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    Ianmus sat on a rounded stone, his hands propped on his knees as he watched the delver-scion work. Kaius, he had said his name was. After the human and his beastly companion had finished the flock, he’d offered a chance to talk.

    It was hard not to feel like their short walk through the afternoon sun had been a walk to the gallows. After all, he knew too much.

    No matter what Kaius had said, his strange magics and his relationship with the meles – Porkchop, as ridiculous and nigh-heretical as the name was – was a secret that needed to be kept hidden. Even with all of the delver’s power, he was still low level. Impossibly low level, for the strength he had leveraged. Another secret, though one that he could only feel out the faintest edges of.

    Yet, he still lived. He hadn’t been cut down where he stood, no matter how prudent a course of action it would have been.

    So he sat, and watched as the man took his hunting knife to the carcass of the terror bird, dismantling it with practiced ease. Oh, he still struggled with some bits. It was clear that he had never butchered such a beast before, what with the way he struggled with their tough connective tissue and odd musculature. Still, every roadblock the man hit, he worked his way through it in moments.

    Whatever he was, Kaius was no foppish noble’s son. That was abundantly clear. The blind disinterest in the trail-dust that coated him head to toe, his rugged and raw appearance, and his blatant disinterest in mortal concerns such as pain.

    He’d seen that hit Kaius had taken on the shoulder, no mere level sixteen should have weathered that bonecrushing slam, armour or no. Even if he did have the strength to persevere without shattered bones, the man had smiled at the wound. Like it tickled.

    The sheer affinity to violence chilled Ianmus, filling his veins like an icy mountain stream. So at odds with the calm and friendly demeanour he now showed. Bloodsong, no doubt, and strongly felt. Despite everything, he could feel his latent curiosity piquing.

    He’d been privy to the studies, on how it was some confluence of mana effecting a latent trait in the blood. It heightened aggression, the senses, increased risk-taking, and sent the mind alight with visceral joy. He himself felt it – far more than the average scholar – but far less than some, and far less than the man crouched across from him.

    It had been an interesting study, though one confounded by privacy concerns. How the strength of Bloodsong correlated to the strength and development of one’s level and classes. No conclusion had been found on whether it was just the Song driving people to lives where they burned bright or burnt out, or if there was some direct relationship.

    If the latter was true, at least it would give him some sane reason for the man’s power.

    Level fourteen. Madness.

    Watching Kaius set aside another stack of meat, the man pulled a pan from his saddlebags as well as a pouch of what he assumed to be seasonings, still utterly focused on his task. His companion shifted to give him better access to their belongings on his haunch. Either they were so perfectly in tune that such an action was automatic, or they spoke through beast-speak. He didn’t know which was more imposing, because even the latter meant that they were close enough for Kaius to have learnt the famously mind-bending ‘language’.

    The pan was another indicator of wealth and status, along with the blatant artefacts that draped him and his companion.

    That, or they had been on an extended journey into the Depths. And were only level fourteen. Madness.

    How was he not dead? It wasn’t like he could run or fight, not with their supremacy.

    Not that he would dare to share the secrets of a greater meles. His father might have been a scoundrel and a wastrel, a coward of a man who had left him and his mother to rot when he was a boy, but he had passed on a partial legacy and opened his path to the academies. He knew the histories, had been taught the Quiet Ways. He was proud of his heritage, if not his lineage.

    No, he would be sharing no secrets of the meles. Though, to see one of their insular folk garbed in armour and letting a human ride him was a shock he doubted he would forget.

    Questions upon questions, ones he wouldn’t be getting an answer to.

    Ianmus watched Kaius shift out of his crouch, sitting heavily on the grass with a generously seasoned slab of meat in one hand. As Kaius grabbed the pan, he watched a faint trickle of mana leave the man, activating the artefact. Moments later the steak was dropped in, sizzling loudly.

    “So, I know you saw my magic. I have no doubt that as a mage you spotted something a little odd with it, didn’t you?” Kaius asked, looking up from the slowly cooking meal as he fixed Ianmus with a half smile.

    Ianmus paused, returning the young delver’s smile with a weak one of his own. He’d hoped that Kaius wouldn’t have noticed his awareness, but of course he had. He still couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

    It wasn’t a simple metamagic, not even one of inordinate power. There were skills that could reduce channeling and focus requirements, but nothing he could think of that would reduce it to imperceptible levels. Beyond that, he would still have seen some trace of the man directing his mana. There hadn’t been any. One moment, nothing. The next, a flash of arcane brilliance and Kaius had been holding a writhing bolt of storm mana. It flew in the face of everything he had learned.

    He gave Kaius a still nod.

    “Good man, being honest. Look, that is another thing that will get out eventually, but I would have kept under wraps for now. However, since you have already seen it, I would make use of a skill. I’d appreciate it if you kept what you saw to yourself.” Kaius said with a look, one mirrored by his beastly companion.

    What exactly was he playing at? Revealing more secrets. “Of course.” Ianmus replied, keeping his face as even as he was able to.

    The delver gave him a nod, before he flipped the slow cooking meat in front of him and settled back. Crossing his legs he closed his eyes and started to breathe, slow and even.

    Right in front of his eyes the mana field went wild to Ianmus’s vision. Arcane energy roared into action within the delver’s body, almost as if he was channeling a spell. Then, with what must have been a titanic application of will, the mana began to twist, weaving itself into an ever more defined shape.

    It was…impossible. And slow, the process taking minutes for a clarity in design to become visible to even his sharpened mana senses. Sure, it was heavily obscured within the safety of the delver’s body, but he saw enough.


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    What he did see sparked an inferno of curiosity within Ianmus, setting his heart fluttering with the sweet Song of desire. A secret, grand and unknown. A natural mystery, begging to be shattered and cracked open, to reveal the meat of truth within.

    Right before his eyes, the delver twisted his mana into runes. Foreign ones, class supplied no doubt, but ones of unimaginable complexity. For one, they were three dimensional, and for two, he had forged them out of nothing but will.

    True fascination gripped him as more and more mana was pumped into the workings. Then it snapped into place, anchored into the man’s arm. He watched it stabilise, held in stasis, prepared and ready to be used at the delver’s slightest behest.

    He realised with a shock that there were nine duplicates already woven around the mans wrist in a dense knot. Each and every one must have been a spell.

    Without pause, he watched Kaius with a slack jaw as the delver dived straight into the next one, recreating another spell. The same spell.

    Ianmus leaned in. He needed to learn more. Runework had never been his forte, but this? This was something else. Surely Kaius would need help plumbing the mysteries of this art? Consummate warrior and apparent genius he might have been, the man was clearly no scholar, the application had all the signs of system given insight. Too…rigid. Too…rote. Plus, his class tag. Spellsword. A hybrid, one he would have said was impossible a few days prior, but a hybrid all the same.

    Surely the man would need help to plumb its depths. Just barely a tenth into his first class, there was still plenty of time to pivot.

    Surely.

    ….

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