Ar'Kendrithyst

Erick laid upon a fluffy white cloud in the middle of an endless sky. The air was cool. Calm breezes tickled across his legs and arms. Iridescent scales flickered through the soft expanse.

- - - -

A hard stone surface pressed against his back, while cold air touched his body. Pain was a distant fog, filled with a few unknown voices, until suddenly the world cleared, and Erick saw from his eyes, and felt from his body, and heard with his ears. Pain flowed everywhere, like a rapid tide.

“Pain response,” said a woman.

Ophiel trilled in nervous flutes.

Another woman, older, said, “Upping [Numb].”

“He’s coming around!” said a man. “My gods, what’s his Health Regen?”

“Classified,” said Poi, ever professional.

Blood and flickering magics clouded his vision, red, silver, and a slightly different silver, but the red vanished in curls of thick air, and the magic soaked in. Pain vanished, but light still clouded his sight.

Erick tried to ask where he was, but his voice was broken.

Poi said, “Don’t try to speak, or cast. I can relay your worries for now. We’re in the Church Hospital. High Priestess Darenka is here with the doctors—”

The older woman spoke, and this time Erick recognized her voice as Darenka’s, “Pain is vanishing. I’m guessing his Regen is higher than 10,000.” She said, “Tell me so I can do my job right.”

Poi said, “Higher than that.”

“Good. He’s fine, then.” Darenka’s voice turned to him. “You did some stupid shit again. The Storm Goddess is awaiting your response.”

A male voice said, “He doesn’t look fine.”

Erick tried to speak again, but nothing worked. He still couldn’t see—

Poi said, “His eyes are blind. His voice is broken.”

Darenka said, “[Greater Treat Wounds].”

Silver light flickered through his eyeballs, briefly blinding him, but the light died, and sight returned. Erick was on a stone surface in a white room, with his shirt removed. Darenka, the silverscale Head Priestess of the Interfaith Church glared down at him. She wore her usual silver, priestly robes. The doctors, Erick assumed, stood further down, wearing their white robes. There was a person behind him, but Erick couldn’t tell who it was. He couldn’t move. He tried to speak.

Behind him, Poi said, “Your voice should come back.” He said to the others, “He still can’t move.”

“It’ll come back. [Greater Treat Wounds] takes a desert minute.” Darenka said to Erick, “Try [Prestidigitation]. If you can cast that, then you should be good to return home.”

Right now, Erick couldn’t think to cast anything. He felt his mana inside of him, but it was a sluggish, weak thing. But [Prestidigitation] was one of the easiest spells he knew. Erick used it mainly for speaking through Ophiel, so he was well versed in this particular use of the spell.

He cast. Ten mana twisted into the air, leaving Erick like a bee stinging his heart, leaving pins and needles in its wake all across his chest. He conjured, “Oww.”

One of the doctors said, “He’s fine. Minor soul damage. Should heal up in a few days. Until then, no major spellwork. Don’t do whatever you did for at least another month. A week, at the minimum.”

Erick almost laughed, but that hurt, like a casual stomp to his chest from an overeager sparring partner. The doctor’s words were correct, though. He would try not to ever purposefully sing a song like that at the sky again—

He rapidly said, “Don’t tell Jane.” Tingles briefly stretched through his legs and hands.

Ophiel, who had been floating to the side of the room and as tiny as a parakeet, slipped down onto Erick’s bare chest. Erick smiled at the little guy, while everyone else glanced at him, then ignored the [Familiar].

Poi said, “Jane has not been alerted. You’ve only been out for ten minutes. Maybe twelve.”

Darenka reached over and tapped his chest with a glowing finger. Warmth spread across his body. He felt better than before, but only marginally. Good enough to sit up, though. Mostly. Erick struggled to get up while pain and needles spiked off in random parts of his body, but he managed to get partially vertical. He smiled, and sweated, as he sat there, on the edge of the stone surgery table.

Poi had to help him to stay vertical, but that was fine. And oh, hey! There’s Kiri, by the door. Erick smiled at her, and she just looked at him; worried.

Darenka looked at him with a frown. She said, “Normally, I try to leave enthusiastic adventurers to a few days of pain. Reminds people that they’re mortal.” She touched him again with a glowing finger. He felt marginally better, again. She continued, “But I ain’t stupid enough to do that in times like these.” She got up in Erick’s face. Worried eyes bored into him, as she said, “Expect a big bill.”

Erick smiled, feeling the nerves in his body tingle as he did. He spoke, with his actual voice this time, “Suurre-k.” He coughed a little. He managed to speak on his own, but his voice was a ragged mess, “Sure. Thank you.”

Darenka leaned back. She glanced to the doctors, and the two of them quickly exited the room. She turned back to Erick, asking, “So what’d you make? Sininindi is demanding you give that spell to her. She is saying that she will go to war, this time, if you either misuse that magic, or interfere with her people.”

“I had hope-ekK—” Erick coughed again.

Darenka pulsed with thick air.

Whatever was clogging Erick’s throat, vanished. He breathed easier. He said, “Thank you.”

She nodded, waiting.

Erick had hoped that he had proven himself as capable of leaving Sininindi’s interests alone. He had almost said that, too. But he changed his tactic. He asked, “Is Sininindi a good goddess?”

Darenka said, “She’s about as neutral as the rest of ‘em, and as much of a twit when she gets her sails in a twist.” She added, “But Sininindi will sink your ship if you piss her off, and you’re at the edge of the storm, Erick.”

Erick sighed. He spoke to the air, “Dear Sininindi. I ask for your assistance with keeping Candlepoint from going out of control. In exchange, I will cast the spell I made in an appropriate location or two of your choosing, once per year, for as long as friendly relations last. I will also accept gold or whatever, for more castings, as I can fit into my schedule. Or, I will accept your help in making a single artifact of the spell in question, and then deliver it to your people.” He added, “In all cases you are not getting the spell I made. No one is. But it’s already locked to Particle Mage only, and I’m sure you know how difficult that will be for others to acquire.”

A blue prompt appeared.