When the day in question finally arrived, the main hall was filled with white cloaks. Simon wasn’t wearing one, of course. He and the other archivists and craftsn were wearing their typical dark robes. The place was completely full, and he had to sit near the back, but then he hadn’t expected any less.
Every mber of the secret order who wasn’t off on a mission in so faraway location returned to the Broken Tower for this ceremony. While this was not the first ti that Simon had attended this feast, thankfully, it would be the last.
Traditionally, it was the place for the senior leadership of the order to crow about their successes and lay out their plans for the future. This year, though, it was going to be nothing more than a burial for everyone involved. He was going to bury them all in the unmarked grave that was their own secret base, and with any luck, no one would ever try to dig up all the secrets that were hidden there.
Simon was in no hurry for that, though. He’d been here for decades. He could wait a little longer. He listened to the speeches and enjoyed the food. He even got a little drunk, if only because he knew the next part was going to hurt. Then, once his plate was clean and the decanter nearest to him was empty, he rose and walked toward the central dias.
Guards were stationed at the high table, as they always were. They looked at him with interest but not concern. Why should they be concerned? He was a feeble man who had lost his youth and gone gray. The archivists were not typically heard at these events for obvious reasons.
Simon made no attempt to hide what he’d made anyway; that would have aroused suspicion. Instead, he held up his final gift to the order like he intended to present it to the Grandmaster or the Abbott. Unfortunately for them, he did neither. Instead, he activated it, unleashing the magic intrinsic to his design and filling the room with fire and shouts of alarm.
Those shouts turned to screams almost imdiately, but not before he’d lit the tapestries that hid his demolition charges on fire. That single act would have been enough to decapitate the Unspoken, but after all this ti, Simon wanted more than that. He wanted to annihilate them.
He was glad that he’d gone to such lengths, too, because even as he crumpled to the ground in agony, he saw the Grandmaster stand and draw his sword. The man had barely been scratched by Simon’s firebomb, and worse, as Simon lay there burning, he saw the man speak a word of healing and beca almost instantly whole.
I fucking knew it, Simon thought, holding on to that tiny observation despite the terrible pain.
The man advanced on Simon, but he would never reach him. Even as his old eyes started to dim, he heard the sound of sundering stone, and two of the three pillars that held up the hall started collapsing. Simon only had enough ti to see the surprise in the other man’s eyes before his world went dark under tons of rubble.
This ti, Simon was not at all surprised to wake up in the cool, fire-free embrace of his tiny cabin. In most of his lives, he’d been gone for a few weeks or months, and a return had been treated as a punishnt. This ti, after decades away from this place, he felt a wave of nostalgia wash across him as he looked around the old place. It felt good to be back. It was a weird thing to think, but it was true.
There was no ti to spend the day soaking it in, though. He had a good mory, but he knew from experience that he didn’t have a great one and that the longer he waited, the more holes would appear in his notes.
Instead, he got to work. ‘Okay, mirror, wake up and…” he paused, appreciating that he could speak properly again. He moved his tongue around his mouth, noting how strange it felt to be whole again in such a small way.
That wasn’t sothing he’d thought he would ever have to miss, but then he’d never expected to work in a secret library either. He shook his head. “Anyway,” he continued. “I’m back, and It's ti to take a lot of notes.”
The thing brightened, and Simon spent the next several hours dictating nonstop into it. Periodically, he would pause to check for understanding or to classify a bit of knowledge in so way or another so that he’d be able to find it again later, but he had a lot to cover, and eventually, after he discussed all of the most important bits of magic lore that he learned he eventually took a break and grabbing his apple and his water skin he decided to go out for a stroll.
I’m going to be at this for days, he told himself as he stood and stretched. The talworking trivia and the history lessons can wait a bit.
When he’d first arrived here, he recalled hating this adow, but now that he’d co back after so long, it felt like an old friend, and he walked toward the temple ruins he’d discovered so long ago, both to think and to check so things.
Along the way, he ate his apple, and when he arrived, he sat on the cool stone for a ti before he looked around the place. Sure enough, many of the marks had been intentionally defaced. This was sothing he doubted he would have noticed before, but he could see the hands of the Unspoken even here.
“Fucking hell,” he said, finishing the apple and tossing the core over by the stream. “They’re like the magical Taliban or sothing.”
Simon thought about heading back then, but instead, he walked over to the remains of his apple. Already, there were so ants swarming on it, eager to feast on the remains, but what caught his eyes was the seeds. Instead of going back, he thought about it for a mont and then said, “Aufvarum Zyvon Vosden.”
He had no idea if it would work or not. He had long theorized how linking more words together would let him do more specific and powerful spells.
No, powerful is the wrong word, he corrected himself.
This novel's true ho is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
What he was doing with this was exactly the opposite of powerful. It was weak, but it was specific. What power was there was being applied in very specific ways, and, right now, at least in part, it was working.
