Ar'Kendrithyst

Erick collapsed in his chair in the library, emotionally drained.

His mere participation in a very necessary criminal proceeding resulted in people getting out from a dangerous situation. He had no idea what their situation was, exactly, for the problem was between humans and incani, and it was either some complicated Quiet War bullshit, or some uncomplicated hatred. But Erick had rescued people from kidnappers; at least that much was true, wasn’t it?

… He would find out more from Teressa, when she got back, and if she didn’t know any more about whatever had happened to those people, or if she couldn’t say, then he would drop it, then and there.

And another thing! He honestly had no reason to mistrust Merit as much as he did; the woman had undoubtedly saved his life with her patrols around the district, and she definitely saved his life all the other times she worked in the background, making Spur a safer place for people like him.

And then there was the development of him having a ‘vote’ on allowing nobility into Spur. And he was part of the ‘ruling class’, according to Apogee. And he could control the weather and was apparently a ‘Hero of Veird’, according to his possible Abilities. He was already an ‘archmage’...

Erick wasn’t quite comfortable having this level of political power, or this much influence in city events, or any of that. Sure, he had the freedom to do whatever he wanted, but all this power also made life and the decisions he made much more complicated.

But he didn’t want to become a hermit...

Erick leaned back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling for a long time, as he listened to Ophiel chirp and sing in quiet violin sounds on his perch.

Was this the life he wanted? Or did he want something simpler? What ever happened to raining on the Farms and playing with magic?

Oh. Right. Shades happened.

Erick closed his eyes. He breathed. He relaxed. And then he opened his eyes and kept on keeping on, just like the song.

Mog’s rock was still in his pocket. He fished it out, sat up, and began experimenting with [Strike]. First, he tapped the rock with this thumb, normally. Nothing overt happened; he just tapped his finger against the alchemical iron and felt its weight in his hand.

He tapped the rock with a [Strike], and noticed a disconnect, somewhere between the thought, the action, and the effect. A weirdness, unlike he had ever felt before in his magic. But this wasn’t magic, was it? This was a Health-fueled skill.

[Strike] happened a fraction of a second before his thumb touched the stone, causing his finger to lurch toward the rock, like a sped-up video, jamming his thumb in a way that probably would have caused him pain; his [Personal Ward] flashed, the tiniest bit of white light. When the [Strike] was over, Erick pulled his thumb away from the stone. A small dent was there, but it was so small that maybe Erick just hadn’t noticed it before now.

He briefly checked his Status; his Health was still full. He had spent some HP to [Strike] the stone, but it had already regenerated. He struck the stone again, trying to get his timing down better.

Twenty [Strike]s later, he had figured out some of the skill.

[Strike] worked better when you were already on track to hit properly, when the usage of the skill was more like a part of the flow, instead of as a last second course correction, or an impetus to action. It could definitely act like a last second correction, though. The skill could even take hold of Erick’s thumb to hit the rock when Erick held his thumb back, but was ready to [Strike] if needed. Both of those methods of [Strike] seemed inferior to [Strike]ing correctly in the first place, and letting the skill empower your motion.

When he held his thumb back, and was not even looking to [Strike] anything at all, using the skill did nothing except make him a little more awake, and aware. Not aware of anything in particular, much to Erick’s chagrin, but more like an awareness borne of too much caffeine, and no need for that caffeine; an undirected desire for some unknowable direction, that would never come.

It was a strange experience.

The next experiment was channeling Health through [Strike]. Erick held his palm upward, like he usually did, and admitted to himself that this part gave him a bit of apprehension.

In all his other experience of channeling Health through anything, be it [Silent Movement] or [Perfect Hearing], the channeling of the skill brought nothing but static, or worse, to the parts of the body used in that skill. When Erick channeled Health through [Perfect Hearing], his ears filled with noise. Health channeled through [Ultrasight] brought static to his sight. Channeling through [Swift Movement] brought his body to a state of twitchy, explosive movement. [Silent Movement] caused his body to just plain stop, including his breathing, so he didn’t experiment with that one, much.

Channeling Health through [Strike] was an undirected, feeling-out-the-world in terms of ‘can I break this, or not’. It did not channel through his open palm. [Strike] channeled through his perception of the world.

Erick cut the skill. He took a look around him. Nothing had changed. He was still in the library, with the shelves of books and the comfy chairs and the overhead lights for easy reading, but it seemed different. Like he was feeling a memory violence in his sight, but not at all.

Erick channeled through [Strike], again. Once again, the skill did not come through his hand, though he had tried it that way; the skill came through his entire body.

He stopped. “That’s fucking weird.”

He channeled again.

Same weirdness. Same drive to action, but without an outlet. So he tried an experiment. He held the rock in one hand, and hovered his other hand over the rock, and instead of channeling the skill like he normally channeled through his palm, he pretended his hand was the ‘weapon’ and channeled through his rigidly held pointer and middle finger.

His paired fingertips fizzled with white light, and then the channeling was out of his control. The skill activated, without his desire to activate. His fingers struck the rock, as his entire mind filled with the need to injure. He blanked as the [Strike] finished. Everything seemed to turn calm, and happy. Like a dam had released, or a weight dropped to the floor. Or post-orgasm.

Erick laughed, and then continued to play with [Strike] until it was leveled.