Chapter 90, 1/2

Chapter 90, 1/2

The sun dipped down in the west, tinting the world in reds and golds, as a cold wind blew from the north. Tonight would be chilly, but almost every person out here on the dark, multicolored streets of Candlepoint was either bundled up against the cold, with subtly glowing [Conjure Armor]s providing both warmth and defense, or [Ward]s that provided much the same. The shadelings, though, they wore rags. Erick wasn’t sure if the cold didn’t bother them, but that was a possibility.

Except for the shadelings, nobody walked this Shade city without some form of protection active and highly visible; this was certainly not Spur, where a simple [Ward] or a tough piece of leather was expected. Everyone seemed both ready and waiting for something to happen, but also calmly avoiding outright violence as they rushed to wherever they had to be, without outright running.

That might have been why the architects of Candlepoint had draped the city in colored lights. To detract from the magic and dangers of the crowd? To make Candlepoint look more festive, and less deadly? To liven up the mostly silent atmosphere?

Or maybe Bulgan just liked pretty lights?Ñ00v€l--ß1n hosted the premiere release of this chapter.

Eh. It was probably a joke of some sort; a play at happy colors hiding utmost violence. Jane had spoken of stuff like that in Ar’Kendrithyst.

Ophiel and Erick’s shadeling guide, Justine, headed north on a wide, black road, large enough for ten people to walk hand in hand and not touch the buildings on either side. The road did not need to be this wide. There were a lot of people out here, sure, but not enough to fill this large space. Maybe it was built this way so that no one had to walk too close to anyone else.

Most everyone gave Ophiel and Justine a wide berth, without making it too obvious. But the same was true for every small group Erick saw. Everyone walked in loose knit groups well separated from each other. No one walked alone.

As a pair of orcols eyed Ophiel, and a trio of shadelings eyed from Ophiel, to the orcols, and both parties parted ways like anyone would on a crowded New York Street, but also completely not, Erick knew he was unprepared for the obvious possibility of violence. Strictly speaking, he did not need to worry about Ophiel getting shanked, or anything like that, but allowing such a thing to happen at all could be seen as weakness. So Erick listened with [Hunter’s Instinct]s, but did not turn on Ophiel’s own [Hunter’s Instincts]. Using his ability this way would be subdued, but he didn’t want Ophiel to shift his display to hard feathers and slitted eyes, and further incite the people around him. He did turn on Ophiel’s [Perfect Hearing], though.

The silence of the street turned into whispered murmurs of grumbling stomachs and someone a street away demanding food and the tiny tinkling of rads in pockets of shadelings, while everyone else made little to no sounds. Leather creaked. Metal scraped. People yelled quiet threats well out of sight, but not out of earshot. A hand tensed around the hilt of a sword.

But nothing happened. Nothing that Erick could see, anyway. He might have heard the squelch of a dagger plunged into flesh, but that could have been any number of sexual sounds.

Nothing visible happened, the whole way to the Garrison.

Erick certainly noticed the skinny shadelings, though. Most of them wore normal clothes, if a bit messy, but some of them wandered on the street, with wide, blank grey eyes, staring at the heavens while their tattered clothes dragged across the ground. Others played with knives in the shadowed recesses of the alleyways near the main road, tossing their glinting shards of metal into the air and catching the handle, or drawing them across their skin to spill red blood into the darkness like it was some arcane rite. Not a single native looked healthy. Even Justine, with her white countenance and grey robes, looked haggard, like she hadn’t eaten a proper meal in weeks.

Her Status said she was 98 years old, but Candlepoint itself was only a few weeks old. Maybe Justine had been working in Ar’Kendrithyst for a long time, already? Or maybe something else was going on.

Whatever the case, there, Erick and Justine made it to the Garrison.

The Garrison was a giant of a building at least three stories large, but that wasn’t so important. What was important, were the hungry and obviously desperate shadelings he saw in the shadows of the alleyways around the structure, and the large Garrison guards positioned by the door. They were giants of incani shadelings, with black armor, decked out with horns to rival their helmets and swords to rival their whole bodies.

The guards seemed to be keeping the shadelings out, for they reacted to Justine’s approach, but did not seem to care when a pair of orcols walked in, and a trio of dragonkin walked out. But as they reacted to Justine, Erick saw that they were not shadelings at all. Glowing purple eyes stared out of a helmet full of shadows, while the armor of their arms showed clear separations between gloves and vambraces. They were summoned creatures of some sort. Similar to the Robes of Oceanside, perhaps?

Justine announced herself to the ‘guards’, breaking the silence of the street, “Justine Erholme, guiding Archmage Erick Flatt in his rounds of Candlepoint. Let me pass.”