What he’d tried to cast was a spell of lesser plant growth. At seven syllables, it wasn’t exactly sothing he could use in combat, but then, unless that damn seed level respawned, he didn’t expect to ever need to fight a plant in combat again.
As he watched, a tiny seedling sprouted from the apple core. Then, as its cotyledon reached up and its roots stretched into the earth, over the next few seconds, it graduated from seedling to sapling, growing a pencil-thin trunk. It wouldn’t be bearing fruit overnight or anything, but it was still an achievent, and he smiled wider.
“At least that life wasn’t wasted,” he told himself as he turned to refill his now-empty skin before he went back to the cabin to get back to work.
Simon spent the next several days doing little else but dictating whole swaths of history into his mirror and adding bits and pieces to his map from other maps he’d glimpsed. Once he was in a good place with all of that, he finally got around to checking his character sheet.
‘Na: Simon Jackoby
Level: 33
Deaths: 42
Experience Points: -187,991
Skills: Agriculture [Below Average], Archery [Below Average], Armor (light) [Average], Armor (heavy) [Below Average], Armor (dium) [Average], Athletics [Below Average], Baking [Below Average], Cooking [Average], Craft [Excellent], Deception [Average], Escape [Poor], Fishing [Average], Healing [Above Average], History [Excellent], Investigate [Excellent], Maces [Average], Navigation [Above Average], Research [Excellent], Ride [Average], Search [Average], Sneak [Average], Spears [Average], Spell Casting [Great], Steal [Poor], Swimming [Below Average], and Swords [Above Average].
Words of Power: Aufvarum (disperse, minor), Barom (illusion, light), Celdura (plan, shape), Delzam (cure, order), Dnarth (connection, distant, hidden), Gelthic (ice, death, weakness), Gervuul (greater, power), Hyakk (flesh, healing), Karesh (location, protection, understanding), iren (creation, fire, life), Oonbetit (focused, force, motion), Uuvellum (anti-, null, boundary), Vosden (earth, growth, tal, strength), Vrazig (lightning, ruin, quickening, wind), Zyvon (transfer, plants, water)’
While his skills had gone up nicely, he noted that more than a few had actually gone down. That made sense since he hadn’t actually fought for his life with a sword in well over a decade, but it was still sad to see. “Worth it,” he said before asking the mirror to switch to which levels it could access.
‘Level 4 - Skeletons in a crypt
Level 9 - Wyvern in the mountains
Level 29 - Cultists in a village
Level 31 - Dragon in the mountains
Level 33 - ???’
The first thing Simon did was laugh and change the entry for level 29 to read ‘The Unspoke in Esmiran’ since he knew a lot more now than he did when he’d populated this list so long ago. He did the sa thing to level 33, adding ‘Vampire in the orchard’ to his list.
Simon noted that level 32 was solved and that he only seed to have screwed up a couple levels with his recent trips. That was okay; he could live with that.
He went fishing once to have a proper dinner, caught a rabbit to eat the day after, and he made so ti to experint magically every day though, and after a few lesser experints, he was finally ready to try what he wanted to try.
Over the last few days, Simon had made a stone crumble to dust with words of lesser stone entropy, struck a goblin dead with lesser death, and made his bed less lumpy with lesser dispersal. However, just like the apple core, those were all experints for what ca next.
On the fourth day, he grabbed his embarrassingly bulging belly, and then, after giving it as much thought and focus as he could muster, he said, “Aufvarum iren Celdura,” using the words of lesser life shaping on himself.
The results were uncomfortable but instantaneous. He’d struggled hard to focus on the fat tissue rather than the underlying organs in an attempt to do magical lipo. He was more than aware that if he accidentally shrunk or eliminated his stomach or his intestines, this would be a pretty short run.
None of those terrible things seed to happen, though. Instead, his gut shrank before his eyes. When it was done, he didn’t have washboard abs or anything, but he didn’t feel like such a fat ass, either.
“Well, at least now I know how to make myself look the scarred-up version of when I visit Elthena,” he thought cheerfully.
Truthfully, he could probably use this spell to make himself look like anything or anyone, but he wasn’t enough of an artist to pull that off. He could only imagine how horrific the finger-painted version of handso Simon would be.
No, he decided, for now, this is enough.
He was in no hurry to go anywhere, just like he was in no hurry to lose all his weight. He just wanted to feel a little closer to normal while he did all of this.
“I could try boosting my strength, I guess?” he said to himself that night before dismissing the thought. Getting rid of fat was one thing, but boosting various small parts of his body without any real knowledge of what that looked like? He’d pull sothing, or rip a tendon, or worse. No, he didn’t need shortcuts. He’d get there when he decided where he was going; he knew he’d find so way to work out. He’d get in pretty good shape after that.
User Comments
0 comments from readers