Jjhutto_Son of Flame
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B3. Ch. 55 Interlude
🕑 Added 2024-11-18 14:56:33 +0000 UTCLevel 72 Branch Chief
Irvine’s large heart pounded in his chest, struggling to keep up with the load that had been thrust upon his poor personage in the last weeks.
“Take the position,” they had said, “You deserve it! Besides, it will be a plum posting. A bunch of low-Tier bumpkins who made a lucky find.”
Imbeciles! The Guild had rushed into this contract without doing its due diligence. Now he was stuck in this revolving door of madness. He had come here to turn a decent profit, and in a few years earn a position at headquarters, where the real money was made…Instead, he had been shoved into a roaring dumpster fire of speculation and scrutiny as numbers beyond belief ran through his branch like rain through the sewers.
He had been forced to endure two separate audits in as many days. Each accompanied by a personal interview with an inquisitor, something that would stain his record for years to come. The only thing keeping this posting from turning into an absolute disaster was that such numbers were actually producing an incredible profit, even if no one understood where and how they were arriving. His Branch portfolio had rocketed through the rankings in a matter of weeks, as Dragon Glass had become the hottest commodity on the market, driving up the value of the local currency to insane heights.
There had been howling from his counterparts when his initial report was leaked. Calls of foul play, embezzlement, and other such nonsense had been levied by his enemies to drown him in bureaucracy. All the while, the cretins were simultaneously attempting to snatch the post from him.
Even worse than the interrogations had been the paperwork. His issuance of a fourth-tier world ring on his first day had not gone unnoticed, as he had hoped. Then the rapid deposits and withdrawals on that new account had made waves throughout the Guild’s coffers. Some instability was to be expected around the Auction, but the transfers they had to approve in recent days had been almost unprecedented, and several currency reserves had almost gone insolvent as rapid, unforeseen exchanges were demanded all over the plane.
By Plutus’ gilded balls! The Guild had almost run out of Standard Gold! Something that had not happened in millennia!
Many of his more speculative counterparts had approached him covertly, asking him for investment advice in light of the System Announcement and the influx of Dragon Glass through his branch.
Ha! He wished he had such information! Maybe he could have used it to bribe his way out of some of this trouble… but no. All he had found out was that the ridiculous human had left the city and that a dragon was spotted flying away from the mountain slightly thereafter.
Was the human an agent for the dragons? Had he missed a huge opportunity to gain access to the famed riches of the Hordes? The possibility ate at him as he sat in his office gulping down his favorite drink with the door locked.
He needed time to sort all this out…
An urgent pounding almost caused Irvine to choke on his banana smoothie as repeated strikes thumped against his last vestige of defense, “Sir! You are going to want to see this!” Harold’s muffled voice sounded through the door, panic and excitement warbling through his tone.
“Just a moment!” the branch chief called back, stashing the scandalously expensive infinite chalice in his safe and thundering to his feet. His eyes immediately narrowed at the waiting notification now blinking just above his field of vision. His heartbeat doubled in his chest and his ears throbbed with the increased pressure as he slowly, reluctantly opened the system message.
Just hours ago, he had fielded a deposit that would have many in the guild calling for another audit, and he had hoped he would have time to get ahead of another investigation. But now…
Commerce Guild, System Sanctioned Notification - Congratulations Branch Chief. Your branch has just overseen the single largest deposit in Guild history. 17 Mythic Quality Mana Condenser Crystals were deposited to account #129635768. Each one holds its full potential charge and is valued at approximately two thousand three hundred platinum.
Your Guild-sanctioned commission of 2% on this deposit is under review.
Warning! You have been flagged for audit by headquarters and must report in immediately.
“Sir!” Harold called again, banging a few more times, “I have messages from the head of the Guild waiting on the interface, as well as deposit paperwork that needs to be stamped before we can get our commission approved!” He called again, voice growing wheedily as his unanswered statements built up behind the barrier.
Irvine barely registered the words as he felt something twinge in his right shoulder, as a mountain of heaviness settled down on his chest. He stumbled back against the desk, his girth causing a crash.
