The Power of Ten, Book Three : The Human Race

As I’d promised Sir Pellier, it only took a half hour for me to Write a flurry of 0-III Valence spells into Einz. Initiate Hugo the Bleached was clearly envious of the speed. Normally, Writing like this cost a Slot of the appropriate Valence to do the job, meaning you could only do a couple of spells at a time unless you were truly prepared ahead of time. However, Einz didn’t require any special ink or parchment, so I could Write with nothing more than a Cantrip. Convenient...

I imagined other Witches enjoyed the same benefit with their living Familiars. As there wasn’t a single spell I’d copied that Aelryinth hadn’t previously had access to (and generally a superior one), I was underwhelmed at the same time I enjoyed the time savings. It was like I had Witch Levels just to provide me a free spellbook... my eyebrow started twitching at the thought.

Huh. Were my Level choices being driven by my immediate needs, or the choices I’d made? A Witch was basically a modified Wizard with a Divine connection. It didn’t get the whole Wizard’s spell list, but it got a ‘free’ spellbook. I’d taken my Wizard Level with an Arcane Domain... which I was still waiting to expand on again...

Ur-Priest had delivered Invisibility to Undead right when I’d needed it.

Still, would I get to choose my own Class Level tonight, or would it persist in making the choice for me?

I bid Initiate Hugo the Bleached farewell, and headed back the way I’d come...

---

I didn’t actually need directions, as I drew up pictures of my location constantly and Mapped everything out in Visual File, but got confirmation that the Mitharn Shrine was where I thought it was, and headed that way.

The main Church was solemn and silent, with prominent colors being white and soft grey, with blue and gold accents. There were no depictions of the god, but His scales were on prominent display up there.

The Shrine was in the back, directly accessible via double doors off the main worship hall. Currently those doors were standing open, which was a bit unusual, and a rather agitated Helix was walking around outside them in a resentful manner.

He naturally perked up when he saw me coming, and hurried over as if I could solve all his problems... or I was to blame.

“Trav, Trav!” he blurted out urgently, and was about to grab me when my new staff poked him in the ribs and stopped him. He coughed and stepped back. “I-I got kicked out of the shrine!” he complained loudly over his shoulder, and I had to raise my eyebrows.

“Don’t tell me.” I massaged my nose. “You got a little enthusiastic in recounting your tales to Tiirith.”

“Uh...” He didn’t look me in the eyes. “Well, you said I was in a stadium? So I figured some music and dancing was appropriate...”

“And someone else was in there, and giving a different performance.”

He grimaced. “It was a big scary-looking guy with eyes like I’ve never seen, and scars, and wow, so strong, shoved me right outside, and gave me a look that, ah...” He seemed a little embarrassed that he was so frightened.

I glanced past him over his shoulder. Mmm, being short... “And so, you recruited Sir Pellier to right things for you, and he walked in, and is talking with the guy?” His shoulders slumped. “Did you really think a Paladin was going to start a fight in a temple to Harse?”

“Uh, well...”

“Now, if this was a temple to Hurn, you might be onto something, but seriously?” I rolled my eyes and pointed. “Let’s see who interrupted your loud and flashy tales of yourself, Helix.”

Seeing as how he couldn’t seem frightened in front of a woman, he, um, bravely strode along slightly behind me, and I wondered which of us was actually higher Level... whatever.

---

The Shrine was much smaller than the worship hall, of course, maybe thirty by thirty, with well-spaced, comfortable pews, the room built in comfortable general earth and wood tones. The altar up there was clean and simple; backing it was the tristar of Heaven, with Mithar’s Sword in Silver Sun in the middle. As this was Harse’s Temple, the White of Amana, Scriba, and Harse were topmost, with the Gold of Aru, Sylune, Flora, and Aethra to the right, and the Orange and Rainbow of Nuava, Tiirith, Valus, and Jestanna to the left.

Sir Pellier was standing in front of the altar, his arms crossed, looking very stern as he was talking with a tall, rangy man with short-cut blond hair dressed in a black hooded jacket, dark jeans, and combat boots. He was wearing a knife with a sword’s hilt at his hip, and had a heavy pistol in a shoulder rig. I could already see scars on his face and hair: this was someone who’d been in a lot of fights.

Oddly enough, he wasn’t saying anything.

Both men turned to look at me as I walked in. I blinked.

Hellscars...

I was intimately familiar with the Damn things. Aelryinth had a trace of one still left on his face, happily glowing crimson whenever he considered Evil thoughts, and burning in annoyance whenever he was a particularly nice and merciful person. The black expanses of charred flesh, and the crimson that would leak through the cracks, were unmistakable to anyone who’d ever seen one.

This guy had one ripping across the left side of his face, taking his ear clean away and reaching dark fingers up into his hairline. A thin black line limned in red cut across his throat, and I knew he was mute.

I had the distinct impression he had more of them on him I could not see...

