Blind Chaos - Tales Beneath the Dragoneye Moons

Ranthia had no good explanation for what she was doing, so instead she spouted terrible excuses—ad nauseam—until her mother finally just wearily gave up somewhere around the fourth bug (Ranthia was mostly certain that she had completely made up a ‘giant toe biter bug’). It was inelegant, as far as solutions went, but it was effective.

Plus, the object of Ranthia’s annoyance had already shifted from herself to her mother, so there was a touch of petty revenge involved. When the woman approached to investigate the state of the bedding, Ranthia recognized the scent of food on the woman’s breath. The subtle aroma only served to make her stomach angrier than ever. She had, of course, investigated the promised cache of snacks when she retrieved the bedding, but it proved to just be comprised of a handful of nuts, a few dried strips of some sort of orange-yellow hued fruit, and something so covered in rot that Ranthia had no idea what it once was.

None of which seemed wise to eat on a long, long empty stomach, not with 3 vitality.

“I really don’t know what’s gotten into you, but here. To celebrate your recovery, my sweet.” Her mother announced after she finally gave up on getting a cogent explanation.

The woman then presented Ranthia with… a crust of bread.

Ranthia eyed it, wildly unimpressed. After a moment, she conceded to herself that it was a decent size—at least for her own stature—and that even a crust of bread was likely gentler on her heavily abused stomach. Gingerly, she accepted the crust, careful with how she handled it since she was unwilling to risk a single crumb breaking off. She needed everything she could get!

Ranthia was surprised and a pleased sound escaped her throat when she bit into the morsel and discovered that the opposite side of the crust hid a thin layer of still-warm goat cheese. The savory flavor with notes of sour goodness stimulated her appetite like nothing else and it took a Herculixian level of willpower to force herself to take her time and eat the small amount of food carefully.

Her stomach was so deprived of food that it felt practically collapsed in on itself. If she tried to inhale the tasty morsel like she wanted there was a real risk that she wouldn’t be able to keep it down. Her tummy had to be coaxed back into service.

It took some doing and a few crocodile tears with claims of being afraid to sleep, but Ranthia finally convinced her mother to let her stay awake late while she tried to ‘fix’ her bedding. Ranthia hummed while she kept her hands busy doing very little of any practical benefit while she instead prayed to Xaoc inside her own head.

[Prayer] was a skill—one she had been offered—but she knew it wasn’t truly necessary. Anyone could pray any time, even without an altar. Quite simply, they just needed to open themselves up to their deity and send their thoughts. Most people tended to offer the deity they prayed to a parcel of mana as well, though Ranthia preferred to just provide direct access to her own mana stores—such as they were—since she trusted Xaoc to take what He needed. It felt more honest too; to her, offering a specified parcel of mana seemed far too transactional. That wasn’t worship; true piety couldn’t be treated like a business relationship!

Hey Xaoc. So… I’m back, I guess. I’m so sorry that I disappointed you; I promise you that I’ll do better this time. Just watch, I’ll bring chaos into the world, and I’ll make you proud, just as I should have done before. Thank you so much for the opportunity though; it means more to me than I can convey. I don’t know yet what my path will be, but I’ll find it. I’ll always serve you.

Ranthia sensed her god’s affection and acceptance, and she clung desperately to the warmth that it brought her. Acceptance. Xaoc was still willing to hear and acknowledge her.

She had been worried but, apparently, she needn’t have fretted.

He was willing to forgive her.

Ranthia just tried to hide her joyously relieved tears from her mother’s gaze while she prayed—and ambled through her stream of consciousness—deep into the night. Mana was taken, but it slowly regenerated, and Xaoc could make better use of even her paltry offerings than she could at the moment.

At long last Ranthia was confident that her mother was wholly asleep and unlikely to rouse. Carefully, Ranthia extricated herself from the chair near the stove and crept slowly to the door. This was a risk, in more ways than one. To name a few: Her mother would, likely, be beyond incensed if she knew that Ranthia snuck out. There was still a plague—or two, it seemed—about and Ranthia might not be so lucky to survive a second infection. Crises also tended to bring out the worst in people. Then there was the very real risk that she’d put too much weight onto the wrong floorboard and fail to even get outside; the house was accursedly creaky.

Shockingly, she succeeded. The eight-year-old managed to unbar the door, crack it open, and slipped outside without waking the snoring woman.

At last, it was time to gather information! She had a lot of questions about the world, after all.

Ranthia allowed her far-too-dim senses to direct her as she carefully navigated through the dark streets and alleys. Though there was likely a curfew in place, there were still pockets of people scattered about. Ranthia crept through the streets and listened for a while near each group, if she found a hiding place within range, before she moved away.

