RuggyRuggy

  It took ten days and a good breeze to cross the central sea.

  Waveret had undergone many changes since that warehouse had burnt down. Sister Carrie knew there would be guards, but she didn’t expect a dozen armored soldiers stationed on each dock. She was patted down by four women before her belongings were extensively examined for any contraband.

  Spoiler

  [colpse]Sister Carrie received many apologies, but she was happy the city was going so far to ensure its citizens’ safety. She left the dock with a wandering smile. The idea was to find transport—perhaps a caravan service? She could walk to her destination, but…

  She didn’t know where that was.

  The Goddess of Family and Love, Verta, who shared a soul with the nun, couldn't feel precise directions towards her manifested mother—the Primordial Goddess.

  “How did you meet with her the st few times?”

  It has always been by chance. She must be within Lando...somewhere near those vanished mountains.

  Sister Carrie dwelled on that information as she entered a shop meeting her requirements. Traveling in these uncertain times was expensive, but her coin purse was light. She looked at the prices listed on the board behind the receptionist. Eight hundred dup was a lot to travel within the same country. Plus, a sign on the desk said there was an added fee to hire adventurers to protect the wagon since Arcton and its surrounding areas were marked as being extremely dangerous.

  A ticket to Canary was cheaper, but it was still out of her price range.

  Of course, by now, the king had given the all-clear. But that didn’t stop greedy companies from preying on people’s fears.

  She was never a fan of bartering. It didn’t suit her. She only had a handful of dup to her name, so she left. Perhaps she could walk?

  Sister Carrie wasn’t weak—far from it. But time was of the essence. She figured she’d try her hand at the guild. She was a member, so if she found a quest posted by the wagon service in need of guards…

  “Oh?” Sister Carrie saw a brassy blonde-haired human walk past the intersection. His dim, jade eyes looked her way for a moment before he returned to his map. His off-white cotton tunic and faded blue trousers matched the frugalness of his rough leather sandals. His backpack was in rough shape. It was practically falling apart.

  Spoiler

  [colpse]“Are you lost?” she asked upon approaching him.

  “I’m afraid I am, Sister,” replied the man. His voice was a low baritone with very little roughness. Its smoothness surprised her. “I am looking for the guild, yet this map is woefully inaccurate.”

  Sister Carrie asked to look. She said the map was from before the city changed a few years back—a fact she heard about on the boat ride. Children of Waveret often sold those outdated guides for cheap to get money for food. Most knew and took pity, buying the worthless things since they weren’t but a handful of dup.

  “That’s my destination. I’d be happy to escort you.”

  “I’d be happy to accept.” The man rolled up the map before pocketing it. “You have my thanks.”

  She proceeded down the road while learning the man’s name was Adom—a traveling monk searching for work. “Is it the same with you?”

  “Not quite. I am looking for someone.”

  “Within Waveret?”

  “Within the country. I know they’re here. Perhaps somewhere close to Arcton.”

  “Arcton?” Adom’s voice went lower. He didn’t want to say what he thought Sister Carrie feared. He didn’t know the woman she was searching for was an immortal goddess responsible for the missing mountains.

  “I know it’s a possibility,” Sister Carrie lied. “However, I have faith.”

  “Then I shall pray for your success, Sister.”

  Sister Carrie enjoyed the idol conversation with her new acquaintance. They turned one more corner. The guild was at the end of the street.

  A homeless man sat a dozen feet away from them under an awning. He shivered from the sudden chilly breeze, shaking a cup he held to anyone who passed. Most were quiet. A couple sneered. A few called him a freeloader who never worked an honest day.

  Adom retrieved a warm bnket from his backpack and handed it to the beggar. He then took 5 dup from his fttened coin purse.

  The man looked bewildered, yet his eyes revealed his thankfulness. He was at a loss for words, but Adom’s gentle smile said there wasn’t any need for thanks as he pced the money in the cup.

  “That was awfully kind of you,” Sister Carrie said, adding a few coins. The homeless man’s heart sparkled upon hearing the cnking noise. It meant he wouldn’t have to skip dinner or fight with the stray dogs for meat scraps that would often upset his stomach.

  “Let us share what we have with those in need. Compassion is a treasure we can all afford,” he said. “Some might argue the world needs more of it.”

  Sister Carrie felt a scene of her past fsh through her mind. Compassion? For the longest time… They didn’t have any. “Hmm?”

