Untapped ~ Chapter Seven!

Pete, much to Joe's surprise, didn't wave his guest over to stand near him. Instead, he got up and walked around his own desk, moving until he stood just to the left of and behind the as-of-yet unnamed man. The bald Ritualist watched this interaction, recognizing the show of respect for what it was.

“This is Sage Mirascible.” Pete paused for a moment as if that should mean something to Joe. “Nothing? Huh. You truly are new to this world. Well, while he’s a rather irascible person, he’s also considered the strongest single combatant on the entirety of Vanaheim.”

“Considered?” the Sage jested at Pete in mock outrage. “I mean, I only have an unbroken century of wins in the arena to prove it. It has been getting a bit stale these days… maybe I should challenge the current champion?”

*Pfft,* Pete replied with an unflattering sound. “As if they'd let you. You break the betting pool every time you even get close to the place. Like I was saying, Joe. All of the parts of my previous offer stand. Resources, focused help getting through bottlenecks, and anything else I can do to help you rapidly reach Grandmastery. On top of that, I'm willing to cash in my only grand favor with Mir on your behalf. Until I'm able to fulfill my end of the bargain and help you step into your power, he will act as your mentor on Vanaheim. He will teach you his combat methodology in an attempt to make you the first Ritualist worthy of fighting. Not only that, but he will hold both of us to our ends of the agreement.”

Even with the promise of a Sage’s wisdom, some part of Joe still resisted, since he hadn’t been seeking it out. Not to mention, this was an intense ask that bordered on desperate. It was a bad look, and so far the leadership of this place hadn’t been anything like what he had been expecting. “Look, I understand how valuable it would be to learn from any Sage, let alone Sage Mirascible-”

“Just call me Mir.” 

“Okay then, Mir. It's just that I don't know how that would help me with my own short term goals going forward.” Joe shrugged his left shoulder, his palm lifting as he tried to articulate his thoughts correctly. “While I appreciate all of the attention, I just don't understand the real value in this offer. What I’m being offered, nor what I’d get in return. I’m… sure you think this is a good deal, but… could I get a little more context?”

*Hum.* To Joe's great relief, the Sage didn’t seem to take offense to his words. “A little caution is always good, but you're right to ask. Still, you shouldn’t let it get in the way of a good opportunity. I'll explain to you why this is worth the price of admission. First, helping your tower produce the first Sage it’s ever had will solidify the tower’s position on Vanaheim. If your tower births its first Sage, it cements its legacy in Vanaheim and quells every malicious voice out there. Remember that what's beneficial for the flamboyantly feathered honk machine is equally advantageous for the slightly larger progenitor.”

Joe blinked, trying to process the statement—but the words wouldn’t untangle themselves in his mind. With a sigh of surrender, he chose to refocus as Mir carried on. “Second, being the direct recipient of your new Sage’s goodwill can only be beneficial to you in the future. Let's say you bring back the exact material he needs in order to achieve his goal. I can't imagine he would be anything but gracious and generous forevermore. The person who makes that happen won’t be forgotten, and that kind of opportunity doesn’t come around twice.”

Something seemed to amuse the powerhouse, and he belatedly added, “Third, you get to skip the line of people trying to learn from me. In all fairness, I wasn't going to train them anyway. This way, you get a guaranteed yes, and you don't have to sit on the waiting list for a few decades just for me to tell you no at the end.”

“What Class Sage Mir is trying to tell you is that his teachings are truly priceless,” Pete pressed as his companion went silent. “There’s no one better to learn how to fight from on this world or any lower ones. Perhaps in Asgard, but learning directly from a deity is an unlikely proposition.”

Finally, each person in the room fell silent, all for their own reasons. Pete was carefully watching Joe, waiting for him to accept. Mir seemed to have simply run out of words for the day and appeared perfectly willing to walk away if the offer was refused. Lost in the whirl of his own mind, the bald Ritualist struggled to make sense of what was happening. Finally deciding to speak, he exhaled sharply and met the Grandmaster’s gaze without flinching.

“Why?”

