Kernoel77
patreon
Chapter 101: Always Vigilant
🕑 Added 2023-04-10 23:20:26 +0000 UTCChapter 101: Always Vigilant
/What are people without words? Since the dawn of time, all living things have communicated. Wolves howl, snakes hiss, birds sing and drakes roar. Even plants communicate, some older trees helping younger ones grow by supplying nutrients and stamina. Occasionally, druids even claim to hear what the greenery thinks and has to say.
There have even been accounts of people hearing whispers on the wind that weren't supposed to be there, a voice in the crackling of a fire, or any matter of sounds from objects which, traditionally, have no rights to make such noise. Still, these accounts are just that, accounts, and there has not yet been conclusive proof.
But what there certainly is proof of is the complexity proper language has. It stands out far above that of beasts and plants, as it is even recognized as such by the system, a language Skill which catalogues all manner of different sounds.
Perhaps the most basic and well known language would be Common. It is a very widespread form of speech, one that is shared amongst many cultures. Not everyone speaks it well, many people speak it with an accent, but luckily, the system does most of the translating. Still, the fact that it has been agreed upon by itself is nothing short of a miracle, and the fact that there is a language shared amongst the many people of Chronagen seems almost like a miracle.
Still, there are many questions. What exactly makes a language be recognized by the system? What classifies a dialect, when is something a whole different language? Did the system evolve the words it used as their meaning changed? How does it draw the exact lines between these things?
As always, the answer is probably not very obvious, nor one we can determine for certain, Most likely, it is linked to common conception. If most people might agree that something is a dialect, it might be registered as just that, but if most people agree on something being a new language, it would be categorized as such.
But of course, since everyone has their own, unique version of the system, there is also the chance that it is based solely on personal perception. Then again, how would that work with skillstones then? Could someone use a language skillstone for something they barely consider a dialect? How would the system register it?
Needless to say, more testing is required.
However, that is not what I wish to discuss today, I simply drifted off. What I would much rather focus on is the development of the written word on Chronagen.
We have a few records of earlier books in history. Chapters and seasons long since past, in which writing was not nearly as refined as it is now. Elves used to carve their words inside tree barks, poems preserved in hardened sap, while dwarves carved their runes into ever-unchanging stones. Demons wrote on skins, devils on early versions of parchment, cleanly filed away in their endless archives, and humans... we drew into clay and wax in the early days.
Yet there is one chapter we know a change came to that. The 142nd chapter of the second book, a moment that shaped history so much a revolution began from it.
It was when a traveller, together with the natives of our realm, invented the printing press.
Almost immediately, the change rippled throughout the world. Parchment and bark was swapped out for paper, quills with iron stamps, pressing their inks onto pages, bound together. It caused a reform so staggeringly large that our very timekeeping is now based upon it. We count in pages and chapters, acts, sagas and finally books, for it is the history that makes us people into people.
Those who forget what has happened before them, forget the acts of their ancestors, the chaos and mayhem that used to be, are little worthy of being called people. No, the people of this world, be they devils, elves, dwarves, humans, the kin, dryads, or whomever else, all of them remember.
Not the individuals, maybe, and certainly not always, but as someone who values history, I feel confident in saying that anyone who keeps learning from the past is a folk worthy of being called a people./
"A short history on language" by Limus Litus, historian of the people.
- - - - - -
Avery sighed as he went about the gruesome work within the arch. Always vigilant, always watching. Periodically, he would turn on his heat-based eyesight to try and track any scorpions or worms that were hiding under the sand. Sometimes this was more successful, and sometimes less so.
Two of the adventurers he had brought in had been stung up until now, both times he had intervened, smashed whatever'd grabbed them, and they were escorted out. This place was just as miserably dangerous as he knew it would be, but luckily they were slowly nearing what might be the end.
There was a faint haze in the distance, one that could have been a desert mirage in any other circumstance, but given the nature of this place, Avery was more than certain it was where they needed to go.
Arches did that very often, having a rough territory one needed to battle through, like the salt and sand wasteland of cracked earth they were currently in, with an end goal where a larger battle would take place. He hoped there wouldn't be any losses, but he braced himself for some. This was no game, after all.
Bit by bit, they battled forward. During the night, they would have to deal with prowlers, dangly, mole-like figures that would come from the ground and drag the unwary down with them. During the day, the hot midday sun would burn down on them while they fought giant scorpions, always avoiding their claws and stingers.
There were sandworms, almost a dozen meters in length, as well as dune shifters, elementals which would conjure sand and wind to shape the land they flew over. Once, they encountered a group of sunder orcs, gone blind from the rage that was so prevalent within the arches. Avery had to think of the tribes down south as they fought a bloody battle, but it wasn't enough to make his focus waver for even a moment.
Right out that gate, there was a city with thousands of people that were relying on him. Protection from the north, protection from the inner corruption, protection from arches and any manner of attacks. Every day he grit his teeth, and he would have ground them down if it wasn't for the insane amount of food he consumed to keep himself moving at full efficiency.
