Paths of the Chosen

Aidan
The Realms
Secondday, 1st week of the 12th month, Age of the Chosen 1
Mid-Afternoon
Karsarrym's Lair

Enthusiastic applause preceded Aidan and Ysbail's arrival. "Amazing!" Connor called out to them as they approached. "I thought your reputation was oversold, but no, you are everything they say you are, Lord Aidan." The catfolk summoner stood there in his pristine robes, somehow unmarred by even a drop of innocent blood. He took no Wounds from the battle. His Health hadn't dropped a fraction throughout the frantic fight. He'd stayed back here, safe and sound.

Rage roared through Aidan's veins. Tears sprang to his eyes as he fought to control himself.

"Of course," Conor continued, "it took everyone's efforts to succeed here. I do not believe any of us were less than heroic today."

"Silence." The word cracked through the air like a whip. "You dare," Aidan said with cold fury in his voice, "call yourself a hero?"

Conor's eyes widened as if Aidan struck him across the face. His surprise seemed genuine. After a brief interval of silence as all eyes focused on the confrontation, he spoke again. "I call all of us here heroes," he said in a slow, confused tone. "We all contributed vital elements to this great victory. My dakhols weakened the dragon to your strikes, and the Crimson-Veiled Terror lessened the effects of your bleeding Wounds," he gestured at Aidan's missing legs, "and allowed you to land the final blow."

"Karsarrym was already dead," Aidan said through a jaw clenched tight. "All I did at the end was save myself. You," the word oozed with seething anger, "murdered a dozen innocent souls for your vile wraith. And for what? I will not thank you for helping me stay alive and crippled."

Conor frowned. "I think you misjudge the Terror's contribution to the fight. It drained the dragon's strength and empowered the rest of you. Besides, I murdered no one. I own those women. I own the farm that raises them from birth. They exist to power my spells."

"They exist to live!" Aidan's anger boiled over. He felt his face grow hot as he shouted out his frustration and grief. "To laugh and love and grow old in peace and happiness! That is the right of every person in these Gods-damned Realms."

"What a hypocrite," Conor snarled back at him. "You would not have won without my help, and that requires life-blood. You ordered the deaths of those captives, you benefited from my assistance. Your hands are no less stained than mine. Besides," he said with an evil sneer, "I know another Sanguimancer when I see them. Did you know you slept with one every night of this expedition? What makes Eldrid any less evil than me?"

Aidan gaped at the revelation. Could it be true? Had she been hiding a secret so vile from him?

"I use no one's blood but my own," came Eldrid's weary voice. "Yes, I have some small skill in blood magic, but I use it to heal my injuries or attack from an unseen angle. I have never once hurt or killed another to power a spell." She limped up to stand beside Aidan.

"Oh, you will," Conor said. "It starts small. I have spells like that too, you know? But the stronger ones require more sacrifices. This is not a path one can walk without trampling upon others."

"Then do not walk it," Iossif said as he landed several yards to Aidan's right.

"Easy for you to say," Conor started, his voice rising.

Aidan interrupted him. "Enough." He looked past the catfolk summoner to where the Snow-Water Rider mercenaries stood looking grim. "Captain Dyfri, please remind me of the terms of our contract."

The man in question tilted his head. "My and Price's marines are at your disposal until we return to Ceallach Macht having slain the dragon or three months are up, whichever comes first."

"And what does 'at my disposal' mean in this case?"

Dyfri seemed to catch Aidan's meaning. He nodded and said in a firmer voice, "Barring orders of a suicidal or hostile nature, and within the bounds of the expedition to hunt Karsarrym, we will follow any command you give."

"Then, Captain, I command you to arrest the blood summoner Conor for murder and insubordination."

Dyfri's jaws flexed with tension, but he gave a sharp nod of acceptance. Before he could issue any orders to his troops, Conor's soldiers acted. They'd been standing in a loose formation outside the summoning circle, but with this threat to their master, they closed ranks around him. Nor were they alone. A dense, unnatural fog stinking of spilled blood flowed out of the darkness behind Aidan. Within the mist moved the monstrous shapes of a pack of dakhols.

