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Chapter 605
🕑 Added 2023-06-19 12:00:04 +0000 UTCEnjoy!
ToC
* * *
“That is a very big statue,” Felix said to no one in particular.
He stood at Shaper Square, as it was apparently called, just on the other side of the squeeze of streets that led away from the Torrent’s Rest. It was full dark but lamps sat at steady intervals down every thoroughfare and side alley. Their light was buttery yellow bordering on orange, and mingled with the press of people, their noise and smell, Felix could almost believe he was back on Earth. At least until he actually paid attention.
Dwarves, Goblins, and even a few Korva filled the streets, filling the night with idle chatter, nervous conversation, and everything in between. The crowds weren’t much affected by the forced relocation into Birchstone, at least not their attitudes; they drifted among shops and through small parks, eating steaming pastries or sipping on drinks. They weren’t all rich either, despite their surroundings. Felix spotted more than a few Dwarves with threadbare jackets and well-patched trousers, often with entire families in tow. They stared about the city, taking in the hustle and bustle with overwhelmed wonder.
I know how you feel, folks. He looked back up at the statue that dominated the square. A Dwarven city. Awesome.
It was why he’d come out, really. Visiting a new city after months of snowy Nagast was fascinating and intoxicating all at once. So many things were going on, and he’d only seen a tiny portion of one section of Birchstone. Felix had no clue how quickly they would find the other Unbound, but he wanted to explore while he could. Which brought him back to the statue at the center of Shaper Square.
The statue was of a very wide Dwarf, but unlike some of the more martial carvings he’d seen around the city, this one was wearing soft, flowing robes and holding a baton or rod. It was big, at least fifty feet tall, and Felix imagined people could see it from streets away. A thick belt covered the statue’s torso from sternum to hips, and a number of symbols were etched into it. Not an array, but letters of some sort.
A young Dwarven woman was set up against the statue’s base, patiently tuning some sort of stringed instrument. A lute, he was pretty sure. An open case sat next to her, empty except for a dirty rag. Felix turned to her. “Excuse me. Sorry. Can you tell me what this says?”
The woman blinked at him once before her uninterested face came alive. “Oh! The Rockshaper? It’s a list of his accomplishments.”
“Accomplishments? What did this Rockshaper do?”
“New here?”
“What gave that away,” Felix asked with a smirk.
The musician strummed a few chords. “You’re very tall, even for a Human.”
“I eat my vegetables. Have you played for long?”
“All my life,” she said proudly. “You interested in a song? Two stone and I’ll play your ears off.”
“Tempting. More interested in this statue and what it says, though.”
The woman smiled, revealing several missing teeth and a scar across her lips. “What say we split the difference? Toss me some copper and I’ll tell you the tale. Better than some stuffy list.”
Felix pulled two coppers from his pouch, tossing them into her instrument case. “Fair trade.”
The Dwarven busker lowered her head, her mouth moving silently. Felix’s first instinct was to rush her, to disable her before she could use a Skill—but he suppressed it. She seemed to be repeating something. Reminding herself. When she was done, she changed her fingering on the frets of her lute and strummed once.
A chord rang out into the square, pure and almost sweet sounding. The crowds slowed, stilled, turning toward her as her voice followed. It lilted, drifting through notes with enviable agility, before settling on a steady harmony. Words formed, first in what he assumed was Dwarven, then switching to the common tongue.
“In ancient days of yore, a tale we sing,
Of Rockshaper, the mage, earth's sacred king.
Ancestor of Red Shield, revered with pride,
Master of elements, his power amplified.
The Troll King, imprisoned in depths below,
By Rockshaper's might, dealt a crushing blow.
Foundations laid, through shadow and flame,
Undermount emerged, hidden realm claimed.”
The words went on, a song worthy of a hero of legend. Felix filed away all the details, though he was sure some of them were likely made up. He definitely hadn’t heard of anything called a “nevermind” or an “aberrant terror.” At the very least, they were probably exaggerated by countless retellings. His own growing fame was proof of that—many of the “miraculous feats” he was credited with were impossible, even for him.
The musician—bard, he supposed—ran out of verses a few minutes later, and the tumble of chords became something uplifting.
“So raise your voices high, with hearts alight,
To Rockshaper, the mage, in eternal Night.
His story lives on, through the ages told,
A Dwarven legend, noble and bold.”
The crowd applauded, some quite enthusiastically, the moment she finished the last note. Coppers rained down on the bard, most landing in her lute case. She thanked them all with a seated bow and a wide smile.
“Your voice is very good,” Felix said through the crowd.
“Well, thanks Tall Man,” she half-shouted. Several of the Dwarven families, the ones clearly from the evacuated towns, leaned in to praise her voice.
“What’s the Undermount?” He’d heard of it in passing before, but hadn’t given it much thought. “Is that what they call the Clan Hall?”