Usually, in a dungeon they would eat rations, but Avery had a very demanding role to play, so his were specially put together. A strong nutritional balance to keep his muscles healthy and his stamina high as he fought through hordes of tunnel dwellers. Of course, to keep his nerves calm there was also a large amount of milky bread with raisins, enough to feed a regular family for a month, and enough to keep Avery satisfied for perhaps a week.
Still, even as the environment constantly wore them down, the group pushed on, fighting in demanding conditions against enemies multiple times their size. It was the duty of being a seeker, to venture into those places no one else would go and look just what was in there. Adventurers simply explored, and might report something if they found it. They were curious and liked going where no one had been, but they weren't seekers.
No, seekers actively saw danger, and then sighed as they went in. Some loved the thrill, and it had some charm to Avery as well, but others were deathly afraid each time again. Yet, they did it. The job was thankless, often viewed as little more than a mercenary, money-hungry idiots who would do anything for a couple coins, and Avery also knew that it wasn't always far off.
But that was not the core of being a seeker. Going into an arch willingly, knowing that no matter how much you prepared it might be the day you die, was what being a seeker was about. He was being paid for it, barely enough to supply the materials they needed. The money they earned in there came at the cost of blood and sweat, for some limbs, and others even their lives.
Except there would be no lives lost on this mission. Avery once again reminded himself of that. His responsibility wasn't just with the civilians outside the arch, everyone who travelled in here with him was also under his watch. If any of them died, he would have to go to their family and friends to give them the news, and after coming out of a battle that went on for a week, sometimes two, it was the last thing he needed.
This time, there would be no lives lost. He steeled himself as he stepped forward again, almost at the cusp of where they expected the final fight to go down, and he raised his hand. Everyone stopped behind him, silently trusting the command without a shred of hesitation. Beckham was the commander, a seasoned seeker, and someone who had proven himself to each of them more than once, so there was no need to hesitate.
In Avery's head, <Intuition> rang quietly. A soft singing warning bell he had learned to listen for, honed to an intent it could almost be called a sixth sense. They were close to the haze he had seen, and as they got closer, he could make out ruined buildings around what would be a respite in a place like this. A broken down oasis, the structures that once stood there overgrown and long since reclaimed by nature.
He could smell it on the wind, the scent of blood that hadn't dried, hear the noise in his head, the nagging sense of self-preservation that rose from where he buried it and asked him to turn tail. His <Intuition> grew more urgent, telling him to leave now, and as he tasted the air, his mind was made up.
"Wait here," he said, turning to the group. "Anything approaches the place, cut it down without hesitation. If I don't come back out, run fast. Backup might arrive in time from the main office, if it doesn't, get Marcel to figure something out. Now, make sure I don't get distracted." And after a quick nod from the second in command, the group spread out as Avery began to walk in.
He could feel the salt in the air cling to his skin, his dreadlocks sticky with sweat, and a sheen of it glistening on his face. His lips were dry and cracked, and he might have tasted blood on them if he stuck out his tongue, but he didn't. His senses were on the confrontation he was about to walk into. Feeling the wind, smelling the air, his eyes wide open and unblinking as he stared down whatever awaited him.
Slowly but surely, step by step he walked forward, the howling of the wind that usually raged in the arch dying down. It painted the ruins with a surreal calm, a silence begging to be broken by an ambush. It was the kind of silence a fly might hear trapped in a spider's web, the silence that indicated its wings weren't moving. In fact, as Avery looked down, his legs were locked in place, rooted to the ground by rocks he barely noticed growing.
With a scowl on his face, his muscles writhed, exerting enough force to make the rocks crumble and break apart as he stepped forward. Once more, his feet were enveloped. Maybe if it was targeting his arms it would've gone better, but his legs were his best asset. Each time he was trapped, Avery ripped his feet out, taking his freedom right back.
And each time, his gaze swept the area for any sign of hostility. His hands were at the ready, both to defend himself and down a potion. He knew not to hesitate, no matter what showed up, his whole body primed to respond to any movement with extreme violence.
Eventually, as he drew closer, the moment came. His <Intuition> called for even more care than usually, and so Avery kept his eyes open when he would have blinked. It was only for a fraction of a second, but there was movement, a human face poking out from behind a crumbled pillar.
Instantly, Avery vanished.
His hands moved fast as lightning, removing the stopper from a potion. It entered his mouth when he was already moving, taking effect as the magic coursed through him, his muscles growing tougher. The second time his boots touched the ground, they disappeared in a cloud of dust before the stone could even wrap around him.
In the blink of an eye, a loud crash rang through the air, the rocks of the pillar crumbling apart under the weight of Avery's feet. His metal boots crashed straight through, leaving a hole in it as they carved past barriers, and through empty air, only to land back beneath guild master Beckham. The seeker looked, seeing that the monster he had targeted had moved back half a step.
It was a woman. He might have mistaken her for human, but while his eyes said so, his senses didn't betray him. Her breath stank of blood, her skin smelled of oil, and he could hear the blood coursing through her veins run cold. Somewhere underneath that human skin laid something else.
Honestly, Avery didn't think he'd have hesitated even if it was a human, and he didn't now. The instant his leg touched the ground, the other shot straight forward, stopping not even an inch in front of the lady.