It was a stealth mission, with a child’s dexterity and no stealth-related skills. But it was also a small town, so it wasn’t like she required perfection. Not that the System had deigned to offer her a stealth skill, unless she intended to steal snacks. …Which was tempting, but no.

First there were three men that angrily whispered about the fae causing the plague and how they needed to be “gotten rid of.” Of all the foolish… Ranthia tried desperately to not pay attention to their machinations to murder something so incredibly dangerous and hurried onward.

Then there was another group—two old ladies that gossiped by the door to a home—that also blamed the fae, though they wanted to find a way to appease them. Ranthia wasn’t certain that leaving bowls of milk on windows would appease much more than local cats and other city-dwelling wildlife, but at least their hearts were in a less absurd—and dangerous—place than the men.

Though she was still baffled at why people blamed the fae. From what she knew—thank you god-touched former knowledge—fae were powerful, fickle, and dangerous beings… but they weren’t from Pallos—which raised numerous questions about how she knew of them—which meant they almost certainly had nothing to do with either plague. Disease was a fact of life in Pallos, not everything had some great origin.

Ranthia found an abandoned and boarded-up tall shop that looked easy to climb and swiftly discovered that it only looked easy to climb. In the dark, with negligible strength and vitality? There was only so much her dexterity—which thrived only because of her Water element—could do to offset just how feeble she was.

She gave up halfway up its second floor, but it still allowed her to just barely see over the city wall in the distance.

Ranthia knew what a military was, though the word ‘Legion’ had been unfamiliar. But she was still impressed with what she saw of the 3rd Legion. The soldiers had a tidy encampment set up beyond the walls and kept firm patrols in place, even at night. Fires and [Mage] created lights illuminated things sufficiently to make it all but impossible for anyone to sneak past.

They were well trained and seemed to be well equipped.

…But the sight of the military that ‘protected’ their town only made her heart hammer in fear.

It was impossible to miss that there were masses of torches, containers of pitch or oil, and arrows prepared already. The makeshift wall that encircled all of Perinthus. The 3rd Legion clearly wasn’t there to protect the city and prevent the spread of the plagues.

They were there to burn the town to the ground and erase its population if the plagues proved unmanageable.

Ranthia was numb to the world while she climbed down. She tried to rationalize it. She told herself that Xaoc wouldn’t have put her in the city if her fate was sealed. She also considered countermeasures that might enable her to survive. A Fire or Inferno aspected [Warrior] or [Mage] class might endure the flames, but escaping their notice required a Dark or Mirage aspected [Ranger] or [Mage].

Yet she also knew that no god—not even Xaoc—was absolute and all-knowing. She also knew that it was literally impossible for her to possibly reach level 64 and unlock her second class—let alone an advanced element—while she was trapped inside a city. Not unless she intended to live a very brief life as a serial killer.

She wasn’t a murderer though. Or, at least, she hoped she hadn’t been and was relieved that she really didn’t want to become one.

Ranthia shook her head—she hadn’t even realized that she had reached the ground and had started wandering—and tried to center herself. She went over what she actually knew.

The 3rd Legion hadn’t put the city to the torch yet, so the situation wasn’t yet untenable. The city guard was still present—she was close enough to hear a group of guards that hunted for a mugger that had murdered some woman—and while she hadn’t gotten a good look at it, she was reasonably certain that the fine armor that the nice [Healer] and her bodyguard had worn—along with the quiet tattooed man that had given her mother nonverbal directions to the other [Healer]—was similar to the armor that the Legion wore. If that was true, it likely meant that the powers that be were still trying to resolve the plague.

Okay, Ranthia was the first to admit that there was more than a little conjecture involved there, but the assumptions weren’t too outlandish. And the conclusion that she reached helped a lot.

She wasn’t about to die again, she assured herself.

Knowledge was a precious thing. With adequate information and wisdom, your options flourished. Knowledge was first and foremost among any assets one possessed.

Ranthia had gained quite a bit of it. One of the plagues was believed to be spread by eye contact, so Ranthia learned to never meet the eyes of another until the plagues were dealt with. The group that the pretty [Healer] was a part of was called the Rangers, and sure enough they were elites that even the town guard deferred to. Also, they were extremely high level compared to anyone else in town and were accursedly alert; a man in the Ranger armor had discovered her and she had only escaped because she happened to be near an open drainage grate, and he plainly hadn’t thought to check such a small and smelly place.

Even better, Ranthia had found an asset that was nearly as precious as knowledge. Inside the drainage trench she discovered a knife, and thankfully she discovered it without injury to boot. The wooden handle had partially rotted off and the knife was kissed with rust, but it still held an edge.