Warning! You are under extreme mental stress. You have received the Panic Attack Debuff.
“Sir! Are you alright?” Harold called again, wiggling the locked door handle unsuccessfully.
….
Fabian, Level 122 Gunslinger
Pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation, Fabian fought down another sigh. His second, Commander Forlorn, had just finished reading through the reports and was waiting to hear what the reluctant leader of the Sand Seas Faction wanted to do.
Not for the first time, he cursed the day he had found that human’s tomb and that cursed inheritance, that had thrust him into a Tier of power he was far from prepared for. The strange equipment it had offered was beyond anything the Order had seen, and Fabian thought his luck had finally come through.
But in the end that old ghost had exacted his price. Fabian gained four soul-bound legendary pieces of equipment and a new class. In exchange, he had been cursed with this ridiculous accent, forced to remember the foolishness of his youth every time he opened his mouth. Most days, he secretly regretted the exchange.
“What can we do, Konis, ya ol' mate? Ya an' I both know we can hide in the Sand Seas for yonks, but if the whole bloody plane goes under in this madness, who the hell we gonna flog our treasure to?”
Konis Forlorn nodded back, his sun-weathered face lined with age and wisdom, “Well spoken, warden… Our Order has come to a crossroads unlike any in our history. Will we answer the church’s plea or fade into the sands away from the wider world, as we have done so many times before.”
Fabian scowled at Konis' rich, smooth timber and precise diction. Risk everything in a fight that would probably end in the death of all of his men, or retreat into the deep desert as the world crumbled around them… He scowled as his mind wandered to the attractive lapin those bastards in the church had sent to plead their case. She had spoken so reasonably, convincing him to attend this year’s auction in person and see if the rumors were true.
He typically never mixed with the other powers, cripplingly shy of his curse, despite its benefits. But she had sweet-talked him into showing, and what he had witnessed had set off all sorts of internal alarms. His Order had dived deep into long-forgotten cities, encountering all sorts of evil in their pursuit of treasure and lost knowledge, but he had never seen anything like what was sweeping through the plane.
Dune Rangers made a profitable, if dangerous, living delving the many shifting ruins of the Sand Seas, and fighting back the elder creatures that occasionally fought their way free of prisons older than the sands themselves.
In some ways, the order was allied with the Temple of Light, who had partnered with them on several dangerous expeditions to put down one evil or another, and many of his men even held to the faith in some manner as the many cleansings and healings built up goodwill among his people. But they had never answered the church's call in the past. Theirs was the desert, and they did not concern themselves with the affairs of the wider plane…
That was until now. He had seen how many were already under the sway of what the system was calling Corruption. He had even spoken with some. They seemed to think they were making a bargain of some sort, but Fabian was well-versed in foolish bargains, and this was nothing of the sort.
Konis’ august eyes stayed steady as he regarded the leader of their order, waiting patiently for his decision despite what was at stake. For some reason, even after all these years, the man who had once been his instructor trusted him to lead.
“Well… shit. Gather the blokes an' message that lapin sheila. Looks like we're gonna have to show up to the party, whether I bloody well like it or not.”
“Understood, High Warden. I will assemble all the squads and make sure we are all equipped for campaign.” He said, standing to his feet, saluting, and exiting the command tent with a lithe grace that belied his advanced age.
Now that was the man who should have been in charge… But the Order's rules were old and absolute. As its highest-level member, it was up to Fabian to lead their small community. Whether he would lead it to greater heights or terrible ruin, remained to be seen. Fabian pinched the bridge of his nose again, bumping his hand against the full-brimmed hat that he couldn’t take off if he tried.
As competent as his men were, none of them had seen warfare at the scale of what was coming, and many of them were sure to die in the next month.
Many famous members of the Rangers of old had been legendary gamblers, and Fabian had been known to roll the dice with the best of them. But this was the biggest risk he had ever undertaken, and the stakes were higher than the Order had ever faced.
He hoped he was right… he hoped, in the end, it would be worth it.
