Brent Stinebaker
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V-42 Dietary (II)
🕑 Added 2025-11-05 18:37:48 +0000 UTCA few things about Fae Skills: They're not always reliable in combat, that's because they don't function like most other skills. Most skills have a specific tier: Adept, Master, all that. It evolves, it becomes more expansive, more focused, more powerful. A Master-Tier physicality skill will allow you to smash through stone, bend metal, all that fun stuff. Real devastating shit. A Fae Skill doesn't conform to any specific thing we know as people. Instead, Fae Skills are a blend of both the Fae themselves and how they relate to the world. It is technically not even their own skill, it is a skill in relation to certain circumstances and variables in the world.
To put this into perspective, consider an apple. Bear with me now. Stick to the idea of an apple, right? You're dealing with a fae whose title and name is the Picker of the Golden Apple. Now, his story is one of hopeless Sisyphean struggle. The Winter Court has damned him, one of its most foolish subjects, to discover a golden apple left over in the twilight of the season. With that being the case, there are no golden apples. In fact, as winter encroaches and the shadows swallow the land, the only things that are left are darkness, ruin, and frost. But he still has to keep finding those apples. And so, the system plays with tension. See, that's what the system wants. It wants you to struggle. And since the fae are its eternally tormented children, the world itself tweaks the balance, allowing there to be just a bit of hope, just a bit of struggle, just the slightest chance of possibility. Again, we go back to that simple word, hope.
Hope and strife fuel the fae.
As this unfortunate apple picker is wandering through the wastes, as more of the blizzards build, and the land is consumed by shadow, as laughing radiance is cut down by Mother Cold and her cruel ways and devoured from within ushering in an aeon and ending to this current cycle that will start the next one in shadow and death. There will be seeds in the ground. Seeds that are frozen but still somehow alive.
Those seeds will respond to the Apple Picker. They will respond because there is the possibility of a fight, because he influences the very nature of strife. And so these seeds, which normally should just freeze and die, will respond. They will flourish. They will shoot new trees out from the ground, breaching the hardened rime and climbing high toward the snow-battered skies.
And as these trees rise up, there will be golden apples. Now will it survive the falling cold? Probably not for long, but the Apple Picker doesn't care about that. The Apple Picker is going to pick that goddamn apple.
And so the situations of the Fae skill will conspire for and against him, because it also doesn't really want him to win. It just wants him to struggle.
And that's ultimately the thing about the Fae. Their skills are not for them, their skills are for strife. In the worst cases, when things are going against them, the closer they are to the point of despair and the more they're on the ropes, the stronger their skills will be. That is the only point of consistency I found. Now that's a very simplified way of viewing things because certain Fae are simply not meant to win physical fights narratively. Some of them are just eternal losers. Hurting them doesn't do anything. However, if you're trying to match wits with them, and you find yourself making feeble points, then one of their skills might trigger. Or against a potential Fae farmer, you might just see your field turn to literal gold because that's their skill — to find the ability to harvest in a time when the land should be barren. And that's why it's worth it. It allows you to change the circumstances of the world. It gives you a final edge paired with your other skills to change the very nature of strife and make it work for you.
-Fairy and the Fairwoods by the Realmrunner
V-42
Dietary (II)
Shiv assumed that bringing in Cullywier to serve as both interpreter and general bullshit-detector was a wise idea.
It didn't take the system long to show him what a damn fool he was for hoping.
“Have you no dignity, wretch! Have you no shame! No loyalty to the Court that shaped you. The King of Fall would wither and be taken by the Fel Taint of Winter if he knew how low you have fallen, how much you have deviated from the grand narrative. Look at you—but a dog on a leash for the patternists. But that must entice you so, wouldn’t it? Enough for you to lust for them and breed with them. Is that what this is? Is that what he is? Another of your breeding-friends.”
The Deathless squinted at the raging toast-knight. “Are you asking him if he’s fucking me?”
“Indeed.” Cullywier suffered the Anointed Knight’s rant without flinching, and only issued a correction to the final statement: “To answer: that is impossible—Shiv, here, is male, and thus lacks the requisite organs to achieve pregnancy.”
“Yeah, well, I got a certain orc I wish you could explain that to,” Shiv muttered to himself.