“No, Tall Man. You really are new. It’s a mountain that hangs from the bottom of the world. My thanks,” she said, as another farmer dropped a coin into her case. “The Clan Holds all connect to it, and it’s where the Highbloods all hobnob with the Hinterlords. Or try to, anyway. Mostly they just host parties so depraved that it’d curl your hair.”
Connected to all the Clan Holds, he mused. Sounds like another liminal space…and the perfect place to keep valuable treasures like the Mote of Frenzy.
“Is Undermount dangerous? It seems this Rockshaper dealt with a lot of mighty things, but your song barely mentioned it.”
“Oh it’s dangerous alright. Filled with monsters and guardians. Creatures born of the mountain, slaved to it. Sworn to guard its secrets for all time. And it’s got plenty of those. Treasures like you wouldn’t believe in tombs bigger than this whole city. Rockshaper himself got buried there, I hear.”
Something danced across his senses, and Felix focused on it as the bard kept talking. His Perception had flagged a figure moving through the crowd while the bard was still performing, but he’d ignored them at the time. Just another body, after all. Now, as the crowd jostled on its way, they were a touch more obvious. As was the muffled jingle of coins at their waist. Too many coins.
A thief. What do they call them here? Right. A cutpurse.
He focused again on the bard, who was still talking about the horrors and treasures of the Undermount. She very pointedly never looked at the thief, even when the slight figure passed nearby, which settled Felix’s thoughts. And it gave him an idea, one that might even save him some time.
The woman shivered, her litany of dangers petering out, and Felix could tell it was an honest reaction. “Some folks dream of climbin’ the heights, braving the air that wants to kill you, and the tombs filled with living shadows…me, I’d be happy with a simple roof over my head and steady meals.”
“That sounds wise.” He dropped a handful of gold crowns in her case, and kept his smile mild when her eyes widened in surprise. “I appreciate the song. And the help.”
She sputtered something that came close to “thank you,” but was mostly noise.
“Don’t worry about it. But tell me: where do you go to get a drink?”
“Rich man like yourself, the Torrent’s Rest is about the only place round these parts.”
“What if I wanted something rougher? More…down to earth?” His hand snapped to his waist, where his pouch dangled. He’d caught a thin, overly pale wrist attached to a slender Dwarven girl. She squirmed hard, trying to free herself. “A place where you fine folks might frequent,” he continued, emphasizing the right words. “I’m looking for a job.”
The bard looked at him in fear, trading glances with what was clearly her accomplice. As he hoped, she spoke quickly. “Go to the Cask. It’s northwest, over the river, near the first wall. Ask for Quarro. You’ll, ah, you’ll find it exactly as you hope.”
Felix let the Dwarven thief go, and she retreated, rubbing her wrist. “What do you need a job for? You ain’t no rat lord.”
“Misha,” the musician warned.
Felix chuckled. “Sorry if I squeezed too tightly. And please, don’t rob the refugees. Focus on the rich ones.”
“Like you?” the thief snapped back.
“Quiet, Misha!”
Felix just smiled, letting his Sovereign of Flesh sharpen the edges of his white teeth. The two thieves stumbled back, pale and shaking. “I think you know the answer to that, Misha.”
They both ran.
Felix watched them for a moment, before heading in the opposite direction. Northwest, toward the river.
* * *
“And so you scared them?” Karys said, somewhat incredulous.
“They were trying to rob me,” Felix muttered, only a little defensive. Mostly he felt bad for freaking them out. They hadn’t even been Apprentice Tier. “I’m not super proud of it, but hey, it got me some interesting information.”
“Hm.” The sword at his waist buzzed with disapproval, life Mana seeping out around it in a cloud. The vapor was invisible to everyone on the street, though most people still gave Felix a wide berth and worried stares as he strode past. Compared to almost everyone, he was practically a giant. It was slightly disorienting after his stay among the Risi.
“This Rockshaper is intriguing. Based on that lady’s song, he probably had Stone Shaping, like me. Might be some Dwarves here know about shaping Skills and could point me in the right direction.”
“For your tenth Pillar?”
“Maybe. I’m still aiming to combine all my shaping Skills into a singular Skill, something with a high rarity. Something powerful and with a lot of utility.” He’d already incorporated his newest one into his Shaping Array, and Storm Shaping had slotted into place without a single twinge of pain. “If it’s Tri-Aspected, then yeah. That’s the goal.”
“Remember, Felix. What you need is balance. Power and even utility is secondary.”
“Right.” He hadn’t forgotten; focusing on Tri-Aspected Skills was part of his decision-making process. He looked up, spotting a soaring wall at the end of the next street. “I gotta go. I’m here.”
“Do be careful,” Karys insisted. “I would ask that you come back with your allies, but I know you won’t. So instead, I’ll only say this: many lives depend on you. Do not walk into needless danger, Felix.”
“Hey. You know me.”
