A Bright and Shiny Life

I run until my boons end a few hours before sunset. It started raining an hour ago and everything is cold, but it’s best to keep moving. I slow to a walk, keeping to the woods, and change quickly into my warmer set of clothes. It goes dark, and I become reliant entirely on the crystal pendulum to find my way without even the stars to guide me.

Everything is miserable. No number of long marches through bogs and winter rain can ever really make you used to hiking in bad weather. Experience can’t make it pleasant, just teach you how to keep going, and I need to get as far as possible before the empire sends their response to today’s events.

What were today’s events even? The granary’s explosion was far more destructive to the town than planned. Will that make it easier for Lindrid, or harder? Certainly, some of the soldiers guarding it would have died in the blast, and killing the chevalier should make things a lot easier. However, the propaganda he planned likely assumed the damage would be limited to the granary rather than spread through the whole town.

The people might be too shocked to revolt at the moment. If so, then the garrison is almost certainly tracking me as their top priority, and my divination by the thugs will only delay them for so long.

I continue to walk the entire rainy night, making camp only at dawn. Ironically the rain stops as I do, making a glistening landscape in the light of a new day.

Feeling hunted, I take out the large sheet of wool I intended to use as a tent and wrap it around me like a cloak. It’s far too big and isn’t shaped right, but I attach the clasp to see if it’s close enough to change its colour. Realy its odd that the trinket can only change cloaks rather than cloth in general, but arbitrary limitations like that can make magic items cheaper to craft.

Fortunately, the fabric worn like a cloak is close enough for it to work, though it seems to struggle–changing it slowly in a wave pattern with a delay on the controls. Changing it to the colour of a nearby tree’s leaves, I climb it and take out my rope which I crisscross between two thick branches to form a structure large enough to lay on. I place the now green wool cloth on top and tie it in place as well as my bags.

The only thing I leave on the ground is the staff, which I ‘plant’ in the ground as its enchantment instructs. I do make sure to put it a bit away from my sleeping tree, but where I can see and sling anyone who approaches it. I place several dry branches around it and cover them with a thin layer of leaves to alert me if anyone tries to take it.

Ideally, I would have dug small pits with sharpened branches covered in feces or poison under the leaves, but I’m too exhausted from the night’s hike. Maybe next time I stop.

A crossbow would be great. I could quickly set it up with a string so it would shoot when the staff moved. Most imperial archers use bows, but some have crossbows. I’ll have to take one the next time I have a chance. Though maybe not, given how much it would stand out.

Nothing happened when I initially stuck the staff into the ground, but I notice a green bud sprouting near the top after placing the leaves.

The rope bed is about as comfortable as a bundle of straw stuffed in a sheet, more when I use my extra cloaks as padding.

I get about five hours of sleep when a snaping twig wakes me. I look to the staff, seeing it has grown several branches filled with bright purple berries, but no one is around it.

Rustling leaves and I creep to the edge of my tree bed and slowly look around. Shadows move into view, then those projecting them. Seven figures emerge in forest green cloaks and armed with an assortment of weapons: bows, swords, axes and daggers. Two of them seem wounded.

Resistance or bandits? The quality of their clothes is higher than I would expect for either, but who else would be sneaking through the woods so heavily armed?

No need to figure out which. If they’re resistance then we’re going in opposite directions so they won’t escort me, and if they’re bandits then challenging them will result in attack. My skin itches, but they’re too well armed to fight without boons.

“Hey, what’s this?” One says, pointing to the staff.

“Don’t know… hey, symbols on the base. Maybe it’s removable.”

“You think we should take it? It could be part of our path.”

“Hhmm, maybe. The symbols are pretty complex. I don’t think any of us has a chance of translating it properly. It could be dangerous.”

“Dangerous means useful.”

“Point.” One says, reaching for the staff.

“Snakes in the shadows.” I say, my sling ready to shoot.

The group tenses, readying weapons as they look for the source of my voice, but one steps forward with outstretched open palms. They lower their hood to reveal a face in their mid-twenties wearing a thin silver diadem studded with a single purple gem.

They seem to be nobility– my itching intensifies.

“We’re not resistance, but we have no quarrel with you. The empire is not our enemy at the moment, but nor are we its friend.” Their accent isn’t Caethlian, but it also doesn’t seem imperial. “Let us go, and we swear not to tell anyone of our encounter here today until after leaving Caethlon.”

