123, 2/2

Erick and Poi journeyed a short five kilometers, though streets filled with revelers and bright lights and drum beats, to a different part of Treehome where the architecture of the buildings did not resemble ‘silver spikes around a tree’, as was the land around the Holy O’kabil. Instead, this place was pure brutalist. Concrete-like stone slabs thirty meters tall. Walls that were devoted a hundred percent to function over form. Barely any windows anywhere, except for as thin lines here and there, filled with foot-thick glass. Balconies abounded at every elevation of this part of town; solid, thick grey slabs, that seemed to be more like staging areas to organize an army, than places to watch the sunset. The only thing allowed to be pretty seemed to be the tree at the center of it all, sitting on his vast array of blocky buildings, like some sort of dragon on a hoard; Firebrand.

The massive Arbor rose tall above it all as a gangly, yet solid, collection of vines in the shape of a tree, with glowing orange leaves that looked like they had just flaked off of burning hot iron. Firebrand was a thunderhead blotting out the sky, made of sparkling gold and burning red depending on how the wind rustled the leaves. This was his neighborhood, for sure, and it showed in the small corners of shaped stone, and along the edges of tall walls. Vines of the main tree were everywhere, but only if you looked for them. Once Erick noticed those vines, he couldn’t help but notice them hidden, and not-so-hidden, everywhere.

He also couldn’t help but notice the ‘city guard’ in this area, with their beaten-copper armors, glancing at him from the various corners of buildings, as he walked through the crowds, toward the restaurant called Overloot. The guards noticed him, but they didn’t bother him, so that was nice.

The manasphere filled with some sort of fiery Domain as he got closer to Firebrand himself. It seemed rather similar to the Domain around the Holy O’kabil, but with fire, instead of mist.

Erick had his own Domain active and tucked into his shoes, along with his [Greater Lightwalk]. His own Domain pushed back the fire in the air, but he didn’t press too hard, and Firebrand didn’t push back too hard, either. Being this close to another’s established domain was like putting his hand up against a soft wall that could turn hard at any moment, but which chose not to.

… Which was fine, but not very relaxing.

Would he ever be able to actually relax?

… Probably not.

– – – –

Overloot was a three-story cube on the south side of Firebrand, across a large courtyard from the local branch of the Adventurer’s Guildhouse. The Guildhouse was four times the size of Overloot, with people of every race on a dozen balconies, eating or drinking at any of a handful of restaurants or bars inside the Guildhouse, or warming themselves by any of a dozen large bonfires scattered across the cliff-like projections from that massive building. They were having a rowdy time over there, under Triumph lights, and beside the warm fires.

Overloot was a higher class place, but only because of the money involved.

Erick walked through the first floor, ‘the butchery’ according to the sign, and saw unicorn corpses being dismantled by expert, bloody butchers. That shimmering meat was slapped onto trays, bound for the restaurant on the top, alongside other monsters Erick had briefly heard about at one point in time or another.

Furnace turtles, each the size of a hippo, famed for their shells; currently being dismantled for giant soup pots.

Pale walkers, which were like spiders the size of horses, but also not like that at all. They probably tasted like crab.

Scarlet kings, which were like the flying fish of the Crystal Forest, but much more violent. Erick glanced at Poi, just in time to see the man close his almost-drooling mouth. Erick smiled. He would be sure to order some of that at some point in the evening, unless Syllea had plans already.

One odd item were the invisible shrooms, which Erick only saw by blinking on his mana sense. The guy was just slamming his cleaver onto nothing, until that moment, and then he was slamming his cleaver through dense white flesh, making mushroom steaks.

Continuing up to the second floor required invitation, or standing in a line and getting lucky. Erick walked to the front of the line, drawing envious looks from people who clearly had enough money to eat anywhere they wanted. With how nicely everyone was dressed, Erick was glad he picked his nicest clothes. He reached the front line and did not get a chance to speak before the bouncers noticed him, and recognition caused them to flinch. Ah. So much for anonymity. It was kinda nice walking through town with no one recognizing him.

A bouncer unlatched a thin rope that stretched from one side of the entrance to the other, as a man came down from the room beyond; the host, no doubt. He was certainly dressed the part, with sleek lines to his sleek almost-tuxedo.

“Welcome to Overloot.” The man backed away, saying, “Please follow me.”

Erick followed, glad that the man hadn’t openly called his name and spoiled what little normalcy there was about all of this. The people in the line were giving him looks, and that was kinda fun.

The dining room was not a dining room. The second floor was a large, nice bar area, with tables to stand at and music playing in the back and people enjoying many small foods and much larger drinks. Erick had felt a bit small, since many of the people around him were orcols, but some of the standing tables had platforms for the shorter people to stand upon.