"Now we see the true face of this false King," Conor said, his words ringing with hatred and conviction. "All Kings are tyrants, you no less than any other. You could have turned me away from the start, refused my assistance as soon as you learned about me, but no. You needed me. Now, though? Now I am superfluous. An inconvenience. An easy target for a guilty mind."

The truth in Conor's speech didn't diminish Aidan's wrath. He couldn't dispute any of those words, and the self-loathing they stirred only stoked the flames. He trembled in Ysbail's arm, all his negative emotions raging and roiling within him.

"I am not an unreasonable man," the summoner said, bringing a hand to cover his heart. "I can tell when I am not wanted. Allow me to take my share of the loot, and I will leave. You need not ever see me again. I will even refrain from telling others how you tried to betray me."

Aidan warred with himself. He had more reasons than he needed to deal with Conor however he willed. Still, it was clear that any hostile actions would lead to a fight, and Aidan couldn't be certain they'd even win. He didn't know the blood-wraith's full capabilities, and a pack of near-unkillable dakhols was a nightmare waiting to happen.

"What is your price?" The words tore at Aidan's soul to say.

A smug, greasy smile spread over Conor's lips. "Oh, I think that damaged egg should do. Useless to you, the infant will die in a matter of days, but to me...?"

Something within Aidan snapped. His teeth drew back in a savage snarl, and he lashed out with his hand. His lone remaining Blade of Burning Wrath followed the motion, scything through the mist and into the midst of Conor's troops. They fell like marionettes with their strings cut, then the sword-shaped blob of contained plasma separated Conor's head from his shoulder. Not knowing how the life-saving amulet would deal with such a Wound, Aidan guided the spell back and impaled it through the catfolk's forehead and out the back of his skull.

Aidan's action was so swift, sudden, and decisive that Conor's summons blinked out of existence before anyone else knew what was happening. The slave-soldiers under the catfolk's command collapsed, lifeless, besides their master's corpse. Aidan's unilateral action was murder by any description, and he waited to see how the mercenaries would respond.

Silence reigned as tension mounted. Dyfri's and Price's troops watched the Captain, who glanced back and forth between Aidan and Conor. At last, the big otterfolk stepped forward, leaned over the pile of dead Mist Stalkers, and spit on the blood mage's headless body. "Good riddance," he said and turned away. "It is a shame that the dragon's death throes killed Conor."

Aidan sagged with relief. He let his head loll back against Ysbail's shoulder. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he had no time for them yet. "Gather the dead—not Conor—for proper funeral rites, then start butchering Karsarrym. Lieutenant," he addressed the leader of Captain price's marines, "please send for the wagons. They should be able to make it through the entrance you cleared."

"Yes, my Lord."

 

---

 

Dealing with the aftermath took the rest of the day. Alkelda, Enys, and Ritva died by Karsarrym's hand, Conor by Aidan's. Ysbail, Stamatia, and Aidan himself were maimed, missing one or more limbs. Eldrid had dozens of deep cuts and lacerations across her body layered atop broad, ugly bruises. Aija had a few scratches and bumps, but she knelt in silent vigil beside Ritva's remains, unresponsive to the world. Only Iossif emerged unscathed in mind or body.

The marines wrapped the dead, elites and mercenaries alike, in preservative bandages and loaded them into one of the wagons. Each would make one last journey to Ceallach Macht, where a hero's welcome awaited them. Another wagon held the lone intact dragon egg, lashed down and surrounded by hundreds of square feet of padding.

The other wagons filled, hour by hour, with scales, flesh, bones, and shards of a shattered eggshell. There were no gold or gems, no enchanted arms or armor to be had, but Karsarrym's remains would power Ceallach Macht's economy for years.

When, at last, the soldiers loaded the final bloody trophy into the final wagon, the sun had already set. Aidan, held steady in Eldrid's arms atop a summoned mount, led a somber procession out of the dungeon. Once all the survivors made their exit, and the wagons were clear, Aidan triggered the blasting charges Aija laid around Karsarrym's lair hours ago. A low, rumbling roar made the earth tremble around them. A few seconds later, dust clouds billowed out of the dungeon entrances.

