Legend of the Spellthief

Logan was galloping along atop Carmen, Marcus strewn across his own horse as they followed behind by their reins. Blood began to dry across the Spellthief’s face and clothing, his hands dyed red from a hair-distance death experience. Dragging a vial from his inventory, Logan found his body to be stiffer than usual with the added scar near his right shoulder.

A stiff rotation of his arm led to him downing a healing potion in preparation for a bastard monster or a dastard traitor. The cool liquid brought down his boiling interior, a mess of emotions and adrenaline combined with the demonic power that had run through his veins some time prior. Checking his health he saw the daunting negative fifty being applied to his maximum from Bloodcasting.

The array of bonuses to his attributes and the ability to trade health for spells spoke a lot for the power of taking the demonic steps. Even taking the first of thirteen steps on the staircase to full demonhood gave a boost most would kill for, vampires, in essence, killed themselves to start at the third stage. Outside of the boost in power Logan didn’t feel much different, hopefully, there would be no further repercussions to his actions.

Seeing the outcome of his escape quest lining up with the others he had heard about, Logan counted his blessing that he was still alive after attempting it. His group wasn’t any weaker than the others though, he had well over the average in terms of levels. Was the portal quest just a death trap in that case? An exciting scene for the deities that were playing games with the players’ lives.

Checking his quest log, Logan saw his latest quest was still there for another attempt, though with the additional objective of having no ally die crossed out. “Who’s even going to bother taking that place on with so many groups failing? It might just end with the monarchy sorting it out”, Logan thought to himself.

Logan’s head was a hazy mess, the screaming a distant echo at the back of his head which made him feel as if it was still going on. The nighttime brought with it a horrific atmosphere, as if ghosts followed his pace. Placing Marcus’s corpse against a tree Logan threw himself beside his friend.

“Why’d you have to stick with me? You’d be breathing and chatting if you had left when I told you. Vokka’s name enticed you, and my hands signed your death certificate”, he spoke softly as he looked to his side between staring at the floor.

Raising up his knee to wrap his hands around he continued, “I can bring you back, just need to get back to Gauntlet… If they accept loans, I can give up collateral. My failures should not have you cash the cheques that death demands.”

Looking in the direction they had just come from Logan imagined the fleeing horses he had freed before starting his return journey. “If they do bring you back, I fear you’ll say something that absolves me. It wasn’t my fault, right?” Logan started as he looked back at Marcus, “Out of my hands, my control, I couldn’t predict it. Sounds like you alright. Can do no wrong.”

Rolling up a sleeve the Spellthief inspected a large bruise on his left arm, “I guess this is all that’s left of Kreya. A scar and a bruise, if I heal them away, that’s all of her gone. Anyone else would say it’s a great outcome. You think the hall will inform her family? I feel it’s only right I go tell Cassius about his guildies.”

Opening up his party menu to see the fading images of his now-dead companions he gritted his teeth, “They might not even be real. Hell, if they died won’t they go to their own heavens? If a deity brought me from my world in a fashion that would kill anyone else, why not save them and send them elsewhere? Right? Fuck, if the deities here are real, they are fine. I didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not on me”, Logan reconciled half-assedly.

The night passed as Logan ran through the encounter in his head over and over, the faces of his fallen allies flashing in his mind’s eye and their cries deafening him to the leaves rustling in the wind. His eyes finally fell and took him to sleep.

Logan’s eyelids began to flutter as he was slowly exiting his rest. “Logan!” a female voice shouted at the Spellthief, his eyes darting open to the blinding light of the morning.

Looking around as he dashed to his feet Logan was unable to see who had called out to him, clicking his fingers continued to detail he was alone if not for normal animals. Rubbing his eyes with his hands caused them to sting from the imprinting of blood, resorting to using his Clean mick to wash himself of the previous day.

Even though they were now sparkling white, Logan couldn’t help but feel his hands were rough and covered in muck. Compulsively rubbing them on his clothing as if he were coming out of a restroom he went about his morning routine. Summoning up Celsius and Spark after their deaths in the cavern.