  “Sorry, it’s nothing. Just lost in thought.”

  “By the by, may I inquire about the type of work you want to accept?” The two entered the guild and approached the quest board. The pce wasn’t that packed. Sister Carrie overheard word of two emergency quests, but they didn’t mean much to her. She told Adom of her pn to work as a guard for the next wagon towards Canary or Arcton since she couldn’t afford the fare. She’d rather travel with a group than go solo.

  “What about you?”

  “Have you heard about the orphanage they’re building near Canary?”

  “I can’t say I have.” Sister Carrie listened as Adom expined that employment postings were dispatched across Lando weeks ago. He wanted to apply for a job, but construction was halted due to the uncertainty behind the vanishing mountains.

  “It seems construction has recently restarted. I’ve heard rumors of women with rings that hold mysterious powers. Apparently, they have made the equivalent of a month’s progress within the st week.”

  Rings?! Verta excimed.

  “Do you recall the color?”

  “Hmm?” Adom turned away from the quest board. “I believe I overheard something about them being red.”

  Carrie, that’s her! That’s Mother!

  Sister Carrie didn’t realize she was crying until Adom handed her a handkerchief. She felt so frail in the knees.

  Her task… It was finally ending. The goddess who saved her from that cult—the ones who dared to use her name in debaucherous sin…

  “Sister?”

  “Ah, forgive me,” Sister Carrie said, forcing the words. Her face adopted a more confident look as she thanked Adom for his kindness.

  “No need to be forgiven. I am thankful the one you seek still lives.” Adom’s smile was soft. His eyes shimmered when it seemed fate would keep the two together for a little longer.

  *****

  *****

  Six hours ter…

  Adom and Sister Carrie walked along a line of wagons and carriages bound for Canary and beyond. Most would advance through the city and arrive at Adenaford, but those two were only hired for the first leg of the journey. The first day had no issues. Nothing happened. That emergency quest posted by the crown involved setting up communication rey points at points along the route from Canary to Waveret, so one could argue armed escorts weren’t needed when checkpoints were stationed every two or three miles.

  The king didn’t want to take chances. He may have had many fws concerning the direction in which he took the kingdom—and the weakness of his rule— but his love for his citizens was equal to none.

  At the very least… King Lando wanted that to remain within his people’s hearts long after he was gone.

  When the day turned to dusk, the caravan pulled to the side near a grassy pin and prepared to set up camp. The contracted escorts were responsible for their own meals, but one client opened his supplies and asked that anyone who wished to join was free to do so.

  “You’re a monk?” asked Rickard, the generous traveling merchant. The campfire reflected light off his monocle as he held a bowl of porridge in his gloved hands.

  “I am,” replied Adom. He rested on his knees and cradled a cup of water. His empty bowl’s former contents rested in his stomach.

  “You don’t look like one,” added Bekah, Rickard’s young assistant. Her round raccoon-like ears twitched. Rickard admonished her, but Adom ughed and said looks could be deceiving. He gnced at Sister Carrie, who used a polishing cloth on her spear. She hummed a little tune.

  “That’s a wonderful melody,” said Draini, a Mousekin. Her thin whiskers twitched as she retrieved a violin from its case. She pyed a soothing melody. Music magic was uncommon for adventurers, but the spells were deceivingly powerful. Light green auras enveloped the camp’s inhabitants as the conversation continued until te.

  Sister Carrie remained awake—as a woman who shared a soul with a goddess, she didn’t require sleep or food. Death wouldn’t take her, yet Verta remarked that this was the extent of her powers. She didn’t hold control over the dead. She couldn’t wield the essence of time and craft elements from nothing. Warping reality with a mere stray thought was only reserved for the Almighty.

  No. The most Verta could do was what any god or goddess could do.

  If Sister Carrie hadn’t been made immortal… She wouldn’t have made it out of that cult alive. She hugged her spear while Verta recanted about the past—when her mother reigned as the Primordial Goddess. When Verta’s siblings looked to their mother as the universal figure she used to be.

  It was shame… That was all I felt when I…betrayed Mother. No—when we betrayed her.

  “You don’t have to relieve those memories,” Sister Carrie whispered, recalling her own memories—when that woman came into her life--when that woman showed her that there was a world outside the rusty cage she had been trapped in.