What was most singular were his eyes. They were the jet black of a Dark Warlock, but his Irises were shining silver, luminous against the black, with pupils of churning sky blue.

Oh, and the pupils were square.

“Color me impressed. A Four-Pact Heaven and Hell Warlock,” I greeted him, walking up fearlessly. I felt the Aura from him, clearly harmonizing with Sir Pellier’s. “Storm and City Pacts. You’ve definitely got the versatility thing down.” I held out my hand.

He lifted his hands away from me, a look flashing across his face. Very slowly, he lifted one finger, and brought it down to touch my hand as I watched closely.

His finger smoked, charred, turned black, and then burst into hellfire where it touched my skin. I looked at it, incredulous, as he took it back. The instant it was out of contact, the hellfire died, and gentle golden fires swirled over it and began to heal it back to full.

“His Hellpact is reacting to the touch of Good people?” I had to ask sharply.

“Skin contact,” Sir Pellier confirmed with a nod. “Miss Traveler, meet Master Fred, Warlock of the Heavenly Order of the Tome.”

I inclined my head in greeting, and he did the same, glancing at my hair knowingly, but saying nothing. Golden flames flickered above his shoulder and spelled out, A PLEASURE.

I hissed despite myself, even as I flicked a finger to Comprehend Languages and translate his flaming words. “Wow. That is some impressive Wrath control. Do I dare ask what your Hellpact is?”

His very peculiar eyes looked away in resignation. The flames swirled, HUNGRY KISS.

The fact he admitted it was bad enough. I’m afraid my face twisted. “No shit? That sounds, by the look of you, like a right horrible story that I’ve no business hearing unless you want me to.” I zipped my lips, and there was faint gratitude on his face as he just nodded. Of course, he wouldn’t be embarrassed about it, as Heaven had his back, and he was as fearless as the Paladin... or me, but mine was more akin to a mental condition now. “I’m getting the idea you were looking for some peace and quiet, and our friend here was rather loud and distracting?” I jerked a thumb at Helix, who was trying not to stare at Warlock Fred’s face and kind of failing.

At the same time, his Stormblood was probably reacting to the fact this guy was Stormbound...

Warlock Fred just nodded. APOLOGIES, BUT YOU WERE VERY LOUD.

Helix laughed weakly. “Um, I totally didn’t see you there when I came in. You were kind of sitting off to the side and not moving, and I didn’t expect anyone here in the middle of the day...” And he was probably working on his magnificent moving tale and dance number of the Daring Young Sorcerer Helix, but hey.

Warlock Fred waved it off. DO YOU HAVE TIME, PALADIN?

“I’m here kinda to escort her around. Miss Traveler, Master Fred here is not in town for a tourist stop.” No shit; Warlocks didn’t have down time, and a guy like him, with four Pacts, would probably have negative amounts of it. “He’s hunting a branch of Hellbound in the city, some Gilded Heart Pact members who seem to be dealing with wererats of the city with ambition on their minds.”

I had to wince. “I can unequivocally tell you that personally I am definitely not ready to fight any kind of swarms at this time. What do you need us for?”

JUST WATCH THE FRONT AND BACK. I CAN HANDLE THE REST.

This was one confident Four-Pact Warlock. Being immune to fear didn’t mean he was stupid. He really was that confident he could handle it.

“Is that a Grit?” Helix blurted out suddenly. I blinked, and followed his eyes to the pistol inside Warlock Fred’s jacket.

YES.

“Seriously?” Even Sir Pellier was impressed. “I hate to ask, but may I?”

Warlock Fred unholstered it and handed it over in his palm. Sir Pellier took it respectfully.

Okay, that was a monster of a gun. It looked like a weird combination of very modern gunsmithing, but it used an odd revolver design, not a clip. It was obviously not designed for a quick draw with the size of that barrel, but damn if looking down the muzzle of that thing wouldn’t be like looking into a shotgun...

“Damn, this thing must weigh twenty pounds!” Sir Pellier swore, hefting it in two hands. I lifted an eyebrow. Something that heavy would take an unseemly amount of strength to use...

At my ignorant expression, Sir Pellier explained to me, “Grit Firearms is in Detroit. They specialize in firearms for beings with inhuman strength, with absurd levels of quality, made to be magical.”

He held the hunk of steel out to me, and I kind of screwed up my face, wondering how I was supposed to hold onto it. He laughed and accepted my staff, and I hefted the damn thing as I Assayed it.

===

Fred’s Grit

One-Handed Mighty Warlock’s Grit Revolver

QL: 30

Base Damage: 2-16 + Strength (minimum 20)

Variable Caliber

Ammunition Capacity: 10

Range Increment: 150 yards

===

It was a QL 30 Named Weapon. Had to be Dwarf-work. I couldn’t find out more about it without spending Valences, which would be kind of rude. Definitely had a range enhancement on it...