The guild master said nothing. He was in the middle of a fight now. He didn't click his tongue or sigh, his lips were opened only slightly to allow deep breaths of air in and out. His heart was pumping hot blood through his veins, small wisps of steam slowly rising from his toned muscles as he watched and waited for his enemy to move.
For some time, she simply stood still and unmoving, staring at Avery, but through his tinted goggles, she couldn't make eye contact. "Come now, boy, why don't you show me those eyes," she said softly, and the air suddenly carried a scent of roses. A charm of some sort, clearly.
Avery's eyes narrowed even further. Almost instinctively, he activated a few Skills exactly against such an effect. <Indomitable>, <Stubborn>, <Fortitude>, <Heightened Focus>, all just to keep his head clear. The monster he was facing was one he hadn't seen before, so the highest caution was in order, and he needed to be vigilant. Draft up a report and have her categorized. But it also meant that right now, his enemy was unpredictable.
So, Avery was patient. Unpredictable meant risky, and he wouldn't take unnecessary risks, meaning no replies to any questions, no playing mind games and always keeping track of more than just the immediate opponent. With his heat sense, he could tell that the woman's body to some degree extended below the ground, though it was hard to pinpoint quite how it did.
No matter, he thought. Slowly, with his mind sharpened by his Skills, he approached again. The woman seemed to start frowning. "Come now, why so hostile? Let us spend some time together, get to know each other. I won't bite," she said, an unsettling smile on her face. Once again Avery remained silent. Occasionally, he would look down to see that strange connection wriggle, reach out to him, and when it arrived it would begin to form rocks around his feet.
The faintest smile appeared on his lips. Once more, the string writhed, seeking to entomb him in stone, yet this time, he didn't wait for it to make its move. He had acted silly, as though he didn't notice, but the facade was over. The moment it reached out, Avery raised his leg, and with a cacophony of Skills and every bit of force he could muster, he stomped down.
With a crack, the earth split apart, and the creature in front of him let out a wail that would have split a normal person's ears. But the force Avery put into the floor obviously had to go somewhere, so the moment his foot made contact, all the weight on his body disappeared. He was "lightfoot" Avery Beckham, and he would show this thing just what that meant.
His mass reduced to less than an average man, yet with all the same bone density, Avery's body withstood the shock of kinetic energy and accelerated. His heart thumped, coursing the blood though his veins, steam rising from his body leaving a thin trail where he went. Of course, it was only thin because he moved quickly.
In a split second, he had vanished and was right in front of the monster. "<Legbreaker>!" he called, watching as the monster reacted, moving to guard its lower body when his foot shot upwards, almost too fast to follow. The blow struck, and the moment it did, suddenly he was back to much greater weight than when he moved.
Avery was an expert at shifting his mass using the system assistance. Weight class was an insurmountable barrier, after all. Having a bigger physical body put more force behind attacks, and that was seen as unfair. So, smaller bodies had the option of mass manipulation. It came with high physical scores, and it took extensive training to master it, but it would genuinely allow fighters to shift their mass.
There were cases where a bear would be unable to move a man even an inch, a dragon with too little strength to pick someone up who had used this to increase their weight. It wasn't imaginary, and the change would show up on scales. It was much less technique than simple physics, though it made little sense and seemed much more in line with magic.
Yet people did it, and Avery did it too. He was "lightfoot", because his kicks were fast. He would reduce his mass, until he had suitable speed, then bring it back to delay attacks and make them hit harder as he put more force into his kicks. He would use it to mess with his combat timing, shifting his rhythm, changing each impact from the last, and mix in lightning fast feints, with slow but massive impacts.
This time though, he had a clear shot of the woman's face, and Avery held nothing back. His body mass pushed to its brink, as he spun on his left heel, grinding a small furrow into the earth. Then, his right leg extended out, using the generated momentum, and adding some more as his fast twitch muscles kicked into high action, striking forward with precision.
Combining all that with the weight of his boots, the force of the kick was horrendous to even imagine. It was a spinning kick that would break through bones handily, made to smash through all kinds of monster armor as it hurtled towards his enemy. His legs hissed as they moved, pushing against the resistance of the air around them, always on their mark.
Then, it impacted.
The cold metal of his shoes came into contact with the woman's lower chin, in an upwards direction. He could feel himself smash through the jaw of it, breaking that and pulling apart cartilage, but there was also a strange softness to what he felt, almost as if something under the skin was shifting.
Still, his momentum carried the attack forward, launching the woman backwards, and sending her hurtling through the air. Almost immediately, all the weight Avery had been using disappeared, as he lightly backstepped and watched what happened.
As the woman flew back, something was pulled from the ground. It seemed like an extension of her spine, thin tendrils, like wisps of smoke, that she could apparently use to cast magic. It was what he had stomped on before, and apparently, they were very sensitive.
When she hit the ground, her skin began to shift like grains of sand, reforming the broken spot just enough to let her speak once more. Most of her lower teeth were now gone, replaced by shifting grains of sand, kept up by magic, what looked like a hundred tiny spells. "What have you done?!" the creature wailed, and for a moment Avery almost responded.
Almost.
But this fight was not yet over, for him or for them.