Bringing out Cullywier proved to be more detriment than boon, as the Anointed One began a brutal diatribe against him almost immediately. Apparently, Cullywier was regarded as the fairy equivalent of a deviant for having a relationship with a human. Even worse, that a child came of that union. Shiv also discovered that the fairies had over a thousand different slur variations for said pattern-dippers who wished to sample the delights of mortal flesh and free will.
"Hey, asshole," Shiv said with a low growl in his voice, "I'm going to give you another minute to spit out all your curses. But you better get them all out because once that's done I'm going to drag you in the cage and hold you there until your face looks like skid marks left by a fast-moving automaton with a wheel-based Reflex evolution racing across pavement.”
Though the Faebread Knight's eyes continued to burn with loathing and his core churning with anger that wasn't directed toward Shiv for once, he fell silent because he knew there was consequence when it came to angering the Deathless. "Why is he here?" the Anointed Knight asked petulantly. "I asked for you. I'm willing to strike an accord with you and no one else. I told this to your lover. I wished to entreat with you alone.”
"My fucking what?" Shiv said.
"Your lover," the Anointed Knight repeated, even louder. "The one with the wings, the one that hid in the shadows like a coward while I was deceived by your challenge and endured unspeakable brutality at your hand—you vile, vile man.”
The Deathless nearly choked. "You mean Adam?"
"Yes. Adam. Is that her name?”
“His. Adam is a guy!”
“Impossible," the Anointed insisted. "I know your human ways. I have learned how to decipher who was male from female. I see her hiding her chest shape underneath that armor. I can tell there are other traits as well, such as her luscious eyelashes, her glowing and wonderful complexion, her long flowing red hair. You cannot hide her true sex from me. I have learned many things watching the chefs.”
Shiv was utterly speechless. Cullywier, meanwhile, seemed like he was trying not to double over from laughter.
"Well… For fuck’s sake—Cullywier is representing me," Shiv said. "He's a fae, and I don't know shit about your people. I don't know what you might pull against me, and I'm going to be prepared. So you're going to be talking to him because if you keep talking to me, I might rationally decide that I'll get more than a little enjoyment folding the cold iron bars around you until it fits you like some fucked-up torture corset."
Suddenly, Cullywier didn’t look like he wanted to laugh anymore.
The Anointed Knight gasped as if he was an outraged maiden of a noble house. "What barbarity! Are all you patternists the same? Are all you little more than brutal apes that take delight in harming others?"
"Yeah, well, I have a bit more mercy and calm in me usually, but the rest of it died when I had to deal with the bodies of all the chefs you killed." Shiv didn’t raise his voice. It was what it was. But the anger was there, it was true, and it wanted to come out. “You got two choices right now. Both of them bad. You can deal with the bastard that’s going to hurt you, or the race-traitor or whatever that fills you with disgust. Up to you.”
The Anointed Knight realized he had overstepped and turned away from Shiv. Between pain and revulsion, the Knight of the Summer Court chose the latter. “Very well. I would like to negotiate my return to the Fairwoods and Summer Court.”
“You would, would you?” Shiv deadpanned with a sneer. “Well, while we’re here, I got a list of things I want too. Starting with having the system fuck off, getting a curse removed, murdering the Ascendants…”
"Legend Shiv, please. It's unbecoming to interrupt," Cullywier said. The Deathless fell quiet, but continued glaring at the Anointed Knight.
"From what your companion claims, you have a means to travel across realms. You have a means to return me home. So now I must beg you. I must beseech you. Help me. Send me back to the Fairwoods. It is where I belong. It is where I must go. He has taught you the consequences of keeping me here, hasn't he? Of how my power will grow. How I will inevitably overcome this burdensome barricade and how I will wreak havoc upon this world and find my way back regardless."
Shiv was about to direct another snide remark at the Anointed Knight, but Cullywier took over in his stead. "This might be arranged. However, it cannot be arranged freely. All things have costs. What are you willing to give to see your role changed here? What are you going to do to go from being a prisoner to a partner in this endeavor?"
The Anointed Knight shook his head. "We will never be partners," he said. He shuddered at the very idea of Shiv. He turned away, refusing to look at him. "For what I have done and for what he has done to me, we must never be together. If a world apart is not enough, worlds apart are not enough. The fact that you exist has shown me that the Patternists and the Samsarists will never be aligned."