The host brought Erick and Poi to one such table. Erick chuckled a little as he stepped onto the raised platform, and wondered if there were ‘high seats’ waiting in the proper restaurant, above.

The host looked scandalized as Erick giggled; maybe he thought something was wrong? He asked, “Is there something I can get you right away, sir?”

“I’d like some beer, but don’t mind me.” Erick said, “I’m just laughing at the logistics of orcol architecture. This is how your kind must feel back at my home. I might need to adjust a few things when I get back to make everyone more comfortable, for sure.”

The man lost his worried look. With a gentle smile, he said, “It’s sometimes hard to account for everyone, but we try. Thank you for noticing.”

A waitress came by. The host left. Everything proceeded exactly like a normal restaurant, and that made Erick inexplicably happy, for some strange reason. He certainly couldn’t do this back home; not without drawing a crowd.

It wasn’t till the waitress brought around Erick and Poi’s drinks, that Syllea and Bayth walked into the room. Erick noticed them before they noticed him, for that was easy enough to do when the entire room’s energy whipped toward the front entrance, and people suddenly stopped talking.

Bayth appeared first, looking as muscular and as strong as ever. She moved into the room like a solid wall of power, and then stepped aside.

Syllea wore a dress made of crystal and cloth that barely held her ample chest inside. Her blond hair cascaded. Her eyes were bright, and beautiful. She locked her sight with Erick from across the room, then smiled wide, and happily said, “Archmage, Particle Mage, Erick Flatt! Destroyer of Shades! Liberator of Ar’Kendrithyst! Welcome to Treehome!” Into the muttering silence that followed, and as several pairs of eyes turned Erick’s way, Syllea said, “This year’s Triumph of Light is the most aptly named Triumph of them all, so let’s drink to the future, and to all that comes next! I’m buying out Overloot for the night, so drink up, everyone!”

At that, there was no muttering, or murmuring. There was only cheering that rocked the building in its ferocity, and the sounds of bottles popping, and the doors to the kitchen thrown wide, as trays upon trays of meats and otherwise came out into the room, seemingly right on cue, and all eyes turned toward Erick, as Syllea walked up to him.

Erick smirked, saying, “I was beginning to enjoy the anonymity.”

“Ha! No more of that, now! Besides, with me here, it’ll be five Script Seconds before someone realizes who you are. Might as well pull that leech off when you see it.” With a gleam in her eyes, Syllea took her place on the other side of the standing table, saying, “Rejoice in your accomplishments, Erick. You’ve earned them.”

The host suddenly and silently appeared with a bucket of ice containing four bottles of wine. He popped one, and began setting drinks out for Erick, Syllea, Poi, and Bayth.

Accepting his drink with a smile, Erick said, “Thank you.”

Holding her own drink, Syllea said, “Could have done without the rain, though.”

“I was asked to do that.” Erick said, “Besides! It’s just a light misting.”

As if cued into his words, the sky outside crackled with faint lightning and a rain began, though it was barely seen through the thin windows with their thick glass, or heard through the density of the walls. Hard to hear over the party, too.

He sipped his wine. He smiled.

It tasted good.

The night wore on, wonderfully, tastefully, and in great quantities, too.

Contrary to Erick’s expectations, there was no talk of politics. There were no veiled conversations, between him and Syllea or anyone else that came over to their little part of Overloot and who wanted to talk. There was only a nice time, from talking about the dishes that the waitress paraded out for Syllea and Erick’s approval, to discussing the histories of Treehome and the surrounding areas.

– – – –

On the third floor of Overloot, over small sample dishes of cakes and dessert wines and in a corner of the building slightly away from the main party happening everywhere else in the building, midnight came and went. The night had turned away from the sudden party of before, becoming something more intimate. While Poi and Bayth stood to the respective sides of the sit-down table, and almost no one felt like approaching the archmages’ VIP area, the conversation turned to trade.

Syllea lifted her half-drained drink, which was a fruity red thing this time, and said, “Alcohol is a good trade. Blueweed is fine, too, if you plan to get into adventuring business. Ain’t much call for those medicinal herbs outside of easing hard memories.”

Erick stared at Syllea like she had spouted off some fundamental truth. “Blueweed is good for that? Holy shit! I should have planted a square kilometer of that stuff, then!”

Syllea laughed. “It’s a short term solution to the hard memories.” She asked, “Do you want some?” She decided, “We can get some. I’m gonna get you some. Ah! I have some. Here—” The archmage waved her hand and Spatial Magics suddenly dropped a small wooden box upon the table. She lifted the lid, showing strips of blue grass on one side, next to what had to be a grinder. “Non habit-forming, relaxing blueweed. Perfect for those difficult nights.”