Celsius stretched out wide as his flames exploded into life, “Ah! A good morning, bit chilly. How’d our fight”, he began to speak but stopped as he saw Marcus’s motionless body, “Oh…”

Spark, sparked, into life with his electric jolts before bowing to Logan, “I am glad to find myself in your presence, Sir. I apologise for my poor showing in that last encounter.”

Sighing loudly Logan addressed his companions, “I’d rather not go into what happened. I just need MP to teleport back to Gauntlet.”

The elementals accepted Logan’s request, partially because they were parts of his personality and understood him better than most, and also because the corpse of Marcus created a mood that really didn’t need a needle to burst it.

Absorbing and transferring 12 MP, Logan dismissed his summons and mounted the horses yet again. This teleport was a bit more close-knit due to having to touch Marcus and his horse for the teleport, rather than Marcus placing a hand on Logan’s shoulder. Utilizing his monocular, Logan teleported 12 miles at a time and used up ten Dimensional Jaunts to cover over 100 miles.

With the combined efforts of magic and horsepower, Logan and Marcus arrived back at Gauntlet in impeccable timing.

The guards at the gate began to wave at Logan who knew him through his previous quests but also as an acquaintance of Marcus, though their attitudes changed harshly as they saw him pass by with a dead Marcus jostling around atop his horse.

With a final teleport, thanks to absorbing more spells than usual from his summons, Logan and Marcus appeared outside of a large church dedicated to Pondress. A large set of half yellow and half blue orbs were depicted on the huge wooden doors that were reinforced with metal.

Logan was piggybacking Marcus, his friend’s head laying low on his shoulder. Opening the door wide so that it didn’t hit him in the wind, Logan entered into the main hall of the church. A loud choir was heard further within as Logan looked around to find any form of directions to the revival area. Thankfully, next to the door was a Devout greeter.

“Welcome warrior, are you here for burial or revival?” the man asked with an understanding tone, even with a seemingly harsh topic.

“Revival, please”, Logan replied as he picked Marcus up on his back as he was slipping.

The devout picked up a long wooden ladle from a nearby fountain pedestal, flicking water over each of Logan’s shoulders. “Be it from mortal or demon, may your spark be reignited”, the man recited as he flicked the water. “Please, this way”, he continued as he placed the ladle back into the fountain and waved his hand to a nearby door.

Logan followed without question, his senses burning somewhat from the liquid that had soaked into his and Marcus’s clothing. It had a strong smell of burnt wood and lime zest.

The Devout pulled on a metal knocker, unlocking the door and leading Logan through a stone hallway. The walls were designed as large archways, allowing the bypassers to look over into a nearby garden that the other Devouts were tending to.

“Do you accept loans?” Logan asked pensively to the back of the Devout.

Without turning around the man replied, “We do, if you can offer up services or items equaling the cost. You can then pay in instalments to recover your left items or pay the difference.”

“I have some rings totalling the price of a twenty-four-hour revival”, Logan replied, thinking about his Dimensional Jaunt rings.

“Let us pray you were hasty in your travel here.”

The pair eventually reached another large door, this one was made of pristine marble that had carvings of waving lines that crossed into endless eights. Logan identified this as a depiction of spellforce, the concept of transmuting and transporting the energies of the world and the self.

Knocking with a single knuckle on several parts of the door had it light up a bright yellow, opening on its own to the Devout. Walking inside with Logan close behind the pair found themselves in a large room, a ceiling that went to 50’ and the walls covered in statues of the different ones from above. In the centre of the room was a large marble slab table.

Waving his hand over the slab the Devout spoke, “Place the revival recipient here, please.”

Logan did as he was told, making sure to softly land Marcus’s head on the slab. As he did so the Devout who had led him here rang a bell that echoed in the chamber and out the door, most likely alerting others to the ordeal.