The automatons spoke in unison, “Granted.”

The street returned to silence, as the automatons returned to stillness. Justine walked past them and up the short stairs into the Garrison. Erick followed.

They must have passed a sound barrier of some sort, because the Garrison was louder than the street by a dozen fold. Recovering from the assault on his ears, Erick took stock of the place. It immediately reminded Erick of the Adventurer’s Guildhouse crossed with a casino of some sort. Everything was red or gold or black, except the lights; they were of every color mixed to white. Shadelings worked counters and served food at a bar on the floor above and—

They were playing cards over at that table. And dice over there. And other games that were almost like roulette, with their spinning wheels and bets placed on a table made of red and gold.

This place was a casino, but different. It had the monster board, of course; that was right over there at the back of the large room, just like Erick had already seen once before. But there were parts of the place that were very much not standard ‘Adventurer’s Guildhouse’ fare. There were people turning in rads at an ornate, golden counter, and getting flecks of dark crystal in return; the ‘darkchips’, no doubt. Erick peered closer at one of the tables, using [Ultrasight], and saw that they were using those black chips to bet on their games. People paid for everything with darkchips; from the bar over there, to slipping the waiters and waitresses payments for drinks, to buying in at a gambling table. The rewards listed on the monster board were obviously pitiful compared to what someone could rake in with a lucky win.

When had this all happened? Surely there wasn’t a casino here the last time Erick checked?

Justine waited for Erick to move further into the Garrison with her, but she did not look impatient. She just looked impassive; she was here for him, and maybe not of her own free will. She was likely a plant meant to... do something. Erick wasn’t sure.

But before he got too far into that introspection, as he looked around, he saw a few familiar faces. They must have seen him first, though, because they were walking straight to him.

Justine stepped to the side, out of the way, as his neighbors in the Human District walked closer; Maia, Eduard, and Ramizi, the Fire, Ice, and Force mages from Oceanside. All three of them were humans. Looking around at the casino floor, he noticed that there were other humans here, too, but not as much as those of other races.

Maia neared, saying, “Hello, arch—”

A table nearby erupted into joy, as someone won something and bright lights flashed. Loud cheers from the winner’s party were cut short by what came next. Erick did nothing as a single second stretched out into something else. The attack was not aimed at him, or anyone he knew.

A shadeling covered in rags and little else rushed into the building, flickering into the shadows, straight to a different shadeling that Erick had not really noticed. This second shadeling was obviously an employee of the Garrison, or something along those lines; they wore a nice ruby satin and gold pinstripe, almost-costume; like all the other employees of the place. But they also had a black-armored automaton at their back, guarding them, or more appropriately: what the employee was carrying. The employee had a gold box attached to his hip on a thick, solid gold belt. That object was made to not come off easily.

The ragged shadeling, and three others just like him that Erick had missed, rushed the man, while adventurers got out of the way and the automatons —three of them now; where had those come from?— brought their swords down like the hands of vengeful godlings.

Three ragged shadelings scattered to the casino floor, bisected, blood fountaining across no one but empty tables; everyone near the event had moved faster than Erick would have thought possible. The fourth ragged shadeling managed to make it to the employee, wielding a summoned sword, but the employee stepped to the side, elegantly and effortlessly. The ragged shadeling missed his attempt to bisect the employee, and the slash of one automaton. Two automatons did not miss.

A torso went flying. Blood splashed. An arm landed near Ophiel.

While Ophiel hung in the air, and Erick had no idea what had happened beyond the obvious, or why, some other employee called out from the other side of the room.

“Pardon the interruption!” The shadeling was a gorgeous man from incani stock. He was lithe and tall, with dark hair and grey eyes, but he wore the most over the top red and gold sequined tuxedo Erick had ever seen, and he’d been to more than one Pride parade in his day. His outfit glowed, so did his pale skin, and so did his curling, bright, unnaturally red horns; they might have been lacquered to achieve that smoothness. The man said, “No one was hurt, so I hope everyone can continue living it up, at the Garrison!” He cheered, “Half price drinks for the next hour!”

A highly orchestrated display of magic and coordination resulted in drinks appearing on the trays of every serving guy and gal out on the casino floor. They started handing out bubbling pink beer steins and vibrant blue shots and glowing golden... gummy bears? No. Jello shots? Maybe. Whatever the case, the patrons took their drinks and gummies and were happy to have them.

Fuck. Erick was really out of his depth. Everything looked normal, but it was an ‘uncanny valley’ sort of normal; a mimicking of things he recognized as normal in other parts of the world, but not here, in a near warzone.