Karys sighed, and their connection fizzled out.
The city of Birchstone was split into segments, much as Haarwatch was, though the Dwarves had designed the mountain city like a series of nested circles. Each one rose higher as they neared the grand expanse of the mountain itself. The huge walls were incredibly thick and sported guarded gates between. He’d seen traffic moving between districts, but the gates were closed at night, likely for security reasons.
Down at the end of the street, perched against the soot-stained wall, was a ramshackle structure. Though the tavern didn’t climb even a quarter of the wall’s height, it was still three stories tall, each level seemingly made by a different hand until the entire thing leaned drunkenly against the battlements. A sign hung above a stained and timeworn door, depicting a wine barrel with a big skull and crossbones covering its side.
The Cask, I assume. As far as branding went, it was pretty spot on.
Compared to the Torrent’s Rest, the Cask looked to be held together by wishes, dreams, and pigeon crap. Windows sagged in their frames, the small panes of glass so soot stained that they might as well have been painted over. A tottering porch rose to meet an off-center wooden door, worn pale by years of rough, ungentle hands. Felix pushed it open. Inside it was both dark and smokey. Worn and splintered tables and chairs filled the tavern, stained and sticky in the wan light. A dozen Dwarves, Goblins, Orcs, and Hobgoblins were seated or standing, and all of them looked up at him as he entered. Not a single Human. No Elves or Gnomes either, though perhaps the latter weren’t much appreciated around town anymore.
“Evening,” he muttered.
Everyone went back to ignoring him.
Felix walked through, ducking his head as he passed a particularly low ceiling support. All around, the patrons pulled on their pipes and drank ironbound mugs of foamy ale. They were settled into the thick shadows that clung to the dingy little place despite the fire that burned in a hearth at the far end. Felix imagined someone with a lower Perception would find it all pretty unnerving. As it was, he could see them all just fine, and he made special note of all of the weaponry that was hidden just out of direct view.
“Tall bastard, ain’t cha?” said the grizzled bartender. He was a Dwarf with a wild gray beard and an eye patch painted with a small green snake. “Don’t see many Humans ‘round these parts, not til recently anyhow. And not fair-haired pretty boys like you. What’s yer business, boy?”
Deception is level 48!
Felix managed not to touch his head at the comment. He was using his Glamulet to form an illusion around himself; to others he appeared as a normal Human man, with ordinary hands that definitely weren’t claws. He was blond now, with a slightly too big chin and a crooked nose. The look of a laborer, but someone that clearly specialized in Strength. His height made him conspicuous, but there was little he could do about that.
He coughed, putting some rasp into his voice. “You’re right. I’m new to Birchstone, and got no connections. Need a job. Some friends told me to come here. Ask for Quarro.”
The bartender squinted at him, and Felix felt a faint shiver against his Spirit. “What’s yer name?”
“Mervin.”
“Already got a bouncer, Mervin, and he lifts all my stock when needs be. Ain’t got work for you, kid.”
“No no, not that. I’m strong. Got a good back and decent vision. I wanna work,” here Felix lowered his voice, looking around the bar suspiciously. “For the rat lords.”
A crossbow beneath the counter was lifted enough that Felix could see its knocked bolt. “Show me your stats.”
Felix sent them—veiled of course. The bartender grunted again, but this time Felix got the impression he was impressed. His stats was still impersonating a Journeyman Tier with a Strength specialization, but he’d made his Endurance and Vitality look good too. His Veiling Amulet had a considerable amount of versatility if used by someone with enough Willpower and Intent—Felix just had to focus hard on what he wanted to show.
“I just need somethin’ to do, you know? Keep silver in my pocket and food on the table. I’m strong, and I ain’t picky about how I use it.”
Deception is level 49!
“Alright. Might be we have a use for ya,” the bartender admitted. “Come with me.”
The grizzled Dwarf flipped open a length of the bar and sauntered out and around several patrons. Felix followed, stepping around snoring patrons and a few that sent more inquisitive shivers across his Spirit. Analyzing people without asking was considered rude, but he supposed no one at The Cask much cared about manners.
The bartender brought him down a short hall that ended with a stone wall. It was the same stone wall as outside, the warded ones that separated the districts. Felix raised an eyebrow, but the Dwarf merely reached out and ran his fingers across a particular section. Sigils formed beneath his hand, dusty-brown and silver, before fading. In their place, something mechanical clicked and ratcheted, muted by feet of dark stone, until a Dwarf-sized door slid smoothly open.
“C’mon, boy, and don’t lag behind.” The bartender vanished into the door, footsteps loud but fading fast.
Felix took a breath. This is probably stupid.
He followed, folding himself almost in half to fit beneath the lintel, and shuffled off into the dark.
Comments
Jordan Mayo
He was using his Glamulet to form an illusion. Is glamulet a mistake or a portmanteau of glamor and amulet?