“Please sign on this document and produce the items in question for collateral”, the man instructed as he handed Logan a piece of parchment and quill.

Glancing over the document revealed it to have no real hostile intention, a common contract that obligated Logan to pay 10 gold within 1 month, or have the debt increase by 10% per month afterwards.

Logan took off two of his Dimensional Jaunt rings and showed them to the man, he nodded in agreement and waved his hands over Marcus’s corpse. He confirmed that it would be a first-stage revival and the rings were acceptable. Logan signed the contract, the parchment splitting into two copies as he had finished, one yellow that the Devout kept and one blue that Logan kept.

“Revivals are a weighty experience. It will take a day before you can see your ally. Might you return tomorrow evening to see his progress?”

Logan’s answer was interrupted by the shovelling of feet and the flapping of cloaks from other Devouts entering the room. “Thank you. I suppose I will come back then”, he said as he viewed the others enter.

Leaving the revival chamber and the church in total, Logan had returned to the city streets, a young day in his hands but with a vacant mind on what to fill it with. People were going about their daily lives, while he had barely survived a massacre a bare day earlier. Hitting his back against the wall of the church, Logan slid to the floor.

Logan’s body continued to throb from the battering, piercing, and sacrificing he had partaken in with the previous day. His max health was still reduced by 40 due to the Bloodcasting, and even with its appearance being his salvation the Spellthief still thought about how he could have approached the battle.

Dimensional Jaunt could have been used aggressively to allow him to use Flame Grasp, dealing heavier damage to bring the yetis down quicker. Melee combat hardly worked well against stronger foes or even equal footing who were versed in fighting spellcasters. Speed was key to finishing a fight before MP and HP were the prices paid for safety. But then it could have led to his death instead of the others if he were caught without an escape.

Mentally commanding his system to bring up his quest menu Logan saw the debt added to his list, 10 gold in 30 days. Another timer hovered next to his quest that noted the time he could see Marcus alive again.

“It’s his fault”, a male voice called out.

Logan snapped out of his concentration as he swore voices were swirling in his head yet again, but as he looked around he saw a familiar face.

“Logan, I knew it was you. This is the lad whose fault it is our coffers are overflowing. How the below are ya lad!” a cheery merchant spoke, one of those that Logan had met when he brought back the stolen goods from the bandit cave.

Standing up he could see the merchant was walking with a younger man whose hands were grasping onto parchment and quill, most likely taking notes as he looked like some sort of intern or understudy.

“Hello again, business is good I take it?” Logan replied as he tried to hide his current state.

“Absolutely brilliant good sir. You know, a guild had a taste of some of the rations we served up, after you retrieved them, and they signed up a contract for one of their expeditions. Jubilus days, I’ve had to increase my workforce with the new orders”, the merchant continued, pointing to the man next to him, “This here is my new secretary.”

“On the up and up then, glad I could help.”

“I will say, sir, anytime you complete a hunt you help a handful of hands. I was forewarned of notes on my caravans by one of your hunts and since I changed up dates and times I’ve had no such worries since.”

“Then I guess I won’t be helping you any further with that spring of luck.”

“Who knows, I’ve heard things here and there. With this cold snap heading on through I wager I’ll be tasked with aiding food supplies due to the stunted farms.”

“Ah, yes. Speaking of the cold snap, I need to be somewhere.”

“Don’t let me hold you, sir”, the man replied as he looked at his worker, “Come along now, son.”

The pair walked off as Logan waved them goodbye, a breath of joy washed over Logan as his previous deeds were still helping people past the initial aid. Rubbing his hands across his face Logan felt the tinge of roughness in his chest yet again. Feeling over his new wound he found it was quite a large circular patch of scar tissue, messing with his range of movement.

Rotating his arm as if he was preparing to pitch a baseball, Logan moved away from the church. If only he had any teleportations left for the day he could avoid the gazes of the adventurers he passed or those who wanted to knock around a caster due to past prejudices.

