Redmane returned home to refill his Gnosis, and this time he left with plenty.
Gnosis: 2508
He also returned Pietr to the custody of Flora, so that she could continue to learn the intricacies of the Faction menu, the Marketplace, and the Sanctuary upgrade system. She became immediately engrossed again.
But as Redmane turned to leave, she caught his wrist.
“My lord,” she said, smiling up at him. “Perchance when this be done, we might spend more time together and… Recall more of who we were?
“I’d prefer if we spent it deciding who we’ll be in the present,” said Redmane.
Her smile brightened, and she nodded. “Aye, that would be splendid.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
She didn’t want to let him go, but after a moment she relented with a sad smile.
From Castle Redmane he returned to the village of Kenvik on the northern shore, by jumping into the body of a startled Vang and re-absorbing the bodies of Zorn, Nuk and Throk as well.
Corpus: 25,677
There were some startled objections. The demi-humans had found intact fishing gear and bait, and were trying their luck in the calm waters of a little cove they found near the town.
Redmane assured the demi-human fighters that there would be plenty of fun to come. And since all the boats in Kenvik’s harbor had been smashed to splinters by a sea monster, he took wing.
That was the last leg of the journey that would be quick.
It was a long and laborious flight. For the rest of the night, and well into the following morning, Redmane battled wild currents of air, struggling to rise above it all and stay at a stable altitude. The trouble was finding one. Abyssal Resilience spared him from the worst effects of the bitter cold. The difference in temperature was more interesting than it was uncomfortable. But all the same, the sky above was as turbulent as the dark sea below, and he decided he’d rather not meet those waves face first.
So when the stark shoreline of a rocky island came into view at last, Redmane let out a sigh of relief.
He alighted upon a giant finger of stone, white foam spraying up from waves crashing all around it, and surveyed the place he’d come to.
You have entered Zone: The Fangs of Frost
Tasks:
Slay Eirlys the Veiled
Slay Gale, Ice Warg Alpha
Tasks Completed: 0/2
Under a slate gray sky, Redmane gazed across an expanse of barren ice and stone. He stood upon an outcropping of rock, one of many jutting from the jagged shore of the island, their surfaces hollowed and pitted by erosion. Far in the distance, the outlines of man-made structures broke the irregular landscape. Ruins. Their roofs collapsed, walls broken and crumbled, all of it smothered in snow and silence.
The air felt heavy, charged with an unseen presence, as if the whispers of forgotten footsteps still lingered upon the ancient rock. Shadows flickered at the edges of Redmane’s vision as the waves smashed against the reef, a violent rhythm, yet it pulsed with the heartbeat of something unseen, something waiting, something that watched from beyond the veil.
It was time for a test of his new abilities.
And Redmane found himself eager for it.
The presence in the air gave him the feeling he was being observed by unseen eyes. It held a stillness, broken by the crash and boom of waves against the rocks. Yet, he felt a prickle at the back of his neck, sensing he was not alone. His gaze moved to the side, where shadows seemed to shift. For a moment, he saw a ghostly figure moving among the rocks, watching him.
Veiled Cultist
Monster Type: Undead (Spectre)
Level 127
Tattered robes hung on its skeletal frame, the ghostly fabric flowing around its figure. A veil covered its face, obscuring all but two hollow pits of darkness for eyes. Around its neck hung a pendant bearing a symbol Redmane did not recognize, and in its hands it held two curved swords with finely wrought sphinx heads on their pommels.
The spectre moved with purpose, as if it were on an assigned patrol.
But before Redmane could react, the ghost disappeared, blending into the shadows. The air was still again, but the feeling of being watched remained.
[Undead (Spectre)] marked as Prey
Astral Hunter made the Veiled Cultist re-appear to his sight. Along with its comrades.
They were everywhere.
And they were all watching him.
From the pack of ten surrounding him in a semicircle on the shore of the island, to the teams of them waiting for him all the way up the craggy hillside, to what Redmane now realized were staircases carved into the living rock, ascending to the ruins where the cultists must have dwelled in life.
