C. Sebastian Nutt
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Chapter 222 - Fishing
🕑 Added 2025-09-04 05:26:23 +0000 UTC“How is this possible?”
I stare down at the device on my laboratory table, my newest addition. It is similar to the one the dwarven man flouted to me less than two hours ago, only cheaper. The information from the probe, a copper wand that I had to hold on the infused copper in front of me, was conveyed in two dials. One displayed the maximum capacity for the medium the probe touched, and the other displayed a numerical value for the most prevalent mana source in the medium. The instrument is a bit crude, due to its cheapness, and wouldn’t help at all for the more advanced forms of enchantment where different types of mana had to work in concert to achieve an effect. For testing the purity of a single mana source, however, it was sufficient.
Ninety-two percent. My fire affix is just ninety-two percent pure. How can that even be possible? Either mana was affixed or it wasn’t, as far as I knew, at least when it came to the kinds of magic that a magician produced directly from their soul affixes. Over the past few months, I had planned to increase the strength of my affixes ahead of pushing toward the third rank, which is what everyone said to do. Now I was beginning to understand that the increase in affix might have something to do with purity.
Even with the incredible frustration that fills me, I set the probe back safely in its housing. No use breaking a device I just purchased because I find a setback. A stack of six books sits on the table next to the probe, texts on the more advanced mechanics of enchantment. Three of the texts are devoted entirely to the crafting of armor, weapons, and accessories that are used by adventurers and magicians; it is the course I have decided to dedicate the majority of my studies to. I grab the first, immediately skipping to the index at the back, searching for any mention of mana purity.
“Galea,” I say as I scan the book.
“Yes, Mistress?” the spirit asks, forming for a moment on my shoulder.
“Memorize these texts as I read them. I want to be able to recall the information later.”
“Of course.” Then, she vanishes. She still appears weakened, like manifesting for just a few moments is too much for her.
I consider asking her to distribute all of the free points I have languishing, but decide against it. There is no need to put the spirit under strain, no matter how much it unnerves me to have such a vast reservoir of power languishing. I shouldn’t need the points for now. At least, I severely hope that I won’t.
It takes me a few minutes to find a mention of mana purity, written in an aside by the author. The description is short, but the words come like a dagger to me.
For practical use, the source of mana is imperative. Often, securing mana from a magician or a channeler is cheap and far easier than extracting the magic from a natural source. This, however, often leads to errors, as few people take the time to purify the magic they can output to a usable extent. For inferior enchantments, the drop in performance is negligible, but with each complication in the enchanting array, the lack of purity in the mana compounds. For this reason, testing obtained mana for purity is a basic necessity for any enchanter who takes their work seriously. It is my recommendation not to use mana that is influenced by the relevant concept unless it meets the threshold of nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine particles in ten thousand. This naturally excludes most soul-sourced magic. Luckily, nature provides an alternative.
And that is all he has to say. Nowhere else in the book does it make mention of purity, other than briefly describing how a lack of purity can cause a misalignment in the intended phenomena of an enchantment. I close the pages, sighing and falling back into my chair. Briefly, I take a look inward at the mana index that is still a part of my soul. The soul device is intended to store mana in its most pure form; I tested it earlier to be certain. Transferring magic from it to a medium does show a near pure readout on my new device.
However, that approach is slow and doesn’t maximize my ability to produce the mana I will need for my enchantments going forward. The best approach would be to produce my own mana, utilizing my ability to collect different affixes like they were pretty rocks on the ground. With that approach, and enough time given, I could theoretically create any enchantment I want, leaving behind the most expensive and time-consuming part of the creation. The matter of purity throws nags at me like a spur. On the table in front of me, designs for the enchantment I intend to display to the academy upon entrance lay.