But as he turned back to the bodies on the floor, they were already gone. The man in the sequins had successfully distracted Erick, and most of everyone else, from the casual death of four starving and desperate shadelings. Or maybe Erick had read that wrong, and they were insane killers?

While he struggled to come to terms with what he had witnessed, Maia, Eduard, and Ramizi, looked to be in a much better state than him. Maybe they were used to seeing bodies torn apart in front of them. Ramizi was even drinking a blue drink.

Erick almost drifted away from Ophiel, back to his body in Spur, but Maia stepped one step closer. Erick returned to the moment.

Maia said, “Hello, Erick.”

“So many questions—” Erick jabbed at the drink in Ramizi’s hand with a feathered wing, whispering, “What the fuck are you drinking and why?” Then he pointed at the ground where the bodies had been, asking, “And what the shit was that?”

Ramizi said, “We’re the official ambassadors from Oceanside.” He held up the half-drunken drink, saying, “We all go back to the island every day, and they check us over for a few hours. Drinking this drink is a part of the job.”

Eduard said, “Only one of us participates per day. Yesterday it was me.” He glanced to the ground where the bodies had been, adding, “And that was a normal occurrence.”

Maia said, “Pardon me, archmage, but we don’t get answers to a lot of our questions, but I know you would, so can you ask your guide here the same question?”

Erick turned his attention to Justine, who had stepped back from Ophiel and the Mage Trio. He asked, “What was... What were the ragged shadelings trying to do?”

With a clear voice, but still quiet under the noise of the casino room floor, Justine said, “There is a system in place where shadelings are given sustenance until they are able to regain some of who they were. When this first step is taken, we are ejected from the direct oversight of the Clergy, and sent out to regain the rest of ourselves on our own. At this time, our meals are taken from us. We need rads to survive, but we are not allowed to hunt monsters for rads. Instead, there is another system.

“We each get an allotment of two darkchips per day from the Crystal in the center of the city. Some of us spend these chips here, at the Garrison, and make enough rads to survive, though it is tough. Others collaborate to offer services such as prostitution or drugs or a bed for the night, or food at a restaurant; anything to attract customers into spending rads and taking our darkchips, so that we might survive another day.

“The Garrison makes the most rads of any of us, as they control a large portion of darkchips in order to pay adventurers for their rads, but you can get nearly any service out in the rest of the city, if you know where to look.

“The only thing we are not allowed to offer are discounts. Master Shadoweater will know if we do, and the repercussions are... unwanted.”

After a long moment, Erick said, “Okay.”

And then he had nothing more to say. What could he say? That it was awful? That he wanted to help? He certainly wanted to help, but how could he, when they were probably lying about everything?

Maia frowned at Justine, then said to Erick, “That’s the same story we already heard.”

Ramizi said, “Shadelings need a baseline thousand mana per day to live.” He looked to Justine, saying, “Some of you can eat your own mana though, can’t you?”

“We all can. Most of us do.” Justine said, “But it is a wyrm eating its tail; there is some loss, each day. It is not enough.”

Ramizi looked to Ophiel. “Yesterday we saw a desperate shadeling kill and eat the rads out of the chests of two others.”

Maia asked Justine, “Whose fault is it that you live like this?”

Justine immediately said, “It is no one’s fault save our own. We have been given an opportunity, and some are incapable of rising above our shared beginnings. That’s all there is to it.”

She spoke her words with obvious false conviction. Erick did not need to be there, in that space, to see the way her shoulders slumped a little, or how her words were vomited up from some deeply ingrained place in her mind, but not in her heart.

But all of that could have been an act.

Erick almost ended his visit to Candlepoint right there.

But...

Justine walked in silence to their next destination, while Ophiel floated beside her.

Candlepoint was still full of bright lights and deep shadows. But now, eyes peered out of every darkened corner, while wind carried over the tops of buildings and gently whistled on harsh edges.

Erick saw many almost-normal things as they traveled.

There was a five-story hotel with large windows, but the curtains were drawn in almost every window. Tiny noises coming from inside marked the building as a well-appointed bordello. Some of the curtains were not drawn, though. Shadelings sat in those windows, some of them nude, others in ragged clothes. All of them were beyond skinny. Some of them were smoking pipes, and exhaling blue smoke.

The hotel was just the worst offender, but Erick saw the same scene playing out in miniature wherever he looked, except where he saw violence. Where there was violence, Erick watched, but let it be.

This place was a nightmare.

Erick had to help them... But it could all be a trick. A game of some sort.