A few of said antagonisers did approach Logan but a quick step and even quicker response of, “No”, allowed him a reprieve from those who just wanted a quick coin or boost to their egos.

Finally reaching the Lightbeam guild house Logan gave a few solid knocks on its front door, the oorans in the windows above spreading their wings and cawing at the noise.

Debrek answered the door within a few seconds, his post was right next to it so it wouldn’t haven’t taken long unless he was deeper in the building. Opening the door the attendant took on a smile as he remembered the Spellthief, “Logan, good to see you again. Are you here to sign up?”

“No actually, I was wondering if I could talk to Cassius. Is he in?” Logan said as he looked off to the side of the street.

Opening the door wider Debrek answered, “Sorry, both Cassius and our second in command are off on a guild raid northwards. Aiding in another guild’s mission. Dreadful opportunities lately.”

Trying to butt his way into the explanation Logan spoke, “So is the guild house empty?”

“We have a couple of members here out of work. No one of any authority. What do you wish to discuss?” Debrek replied as he rubbed his chin.

“I need”, Logan started as he rubbed his hands on his sides subconsciously, as if trying to remove the blood that wasn’t there, “to inform someone of some deaths of your guildies.”

Debrek stood frozen for a few seconds before breaking his still image, “I see. Please, come inside.”

With the door wide open and the attendant at the side, Logan walked into the house, Debrek closing the door behind him. The attendant moved to the bar area and pulled out a large book, flipping through its page he also pulled to the side a piece of yellowed parchment.

“I take it you were unable to bring their bodies back with you”, the attendant asked formally as if he were trying to keep personal feelings out of the equation.

“No. They… were either torn in half or eaten…” Logan responded as he looked to the floor, bloodied blurry images in his mind.

Debrek made a claw with his right hand and placed it over his chest near his heart, “May the Sire of the Forest find a place for you in his forest”, he prayed with his head tilted down.

“You think they moved onto the next life?” Logan asked as if to justify his earlier thoughts.

“It”, Debrek started as he took a short break to look to the side, “is a debatable concept. None who have permanently died and saw that seat in the Above or the Below has contacted us. Many have faith, but many also believe that death is a finality.”

“What about the seers? The casters who can make portals to far-off places or other planes?!”

“I have heard nothing from those, nor is it a word amongst the masses.”

Logan slumped his shoulders as his thoughts shifted between the idea of a paradise awaiting his fellows to the possible fact that they no longer exist. His fists balled up as his forearms tensed in anger.

“Sir? Are you ok?” Debrek asked as he looked at the solemn Spellthief.

“Yeah. Just… let me know when Cassius is back, would you? I am staying at the Meek Moat Inn.”

“The hunter’s inn? I know of it. I shall send word on their return.”

Logan gave a quick nod and left the guild, he didn’t want to spend any more time in that place, all it did was remind him of the people he had lost. Compounding his thoughts with the words of a native, Logan’s emotions swirled into accepting the deaths of his comrades and letting his anger overflow.

His body trembled against the shut door of Lightbeam, his cooling blood an irritation that pushed him close to madness. Rubbing his hands across his jacket to remove the stains that weren’t there painted him to be a twitchy fellow to the passing adventurers.

Pushing off from the doors, Logan started the long walk back to the inn. Without any teleportations left in the day he had to harbour his anger a little while longer before he could let it out behind walls.

Keeping to the side of the path to avoid the main foot traffic Logan was able to hasten his return, though trodding through muddy pools and manoeuvring around the shifting entrances of buildings. Eventually taking an alleyway to avoid the main path, Logan avoided the more common duelling and match areas of the adventurer district.

His detour brought with it a different soundscape, full of creaking wood, sloshing of water from buckets tossed from the higher windows, and the punching of flesh. But the last one was not a welcome sound, Logan turned his head to see a band of ruffians roughing up a robed individual, their blue robe sullied by brown mud and red blood.

Logan tightened his own fists and gritted his teeth as he moved to intercept the bully session.

--- *** ---

I am Logan.