I lack the money to create the item; the raw materials are simply that expensive. Selling my mana had been a workaround, a way to make money quick and easy. It would seem that is off the table. Rocking back in my chair, I try to think of a different path forward. After twenty or so minutes, I sigh, letting the chair fall back into place with a loud clack. No, it would be best not to change course. My initial thought of how to proceed just has too many upsides to allow myself to be dissuaded so easily. What was the hang-up after all, that I needed to refine my affixes more? I planned to do that anyway. Now, I just need a method to do so, and I know exactly where to begin.
The cold almost makes me shiver. Looking around the open hole leading to the clouds below, I take a quick survey of the other adventurers in the room. I only found the adventurer’s league hall a few hours before sunset. I figured that if anyone knew where I could find monsters to slay to improve my affixes, it would be the Adventurer’s League. That conversation, along with my silver rank, led me to a back door in the hall and a stairwell that descended straight through the rock of the flying island. Each one of the adventurers sitting around the hole with me is of the third rank, none of them weak.
Time passes before there is any commotion. I pause in my reading, one of the new books I purchased open in my hand, while the other holds onto the silver rod. A man on the opposite side of the circle, a faethian dwarf, stands as the rod in his hand begins to pulse with a dark blue. He sets it aside, staring down into the clouded hole in the center of the stone chamber, wind brushing at the fine furs he wears. Without a word, he steps forward and plummets into the white mist out of sight.
All around the hole, everyone watches as the mist quickly fills in behind him, the trace of his passage vanishing in just a few seconds. Two men on the side break the momentary silence, returning to their conversation in whatever language they are speaking. The neighbor of the man who jumped into the hole waves his hand, a pale blue aura moving off his skin to envelop the discarded pole. With his soul presence alone, the adventurer flips the silver pole up, letting it fly across the chamber to land perfectly snug on the rack near the wall. The gesture is such a simple thing that most might miss the incredible control it would require to pull it off.
Slowly, the men in the room turn back to their distracting activities, each waiting for their poles to get a hit. Only six minutes later, before I can even finish the chapter in the text I am reading, another pole begins to buzz. This time, a stonespeaker man unveils a set of batlike wings before diving through the hole, chasing his prey.
“You’re going to be in a fix if your hunting dog doesn’t get here soon,” the dwarven man next to me says in Castinian.
I study the man for a moment as I close my book.
Sander Xane(Level 133)<Rank Three>
Gravity Conflux
“Stunned by how impressive I am,” he asks, mistaking the blank look on my face as I read his conflux. Honestly, I am a bit caught off guard by it. It is the first time I have seen the word “gravity” outside the description of my soul presence. I catch his gaze flicking over my head for a second. The eye in his head that matches my own, no doubt tells him about me.
“I plan to retrieve my own bird,” I reply.
On Sander’s other side, his companion laughs. “Oh,” the man says, skepticism writ on his face. “A rather brave declaration. What’re ya hunting for?”
Waving the pole absently, I answer, “Fire affix. Should be easy enough to find.”
“Oh sure, easy enough to find,” Sanders agrees. “It’s the killin’ of the beast that is the true test. I have to say, I find myself surprised that old Callagan upstairs would let a spring lass like you take a crack at the fishing hole. We aren’t taking a trip over some civilized land right now, you know. There are real dangers down there. Real kings of monsters waiting for some unsuspecting soul to drop out of the sky and land in its mouth.”
“So I’ve heard,” I reply with a shrug.
The door at the front opens as a woman enters. She is so lavished in heavy furs that it is difficult to tell who her people are. Everyone spares a momentary glance her way as she makes a trip around the chamber to grab a rod at the back.
“The man upstairs said this was open to any silver-rank adventurers,” I reply.
“Sure it is,” Sanders says with a laugh. “Though, if it wouldn’t bother you, why don’t you leave your ship up here in safekeeping. That way, when something gobbles you up down there, it won’t go to waste.” The man next to Sanders barks another laugh, and this time Sanders joins him, the two leaning against one another as they chuckle.
“Don’t mind the fools,” the elven man on my other side says.