  Those fmes would’ve been the end of her. The goddess she never believed in saved her when she cast one st futile prayer as fire and smoke threatened to char her as they did the rest of that secluded mountaintop vilge.

  I am closer than ever to seeing her. But I am afraid… I don’t know what appearance she will take.

  “I wish I could help you.” Sister Carrie kept her voice quiet. She didn’t want to awaken anyone, but a blonde-haired man hadn’t listened to the sandman. Adom didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he did so unceremoniously without the crimson singi aware.

  *****

  *****

  Adom Silois had a story—everyone had a past.

  Adom’s was perhaps less gmorous than most. But he wasn’t a man who focused on what had happened because he wouldn’t have wanted that.

  He wasn’t here. Disease had stolen Adom’s childhood friend far too soon. He was a bright boy—with brassy blonde hair. Those dim jade eyes—so full of kindness—knew no limit.

  “You know, Adom,” his friend had once said in a weak voice. They had snuck into the vilge’s library after dark on the eve when the affliction was the worst. One was an orphan. The other—Adom—was cruelly taunted by everyone to be a monster—a yrthin—a being with unmatched shape-shifting prowess. He held a Skill Tablet—the divines of this world regarded yrthins as much as they did humans, elves, or wildkin, except others did not see yrthins that way.

  However, his family considered him a failure because he hadn't used his abilities. They refused to answer his call. Adom was exiled from his community after having his st name stricken from the registry.

  But his friend…didn’t see Adom’s pale skin, colorless eyes, and physical features devoid of detail as something to be feared. He didn’t care that he couldn’t use his powers because Adom’s companion wanted to be friends with the yrthin.

  The two sat against the bookshelf as Adom read his friend’s favorite book. He couldn’t see anymore. His eyes only perceived darkness, yet they shone so beautifully.

  “I…realized something. My story is already written. My past is like a book. You can’t change its pages, no matter how many times you reread them. The future, though, that’s where the unwritten adventure lies. It’s the bnk page waiting for your story to be written,” his friend had said before coughing blood. Adom had tried to stop him, but he was always stubborn—and he would be like that until the end.

  “You’re not a monster. You’re misunderstood. You’re someone…who doesn’t need to dwell on what’s behind you. You love books as much as I do, so focus on the chapters yet to come. That’s where the magic happens. That’s where you’ll find your true journey. Maybe… That journey can…be for…us…”

  Adom’s friend died—an orphan unloved by everyone who had nothing.

  Adom had been hysterical. He cried and shook his friend, begging him to wake up. He didn’t realize it because his madness had robbed his psyche, but those final words affected him enough that he unconsciously shifted into his companion’s form.

  He had made so much noise that the vilgers busted down the door and saw a startling sight. They assumed the worst when Adom ran away. He wasn’t used to his new limbs.

  Adom ran throughout the night, only stopping when the morning sun had illuminated a nearby river. He was alone. His only friend had perished. But those words…

  Adom made a resolution. He had little he wanted to do with his life. His friend? He had dreams and aspirations, and Adom vowed to live for them to find something to tch onto.

  That newfound desire guided him over the next two decades. He gradually altered his form to resemble what his friend would’ve looked like had he aged, stopping when he would’ve been 33.

  He led a life of frugalness. His desire to comprehend people helped him understand himself, and he finally felt he was living a life he would’ve been proud of.

  *****

  *****

  Morning came soon. Adom hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep until he woke with teary eyes. The past was there. But those pages had been written. He wanted to focus on the future, so he needed to prepare for it. That required his morning training, so he quietly walked away from the caravan and marched for those tall trees about a quarter mile away.

  Hmm? Am I not the only one with this idea?

  He heard someone grunt. Carefully, Adom pushed forward, pcing a hand on the tree to help quiet his steps. He peeked through a gap in the tree line to find Sister Carrie. She masterfully flourished her obsidian spear, moving like water. Her motions were fluidly beautiful—a work of art, even though Adom didn’t sense much force behind them, but his experience understanding the intricacies of a person—what made them tick—told him Sister Carrie harbored something not most could cim. There was something about her devotion.

  “I know you’re there, friend,” Sister Carrie called out. She quickened her pace and added in jumps and dashes. He presumed she fought against a visualized enemy—a form of mental training he had used many times when he traversed the disciplined path to become a monk.

  “My apologies,” he replied, making himself known. “I’m starstruck by your skill.” He said he was looking for a pce to do his morning training.