Redmane did not spook easily, but even so, suddenly perceiving so many hostile apparitions looking right at him raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
Were it not for the gifts of the Sicarius, Redmane wouldn’t have been able to even see them, let alone touch them.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
How fortunate the Numantians had chosen to come and meddle with this world.
The Veiled Cultists made no move to attack him. They merely encircled his position, waiting for him to make a move, perhaps unaware he could see them. He didn’t know how well they moved, but he knew they were outside the reach of his claws. For the moment, anyway. They didn’t know he could project force from them. They also didn’t know he could do this.
Lion’s Lunge
Gnosis: 2493
He shot forward like a cannonball, swept his claw sideways, and the cutting wave carried the power of the Skill with it.
It struck the three spectres directly in front of him, and they came apart like tissue.
Wrath (3)
The other seven vanished and re-appeared right on top of him.
In an instant, Redmane found himself dodging fourteen blades striking from every direction, thrusting and slashing at every part of him simultaneously. He tried in vain to evade them all, but even with the substantial evasion bonus so recently gained from his communion with the Gruu, it wasn’t enough. Their spectral blades found flesh and left cold, burning lacerations all over his body.
Corpus: 21,821
Wrath (10)
Stacks of Wrath gave him options, but there was precious little time to think.
All he knew was that he needed to be faster.
Wrath (5)
Evasion +50
And with that, dodging fourteen ghostly swords became trivial.
Redmane felt a primal thrill at what he’d discovered.
He was like one of them. A ghost, for all practical purposes. He didn’t even have to break their encirclement, he simply stood among them and let them stab and swing at empty air, moving so fast it defied all reason, it spat in the face of the very laws of nature.
Which was only fitting, he supposed.
He was both King and God.
There was but one master of this world, and it was he.
Redmane.
His heart and thoughts raced alongside each other. Never had his focus been sharper, his senses keener, even in his most intense moments. His body moved from one impossible configuration to the next in a blur, each momentary pose one would have to meticulously arrange to fit in the negative space between fourteen blades. Wrath of Redmane took this inconceivable task and reduced it to the routine steps of a dance he’d known for centuries.
His eyes dilated at the sight of the tiniest opening, and he struck down four Veiled Cultists with a swipe of his claw.
Wrath (9)
A sword passed overhead and he ducked it, swept out his leg and it became a broad, curved blade of bone that sheared the other three in half at the waist, and when he set his foot down an instant later, it was a foot once more.
Wrath (12)
Redmane sprinted for the next group.
Wrath (17)
And the next one.
Wrath (22)
And the next one.
Wrath (28)
He leapt from rock to rock, skipping the crude man-made staircase, dispatching Veiled Cultists with impunity. Each stack of Wrath gained was a fresh surge of energy, a little sun growing in his belly, its power and radiance hinting at what Redmane truly was inside. What he was meant to be. What had been taken from him and what he would now reclaim with pure, righteous savagery.
The Veiled Cultists, it seemed, were not unintelligent. After watching him dispatch their comrades in droves, they chose not to engage. When he approached they faded backward, taking sentry positions at a safe distance around the ruined buildings atop the hill.
Wrath (27)
Wrath (26)
The white-hot ball of power in Redmane’s core slowly began to fade in the absence of fresh kills. He searched through the ruins with haste, hopping from the top of one crumbled wall to the next in search of his true foe, while its minions waited and watched.
Until the master appeared.
Eirlys the Veiled
Monster Type: Undead (Spectre)
Level 145
The leader of the sphinx cult manifested in the ruin of a large building near the center of the complex, a church perhaps.
Its aura chilled the surrounding air. The robes it wore, though tattered, moved with a life of their own, shifting and twisting in the blustery sea wind as if it weren’t incorporeal. Its skeletal face was partially visible beneath its veil, with hollow eye sockets that seemed to draw in all light, creating an unsettling void.