Erick watched, ready to try anything, because sure? Why not?

But Syllea touched the grasses, and frowned. “Er. It’s all dried up. Ah. I didn’t think it had been that long since I did this. Ah. This won’t do.” She waved a hand, and the box vanished. “Let’s go get some fresh stuff.”

Bayth asked, “Are we done here, then?”

“I think so.” Syllea asked, “Unless you’re still hungry, Erick?”

“Oh. No. I am stuffed! This place is wonderful.” Erick asked, “Are you good, Poi?”

“That Scarlet King was great. I’m good.”

“Then!” Erick said, “This has been absolutely wonderful, but I’m ready for a walk and some illicit drugs.”

“Now now.” Syllea smirked. “Blueweed is perfectly legal. It’s those variants you have to watch out for.” She stood, wobbled a bit, then righted, saying, “I’m gonna settle the bill, then we can go.” She whispered, but not really, “How much do you think it is? I think I’m gonna need to take up some contracts after tonight.”

Erick smiled, mocking, “You poor, poor archmage. Whatever will you do for funds.”

Syllea snickered.

Within minutes, there was an uproar of disappointment from the patrons over Syllea’s and Erick’s departure, a quiet joy from the people in the kitchen finally being allowed to shut down the kitchen, a disappointment (that was really relief) from the host that perhaps he had not done enough for her, and then Erick and Syllea were back on the brightly lit streets of Treehome, and walking west.

– – – –

Outside of a small shop tucked away in a quiet, high-class part of town where the architecture was wood and stone and pretty to look at, where the rain drizzled all around them, but not on them, and Triumph lights painted the night in red, white, gold, and green, Erick sat upon a bench next to Syllea. They had already been inside the shop and procured the goods. A few other patrons sat in pairs or trios, on other benches, passing between themselves handmade, burning cigarettes.

Syllea held up one of the dozen cigarettes Erick had bought. She lit the end, sucking on the other to draw the flame into the contents. After having the first draw, she passed it to Erick.

He took it, and smiled, saying, “I haven’t done this since before I had Jane.” And then he took a drag.

He coughed, handing off the blunt as he did so.

Syllea smiled. “It’s not the strong stuff.” She took an easy, long drag, then spoke with smoke in her voice, “It shouldn’t do much more than ease the tension in your shoulders.” She passed it back to Erick. “And you came from another world! How did you get blueweed?”

“Ah. Well.” Erick said, “I guess it wasn’t blueweed. At all. Similar drugs, though. Or maybe not?”

He tried taking another drag. This time, it was easier. The effect was almost immediate. It began as a warmth in his back, then spread out to the rest of him. Like dipping into a hot bath. It felt good.

“So what are your plans now?” Syllea asked, as Erick handed her back the blunt.

“Three things are at the top of my list. The first one is to help clear out that Converter Angel.” He would have said more, but then—

Syllea frowned. “That’s a big task.” She took a long drag.

“Yeah. Fortunately, I know what the Converted look like. It’s easy to spot once you know what to look for.” Syllea’s eyes went a bit concerned, but before she could ask, Erick said, “I haven’t seen any in Treehome, yet. Mostly, I’m just waiting for the current holder of the Black Star to spearhead that problem. It doesn’t feel right stepping on the toes of the incani people. I was contracted to help with the Breach Demon, after all.” He tapped the crystal star on his chest, saying, “And you gotta be impartial in this Quiet War business… I guess. Or at least you gotta be fair.”

Syllea gained a measure of composure as Erick said there were no Converted nearby. But she was still worried about that. She asked, “How can you tell if you have a Converted?”

“Here. Let me…” Erick sent her a telepathic package of what he had seen down in the dungeons of the Wasteland. “Like that.”

Syllea went silent for a moment. She handed Erick back the blunt, as she thought.

Erick took a drag, then took another.

Syllea sprouted a few tendrils of telepathic thought; she was obviously talking to someone, and she said as much as she mumbled, “Sorry. That was an unexpected turn of events. I have to shove off some thoughts to others.” She added, “I’m gonna need to teach you how to get [True Sight].”

“I’m not in any rush, but yeah; I’d like to learn [True Sight]. I will take that offer.” Erick glanced around the small area, at the other occupants who were doing a terrible job of not staring directly at Erick, or Syllea. “But we could probably move to a more private area. We can talk about some denser topics, too, if you wish.”

“Yeah… Let’s do that.” Syllea asked, “You two want to come to my place?” She glanced to Bayth, saying, “I think Bayth is all tuckered out, anyway.”

