1.9 – Consequences

Even if she’d had the words to answer her father, she wouldn’t have. He didn’t deserve an explanation. It was done, and the past couldn’t be changed. Maximilian could rage all he wanted, but he would do so in futility. She’d gotten what she wanted, and seized her destiny just as the Watchers had intended.

Name: Ulrika Blackstone

Class: Dark Warrior (Basic, Rare)

Level: 1 (Grade I)

• Primary Stats

  • Might – 3

  • Finesse – 3

  • Resilience – 3

  • Magic – 3

  • Control – 3

  • Ward – 3

• Class Features

  • Mental Redoubt I – Duration and potency of mind-affecting conditions are halved.
    Your mind is a fortress. Stand firm in the face of untold horrors.

  • Balanced Defense I – Adds one-half Ward to physical defense. Adds one-half Resilience to magic defense.
    Might or Magic matters not. You endure, no matter the hardship.

• Class Skills

  • Dark Strike I – High damage Dark aspected attack using an equipped melee weapon. 12 second cooldown.
    Harness the Dark and strike true, warrior.
    

• General Skills

  • Armor Proficiency I (Medium, Heavy)

  • One-Handed Weapon Proficiency I

  • Shield Proficiency I

She wasn’t going to quibble about that one skill. Whatever Dark aspect damage meant in truth, the rest of the class was exactly what she’d wanted. Sword, shield, and well-armored. A defensive ability that protected her mental fortitude, and another that boosted her against magic and physical attacks both. Whatever this class had in store for her, it would let her wade into battle, fighting on the front lines of any engagement, not hanging back and slinging spells. Nor was she going to lament the fact that, upon gaining the class, her stats had only increased by one each.

Chryson’s voice emerged from the flood of knowledge that was her class. It was clear and strong, somehow filled with even more of the cosmic mix of sound and light than before. “The Dark Warrior is a Rare Basic class. It combines high physical toughness and martial prowess with magic self-enhancements to create an offense-oriented fighter capable of performing both Striker and Bulwark roles.”

Striker? Bulwark? Thaddeus had mentioned them during her years of study, she was certain. But as with most things related to the specifics of classes, he wouldn’t go into detail. The moment Rika had the thought, the answer floated to her from the swirling cosmos of information Chryson poured into her awareness. Strikers focused on dealing damage. The most common type of combat-capable classes, according to Chryson. Bulwarks were tough and durable, front-line fighters holding back the tide of opponents while the Strikers of the group did their job.

A fairly obvious distinction, really. But Rika had never known her father to operate in a group. Then again, he hardly left the manor in her experience. A stream of new information pushed at the edges of her awareness, but she dismissed it with a thought. She could explore that at her leisure. Chryson had more information about her class.

“The Dark Warrior starts with low, but balanced stats. This is both a bane and a boon at early levels, but any weakness this confers is quickly offset by their above-average growth in all areas. At higher levels and grades, the Dark Warrior becomes a force to be reckoned with.”

She’d take it. By the Watchers, she’d take it. As Chryson continued to pour information about her class and its capabilities directly into her mind, she became dimly aware of her father. Despite standing nearby, sounded so far off as he shouted at her. She still lay on the floor of the temple. Whatever he was on about, it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered.

Pushing aside Chryson’s flood of class knowledge, she stood. Well, more like she surged to her feet. The power and grace of having both her Might and Finesse at three was incomparable to the two points she’d just barely managed to get used to during her trial. She beamed, looking her father in the eye.

He was furious. Every line of his face, the tension held in his posture, and the sensation of unbridled power that just poured off him—a power she’d never truly noticed before—told a story written in rage. Finally, Rika paused, taken aback by seeing her father truly for the first time.

Duke Maximilian Blackstone

Class: Arch-Elementalist (Second Advancement, Rare)

Level: 127 (Grade IV)

Without meaning to, Rika took a step back. The ghostly text of his class and level burned in the air next to him. She’d always known her father was strong. Nobody carved out a duchy, not even in a place like the heathlands of the Chillwind Coast, without a tremendous amount of personal power. But this? Level one hundred twenty-seven?

“What have you done?” Every word was clipped, short, direct. Sharp like an executioner’s axe.

What had she done? He knew. Of course he knew. She could see his class and level, and there was no reason to think he couldn’t see hers. He didn’t want an answer. He wanted an explanation.

“I completed the Trial of Selection,” she said, using the word Chryson’s announcements had used at the end without really meaning to. From where he stood silent at her father’s side, the Deacon of Promise turned his sightless, blindfolded eyes in her direction.

“I can see that much. You knew what was expected. You knew what I expected. No daughter of mine,” Maximilian said, his voice taking on a more typical cadence, if still burning wroth.

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“Well this daughter did. You never wanted me to begin with, so I don’t see—”

“No daughter of mine,” he said, cutting her off. For a moment, Maximilian’s attention left her, shifting to a spot to his right. His Oracle? She couldn’t see anything similar to Chryson floating nearby. The deacon didn’t seem to have one, either.

Name: Ulrika Black—

Error. Affiliation not set.

Name: Enter new name and affiliation.

As Maximilian, her father, shifted his attention back to her, Rika stammered through her shock. “What just happened? What did you do?”

“No daughter of mine,” he said for a third time. “You are stripped of your name and your place in my home. Something I should never have allowed to begin with. Follow me. Pack whatever you want to take from your belongings. Captain Marin will escort you off my lands come first light.”

Rika stared after her father. The man who was her father no more. She stared in dumb disbelief. While she’d known he would be angry and would likely punish her… but this?

“Follow him, child,” whispered the paper-thin voice of the Deacon of Promise. “The Lord of Uncertain Journeys has lived up to his name this night, it seems.”

She turned to the deacon. A bubbling rage welled up in her gut. He would stand there and speak of the Watchers after everything she’d just been through? After she’d been cast out from the only home she’d ever known? After fighting for her life in a test that seemed tailored to cause her nothing but suffering? Sure, she’d chosen freely, and she’d do it again if she had to, even knowing what it would entail.

“Fuck the Watchers,” she snarled as she stomped off after her father. From the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw the deacon crack a small, secret smile.

Thankfully, Maximilian had waited for her in the transport room. It seemed even if she was finally disowned, he wouldn’t just leave her here. But she stepped into the transport room, greeted by stony silence nonetheless. Silence, and the witness of the carved bones and grinning skulls. Her father reached out and activated the transport circle, and they were back and the manor that was no longer her home.