The expedition settled into their camp for the night. Aidan lay in the command tent, unable to even sit upright without assistance, and went through the torrent of notifications waiting for him.

Know this: By murdering Conor mac Con Uladh and his entire retinue over a disagreement, you have manifested an aspect of your Alignment. Your Alignment has shifted towards Merciless. As Merciless opposes Altruistic, your former Altruistic (+1) Alignment no longer applies. Always remember, your actions reveal the truth of your heart.

You have completed a Quest! Dragonslayers Slay the invading dragon Karsarrym—SUCCESS Keep your party alive—5/8 Ensure that Conor mac Con Uladh meets with an 'accident'—SUCCESS Rewards: Dragonslayer epithet, 1,100,000 experience, 22 Talent points, 10 Paragon points, greatly increased reputation with the Sapphire Sky Horde and the Starchasers, increased reputation with the Ash Shroud Sisterhood, Mist Stalkers, and Ebon Bone-kin, increased relationship with Chieftain Searlas. You have earned an additional 55,000 experience from Novice rank in Animamancy.

Congratulations! You have been given a new Epithet, Dragonslayer. While acting under the auspices of this Epithet, all of your allies within sight draw strength from your legend. They gain bonuses to their most-relevant Attributes, Health, Stamina, Concentration, and damage dealt.

Congratulations! You have advanced to levels 23 through 26. As a Chosen Helltouched Human, you have 24 Attribute points to distribute and your Willpower and Charisma increase by 4 each. You also gain 4 increments of 25% advancement towards up to 4 Skills of your choice. Allocate these points within 72 hours, or they will be randomly assigned. You have received 72 Talent points to spend on any of your available Talents. Honor thy Patron and follow thy heart!

Congratulations! You are now level 25 and qualify for a Prestige Class. Completing a Prestige Class Quest permanently changes your Class to the matching Prestige Class and cancels all remaining Prestige Class Quests. Choose carefully.

Aidan left those Quests unread. He had time before he needed to complete one, and he'd consult with everyone back home about them anyway. There wasn't any point in picking from them now. He turned his head to look at Eldrid slumbering beside him, her beautiful face covered in cuts and bruises. Now reassured that she wouldn't hear him, he closed his eyes and started to recite.

"Doirin. Mairead. Solamh. Lachlann. Catriona. Micheil. Caitir. Moire. Seonag," his voice whispered into the night. "Paws-Soft-As-Snow. Fangs-Gleaming-Bright. Loves-To-Dance. Awaits-The-Rising-Sun. Patient-Beyond-Reason. Voice-Like-Thunder," every death, every name engraved in his memory until he knew them better than his own. "Alkelda. Ritva. Enys."

When he reached the end of his litany several minutes later, Aidan started over from the beginning as, at last, he allowed the tears to pour from his eyes. He failed to protect so many, and now the blood of even more dripped from his hands.

Aidan could have stopped Conor, could have turned him away or even killed him. He didn't, and now his hands would forever bear the indelible stains of innocent blood. A dozen women and half as many soldiers whose lives he could have saved had he been stronger in mind or body.

"Never again," Aidan swore to himself when he reached the end of his list a second time. "Not one more death because I wasn't strong enough, fast enough, good enough to prevent them." He turned his eyes to his level gains. He could wait on his Talents until he could consult with his fiancees, but he had to spend his Attribute points and skill bonuses within the next three days. No time like the present, he thought. It's not like I'll sleep anyway.

Investing everything into Toughness tempted Aidan. Many of Eldrid's injuries were a result of shielding him. If he'd been better able to take a hit, she might have taken less damage and been able to spend her efforts attacking Karsarrym instead. It would also increase his Stamina, which his new Retributive Shield drained in massive quantities.