"That is not the question I ask," Cullywier continued calmly. "What do you offer?"
The Anointed Knight’s gaze grew distant, and silence lingered for a few seconds. "I know that you must hide yourself from your fellow patternists, that they are hunting you for the reward the system offers. I can see to it that none of the chefs here remember anything about you. I have the means to dissolve their memories, to enchant their minds. More than that, though, I can see those slain returned. With the enchained heart you've taken from me, there are echoes. Imprints of their memories and soul-stuff. With that, I can mold replicas of them, fractured pieces that resemble the greater whole, at least for a while."
Shiv stared at the Anointed One briefly. "So what's the deal there?"
"The deal there?" Cullywier answered on his behalf. "It is that they will be made from bread, and that will be obvious for all to see."
"Bread People," Shiv choked out. "You are offering to replace the chef you killed with fucking bread people?"
"And they are not simply bread people. They are fully functioning awakened fae pawns molded from the wonders of foodstuff. They will dance and move to their own whim, or so they think. This power will allow them to operate somewhat autonomously, and their stranger nature can be hidden through higher quality ingredients. There are still customers waiting outside, are there not? Will they not come seeking answers about why their food has been so delayed soon? And can you stay here indefinitely?”
"Your solution is to draw out the lingering echoes of their mind and soul from this heart." Shiv pulled the chained heart from his cape out from his cape. It glowed like a brilliant gem in a land of eternal midnight. The kitchen was bathed in blossoming hues of red. “And use it to shape and power a group of bread constructs. Sounds like I’m just letting you win this way. Who knows what you might do—how many crumbs you might stuff into someone.”
The Deathless's left eye twitched.
"Now, now, Deathless, calm yourself. Let him finish," Cullywier said.
Shiv really wanted to continue arguing, but he held himself back. He decided to listen to Cullywier just this once.
The Anointed Knight carried on, "You will let me do this for you. See, I will not be the one who wields this power. Instead, I will loan this power to you, a fragment of my skill, an expression of my soul for yours to wield and your will to retain, should you prove truthful on your end of the bargain."
Against all odds, the Anointed Knight had captured Shiv's curiosity. This wasn't just a desperate ploy if the Fae was being truthful. He was offering Shiv one of his skills, and a Fae Skill was... well, Shiv didn't know anything about Fae Skills, and neither did Adam for that matter. “What the hell does this skill do anyway? Does it just let you infuse bread with life?'
"Not just bread, but all food," the Anointed Knight declared. "It allows you to compel food to awaken to enact your bidding after you grant it a period of existence. But only if the foodstuff is fresh—for when it spoils, the lifeforce empowering it will flee back to the source—back to the embrace of the system?”
Shiv blinked. "Is that how you summoned all those food pawns? Is that how you filled us full of crumbs and created the teleportation inside of us? The portals that you used to rip us open? You were using the vitality? And the system."
"No. That was another skill," the bread knight said. "One that will not directly impact your ability for food items to awaken. You have no idea what I offer you. You have no idea how much this hurts me, how much I despise losing this gift to you. But I am willing to take this wound if you are willing to promise me my safe return to my homeland. And… You said you were cursed.”
Something shivered inside Shiv.
Sage of the Enkindled Heart: Don’t do anything yet. The fear chain is right there. You can hurt him at any moment. But let him finish, and then react.
“Yeah,” Shiv grunted.
“The curse affects everything made by your hands, does it not?” the Anointed asked.
Shiv nodded.
“Then imagine if you could command food to prepare itself. I cannot mend a curse inflicted upon you by a divine being, but I can give you another means of stepping around.”
With that, Shiv realized he wasn’t just dealing with an absurd piece of bread that thought he was a knight. Despite being confused about Adam’s sex, he knew quite a bit about humans—and knew how to approach Shiv psychologically as well. This was the only weakness he found in the Deathless, and he latched on.
Sage of the Enkindled Heart: Hope can be a most tempting poison. Be wary.
"Is there anything questionable about this?" Shiv asked Cullywier.
The large-eyed fae eyed his counterpart and let out a long breath. "Depends on what you mean by questionable."