Okay. Okay. Erick frantically thought. Okay. So what if it’s a trick? What’s their goal? To appear so pitiful no one pays them any mind? That’s highly likely. But they’re suffering, in the mean time. Okay. Okay. So. I can help them, but never interact directly. Or even through intermediaries. That would lean into whatever trick they’re trying to pull. But! Fuck! I can’t not help! Shit.

Ophiel betrayed none of Erick’s inner turmoil. Or at least Erick hoped not.

Justine took Erick down a well lit side street that was only vaguely thinner than the main drag. Soon, they arrived at their next destination. It was nothing more than a simple, yet large roof of dark stone, held up by several pillars; it was a pavilion large enough to cover a small house, and lit up like a stadium, but there was nothing under the roof save a long, curling line of hungry shadelings.

It was a meal center. Erick had worked more than one of those in his time. This one was slightly different than he was used to, but it had all the hallmarks of what he expected.

At the head of the line, and heavily overseen by strong looking shadelings with long clubs in their hands, there was a long table, where shadelings walked up and were served small bowls of gruel, or something, in exchange for their darkchips. No one spoke as they got to the serving table, but everyone was chatting with each other further down the line. Some of them were even looking Erick’s way, but mostly they seemed to care more about Justine than about the floating ball of feathers beside her.

Justine stopped at the edge of the pavilion. She said, “This is one of the larger meal pavilions located around the city. We’ve only been at this self-sufficiency thing for a short while, but we are managing what we can, where we can.”

Erick asked, “Where is your food coming from?”

“From people like me. And others. We have a few smaller buildings enchanted to draw water from the air, and then we go in and [Grow] what we can. Water Season is almost upon us, though. We expect these meager offerings to increase greatly, once we can tap into the rising water table below Candlepoint.” Justine added, “There’s also a great deal of leftovers from the nicer establishments around the city. Those businesses are supported directly by the Clergy, with harvests that come directly from Kendrithyst.”

“I read about those water gathering runes.” Erick said, “They cost a lot to maintain, and they’re not that good.”

“We do what we must.” Justine said, “Most of the water goes directly to the water supply, for drinking. Bathing is a luxury reserved for adventurers and visitors.”

Erick looked over the line of shadelings, and said, “I’d like to see a home, now.”

Justine nodded, and turned back to the street. Erick followed.

The house Justine took him too was actually an apartment, not too far from the meal pavilion. The exterior looked about the same as dozens of others he had seen on the way to this one. The whole city looked to have been made by rapidly applied and barely concerned [Stoneshape]s, after all.

The inside of this apartment was clean-ish, though the absence of [Cleanse] was rather apparent. The smell of the bathroom was present even out on the street, but inside it was omnipresent. Erick had smelled worse houses, but not on Veird. The bed was a simple mattress of hay wrapped in barely stained cloth, with a small off-white blanket on top. There was no pillow.

Justine introduced Erick to the occupant of the apartment, a young male shadeling of human stock, named Irkil, who wore off-white clothes that were stained darker under the arms. He was a mousy sort of guy; kind of small.

Something clicked for Erick.

How were these people wearing clothes and having mattresses and all of these other accouterments of civilization, without actually having industry? Were these the simple cast offs of Ar’Kendrithyst’s plot to get adventurers into Candlepoint? Or was something else going on, there?

Erick looked to the bed. If that was a [Conjure Item], why had Irkil conjured it so poorly?

Teressa was rather unwilling to do most magics, but that was only partially because she wasn’t very good at them, but even she could conjure a four poster bed, if she wanted. She could do so much better than any of what he had seen around Candlepoint. Were the vast majority of shadelings un-Matriculated? Or was something else going on, here?

Erick asked, “Are you wearing [Conjure Armor]? Are you un-Matriculated?”

“No, sir! None of the above!” Irkil said, standing a bit taller as he said, “We’re forbidden from wearing armor. These are merely the clothes that I have bound to myself, for the moment. I hope to achieve something better when my employment at the Garrison or the Guard is approved.” He added, “All shadelings are automatically Matriculated into the Script, as soon as we find our names. This is the cutoff of the Clergy’s assistance, too. Some try to slow that process, but I was and am ready to begin my own life.” He gestured to his room, saying, “It’s not much, but it’s enough for now, and by this time next week, I’ll be much better off.”

Erick let that sit for a moment, then asked, “What do you mean, ‘bound to yourself’?”

Irkil frowned a little. He said, “I’m not sure how to answer... that? Uh. It’s... bound to me?”