The caveat at the end makes me trust them. If someone swears not to do something forever, then they are a liar, as forever is beyond their ability to comprehend. However, someone swearing to forhold action for a limited but relevant timeframe has a clear idea of what that restriction would entail, and so clearly has put thought into keeping the promise.

“You’re foreign spies?” I ask.

Some of the others take offence at this, but the speaker calms them with a gesture. “Adjacent, I suppose.” They make a point of not looking for my voice.

“… Verry well, you may go… but before you do, each of you may take… three berries from the staff. A small token of hospitality for our foreign guests.” If I’m not going to fight them, then I might as well make them feel indebted to reduce the chance of betrayal. Besides, it’s a good test for what the staff does.

The diademed figured nods in thanks, pointedly not asking if the berries are safe. They should be as the enchantment would have indicated direct danger. The group starts picking the berries then murmur excitedly after eating them.

“My wounds are healing.” One of them says, removing a bandage from their torso to look at it. “It looks like it healed for a week.”

“Wounded may take another three.” I say.

“Thankyou for this gift. Is there anything we can do to repay it?” The leader asks.

“…” I almost say ‘I’ but catch myself. “We have no specific needs at the moment. It looks like anything we could use is sorely needed by you as well.”

“Very likely. Then let me repay a token with a token.” They pull out a ring and a leaf of silverthein– a rare and potent medicine but also poison– which they tie in a loop through the ring. “Show this ring tied with a leaf of this specific plant to the correct type of person, and they will grant you a favour. Unfortunately, we are sworn to keep our identity secret while in these lands, and so cannot tell you what the correct type of person might be. We can warn you to be careful, as showing it to the wrong group will result in you being attacked.

“If this leaf has withered and you cannot find another then an artistic representation will do but be certain it’s a clear representation. Showing the ring with the wrong plant would be dangerous.”

“We will take the token in the spirit it was meant, despite the secrecy and danger…We don’t know where you are headed, but as you seem to be traveling west we advise avoiding Fluemberg– a walled town on the river. It’s not safe at the moment.”

“Thankyou. If you are traveling east with intent of crossing the river, then be warned. There is a ford we found by divination, but were ambushed by soldiers who likely thought we were with you.”

“Thanks.” I say, not knowing what else to.

“And to you. May we meet again when we may share names.”

With that, the diademed figure turns, places their token on the staff, and takes their group west.

I wait about five minutes to make sure they’re gone before dismantling my rope bed and leaping down off the tree. I trust they wouldn’t double back to find my hiding spot, but there’s no reason to chance it. Ideally, I would have liked more sleep but am rested enough to get moving.

I examine the ring, a simple silver band with a small studded purple gem the same colour as the one on the diadem. Silverthein isn’t native to central, so I’ll have to divine some to get a seed to grow if I need it there. I had hoped seeing the combination up close might spark a memory of who the people might have been, but nothing comes to mind. I pocket the ring and turn to the staff.

They took about three quarters of the berries. Since they didn’t explode, I decide they’re safe and pop one in my mouth which produces a verry small surge of power. Like a boon, but barely noticeable. If it does anything it’s likely just a slight strength and energy enhancement plus healing.

I take out my new dagger and cut my palm, noticing two things. First my palm stops bleeding faster than normal. Second, the blood seems to be sucked into the dagger.

Interesting. There’s a reverse symbol on the hilt. I tap it and blood starts flowing out of the tip in greater quantities than was absorbed. The hand holding the dagger goes cold and pale.

Alarmed I tap the symbol again which stops the flow. I examine the hand holding the dagger for a wound and find none, nor did I feel any pain. I place the dagger next to the pooled blood, which quickly sucks it up and my arm regains its warmth and colour.

Verry interesting. It seems to be a conduit for moving blood in and out the body without penetration. A useful tool for my blood rituals, as not having to cut myself is less of a hassle and wastes less blood. My increased healing can replace blood but needs food for the mass. Typically, what’s in my gut is sufficient, but wasted blood means wasted food.

So, it’s obviously useful for me, but why would anyone make or carry it? I mean, maybe it was the only enchanted dagger the chevalier could get, but that doesn’t explain why someone would craft the blood enchantment in the first place.

It seems an ideal weapon for an Anar cultist, but then the enchantment would be in blood runes. Most people do not want an efficient way of removing their own blood… maybe if they have a magic resistant poisoned wound, but that’s a very specific use case and a weapon is hardly the best form factor for it.