  “I don’t mind sharing the space. It’s big enough for us.”

  Adom nodded. Sister Carrie expected him to reinforce his physical discipline. Push-ups? Sit-ups? Perhaps a hundred punches? She had seen monks do something simir in her travels, but…

  “[Astral Visage].” Spectral fragments created four additional arms around Adom. He stretched them and took up a boxing pose. She felt frisky and flourished her spear, not wanting to be left behind.

  The two trained for about an hour, with Adom remarking on Sister Carrie’s exceptional stamina. It wasn’t hot, but it wasn’t cold. The first month of autumn was nearly over, but the days could still be warm. Even still, she wasn’t close to being out of breath even as a slight haze of sweat bnketed Adom’s cheeks.

  They chatted about that while returning to the caravan, where the escorts quickly ate breakfast, thanks to Rickard’s generosity, and continued their journey. The path was still safe. It was calm enough to make one believe that half the world wasn’t in an uproar over a missing mountain range, although that was due to the collective research effort happening at this moment.

  Then again, the public was often not aware of internal dealings. The world could’ve been closer to war than ever before, and they wouldn’t have known it.

  Sister Carrie wasn’t concerned with that. She didn’t want violence to overtake the world, of course. She had killed in self-defense many times since Verta saved her life. Her primary goal was to deliver her goddess to her mother.

  She knew how that would end, of course. But Sister Carrie believed her life had never belonged to her. She was born to become a Priestess of Verta. Sister Carrie knew that would be how she met her end.

  Meeting Verta granted an extension on a death that was written years ago.

  Her fate was something she had accepted.

  *****

  *****

  “Is that…?” Bekah didn’t know what she was looking at as she sat on the back of Rickard’s wagon while it traveled with the rest of the caravan.

  No. She knew it was the orphanage. Word had spread about its miraculous construction speed over the past two weeks. A homestead of this size would’ve taken months of nonstop bor. That was impossible because people needed to rest. They desired food to refuel their muscles and sleep to conquer their lethargy.

  But immortal goddesses didn’t. Neither did undead revenant ring holders.

  That boy with brown hair… He’s a revenant ring bearer.

  “He’s so young…” Sister Carrie watched as the child effortlessly carried wooden pnks and slotted them between the fence posts. Two koena were digging a hole for the well behind them as four dwarves climbed dders to hammer in the framing for the barns. A red-haired elf and her green-haired companion spoke to a man with blond hair about something. She couldn’t hear what they said, but that purple-eyed elf looked proud of herself. She saw the glimmer in that sparkling expression.

  Then…

  That’s…

  Sister Carrie didn’t need her goddess to point it out…

  That pitch-bck hair…

  Those fiery crimson eyes…

  That unmistakable red band around her ring finger…

  That’s Mother’s host…

  The woman spoke to two guards—an elf and a koena—as four teams of kobolds gathered behind her in a sectioned area. Suddenly, a singi with pink hair appeared, approaching the group. But was she a singi? She didn’t look like any Sister Carrie had ever seen.

  The vixarian candidate... She’s awake? Then... That must mean Mother has bridged the link during her manifestation, awakening the evolutionary bond. That’s good... That’s very good...

  “Hey! She’s about to do it again! You might wanna look at this!!!” The caravan slowed to a crawl after someone shouted. It was impossible to not be curious.

  The woman used some abstract force to conjure or create a stonewall belonging to a watchtower eighty feet tall. It materialized inside the narrow, deep ditch dug around the marked area, causing the gathered onlookers to gasp in astonishment.

  A team of kobolds seized the ropes anchored to the wall, their muscur arms holding it steady. As the woman moved purposefully around, she conjured three more structures. Each was swiftly secured by additional kobolds, whose impressive strength ensured the entire setup remained stable and firm.

  Hushed whispers were everywhere, but the crowd became silent. Sister Carrie heard astonishment from Rickard and Bekah.

  Then...

  She appeared.

  The one Verta had betrayed all those many eons in the past. Verta had been punished by those in charge because she wished to right a wrong that never should’ve happened.

  That woman with the red-streaked bck hair, multicolored eyes, dark-tanned skin…

  She was the Primordial Goddess—the creator of all life that had or will ever exist in all realities.