Bayth rolled her eyes.

“I would like that.” Erick looked to Poi, asking, “Sure?”

Poi nodded.

Erick repeated, “Sure.”

Syllea let loose with a few other tendrils of intent, touching each of them, as she said, “Here we go—”

– – – –

The world resolved into a space of warmth and clean smells, with Erick at the center of a living room he had never seen before. Blanket and fur-covered couches arced around a fireplace without a fire, where the floors and walls were made of dark wood, and the ceiling was a skylight where rain drew rivulets across the glass. Beyond the roof, clouds swirled around a tall, dark Arbor, high above, only visible in the night because of countless bright orbs, like stars, scattered among his lofty boughs. All around Erick, Syllea, Bayth, and Poi, hovered a thin, star-filled brightness in the mana of the air; the Domain of the Arbor above.

Erick stared through the skylight, asking, “That’s Wyrmrest, right?”

“Yup! The original, and the largest!” Syllea stepped around the couch, headed towards a kitchen area. “You want more ale?”

He dropped his gaze to his host. “I’m ready to switch to water, actually. Or tea, if you have it.”

Syllea said, “I can do tea.”

Bayth said, “I’m going to head to the other room.”

“You don’t want to stay?” Syllea asked.

Bayth waved her off, and walked away. Poi bowed, then stepped away, following Bayth down a hallway into another part of the house.

Syllea grinned at Erick. “Just you and me, then. Pardon me if I do this the easy way.” With a pulse of intent, she flowed invisible control into the kitchen, pulling out a teapot, mugs, and a few small clay pots. She drew a globe of water from the faucet. With expert control, she joined the items together and heated where necessary. In three moments, she walked back to the couch area, her collection of items floating before her, steaming, as she gestured to a couch, teasing, “You can sit, you know.”

“I was just watching.” Erick sat down upon a fur, atop a comfortable couch, adding, “I couldn’t quite tell what spell that was. But I’m guessing it was just a [Telekinesis] aura?”

Syllea sat down on a couch beside Erick as the tea floated down onto the table between them. “Correct.” The tea steamed, as it steeped. “This Converted problem. How long has the Angel been active? Have they made any aggressive moves aside from the people you showed me?”

Erick glanced at the cigarettes they had bought, sitting on the table. Then he ignored them. “I’m not sure. I haven’t gone too deep into any of that. I have yet to go to Koyabez or— Did you hear about Shadow’s Feast? The full story? I told the Holy O’kabil earlier, and she seemed to imply that she would be telling others.”

“I’ve heard the story from many angles. I heard it from Wyrmrest, though. I know about Caizoa and the Black Star.” She said, “Asking Koyabez for guidance might be a good place to start, if you want to go down the path of full confrontation. But Converter Angels aren’t as completely violent as Breach Demons, as long as you aren’t their enemy. If you were, then you’d have been the target of assassinations well before now.” She said, “That’s how it usually goes.”

“I’m pretty sure I am their enemy.”

“If you were, they would have come after you by now.”

“Ah. There are many reasons why I believe I haven’t been attacked yet.” Erick smirked, then said, “Its minions are rather hard to miss, once you know what you’re looking for. Once I broke the Feast Barrier, it started moving all of its forces the world over. And then there’s this Silver Star on my chest; it’s a great way to fight against the thing if it should show.

“Taking all of that into account, and the fact that I’m already honor-bound to kill it should it show, I think it’s staying away from me if it can.” He said, “And I’m staying away from it, too, just because I’m not ready to start that war yet. There’s no way there wouldn’t be collateral damage. Maybe it knows this? It’s like how you said: Converter Angels aren’t as ‘raze the countryside’ as Breach Demons. More subterfuge and assassinations than overt war.”

Syllea glanced at the crystal star, saying, “So it’s true. That’s a Greater Artifact of Koyabez. You used that against the remaining Shades. Cursed them into mediocrity.”

“Well… I wouldn’t put it like that.” Erick scrunched his face a little, then said, “Cost me one of my spells to make, but I think it was a good trade off. There’s no way that Melemizargo isn’t going to remake his Clergy at some point in time, so if those Shades form a better base than what came before, then that’s good, right?”

Syllea didn’t look convinced, but she said nothing. She just thought for a moment. Then she poured tea. One for her, and one for Erick. She asked, “Sugar?”

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“Sure.”

Two sugar crystals went into Erick’s cup, then Syllea handed it to him. She did the same for her own tea, and took a sip. Erick sipped his, waiting for her to say something else.

