Chapter 645: Silver Jubilee
[Hidden Dungeon complete: Whispering Woods. Dungeon modified to non-mortal, exitable. Experience awarded (major). You have earned enough experience for level 25.]
[You have achieved level 25! Secondary class <Feral Druid> upgraded to tier 2. All druid powers upgraded.]
[Power upgraded: Shapeshifting===> Wild Shape. A powerful feral druid has no true form, only the memory of what once was. Most new shapes must still be learned.]
[Title earned: The Lonely Silver Jubilee. You are the first player in the world to achieve level 25. There’s no one to share it with, but at least you get this title. +2 to all statistics.]
Mason stepped back into the Fey, just outside the Whispering Woods. He stared at the system text and took a few deep breaths. Level twenty-five. How far he’d come. And another title for being the first, the only. The joke about loneliness definitely felt right.
He was surrounded these days by people he cared about and loved, but there was still an understanding that he wasn’t like the others. That the burden of the future was on his shoulders.
He didn’t have the time time or brainpower to think about his Shapeshift change, other than to check for a flying form and be sadly disappointed. Instead he crossed the fey at full speed, the world shifting around him. He was a step away from the new great tree outside the holy city when he changed his mind, and stopped to think.
Demi and the nymphs could handle his food project. Missing out on the…hard work involved was a bit disappointing. But he had plenty of time for that sort of thing if the world wasn’t destroyed.
His Nexus team would take at least another day or two. Blake would be busy with his projects and out of trouble. There were no threats left to humanity in the short term. For the first time in a long time, he realized he actually did have room to sort out some long-delayed tasks.
Problem one: finish his objectives. Problem two: rally whatever allies he could to help when the doom came. Not necessarily in that order. Despite the kind of long list of pieces these problems had, he didn’t actually expect them to take that long if he could handle them right. He just had to be smart. Efficient.
‘Super Ultra Smart and Efficient Plan’, task one: get even more people working on his problems. It would involve talking, which he hated. And a couple re-unions. One of which he didn’t look forward to. But one rarely got to choose one’s problems.
He stood there considering which to deal with first, then took off running through the fey at a speed that once would have broken his mind. Godpaths swirled in and out of his vision, the sights and sounds that once overwhelmed him now background noise, easily blocked out. The seasons changed like he was spinning time.
He re-appeared in Nassau, sprinting and jumping to his estate so quickly even the great tree hardly noticed him. He easily found the divine seed using One with Nature, sensing its power the second he arrived.
After a moment of hesitation, he opened his Wayfinder and found the ancient elf seer, Dariya, and went to her.
The old woman clutched her chest and closed her eyes when he burst into the seer building.
“Young lord. You startled me. How might I assist in, um, whatever it is you…”
“I’m going to the elves in Shariss with the divine seed,” he interrupted. “I might need your help.”
She stared, looking ready to ask a series of questions, but he held up a hand.
“Come or don’t. I need to convince them to choose life, and the prime. Or at least start thinking about it. This world might need them before the end. Can you help me do that?”
Dariya bounced between looking ready to grab him by the ear for impertinence, and weeping tears of ancient hope. She took a breath and let it out slow.
“Yes. I’ll help you, if I can. But I don’t imagine I need to say they won’t be pleased to see you. The last time you literally kidnapped a member of the council. They’ve abolished your wife’s house, and probably threatened anyone who returns. Which includes myself.”
“I’ll protect you,” he said with a grin. “If that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“I am afraid, young master, but not for me. I’m afraid the council will make a rash decision to end my entire species merely to spite you.”
“Stubborn is good. Stubborn things usually live.”
Mason walked towards the seer, which sent her into a spasm of animal panic before she seemed to will herself calm.
“I’ll have to prepare. I need to change. Gather my things. It’ll be a long and unpleasant voyage through the fey. Shariss is well protected from prying eyes, you’ll find it far more difficult to… Mason? What are you…”
He lifted the old elf and cradled her as comfortably in his arms as possible before racing back to the tree. She howled and complained once or twice before he’d warped them to the fey.
“You were half right,” he said. “Unpleasant, but not long. You might wanna close your eyes.”
“Oh goddess. Luna preserve me.” Dariya gripped his shoulders and closed her eyes. “I should never have left the city. I should have abandoned my lord and all principles. I should have…Ma-soon!”
He grinned as he raced towards the elves, re-summoning Stag en route. The animal blinked in confusion and seemed ready to explain what it was doing but he mentally shrugged it off.
“I’m sure Demi has it all under control. Help me find the elven portal city. I have a rough idea, but it moves.”
The beast snorted, then bolted off with purpose. Mason followed him loosely, senses tuned for subtle changes as they crossed towards the magic city that only half lingered in the fey. Despite teasing the creature he could catch it through the godpaths, it soon demonstrated its superior knowledge.
At their ridiculous pace, it didn’t take long before he could sense the elven city. But he couldn’t seem to actually find it. Stag took a series of steps that made no sense, eventually stopping before a waterfall that gave no indication of being something else. The immortal creature turned and stared, just waiting, mentally confirming this was the place.
“This…this is it,” Dariya said in wonder. “You have truly incredible allies, druid. What is this creature? It defeated elven illusion magic almost…easily.”
“Don’t inflate his ego,” Mason mumbled, giving the creature a nod as he stepped through with Dariya still in his arms.