That catches me more off guard than the cantankerous dwarf does. I turn, seeing the man staring down into the well of light below us, his eyes focused. It strikes me that he looks different than most elves I have met. His complexion is darker, far more tan than I think any elf from Gale could get, even if they stayed outdoors all the time. His hair has more of a wooden texture to it than metallic, looking almost like the flesh of a birch tree. When I try to use my eye to identify him, it returns no information. He must have something that blocks providence reading.
“If I let old men bother me, I wouldn’t get very far,” I tell him.
“Old!” Sanders barks on my other side.
“My name is Charlene Devardem,” I say, offering the elven man my hand.
It takes an age before he lifts his eyes from the hole, studying my outstretched hand. I don’t see any of the repulsion that I have found in the eyes of elven men before as he studies me, just a mild curiosity. Eventually, he takes my hand, shaking it.
“Cas’andar Maes Rav’Inicio,” he says. “Most just call me Cas.”
“But is that what you prefer?” I ask, begging internally for him to say yes.
“Unless you speak High Masik, you would butcher the pronunciation. You have a Ramacalla accent, so I am guessing that you don’t.”
To be honest, I have never even heard of the language Masik, high or otherwise. “Your Castinian is very good. Is it a common language where you come from?”
Cas shakes his head, turning his attention back forward. “It isn’t the most difficult of languages to pick up, just a dialect of Madipur, and that is a common enough language for anyone adventuring.” Rather than ask him about that, I tuck the information away for later, not wanting to show my ignorance around this group of men. “Don’t let Sanders and Landers intimidate you. The old fools are after some beast that doesn’t exist.”
“Now that crosses a line,” Sanders yells across me at the elf. “I’ve got the damned claw, ain’t I?” The man reaches into his pocket, pulling free a hooked claw so deeply blue it looks entirely fake. If it weren’t for the powerful aura of magic emanating from the appendage, I might think that it is.
“Doesn’t prove that it came from here,” Cas says.
“I’ll have you know…”
Whatever tirade Sanders is about to deliver to the impassive elven man is cut short as the rod in my hand begins to buzz. I can’t keep the smile from my face as I stow away my book into my vault and stand. The sensation of the pole buzzing in my hand is intense, likely made that way so that it is impossible to ignore.
“Looks like I have a bite,” I announce to a gathering of uninterested faces. “Best be off then.” I set the pole down neatly at my side.
“Better hurry,” Cas says. “The island isn’t waiting on you.”
“Try not to get eaten, lass,” Sanders calls as I step forward to fall into the roiling mess of cloud beneath me. “Now that it’s been brought up, I should tell you how I got this claw.” His words vanish into the wind as the air begins to whip around me.
A brief moment of weightlessness follows as I plummet into the mist. The cold around me intensifies as the very air tries to steal my warmth. Calling dragonfire to my hands banishes the sensation, and less than two seconds later, I am beneath the clouds. Tumbling in an uncontrolled fall, the world around me becomes a blur of color, two stretches of land divided by the pale blue of the sky. The underside of Faeth is a craggy mess, the ground uneven and made of hard rock. Below me, unending plains stretch to infinity on either side, the grasses waving golden in the breeze, having never seen the foot of a person before.
I allow myself the dizziness of drifting without control for a moment longer before summoning my wings. The magic of sky mana allows me to turn my plummet into a controlled dive as I fall from the sky like a bird of prey. It takes barely any time at all before I sight the target of my hunt, the monster far below that the rod picked up on. It moves through the grasslands, plodding at a sedate pace. It is a monster in the form of a huge red turtle. Smoke puffs from a chimney on the top of the monster’s shell, and the grass turns black and dead in its wake. A powerful aura of magic shimmers around the monster as it treks through the grasslands, oblivious that death falls from the sky above it.
Volcanic Tortoise(Level 82)<Rank Two>
Such a low level.
My rapid descent halts more than a hundred feet above the monster, but three spears of black sand continue past me. A wave of red-gold magic flows out ahead of the spears. As it washes over the monster below, forcing its legs to shake from the sudden weight, the monster chances a look up. It notices the attack too late.