"I mean, is there anything there he can use to screw me?"
"I swear upon my honor—" the Anointed Knight declared.
Shiv cut him off. "I don't give a shit about your honor. You butchered a bunch of my people. Mine. Now understand that you have a cycle to adhere to, that you have to get back and get eaten by some princess, otherwise the Winter Court will win, and the Summer Court will suffer."
Shiv walked up to the cage and glared down at his adversary. The fear chain fed Shiv far more power than he expected. His shape of monstrosity triggered on a level unmatched. This Anointed Knight was terrified at him, traumatized. He refused to look up at Shiv, he pretended he wasn't there, but still even as he looked down the shadow of the Deathless fell and it fell hard, pressing upon the terrified fae like a falling mountain.
Shiv spent a few minutes longer glaring down at his trapped prisoner, then he looked back to Cullywier. "So? Anything he could use to screw me?"
"Not in the sense you are thinking," Cullywier declared. "It's quite simple. When you hold the Fae's skill, it is also a sign that you hold power over the fae. A skill can be lost, it can be damaged. Though we return every cycle, it does not mean our power or indeed our spirit returns whole. We change constantly, too. We take things from each other, we diminish each other. For him to risk his skill means that he risks his anointment, for skills are even harder to gain and hold for one of our kind.”
"All right, so a show of true faith then," Shiv snorted. "Look at what it took to get it." The Anointed Knight, who had wisely fallen silent.
Sage of the Enkindled Heart: From what Cullywier has said, and from what you know of the Fae, you have the absolute advantage in this situation. The Anointed Knight is desperate, but you still want revenge for the chefs, and to sate your own violent impulses. The latter doesn't matter that much, but you're still driven to inflict something upon him. It doesn't feel right if he just gets away, if he simply returns home.
But what the hell is right anymore? Shiv asked himself. The Fae can't die, not really by our hands anyway. I could break his skill, but...
Sage of the Enkindled Heart: But you wish to use it. You wish to know how it works. And if it's truly powerful, you wish to keep it for yourself. Maybe that can be your revenge. Or, it is likely your greed. Never forget this, Shiv: you are greedy, you are immensely failable because you want power. And that is another method of compromising you.
"Alright, shit," Shiv muttered to himself. He reached out and bent the bars of the mangled cage. With a groan, the middle gave before the Deathless's overwhelming strength, and the Anointed shuffled back. The pastry station was still a mess of sludge and splattered toppings. The Anointed Knight crawled atop the table. His body was too big for it, and he knocked several things over. He nearly slipped off a particularly dense clump of mangled yeast, but Shiv caught him before he fell. The knight flinched. Shiv didn't do anything to hurt his adversary. Instead, he offered the enchained heart back to its former owner.
"Show me your skill, then we can talk."
And with that, the atmosphere within the kitchen changed. A frantic energy intruded, arriving like static in the air. The Faebred Knight moved like a terrified child, expecting to be struck by an abusive parent at any moment. Shiv took a few steps back but kept a close eye on his prisoner. Even though the fae supposedly couldn't lie, and this one was utterly cowed by him, he wasn't going to be caught by surprise. It'd been enough battles and faced enough tricky adversaries to know that the advantage could be lost at a moment's notice with a single slip of one's attention.
"I have another request," the Anointed Knight said. His voice was quiet, and he was worried Shiv would reject him outright. The Deathless nodded, giving his assent. "I need ingredients. Dough and pastries. Or fresh meat. Anything fresh. But I prefer… something of my own nature. It will let me guide you better when I bestow my Anointment upon you.”
Shiv paused. He gestured toward the messy slop around the Anointed One. “You’re sitting on your own nature?”
"That won't do," the Fae Knight said. A hint of annoyance crept into his voice. Then he remembered who he was talking to and he shrank. "That won't do, it's already been expended. This… this does not want to be awoken; it doesn't want to be shaped into a vessel for another. I was not being metaphorical when I asked for fresh bread. The fresher the better.”
Shiv glared, but inside, it was all he could do to hold himself back from sprinting for the pantry. After another tense second, Shiv turned away and began his march. He gave Cullywier a brief look. "If he tries to do anything, you come to me. And you," Shiv said, looking over his shoulder. He briefly tugged on his fear chain and saw how the Anointed Knight went stiff with terror. "Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back."