Justine asked, “Would you like to go to the Crystal, and see the full listings of prizes? I can explain every single one to you, and what each Stat does. The ‘bound’ that Irkil is referring to is the ‘Soulbound Stone’, listed as a Lesser Prize for a hundred darkchips.” She added, “Every fully realized shadeling is given two soulbound stones for free, along with other items scavenged and repaired inside Kendrithyst. These items are usually enough to provide someone with a place to lay at night, and clothes to wear.”

Irkil happily said, “All I had were rags, taken from the pile. But if I work for the Guard, or the Garrison, or one of the hotels, I’ll have a lot more, soon enough!” His joy fell a fraction, as he added, “And I will, because I’m no layabout.”

Erick said, “I hope that works out for you, Irkil.”

“Me, too!”

Poi’s voice came to Erick, ‘Sir. Kiri has found your information regarding monsters eating rads.’

Erick quickly sent, ‘Tell her to look up spells to gather large amounts of rads from dead monsters, while she’s there. Super Large Area, if she can. I don’t expect her to find much, but a good foundation would be nice.’

‘Understood.’

Erick turned to his guide, and said, “Justine. I don’t care about the items for sale, or what they do. I just want peace and prosperity. If you are real people, and not some plot designed to burrow into the rest of civilization and destroy everyone from the inside, then time will tell more than words ever could.”

Justine stood strong. She said, “We accept the burdens of proof laid upon our shoulders.”

“Me, too!” Irkil said, enthusiastically, like only a young person could.

Erick asked, “Now what kind of food do you eat? Anything that a person of your original race would, or could?”

“Yes.” Justine said, “Rice and beans go a long way, and I understand they are cheap to procure. We would have to pay you in darkchips, of course. It is the currency we are allowed to use.”

“Rice and beans, then.” Erick said, “When I come back, I will be checking on everything I saw this evening.”

“You’ll be coming back?” Justine’s grey eyes brightened. “I understand.”

Erick asked, “Now... Is it true you cannot [Cleanse]?”

“Yes.” Justine said, “The Open Script is slightly different for some races, and we are among them. [Mend]. [Cleanse]. All Spatial magic. Most utility spells. These are locked to us.”

Erick almost offered to cast [Mirage Slime]s into the area. Each cast lasted an hour, and would constantly search out new problems to clean up. No one deserved to live in squalor. But then he stopped himself. If he offered to help, now, where would the helping stop? Erick answered his own question: It would never stop. Erick would lock himself to helping those who were obviously in need, and who knew if these people were malicious actors, or not?

No. He would not help them in that way. Not today. Or rather, tonight.

Erick turned to Irkil, saying, “Thank you for inviting me into your home.”

Irkil said, “No problem, Archmage Flatt! Thank you for visiting!”

The kid spoke with infectious enthusiasm, and with that thought entering Erick’s head, he wondered about disease. If they couldn’t use [Cleanse], they would likely face some sort of contagion sooner or later.

Erick turned his mind away from those thoughts and bounced Ophiel in acknowledgment. He headed out the door. Justine followed.

In the middle of the well lit street, full of colors and darkness and a road that was greyer than the rest, Ophiel hovered. Countless shadows of his feathered self spread out from his holding pattern, each one a slightly different color. Justine stood in the street next to Ophiel. Her shadows were much the same, though they were more solid and wispy, like carpets laid down around her feet.

Erick said, “I would like to visit again, some time soon. I would also bring you rice and beans. And rads, if my own research on the topic proves it is not a danger to us. And, I suppose, if Mephistopheles’ spells work.”

Justine kept her emotions, shoulders, and face, even; poised. But Erick could tell by the slight upturn and glow of her eyes that she was overjoyed.

Overjoyed at pulling one over on Erick? Maybe. But: Whatever. If there was no physical harm in helping these people, he would do so. These shadelings— these people... They seemed rather indoctrinated. Erick had stayed mostly away from the topic of who was actually causing these people their hardships after Justine had answered Maia that ‘everything that was wrong with them was their own fault’. But that was clearly not the true answer.

But helping people unlearn indoctrination was a difficult task; one that Erick was not willing to fight against, today. And besides that, he could be wrong, too.

“Thank you, Archmage Flatt.” Justine said, “I would wish you well in the usual way, but I fear you might take it unkindly if I pray for the eyes of my god to be upon you.”

“He’s had his eyes on me since I fell to Veird, Justine.” Erick said, “Farewell.”

Ophiel departed the field, dismissed back into the manasphere; Erick was not willing to risk bringing him back to Spur.

After a moment, Justine broke down in happy tears. Irkil rushed out of his apartment to her side, and she waved him off. Another four shadelings came out of the nearby shadows, and she began speaking to them. Some of them seemed happy. Others seemed worried.

Erick’s [Scry] eye, high, high above, caught the entire event.