  The goddess walked around the watchtower’s perimeter. An odd mixture flowed from a hole of nothingness and filled the ditches. Immediately after, a group of mages used spells to help create a kiln-like effect to set the concrete. It wouldn’t be instant, but it was already hardened enough for the kobolds to let go. The nun realized the other three watchtowers were already constructed.

  A wooden watchtower could’ve been built in hours. A stone one took weeks. But four? The st needed a dder and roof, but that wouldn’t have taken long if these same powers were used.

  Sister Carrie was caught off guard by Verta’s emotional breakdown. She called for her mother in a voice the singi hadn’t heard before. “The rumors are true…” Rickard whispered.

  “It’s from the ring, right? That’s what they say?” Bekah asked.

  “That confirms what I had heard,” added Adom. He couldn’t hide the emotion in his voice. He turned to Sister Carrie. “Is she the one you’ve been looking for?”

  The nun slowly nodded. She couldn’t stop crying. Verta’s pure emotions flooded her host’s heart. Sister Carrie waited for her goddess to say something, but she kept silent.

  It was a choice between approaching or waiting. Patience emerged supreme when she saw how happy Verta’s mother was. Sister Carrie watched the goddess incarnate skip to a purple-eyed elf. She hugged her while excitedly pointing at the watchtower.

  Sister Carrie was happy knowing she was in the right spot.

  Sister Carrie followed the caravan when the lead driver cracked his reins. The group followed the road to the guild office, where the nun and monk finished the escort quest.

  Those continuing beyond Canary resumed their travels after a slight dey, but Rickard and Bekah decided to stay after waving goodbye to their Mousekin traveling companion. The merchant saw an opportunity to make money by offering his services to the workers constructing the homestead.

  Adom and Sister Carrie asked about the orphanage. They were directed to the noble district. The yrthin was curious since he believed his companion only wished to find the women with the red rings.

  “It will be hard to approach,” Sister Carrie replied, adjusting her habit. Verta had been quiet. An overwhelming wave of relieved anxiousness had caused the goddess to pass out. “I shall lend my services to the orphanage until…the time is right.”

  “Practicing patience when your goal is within sight? I’m sure you have your reasons for hesitating.”

  “I do. The topic is difficult to approach. Forgive me for not crifying it further.”

  “No apologies are needed, Sister. We all have our story to tell. No one has the right to admonish you if you find value in how you wish to pen the pages that have yet been written.”

  “Another book metaphor?”

  “Reading is a pastime of mine,” Adom admitted. He recalled how he loved teaching literacy when training at his monastery.

  The two walked to their destination, swapping stories of their times as instructors.

  *****

  *****

  It wasn’t until evening when Sister Carrie reached an inn after separating from Adom. Although she had secured the job…

  That wasn’t the hard part.

  The duchess conducted the interview. Her questions pressed Sister Carrie on topics she hadn’t considered. Yet her answers satisfied the duchess, who smiled with pride at finding another quality employee. Sister Carrie was to report to the homestead in the morning to help with the construction. The new estimates put the estimated completion date at just under a month. Initial onboarding would happen, at the test, a week ter.

  Now?

  Sister Carrie colpsed to her bare mattress, raising an arm to the darkened ceiling. She focused as the dull surroundings were repced by the much-preferred gmor of her soul world. Verta was waiting amongst the colorful flowers, her rainbow eyes as mencholy as ever. Her golden hair rested on her shoulders. Her crown wept petals that clung to her pastel-colored garments.

  “Are you ready?”

  “…” The goddess didn’t answer.

  “It’s okay to be scared. I wish I could do more, but I don’t know how,” Sister Carrie admitted. She reached out and grabbed Verta’s hand. “But you won’t be alone.” Perhaps it was another stroke of luck, but the crimson singi overheard rumors of the woman she needed to speak to residing at a brothel called the Crimson Grotto. Acquiring the location was difficult, but she got it in the end.

  Verta was scared. She always felt like this in the previous rounds because she knew…what was coming.

  She knew how heartbreaking the process would be for Sister Carrie.

  The two had been together for years as each other’s source of strength and confidence.

  It was odd for Itarr’s host to shatter the trap the gods and goddesses had devised so quickly. It usually took a couple of months, but what did that entail for this round?

  Would this attempt be the one?

  Did hope have any pce amongst a traitor? One who assisted in forming this cruel, cruel system that only served to punish the one responsible for creating all life and concepts within the universe?

  RuggyRuggy