More dangerous than losing blood though, is taking someone else’s. There’s a filtration symbol for blood borne diseases, but that still doesn’t make it safe for most people to use. There is no transformation symbol, meaning that the blood absorb remains the same blood type. So, if the idea is to restore blood loss by harvesting the enemy’s, then that would result in more harm than good.

Maybe it was intended for a universal recipient, or maybe it assumed enhanced healing. Since people with their own magical healing can overcome the symptoms of receiving the wrong blood type better than not having enough– eventually converting bad blood to good.

Fortunately, there is a symbol that completely disables the blood function, so it is usable without risking self-harm.

Having speculated enough, I sheath my dagger and pull the staff from the ground. The branches whose berries had been mostly picked falls off while the others retract and fold to be flush with the shaft. The staff is about an inch taller, and the shaft narrower to better fit in my hand with a new slight bend to rest it on at the ideal height.

I pick up the fallen branches and eat the remaining berries, then I pick the rest of the berries off a second branch which promptly falls when emptied. I might as well keep the last branch on as a snack and emergency healing, since the grip and balance aren’t too affected.

I walk until an hour before night fall without incident, picking herbs as I come across them, but otherwise heading in a straight path. I make camp in a hollow at the top of a hill, shielded from wind and watchers. Trusting the smoke catcher and the terrain, I make a fire, then practice my spells for a while before bed.

I fiddle with the knives, specifically the sheathes’ function of never letting the knife slip out unless needed. First, I hang my arms to the side and will the knives to drop into my hand. I cut myself a few times, but quickly get the hang of catching and turning them to the right position. I’ll turn drawing tricks into an idle activity so I’ll never mess it up in action.

Next, I figure out how to throw them without drawing. Just will them out while swinging the arm, and the enchantment on the knife will make sure it hits point first. This comes at the expense of accuracy and power, but the latter isn’t so much an issue when using knives this sharp. The accuracy is really bad, but it’s worth being able to attack from a completely unthreatening stance, especially since any time I would need to would be at very close range.

I practice some to be able to hit a close target, then shift to other starting positions until I can hit from any posture without drawing. Though drawing always increases accuracy and power, even with an underhand lob.

The next day I continue until I encounter the river again where it turns to the north. I have two options. Either find a bridge, or divine a ford. The mysterious group warned me of the latter, but the bridge is also dangerous since I’ll have to pay a toll and maybe go through a security check.

Likewise, the mystery group didn’t see me, so hopefully assumed I was part of a group of obviously dangerous people like them. Even if the empire is placing soldiers at every ford, they wouldn’t attack every traveller– especially a lone one with no obvious weapons besides a walking staff.

So, I choose the ford. I do spot a group of soldiers in hiding but ignore them as I cross. As expected, they don’t move to harass me. Though the warning was still helpful as I might have panicked if I didn’t know beforehand.

I continue like this for several days until I reach the border. Patrols intensify, likely trying to catch fleeing resistance, but concealment lets me slip through.

My skin starts itching all the time the next day. I try to contain it, but I can’t help myself when I come across a lone traveller. This one is not as cautious as the one on the road to Fluemberg, and so doesn’t even react when I suddenly swing my staff and connect it to their head.

I quickly drag them away from the road, then remove their packs to make them light enough to carry. I take them a full mile through hills and woods before finally thinking its enough. I remove my clothes then offer the traveller to Anar using their clothes to catch the blood. I wash myself with soap and water from their waterskin, then go back and bring their pack back to them.

I go through the belongings. Nothing interesting. They seem to have been a traveling cobbler with various tools and leather straps for repairing shoes. They have some food, money, and a few letters. I open and read the letters, but nothing I could use for blackmail, so I put it back.

The food is mouldy, so I only take the money. Just a silver, four and a half medium copper, and five and a quarter small. I burn the body and the baggage until only ash remains, using the smoke catcher to hide my presence.

The power gained from the offering isn’t much, but it’s enough for my skin to stop itching for the next three days. After which I reach the sea and Port Salunt.

How will I fare on a boat? It will take at least a week to reach central, and offering someone on board will almost certainly get me caught. But perhaps forcing myself into a situation where I can’t offer is what I’ll need to learn how to control the longing.

I suppose it’s either that or I’ll have to offer everyone on board, burn the boat, and row to shore in a dinghy. How far could it be?

Just to be safe, I snatch someone a few miles away from town and offer them. Maybe it’ll be enough to sate myself for the voyage.