That was a knee-jerk reaction, however, and Aidan knew it. Even with twice as much Toughness, he still wouldn't have been able to stand against Karsarrym's attacks. And, as a Mage-based Class, he had a penalty to Health anyway. Then, too, Aidan had full access to every school of magic. Inefficient means of shoring up his weakness had to take a back seat to capitalizing on his strengths.

Thanks to his automatic bonuses and concerted effort over time, Aidan was already strong in Charisma and Willpower. His Senses—the key Attribute for Air Magic—were pitiful. Logic, for Earth Magic and Magical Theory, was his next-worst mental Attribute, followed by Intuition, which affected Oneiromancy, Vivimancy, Glyphs, and Beast Magic.

By sheer number of Skills affected, Intuition was a clear winner. On the other hand, those four Skills were support-oriented. He'd never downplay the results of better healing, but neither Oneiromancy nor Beast Magic seemed to benefit much from higher spell power. At least, not in ways Aidan couldn't substitute other things for.

Senses only affected Air Magic. It didn't even have much impact on his non-magical Skills. Maybe still be worth considering if he intended to lean on electrical attack spells as a backup against fire-resistant enemies. Still, he felt a little leery around lightning right now for some reason.

That left Logic. Like Senses, it only affected one of Aidan's schools—Earth Magic, the one he used the least—but it also improved Magical Theory. That Skill had no direct combat use, but every level in it gave him a chance to learn new magic out of the blue. In addition, every point of Logic improved his chances of crafting his own custom spells.

Blade of Burning Wrath, Aidan's original spell, had already proved its worth. He'd dealt thousands of damage to Karsarrym with his Blades, and the confrontation with Conor would have been much worse without them. The ability to make more spells of that caliber couldn't be ignored.

And, while Earth Magic didn't seem the most damage-focused at first glance, there was no reason he couldn't make it so. Earth Magic included anything dealing with rocks or stones, so he could go full Earthbender if push came to shove. And even if he kept his sights on more traditional effects, earthquakes and petrification were well within Earth Magic's purview.

Yeah, I think that's the way to go, Aidan decided. Twenty of his twenty-four Attribute points went into Logic, raising it to a much more solid 40 base. The remaining four points got split between Toughness—while he wasn't going to go all-in on it, a small investment seemed worthwhile—and Senses.

That left the Skill bonuses. Common wisdom would have him invest in his highest Skill which, ignoring Sex, would be Fire Magic. Aidan believed his Gift changed the math on that subject, however. Everyone else in the Realms faced an exponentially-difficult climb the higher their Skills grew. Not only did every level need more—and more difficult—actions to advance, their affinity decreased over time.

The first still applied to Aidan, but the second factor did not. Ailis speculated he could even continue leveling his Skills past level 100, something nobody else could dream of. There was far less pressure on him to invest the free points into his highest Skills. Instead, Aidan could afford to be a bit more strategic.

Beast Magic was on the verge of hitting Journeyman rank. Not only did Ailis have a custom spell waiting for him once he hit Journeyman, but he'd also get another one for reaching that rank. So far, both spells Aidan had with a Journeyman requirement were eye-popping in their own way.

And, too, Aidan had the Origination of Species spellbook waiting for him to hit Master rank. While it wasn’t a combat spell, it was one of the most absurd support abilities he'd ever heard of. Creating a new, true species from sheer magical might? He could make an army tailored to fight any opponent with enough time.

Aidan looked over his other options, but nothing else stuck out to him. So, after a second review to confirm his first thoughts, he invested all four 25% advancements into Beast Magic. He was still a little short of Journeyman, but it wouldn't take long to fix that once he was back home.

Home, Aidan thought with a sigh. He squeezed his eyes shut. I hope Brighid and Aoife aren't too hard on Eldrid for not protecting me well enough. And she swore an oath to Sunnild. More tears trickled down his cheeks. I hope they'll still accept me. I'm half the man I used to be, after all. I'm not even sure if my equipment still works.

Such were Aidan's thoughts as the day's stress caught up with him. Sleep stole upon him like an assassin in the night, bearing him off to troubled dreams and nightmares.