***
"So, how did it go?" Adam asked.
"I'm about to get that idiot some dough," Shiv said as he marched through the pantry. "Also, get ready to pull out those spider eggs."
"Spider? Oh, for the composer, you mean," Adam said. "I looked over the chefs as well. They're mostly fine, but they're incredibly..."
"Felling traumatized?" Shiv finished for him.
"Yes, but I was going to say it in more polite terms."
"There's no more polite terms than suffering a mental break while your friends die around you in a bread cocoon," Shiv shook his head. "We'll figure out what to do with them soon, but right now I'm about to see how a Fae Skill works."
"A Fae Skill," Adam said, blinking. “What?”
"Yeah, feel free to come along to see me infuse life and other shit into a piece of fresh food. Fuck, Adam, I think the Anointed might have a way to get at me. He’s telling me I can get food to cook itself after I wake it up… That’s the main thing—the main godsdamned reason I’m doing this. I can’t even deny—well, I don’t wanna lie about it. I need to find some dough first…”
"Dough! Dough! Dough!" Some of the terrified chefs cried out. Michael Bernstein's face was paler than a sheet. The young commis stared at Shiv from behind the flapping tarp of the skin tent.
Shiv cringed as his own flayed faces swayed around the horrified survivors. "No, no, I said though. Though! Adam, let's do this bread search quickly. Maybe I’ll use my Creeping Void.”
"That sounds like a good idea," Adam agreed.
***
A few moments later, they created a few dimensional pathways to carry a good hundred weave-spider eggs across. At the same time, Shiv located where they had the bread and dessert ingredients hidden. It took Shiv little effort to rip open the vault's doors. It burst apart beneath his Shapeless Tides like plastic succumbing to the blow of a descending hammer. Bits of shrapnel filled the air, and with that, Shiv stepped in.
A few minutes later, he walked away, several hundred kilograms heavier, for he gathered all the dough, wheat, and sugary delights he could to see just how potent this new skill would be.
When he returned to the Anointed One, he found a most peculiar sight: the enchained heart was hovering in front of the anointed, and as it radiated with the brilliant glow of vitality, Shiv saw the faint outline of Velly and Nornsong. Bowden, however, was missing, and the Deathless had a good guess as to why. Didn't really get that one, did you? Shiv thought to himself. A Necrotech. Took me by surprise. You probably don't even know why he's missing.
"Where am I?" Velly called out. He seemed to be adrift somewhere, floating deep in a place that was so close to reality yet so far. Shiv reminded himself this wasn't the original. Just an echo. Just a paltry splinter of the Pathbearer who once was.
The Shiv's encounter with the lizard head chef of Monster Mystery Meat was brief. But that was the way of life. One moment you were here, the next moment you encountered an unknown system favored, and your own folly came to bite you in the neck.
"Meursa, Meursa," Nornsong cried. She sounded sorrowful. She sounded desperate to escape. But as she groped blindly, her lithe fingers touching nothing at all, she continued to be lost.
"They have been called. What little of them I can retain. You drew away some of their essence earlier when you had to restore yourself." The Anointed Knight's eyes were blazing white-hot. It was like summer itself was being channeled from within his being. "Did you bring the dough?"
Shiv reached into his cape and threw out a massive, white slab of unshaped breadstuff. "Yeah. All you can need, and plenty of it.” Shiv said.
"Good, very good." Then come close. The Anointed sounded reluctant when he said those words. "Please."
Shiv did so, and Adam looked on from behind. His eyebrows were raised as if to tell Shiv that if the Anointed decided to do anything stupid, the first thing that would happen would be a veil piercer would find its way into his throat.
As Shiv stood across from the Anointed Knight. The fae rose behind the bars. He still refused to look Shiv in the eyes, but this time he used his upper right arm to rip into his chest. There were chasms left there, holes where the faces of trapped chefs used to be. He reached deeper into himself, and Shiv saw a churning aura flicker around the Anointed Knight's being. He was doing something to his own vitality—
Then suddenly, with a vicious tug, something broke free from inside the anointed night. It glowed bright, a thing of resplendence. The mana it exuded was festering and orange, the same kind that filled Shiv's soul and various magical fields with bread tumors.