One of the descending spears scratches a long line down the side of the monster’s shell as it hits at a bad angle. The sound of its screeching against the hardened shell is so loud that I fear it might attract other creatures. The remaining two spears hit home with perfect precision. The monster is nailed to the ground, the impact of my attacks and the added weight of its body knocking it flat to the ground. Two long spears of black sand stick up from its body, piercing deep into its shell. The wounds begin to leak dark blood as the monster roars its pain. It tries to scramble forward, but its claws merely dig up the grass. It makes no headway.
I allow myself to fall from the sky, stopping and standing in the air above the struggling monster a mere twenty feet away. “If you don’t do something, you are going to die,” I call down to the monster.
Its head turns in my direction, two slitted eyes taking me in. The air around it seems to boil as magic begins to roil off its body. The distortion of accumulated heat is so great that I lose sight of the monster inside the heat mirage it creates. I can’t keep the smile from my face.
A geyser of fire shoots into the air from the back of the monster, a plume of flame so hot that it cooks the very air. In the moments before it reaches me, a cloud of black sand appears from my vault, interposing itself between me and the flames. Still, the power of the monster’s fire is so intense that the ends of my hair begin to curl, the air around me shimmering with the heat. I feel myself heating up, my flesh starting to bake inside the oven that the monster creates with its torrent of fire. My skin continues to redden, the air so hot that I feel myself start to cook alive before my incredible recovery starts to repair the damage.
After a battle of twenty seconds or more, the fire begins to die down, lessening until it finally sputters out. The hemisphere of black sand beneath me radiates heat so powerful that I force it away from me so that I might fully heal. A hole appears in the wall of sand, allowing me to see the monster still below me. Blood continues to leak from its sides, and it pants with an open mouth, still staring up at me.
“That was a rather impressive amount of magic,” I congratulate it. “Given how big and slow you are, I am guessing you use overwhelming magical power to subdue your prey.” At a gesture, some of the sand pulls away from my wall, forming into a spear at my side. “I guess we are similar in that way.”
My hand whips forward, the spear falling toward the burning monster. It crashes into it, the point cracking a new part of its shell as it buries into it. The monster below shrieks.
“Is that all the magic you have?” I ask it. “If so, this is going to be a short hunt.”
Some ten minutes later, the monster beneath me finally stops moving. Sixteen spears stick from its ruined shell, all placed well away from the chimney in the center of its back. The volcanic tortoise displayed an impressive amount of stamina, but each barrage of flames it unleashed upon me was less than the last.
A cloud of black sand ripples in front of me, moving with glittering red light lurking inside. At my command, the cloud begins to condense, a singular point of orange light being formed as it pools together. An orb of sand burning with an incredible intensity is born from the cloud. The orb itself is no larger than my thumb, and it floats toward me as I gesture at it.
Picking it up, I feel the sheer volume of trapped fire mana try to flay my skin, but something about the sand allows me to keep it restrained. I study the marble of mana, turning it over in my fingers. What exactly it is is foreign to me. All I know is that in the battle against Ferro, I discovered this ability, this way to use the sand. Having only done it once before, I didn’t know if it would work again. Clearly, it does.
It feels like grabbing onto a burning coal as I pinch the sphere of orange light between my fingers. Before I can think better of it, I bring the sphere to my mouth, tossing it in and swallowing it whole. It burns as it goes down, far more than any alcohol ever has. A pulse follows, a series of dull thuds as the strange arrangement of shapes that make up my soul turns and locks in a direction. The magic flows into me, and I feel it soar into my soul, pouring into its allotted spot, trying to fill the rune emblazoned on my spirit.
For the time spent battling the monster, I haven’t been able to keep a smile from my lips, but as I feel the fire integrate into my soul, strengthening it, my grin only grows wider. I begin to see the future.
Comments
Sam Feldman
It's probably a pain when most people use magic to bake things go kaboom
Apoca
"few people take the time to purify the magic they can output" That sounds like it would be useful not just for enchanting.