Eventually, Syllea said, “I don’t know what’s going to happen, now that Ar’Kendrithyst has been purged. No one does. But the Cult has suddenly become active in Treehome.”

Erick recalled that Syllea’s brother was a member of Melemizargo’s Cult. He almost said something about that, but he chose not to. Instead, he asked, “Anything I should be aware of?”

“Probably.” Syllea frowned at nothing in particular. “They’re putting fliers on walls and openly recruiting. It’s… We’ve had three raids in the last three days. The Arbors are all agitated. Everyone is worried. I’m worried.” She went silent. After a moment, she said, “If the problem isn’t at my door, I’m not willing to get involved in the Quiet War.”

“I hope your troubles clear up soon.”

“Heh.” Syllea said, “You too.”

Erick changed the subject, asking, “Ever heard of the Worldly Path?”

Syllea blinked, startled for a moment, then laughed. “You’re going to do that? Now?”

“I’ve already started,” Erick said, not quite understanding the stress in Syllea’s voice. “Treehome was my first stop. I’ve got a few others lined up, but nothing too solid.”

Without sarcasm, Syllea said, “Good luck with that. I tried to walk the Worldly Path a decade ago.”

“You did?” Erick asked, amazed. He did not expect that when he brought up the topic, but in retrospect, it made perfect sense that another archmage already knew of the Worldly Path, and had tried to walk it.

Syllea asked, “What’s your overarching goal? Do you have one, yet?” With a bit more serious of a tone, she asked, “Is it to kill the Angel?”

“No. The Angel is just a part of it all. Probably, anyway. I’m not sure.” Erick said, “I don’t have a goal except to see the world. I’ll probably get a goal soon enough, somewhere down the path.”

She nodded. “That’s probably the best way to do it.”

“I take it you had a goal?”

“One that ended in failure.” Syllea glanced to the empty fireplace, saying, “I’m going to start the fire.” She pulled at her dress as she got up, adding, “And I’m going to change into something more comfortable.” She waved her hand at the fireplace, conjuring a flame upon the logs already there, as she walked away, saying, “Be right back.”

Erick refilled his tea while he waited, and wondered, his mind going to some rather interesting places as heat began to replace the chilly air of Syllea’s home. Not a minute later, Syllea reappeared wearing what might have been a sweater and sweatpants, both grey, with her long blond hair pulled into a pony-tail and her jewelry gone. All sexy thoughts happily vanished from Erick’s mind, as Syllea retook her spot on her couch, and started speaking.

She said, “The Worldly Path was something I tried much too soon in life. I had a goal before I set out, to gather every Elemental Body, to transform all of them into their Greater variants, and then to make a [Greater Prismatic Body]. There were a hundred other smaller goals, too, for this was back when I was still making new magic every other day, and a keeper at least once a week. But those smaller goals didn’t really matter. It was the larger ones that fucked over everything.

“The problem was [Shadowalk]. I left that one for last. That was my downfall, for the Worldly Path gets harder the further you go.

“I couldn’t get into Ar’Kendrithyst; that was out of the question. By the time I tried the Path, I was already at tier 7 spellwork, and I wasn’t willing to have my final test come at the hands of the Shades. So I tried for the Shadow Canyons of Nergal. I think I told you about them once before?”

“You did.” Erick recalled that conversation, then said, “You also spoke of the Fractured Citadels. You told me about how some of your people were soul-attacked.”

“Yup.” Syllea said, “That’s what ended the Path for me. I had a choice, near the end, of either going alone into the Darkness or pulling back, to keep my friends and family alive. They weren’t about to let me go alone, much to my anger, and I couldn’t… There were a lot of dangerous arguments there, right before the end. I cut my Path short. I ended it, rather than see people I love get hurt.” She offhandedly said, “I gained [Shadowalk] a year later after hiring people to gather shadow essence and craft a masterwork full-body armor. Had to do that twice, actually. I was so damned mad.” She chuckled. “I laugh about it now, but back then… That was maddening. Getting [Greater Shadowalk] was easy, comparatively, but by then The Worldly Path had already vanished for me.”

“Why not eat the shadow monsters for the Elemental Bodies?”

“I did. Mostly. But…” Syllea said, “You have to understand: The Worldly Path is a ritual of Fate and Space; a confluence of Elements that ensures that the Path gets harder and harder as you walk those steps. I wasn’t facing shadowolves by the end, Erick. If only I had been so lucky! But every shadowolf was gone. All that were left were Tyrant Whispers and Fallen Avatars; monsters that were more Ethereal Blood or Vile Darkness, than Shadow.”

Erick somehow felt the shadows of the room draw closer, but when he looked, they had not moved at all.