For a moment, the Deathless expected an attack. Something akin to a last ditch effort on the anointed night's part to bring him down. Yet instead of casting the mana at Shiv, he saw what looked to be a curved symbol arcing around itself, split down the middle by the shape of a long baguette.
"The hells?" Shiv breathed.
"This," the Anointed Knight gasped. Pain escaped his every breath. "Is the shape of my skill. This is a splinter of my soul bestowed upon me by the Princess Plum Blossom. This is the core of my Anointment. Lord Commander of the Slumbering Uneaten."
The dismembered skill floated through the air and hovered before Shiv. The Deathless had to stop himself from taking a step backward. It was bright, and the orange mana that once rippled free of it was now staining the shape of the skill deep. Its edges and details looked like a scar on the surface of existence. And it reminded Shiv of how the world might rupture. But this wasn't nearly as messy. No, this was like someone had carved a deliberate wound into the very fabric of the world. Slowly he reached out to take it.
"Shiv," Adam said, his voice high with caution.
But the Deathless wasn't so worried. Instead, he was entranced. This... Was this the way every skill looked pulled free of someone’s soul?
He wrapped a hand around the Lord Commander of the Slumbering Uneaten, and it combusted in a flaring of orange mana. As soon as he clutched it, it flowed into him, it seared itself upon his palm like a brand. The Deathless didn't hiss; there was no pain, no wound. Instead, however, it glowed bright and became a series of sigils along the back of his hand.
Shiv stared at it, and just then a new notification appeared in his vision:
Skill Bestowed: Lord Commander of the Slumbering Uneaten (Narrative)
At the same time, parts of the knight crumbled away. Two of its arms crashed out, and some of its plate armor disintegrated, turning to dust in the wind. What emerged thereafter from the wreckage of his old body was a smaller version of the Fae Knight. Instead of seeming like a creature shaped from toast and aesthetically resembling someone wearing the heavy set of plate, he now seemed an old-fashioned foot-soldier.
His head was now protected by a kettle helmet, and he wore a bent gambeson and a heavy set of greaves rather than a full regalia plate. He had been lessened, his power had been reduced, and now Shiv wielded that skill which anointed him.
"Do you see now?" the bread knight said, unable to hide his bitterness. "Do you see the truth in my words now? Have I demonstrated enough resolve? Have I proven enough of my worthiness?"
The Deathless cocked his head. "Yeah, I think we're getting there. But how does this work?"
"Reach out! Reach out to the ghosts that remain! Touch them first! This is not something that can awaken the food on its own. Instead, there needs to be a sense of inspiration, a source of mind and soul."
And so Shiv did. He extended a hand toward the remains of Nornsong and Velly. Immediately, he felt them. Something that he could shape. It was like running his hand through a flowing stream. But as he tightened his grip. It suddenly felt like he was holding on to a silken mess of hair.
As he pulled, the life force and mental fragments composing both of the fallen Pathbearers surged into his palm, and suddenly a weight tremored inside Shiv's right arm, a weight that yearned to be released. He heard the cries of both Nornsong and Velly echo within him, they were confused, they were terrified, and Shiv hated the fact that they were trapped inside of him.
And so he unleashed them: A beam of blinding, ruby-red, outlined with a faint trail of translucence, speared into the massive mound of dough Shiv had dropped before him. And just then, the Deathless felt himself sinking, felt part of his own mind, his own soul descend along with the beam. Descend and plunge deep into the dough before him.
And for the first time, Shiv knew what it felt like to be one with and give life to the food he prepared…
Comments
Akida Soto
I wonder if this counts as Golemancy
Broseph
I'm skeptical that evolving a fae skill is possible. They are intrinsic to a narrative, so evolving them would mean introducing a new element to the story the fae's mired in. At least, it would probably be a bit more complicated then a typical skill fusion.
Kyler
Makes me wonder what would happen if he triggered the chef unwavering evolution the same time the far skill triggered for "evolution". Seeing as it doesn't have a rank other than narrative, for this to happen he'd have to be in the kitchen breathing life into the food while using chef unwavering, and have an audience or story unfurl from him making good food or something if that sort?