The world flashed and returned, and they came out in a familiar platform surrounded by the portals that gave the city its name. Mason winced as he turned and looked at them, no idea where any of them led.
“The last time I was here I had a helper. I don’t suppose you can get me to the council?”
Dariya rolled her eyes. But she was taking deep breaths and smiling, clearly pleased to be in the city.
“Lived here since it was founded, didn’t I?” She grumbled. “Thinks I’m some invalid.” She gestured at one of the portals. “That way. But we’ve no tokens. So we’ll set off the wards. Expect guards and who knows what else. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Rarely. We’ll adapt.”
He winked and stepped through the portal, materializing on an elevator platform in a beautiful, wooden chamber, with a few side doors and a larger set beyond. Before he could take a step, his ears filled with a blaring sound. Metallic bars clanged to the floor all around him. He set Dariya down and sighed.
“I could break them. Is it more polite to wait? I feel like it probably is.”
It took the elves guards an embarrassing amount of time to come check on him. Even when they did, it was half a dozen men in hastily donned armor looking more confused than concerned. When they finally saw him they went wide-eyed with fear, holding their spears like they barely remembered how.
Not ideal allies in a war of the end times, maybe. He hoped their wizards were a bit more useful.
He raised his hands and tried to ask to see the council, but neither he nor any of the guards could hear each other over the sound of the blaring alarm. When it finally turned off, he wiggled a finger in his ear.
“You’ve no idea how awful that is with my senses. I mean, don’t you have silent alarms or something? A foghorn seems very un-elven, if I’m honest.”
“You aren’t welcome here,” said one of the guards, his spear as shaky as his voice. “Go back where you came from.”
Mason tried to explain himself, which didn’t go very well. Dariya tried and did a little better. Eventually the guards seemed to agree they needed someone more important to tell Mason to fuck off properly.
In maybe half an hour they were finally greeted by some kind of nobleman. After being told to fuck off again, and explaining themselves again, the council was eventually sent for.
This took another hour. Dariya sat and dangled her legs through the bars. Mason knocked his head against them.
“Do elves typically bore people to death? Is that your first line of defense?”
“I’ll piss myself soon,” Dariya said miserably. “My bladder’s got about as much patience as you.”
Mason sighed, then bent some bars apart. He hopped out and found a wooden watering can near some plants, ignoring the spears all being thrust incredulously in his face. He took it back to Dariya and gestured at the guards to turn around. In one of the many strange moments in his adventures in the apocalypse, they all did, and he helped an old elven oracle pee in a bucket.
That was how the council found them. The few century year old archmage leader of Sharisse stared at his guards, then at Mason and Dariya, and finally the bent bars.
“I told you the next time I saw you, things might not be so pleasant.”
“Mission accomplished.”
Mason helped up a red-faced Dariya, then slowly took out the divine seed from his pocket. The guards all spasmed but he didn’t really care if they attacked him. He’d ignore the wounds anyway.
“I’m here with an offer. A way to save your people.”
The arch-mage looked between him and the old seer.
“With another prisoner? I was always fond of Ayet. She deserved better than to languish as the disgraced widow of a ruined house. I’m afraid I feel no such generosity of spirit for the oldest and most cunning priestess of a capricious god.”
“I always liked you, too,” Dariya muttered, still adjusting her clothes. “You know I bathed your newborn father in the silver waters,” she said a little louder. “And your grandfather. I taught them the ancient runes, just as I taught you. They were as colicky and stubborn. At least they grew out of it.”
The arch mage’s eyes narrowed, and Mason tried not to laugh. The old woman was supposed to be the good cop. Maybe he should have brought Ayet...
“And yet you left the city with the fallen lord of Anshan,” said another council member, presumably the High Priest, considering his white robes. “You therefore share the exile of that house. Your presence here is a crime.”
Dariya looked ready to reply but Mason put a hand on her shoulder.
“You can decide if we’re criminals after. I’m not here to fight. I’m here to help you.”
“One’s actions are often best defined by their results, not their intentions,” said the arch-mage. Mason grinned.
“We agree there. This is a Life Seed. An ancient, divine artifact made by Cerebus and Gaia before the first doom. It has the power to rejuvenate your people, to bless them and remove the curse of your race. To give you children again.”
He could tell he had the council’s attention now. Most seemed confused, but he could see the arch-mage knew of the artifact, and what it meant. He was staring with magic-infused eyes, and his face was going pale.
“He tells the truth,” Dariya said. “This man is the chosen avatar of Cerebus. Half divine, half flesh. Other gods have chosen their champions, too. I have seen things on the prime you will scarcely believe. We are in a time of legends, kinsmen. You must listen now if you wish to survive what comes.”
The arch-mage looked torn between stubborn rejection and rage. But it all faded with the magic from his eyes, his body seeming to sag with exhaustion.
“End this farce and come out of the bars,” he said, turning towards the larger doors with a gesture at the others. “We’ve no choice but to listen. Bring chairs. And something to eat.”
When some of the other council members started to complain, the arch-mage just turned and stared with more power leaking from his eyes.
“Do you think me some cheap conjuror of tricks?” He growled. “I can see his auras. The divine artifact in his hand. That man could likely kill us all. Swallow your pride. We’ll listen, and we’ll talk.”
They stopped complaining after that. Mason stepped off the platform and helped Dariya.
“You see?” he whispered. “It’s going great.”
Dariya rolled her eyes.