…
Oberron Level 161 Fey King
The power of the horn, and its dark well of endless stamina, screamed in their veins, pushing the Hunt to ride as it never had before. All around him, his fellow hunters howled in passionate reverie, the pleasure of the chase surging through their systems in relentless waves of ecstasy.
Not once, in his many thousands of years of life had Obberon felt this much unbridled happiness.
They had left behind the rest of the rabble marching on the Contested Lands days ago, taking full advantage of the powerful fey bloodline trait to pass through any obstacle. The ways allowed them to move at unbelievable speeds and the power coursing through them drove them far past their mortal limits. Such was the overflowing generosity of their master that even as some of their second and third-Tier bodies began to fail, none stopped or complained.
They did not slow as the object of the Hunt, who had remained in one place for almost a whole day, suddenly took off at a speed rivaling their own. In fact, the added challenge of catching something that fled with such speed caused the hunger in the pits of their stomachs to grow more desperate. Yearning to catch what they sought became an almost painful need, causing many of the more animalistic of the fey-folk to begin foaming at the mouth in anticipation of the kill.
Oberron did not allow himself to show any such base desires on his face. Instead, he rode on his bonded Spirit of Decay at the head of the procession, leading as the Huntsmaster as was his right. He could feel every member of his retinue, bound to them by ties thicker than blood. Many of the weakest fell away over the course of the day, collapsing in twitching agony as the last of their life force winked out in a sweet offering to their great cause.
It was all such terrible fun! He couldn’t help the smile that cracked his once stern visage from ear to ear as he looked back over the train of the Hunt. Hundreds of the wildest and most dangerous Fey unified in pursuit of a single cause.
He would show those fools who called themselves Princes what true dedication looked like. These with him had given up everything to embrace this new power. They had bathed in the blood of their weaker kin, reveling in their new unfettered destiny. Every kill had grown this new power within them, obliterating bottlenecks until those who survived had evolved into something greater than he could have imagined.
A new day was dawning for his people. That idiot would lead them to the Contested Lands at a speed none of his competitors could match. After the hunt gorged itself on their prey, they would move on to conquer the old lizards, bygones of a forgotten age who had lorded over the others of the first races for far too long. Their might may have been unparalleled, but their minds have always been weak, malleable to the right kinds of pressures.
Without realizing it, Oberron drew forth the horn, stroking its majestic markings and feeling along the new veins of power, a naked reverence coloring his face with awe. This was power… This was freedom.
He had freed his people, baptizing them in the blood and fire of retribution and he would do anything to offer this great gift to the rest of Nephesh.
He would become Corruption’s one true vessel.
All that stood between him and his destiny was a few relics of the old epochs. Creatures that had refused to change with the plane, a weakness that would cost them their long-uncontested seat of power.
He would bathe in lizard blood, savoring each snap of the small bones running through their wings. Just the thought of his coming victory sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine, and before he knew it, the horn was at his lips again.
Once he had been hesitant to pay its price… Now such weaknesses were beyond him, expunged by the raw power that had flooded him again and again as he blew everything he had into its ancient opening.
His passion,
His hunger,
His Soul.
The howling depth of the call to hunt reverberated through the train of hunters again, demanding more. In answer, they pushed even further past their limits, bathing their souls in the thrill of wild freedom even as their life force slowly dripped away, feeding what slowly grew inside them.
As the sound of the call raced ahead of them, Oberon pulled the horn from his lips, swaying drunkenly atop the spirit in the form of a rotting stag. Undeniable giddiness surged up from his belly as something squirmed beneath his chest cavity as laughter spewed from his mouth. Around him his followers howled with matching mirth, roaring with joy even as their pace increased.
They left a trail of bodies in their wake, as more collapsed, the last of their sentience and Will fading, until all that remained was a new vessel for the glorious freedom that would soon be offered to all beings on the plane.
Onward they ran, the landscape twisting around them, blurring and melting into itself as they tread the Ways reserved for their kind alone. Ahead the landscape shifted into dull hulking boxes of metal and the magic of the Hunt, signaled that their prey was near.