Ranthia had acquired a way to protect herself.

While Ranthia waited out the Ranger’s vigilance, she reviewed the skills that she had been offered—which fortunately hadn’t yet expired—and selected several.

[Combat]: You have experience and expertise in battle, including with arms and armor. Increased combat capabilities. -7 Mana Regen Rate while engaged in combat.

A solid foundation for melee combat that promised to be useful whether she was a [Warrior] or a [Mage].

[Knives]: You have a reasonable appreciation and respect for knives. Put it to use. Increases ease of wielding and capabilities with knives. -5 Mana Regen Rate while wielding a knife.

Her only weapon was a knife—unless she was stupid enough to try to punch or kick something with two strength—so that was an easy choice. The skill synergized with [Combat] too.

[Dodging]: With quick reflexes you may avoid harm. Increases the ability to dodge future threats. -5 Mana Regen Rate while dodging.

Her vitality promised her a swift end if most attacks connected with her, so trusting her comparatively superior dexterity—reinforced by skill—was the smart choice.

[Boosted Reflexes]: Your reflexes and reactions have been carefully trained, now take them further. Increased reflexes and perception per level. -5 Mana Regen Rate.

Hoping to dodge things only mattered if she actually noticed the danger, so she took the skill that promised to help her notice death before it reached her.

[Fast Learner]: Life has taught you one important lesson – If you fail to adapt, you die. Each level increases your experience by 1% for all other skills and classes and helps learn new skills faster. May you survive long enough this time around to make good use of what you learn. -5 Mana Regen Rate.

Honestly, Ranthia had been tempted to take the skill all day. The skill was exactly right; adaptation was absolutely essential to survival. Plus, her own Chaos-granted knowledge was certain that skills that boosted experience gains were invaluable over time.

[Meditate]: Get in touch with your inner self, feel the magic within and without, and commune with your god in an incredibly unchaotic fashion. Reduces distractibility while meditating. -1 Mana Regen Rate while meditating.

If she decided to take the path of a [Mage], a meditation skill was an absolute requirement to even get the class offered. If not, it was easy enough to replace, but it just made sense to grab the skill while she could while she figured out what she wanted from her new life.

[Cute]: You can become a very cute little girl. In time, perhaps, your cuteness may mature into a special kind of beauty, but for now you are cute and innocent. -3 Mana Regen Rate.

Ranthia indulged herself for her final General Skill slot. A woman—girl, whatever—needed to be attractive. It was mostly vanity, Ranthia wanted to (eventually) be pleased with her own reflection, plus it would likely help her get away with the odd bit of chaos. Ultimately though, she just wanted the skill, even if it was arguably less useful for her continued survival.

Ranthia smiled happily to herself while she reviewed her new skills, only to suddenly shudder.

Something was wrong.

She felt weak, like there was a weight pressing down on her chest. Had she become ill again already?! Was this what the plagues had felt like?

She was on the cusp of panic when she checked her stat sheet and immediately noticed the actual problem.

[Mana: 17/20]

[Mana Regen Rate: -3]

A negative mana regen rate was a bad problem. Each physical stat and her passive skills consumed a bit of it, but if you ran out of mana while your regeneration was in the negatives… Well, she had a loose but unproven belief that it could be fatal, it seemed.

Carefully, Ranthia set down the knife to get the mana regeneration deficit back from [Knives], before she eyed her free stat points. She hadn’t wanted to allocate any until she decided on her path, but she needed to resolve her mana problems. She used ten of her precious free stat points, five each for her mana and mana regeneration stats. That promised to provide her with some breathing room.

[Name: Ranthia]

[Species: Human]

[Age: 8]

[Mana: 70/70]

[Mana Regen Rate: 35] (while in combat, 52 otherwise)

[Stats:]

[Free Stats: 5]

[Strength: 2]

[Dexterity: 10]

[Vitality: 3]

[Speed: 4]

[Mana: 7]

[Mana Regeneration: 7]

[Magic Power: 2]

[Magic Control: 2]

[Class 1: [Child of Pallos – Water (5)]]

[Class skills not available for initial Classes]

[Class 2: Locked]

[Class 3: Locked]

[General Skills:]

[Identify: 5]

[Combat: 1]

[Knives: 1]

[Dodging: 1]

[Boosted Reflexes: 1]

[Fast Learner: 1]

[Meditate: 1]

[Cute: 1]

Earlier, while Ranthia was praying—slash killing time—she had decided that having her mana regen rate display by day wasn’t terrible useful. Dividing the day into eight chunks was better, but it still provided little meaningful feedback. Sixteen chunks were still a bit overlarge, but twenty-four seemed to be a nice—if arbitrary—division. A day divided into twenty-four slices meant that each slice comprised a useful frame of time: that of a slow meal or what her mind considered a light bit of exercise (which was probably overdoing it enough to kill her current body, which was a problem she really needed to work on). It meant that each point in mana regeneration increased her mana regen rate by 10, before it was decreased by one for each point in her physical stats and the costs of her passive skills came into play.