Except this ghost had three hollow eyes instead of two. The third stood at the center of its forehead, and it seemed to have an aura of its own.
A heavy pendant hung around its neck, the symbol etched into it pulsing with a faint, eerie glow. In its grip, a staff crowned with a sphinx figure hummed with latent power, and in the other hand it held a curved sword of the same sort the Veiled Cultists wielded.
Eirlys exuded a palpable aura of fear, an invisible force that pressed down on those who dared to approach, making the air as thick with dread as with the cold.
Wrath (25)
+Immunity to Fear (30 seconds)
The spectre looked up at Redmane with its three hollow eyes.
You should not have come here, Lord of Hunger. The Sphinx will not yield her power to you. You will fail.
“There is no Sphinx,” said Redmane. “It is merely a piece of my flesh twisted and sealed with magic, ignorant of its true nature.”
Eirlys’s bony fingers tightened around its staff.
You know nothing.
“Tell me, what did Belskaya promise you in exchange for this pointless task,” said Redmane. “Surely he knew these feeble ghosts couldn’t stop me. Your centuries of vigil will have been for naught. Hopefully you enjoyed the scenery.”
Insolence…
Redmane could feel the chilling force of the spectre’s displeasure. Five ghostly flames appeared in the air above it, one after another.
Wrath (0)
+250 Might (30 seconds)
Lion’s Lunge
Gnosis: 2478
Redmane shot forward.
His claw blasted Eirlys the Veiled into five vertically oriented slivers.
Four cutting waves swept past the spectre and spread, shredding ice and stone and earth alike, blowing apart the back wall of the church and sending chunks of its ancient stone hurtling through the air. The force-claw continued on, ultimately carving a chunk out of the hillside and causing an avalanche of stone, snow and ice which splashed into the sea below, kicking up higher sprays of water than that of the very waves breaking against the shore.
The remaining Veiled Cultists fled.
Eirlys the Veiled Slain
Tasks Completed: 1/2
Level Up!
Level 109 —> Level 110
Level 110 —> Level 111
Level 111 —> Level 112
Quality Points awaiting allocation: 3
Redmane looked down at his claw.
For many long moments, he stared at it.
The power of Wrath fled from him, but even in its absence he felt mightier than any being standing on this earth. His heart raced. He felt… Awake.
He ought to have realized it sooner.
No one could stop him now.
- - - -
Jarel Craith knelt before the altar of the Nine in his chambers, his head bowed in solemn prayer.
To Velthur, Celestial Sovereign, he prayed for temperance.
To Hastia, Arrayer of Legions, he prayed for the strength to prevail.
To Laris, Giver of Laws, he prayed for discipline and restraint, so that justice could be done truly and not in the heat of emotion.
To Sethra, the Master of Skills, he prayed for clarity of mind and a sure and steady hand.
To Seianti, the First Imbued, he prayed for the safety of his loyal men.
To Turan, Lord of Revelry and Sport, he prayed for the chance to enjoy another day.
To Velathri, Lady of Agriculture and Medicine, he prayed for a swift recovery from his wounds, if he should survive.
To Ramtha, Lord of Craft and Commerce, he prayed forgiveness for Mecia Porsena’s greed and its consequences.
To Tarquin, Lord of the Arts, he prayed to hear his favorite Numantian opera again.
Then he rose, and turned to address the mute, emotionless faces of the dozen gathered Sicari.
Sicarius Bellator
First Generation Imbued
Level 300
“We go now to apprehend Mecia Porsena for her blasphemies,” he said. “And if she should choose not to come peacefully, then we must use force.”
The Sicari bowed as one.
Jarel tried to match their stoic disposition. But he swallowed hard, his heart pounding silently in his chest.
Himself and a dozen Bellatores. The best he could do with the resources on hand. If he’d opened the Astral Bridge to call for reinforcements, it would have cost time. And raised the alarm.
He didn’t know if it would be enough…
PATREON
