shutting out as much light as he could and peering into the crack. No light whatsoever. It was dead. He’d had a Class and been wearing the relics the whole time, did that…slow his sleep and eating down? “Huh,” Jason mused, opening the lid again. If it’s done baking, Jason reached in and fished around with his hand until he felt the handle of Will’s axe, pulling it out, ash sloughing off of it to reveal the axe’s silvery exterior. It seemed to have gained some kind of gemstone in the feathers, and the serpent’s eyes had been filled in with stone that seemed to create an iris that followed Jason. Remembering his Climbing lessons, Jason focused on the tomahawk, trying to identify it. “Hooooly Shiiiit.” +8 Strength +8 Kinesthetics +8 Resistance +8 Focus +8 Acuity Passive: Damage from the Tomahawk or Eidolons created by the user gain Psychic Venom, which applies psychic damage over time and incremental stat penalties until the target is dead or the effect is overcome or cured. Scales with Acuity Smoke drawn through the pipe will cure Psychic Venom and inoculate against psychic damage. 1 Charge: May be used to seal an agreement between two individuals by sharing smoke from the pipe. Anyone who willingly violates the spirit of an agreement suffers from Psychic Venom. … …… “Oh, my god, oh my Jason dropped the tomahawk to the ground and scrambled backwards, averting his eyes. He didn’t know much about Relics, but he knew he wasn’t even worthy of at that. Hair standing on end, Jason pushed himself back to his feet and raised his eyes to take in the fanciful tomahawk. It exuded an aura of subtle menace, easy to miss when you were excited, but looking at it with a calm heart…it gave him the impression of Lumesh waiting just below the earth, ready to drag his victim to the underworld with implacable might. Jason glanced down at the war-band in the distance. They were steadily eating the distance between themselves and the helpless band of…cultists? Cultists that Jason needed to protect if he wanted to pass The Trial. Jason tipped the chest over, dumping its contents onto the dead grass of the mountainside, picking through the items, shaking the ash off them before donning Will’s kit as quickly as he could. The glowing ivory hand that he’d grown used to over his time locked away in the white room suddenly gained a feeling of weight, of physicality. As he added more items from the Set, the hand’s fingers elongated and split into five glowing ivory snakes, each about the length of his arm that seemed to emanate good fortune, etched with strange patterns that he instinctively knew related to luck and augury. They lazily swam through the air around him seemingly with minds of their own, their scales making a hypnotic pattern in the air, like flickering firelight. Jason shook himself out of admiring the snakes and got back to work. Jason thought, slipping out of the loaner boots they gave him and tugging on Will’s pants and boots, which shrank to accommodate him. Finally he took off the loaner amulet and threw Will’s over his neck. Jason scratched through the pile of ash to make sure he didn’t miss anything. Once he was satisfied, he slapped down the mask, snatched up the tomahawk and started sprinting down the mountainside, aiming for the helpless civilians who had retreated to their tents, hiding from the height of the noon-day sun. Jason arrived minutes before the warband, skidding to a halt and nearly tumbling, so unused to the sheer power his kit was granting him. He was as buoyant as if he were underwater, except there was no resistance. If anything there was less than ever. It was a strange feeling. In the center of the campsite was a big wooden statue that these cultists had apparently decided was a good idea to carry on their desperate escape from their old clan. More surprising, was the subject of the statue. The statue was poorly crafted and lacked artistry, but Jason could make out the important details. The statue depicted a man with one hand resting his palm on a kobold’s crest. Jason cocked his head as he studied the weather-beaten wooden statue. “It that…Loth?” “Attack!” A raspy voice shouted. The tent flaps burst open, revealing a dozen kobolds and Jibleya of various color, aiming the pokey ends of their spears at Jason’s neck. seaʀᴄh thё novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. “Wait, wait WAIT!” Jason said, holding his hands up. “I’m here to help you guys!” “Likely story humie,” The lead kobold said, gesturing with his spear. “I thinks you SPY!” The surrounding kobolds cheered. The closest Jibleya frowned, glancing at the kobold. “Your old clan hired a human child -whom they would rather eat- to attack us?” “I’m on my Trial!” Jason interjected. “The Tower told me to save you from the warband.” “Warband?” The jibleya asked, leaning on his spear. Jason pointed. Some five hundred feet distant, the band of kobolds trotting towards them was now putting on a burst of speed to catch their prey. “Oh, them. Shit.” “Stupid humie, you waste perfectly good ambush!” the lead kobold made a hacking cough that Jason was pretty sure was the equivalent of a rude spit before rushing to organize themselves. “What help can you give us, Aspirant?” The Jibleya asked, glancing at Jason as the kobold-jibleya alliance formed a line, raising their spears. Jason hadn’t gotten his adult height yet, so they were nearly at eye level with each other, and he could see the fear in the man’s face. “Umm…” Jason glanced down at the tomahawk, then back at the ivory snakes lazily noodling around him. With a thought, the snakes swam forward at the speed of an arrow, their mouths unhinging to reveal long fangs, latching onto the five closest of the two dozen kobolds sprinting towards them. The kobolds collapsed to the ground, foaming at the mouth, as the snakes leapt to their next targets, bringing them down in a matter of seconds. In a matter of seconds, the process repeated itself until the entire warband was dead, none of them having come close enough to even throw their spears. Jason’s hair stood on end as the notifications rolled in, bringing with them a looming sense of dread. The Set had singlehandedly slaughtered those kobolds with less effort than it took to wave his hand. Every ounce of Jason’s mind was telling him that he didn’t deserve the set. He wasn’t strong enough to use it, and instead it would use him, dragging him along…until someone stronger discovered he was using it and took it from him. And if it was anyone other than Will, they probably wouldn’t think twice about killing the occupant first. He was wearing something unspeakably valuable, and he was nowhere near strong enough to defend it. “I think-OW!” One of the snakes gave a pulse of magic, tensing up like it’d experienced a sudden cramp, as a pain in Jason’s knee dropped him to the ground in an instant. A dark-feathered arrow flew past Jason’s head, bursting into a cloud of black feathers, from which emerged a rather slender man wearing shoulder-pads made of raven feathers, wielding a hooked spear with a black feather mane. Without a word, the man pounced.