With the mana regen rate crisis resolved, Ranthia retrieved her newfound knife of dubious origin and quality and—once she was confident that the Ranger had finally left the area—she hurriedly made her way home.

She only got lost four times, but fortunately she found her way.

“I knew I shouldn’t have allowed you to stay up late.” Her mother groused.

“‘m fiiine.” Ranthia slurred while she shakily tried to carry a small clay jar of water back home.

Sleep deprivation was far more brutal than she had expected.

Ranthia had started to dream of her class options, she was so absorbed in deciding her life path. By day she considered the basic elements—Air, Earth, Light, Dark, Wood, Metal, Fire, and Water—and by night she dreamed big of the advanced elements. She was a Lightning and Arcanite [Mage] that blasted away all that opposed her, a Brilliance and Mantle [Warrior] that struck with a glowing weapon that could cut further than it seemed, a Sound and Mirage [Ranger] that was all but untouchable while she landed shots that no one saw coming, or perhaps a master of Water and Magic Metal that swept her opponents aside while any attacks that reached her were stopped cold.

[Leader] classes had been easy to drop. She didn’t really have any skills that promoted it and, more immediately relevant, her body was a [Cute] eight-year-old. She wasn’t leading men anywhere, even if such classes had been remotely interesting to her.

[Healer] had also been immediately uninteresting, though she forced herself to seriously consider it. Clearly the Rangers brought on young women that were [Healers]—even if there was quite a gulf between an 8-year-old and a young woman that was probably 14 or 15—which was somewhat alluring. But she also had no medical skills and seriously doubted that she could easily learn them, especially not while plagues ran rampant. [Healers] had better things to do than to indulge curious children that had no money.

Ultimately, she realized that she was really only focusing on [Healer] classes out of a sense of obligation. She wanted to repay that lovely [Healer] that she owed her life to, but paying it forward wasn’t a path that suited her. Instead, she decided that someday she hoped to be able to thank the young woman properly. Perhaps with some good wine and food…

Ranthia indulged in the daydream of her wholly fictional date with the lovely [Healer]—when both of them were older—before she set it aside and returned to her actual analyses. If she ever wanted to make that silly fantasy come true, she needed to survive. She needed to be capable. She needed to figure out just who she wanted to become.

Unlocking an advanced element required either a large number of levels and class ups—with prestigious accomplishments to help your classes evolve—or required the merging of two complementary classes that each had an element that built the advanced element, like someone with Wind [Mage] and Metal [Mage] classes could work towards merging them into a Lightning [Mage] class. Merging classes had several significant advantages, so if Ranthia wanted to pursue an advanced element that was likely her best option.

The problem was that even where there were useful advanced elements, the basic elements weren’t always quite as useful. If she chose the path of a [Mage], really only Earth and Metal had any stopping power. Water and Fire could kill a man or beast, but it was a slow and painful process that gave them time to take her down with them. Wood and Dark needed quite a few levels to gain lethality. And Wind and Light were all but harmless—minor distractions and inconveniences at any level—until they were incorporated into advanced elements.

[Warrior] classes were slightly better, since ultimately the deadly force was your own sword or spear—or tattered, discarded knife—rather than the element itself. But some elements were more useful for supporting skillsets than others.

Exercising at home had gone over about as well as she had expected. Every time she made the attempt it only took a few moments for her mother to ask what she was doing, command her to stop, and assign chores since she was “energetic.” On the rare occasions she was left alone while her mother went out, Ranthia snuck a bit of exercise in, though if she was too sweaty when her mother returned, she was scolded.

Ranthia had decided against sneaking out again—in part because her mother refused to allow her to stay up anymore—which further limited her.

The issue was compounded by the fact that her body was—likely—chronically undernourished. Food was, at best, inconsistent in their home. Some days she received a single meagre meal, other days brought two. Ranthia never quite felt full though, and she wasn’t convinced that the situation was just because of the plagues and the loss of the worthless man that had fathered her. It was impossible to miss the fact that her mother seemed to have an outside food source and claimed the larger portions when they shared meals.

Poverty was awful, but Ranthia was already convinced that her mother made it worse.

One to survive, one to kill.

Ranthia woke up with a start while the thought echoed through her head. The motion jabbed her mother with her elbow—Ranthia’s bedding had been unsalvageable, so they shared her bed—which woke the woman. Ranthia hurriedly assured the woman that it had been a nightmare and, thankfully, the woman’s bleary reprisal missed its mark and struck the bed before the woman started to snore.

Ranthia was too distracted by her new idea to return to sleep.

One class that was built around survival. One class that was designed for violence. It was perfect!

…She just needed to come up with exactly what the classes were, what elements they used, and how they carried out their focuses. Still, it helped to narrow her options.

At some point, Ranthia had stopped seriously considering [Ranger] classes. She hadn’t quite consciously decided to do so, but all of her attention had focused on [Mage] or [Warrior] builds. More recently she had really started to warm up to the idea of a spellblade, a [Mage] in one class and a [Warrior] in the second.

People gained their first class when they unlocked the System—though effectively it was useless until its first class up at level 8—and their second class unlocked when they reached level 64 in their first class. After that the third—and final—class wasn’t unlocked until you got either prior class to level 512. …And, oddly, no one she had seen had come close.

[Identify] had limited range, but even old people of advanced age tended to be around level 150—roughly what the [Healer] that had saved her life had already achieved—but level growth slowed with every level acquired. Just because someone reached level 150 by age 15 didn’t necessarily mean they were on track to reach level 512 in a reasonable timeframe. The levels and growth rates felt off to Ranthia in some way she couldn’t quite explain to herself, but she wasn’t going to pretend she was blind to reality.

It was best to leave her third class out of her considerations.

Realistically, it made sense to prioritize her survival class. Even without a class to support it, a well-placed blade was still deadly, where if she went for her power-focused class first she’d have to develop habits that she’d need to unlearn when she brought her survival class up. Things narrowed further.

Ranthia had largely started to ignore that the plagues existed. At some point the order came down to boil water or drink beer—and so they boiled water—and there were various bursts of activity in town. But the city hadn’t been set ablaze by the 3rd Legion and so Ranthia paid the situation little mind.

When she wasn’t focused on her classes, she was distracted with the exploration of her strange and inconsistent pool of knowledge. For example, she knew that bamboo shoots were edible, but she had no idea what bamboo was or what bamboo shoots looked like. She knew a variety of types of weapons and their forms, though she hadn’t personally seen anything except knives, the clubs that the town guards carried, and the short swords that the Rangers possessed. The 3rd Legion had been far enough out that she wasn’t sure if those were spears or staves or some sort of poles that she had barely seen, so those didn’t count.

It was really weird, sometimes. The knowledge was always just straightforward facts, without context. She knew of the existence of bandits that eschewed society and preyed upon travelers, but she had to imagine for herself what sorts of terrible factors would drive men into such a thing. She knew that when men and women had sex the woman might become pregnant, though she had zero knowledge of how men had sex. And along that train of thought, she discovered that she had an intense personal revulsion of the idea of sexual interaction involving men.

She really, really hoped that was somehow a strange bit of ‘knowledge’ from her past life and not some sort of deep-seated trauma that had been inflicted on the little girl that had once owned her current body.

They had left the house numerous times to fetch water from a nearby well, acquire food, and handle other errands over the past several days. But Ranthia was surprised when they emerged from their home to what felt like the entire town congregated into a few lines. Still, she shrugged it off and kept her eyes down while she held her mother’s hand so they wouldn’t be separated.

She was close to a breakthrough in her strategizing, she was certain of it.

It was ambitious. It promised to be a challenging build to develop, and the early years were certain to be rough.

But everything she knew said it should be possible to accomplish.

Ranthia smiled while they walked through a large gate of conjured black flame—Pyronox, an advanced element—not that she bothered to question why they did such a thing. She had found her path. She would never be killed again; her foes would find their blades unable to reach her.

Above all else, Ranthia was certain of one thing. One thing that spoke to her above all else. The plagues had failed to kill her, Xaoc had erased her prior death, and she had no intention of falling to anyone or anything else. She was a survivor.

Another piece of herself had been puzzled out, and the class she envisioned reflected it.

Once she reached level 8—and did everything that she could to prepare—she would class up to become a [Mage]. Obnoxiously, since she hadn’t received the Wood, Metal, Light, or Dark element—the Water element provided only points in Dexterity, rather than any of the four magic stats—Ranthia knew that she wouldn’t qualify for the requirements for the [Apprentice Mage] class, but just because—as far as her knowledge told her—it was the traditional starting class for mages, she knew it wasn’t the sole option.

The System provided innumerable paths toward your goals, so long as you earned them.

And she was determined to become a Light aspected [Mage].