“What do you mean?” Pete smoothed his beard with his right hand, almost as though he were petting an emotional support puppy. 

“I mean, why me? I’m the newest. You have no idea what my capabilities actually are. Wouldn't it be far more simple to get your own people to go and make this happen? Certainly, those who’ve been here for a long time understand the intricacies of the Honor system and what it would mean for all of us. A grand favor must be worth something if you’ve brought it up with such gravitas. Is it that you don't trust your people? Are you uncertain of their loyalties? So… why me, and why this offer practically the first time we're meeting each other?” Joe closed his mouth before he pushed too hard, perfectly willing to patiently wait for a full answer.

“Ah.” Contrary to expectations, Pete seemed relieved at the questions. “That's actually easy enough to explain. You see, my boy, anyone from this world needs to get permission from the Sage’s Council for the members of their tower to go off-world, or risk their wrath. Each of the factions have already nominated a tower to go on expeditions to Jotunheim and bring back a Mythic core. Yet, after one of them succeeds, there’s still an endless waiting list… and we’re at the very bottom, since they don’t know if we actually can ascend.”

The Grandmaster leaned forward, searching Joe’s face. “Every tower has Grandmasters waiting on their chance, but they will be carefully managed by the council to ensure the balance of power is kept steady. With you, we’ve been given a unique advantage. You can go and hunt for the cores, and no one can say it’s unfair for you to do so.” 

Suddenly the full-court press made perfect sense. As understanding dawned on him, relief etched itself across the Tower Master’s face. Bobbing his head as he considered his next actions, Joe decided to play for a bit of time so he didn't need to give a firm answer one way or another just yet. “Mir, could you explain your class and how learning from you is going to be beneficial?”

“Sure,” Mir casually replied as his eyes tracked across Joe's face, looking for something but… not finding it? The man’s eyes narrowed slightly before speaking again. “I'm an Elementalist, plain and simple. No prestige class, no special evolutions, just the base class in its purest possible form.”

He glanced over to Pete, who was grinning as if getting ready to hear an inside joke. 

Joe frowned ever so slightly. “I don't know why you think I should be shocked? I guess I just don’t have the background in all this? Sure, I would have thought you'd have evolved your class at some point, especially if you're the strongest fighter on the planet. Is it because of your specializations?”

Mir let a soft snort escape his nose. “That's the thing, little Ritualist. I never felt the need to evolve my class. When I specialized, instead of chasing upgrades, I doubled down on perfecting what I already had, becoming an Elementalist ‘plus’, which only means I get stronger with my current class. A free lesson for you. The problem most people have is they spread themselves thin. They want more. Skills, abilities, and variety for days! Pah. What you'd learn with me is a different path. Instead of a lake of skills three miles wide and an inch deep, I went with three inches wide and a mile deep.”

Lifting his hand, he curled his fingers slightly and allowed a thin bolt of lightning to crackle into existence between his fingertips, then spun it around his hands as though twirling a pencil. “The core class skills of an Elementalist are as follows: Bolt, ball, channel, cone, and impact. My first specialization is in ‘bolt’, the next was ‘ball’. I'm sure you can guess what the next ones were. The only thing I didn't specialize in was which element I chose. I can use any of them: lightning, fire, water, earth, wind, ice, light, shadow… time. Space. Death. Life. If you can use it, I can as well, and can counter your abilities every time.”

“I can see why you’re so good at combat, I suppose.” Joe exhaled slowly as he tried not to accidentally make an enemy. “But, long term, I don't think combat is my path.”

“Then you're lying to yourself,” Mir barked at him, suddenly flushing as Joe seemingly touched a nerve. “You want to make interesting things? Then you need to gather material. That means fighting to get what you need, whether that means hunting monsters or holding them off as you delve deep for rare components. You want to keep what you have? Then you’d better be able to keep the vultures circling instead of feasting on your corpse. How about that Mythic core? Are you just going to pull it out of thin air, or are you going to hunt a World Boss? All of that sounds like combat to me.”

“I could try to pull that core out of Jake's Alchemy hall, but I don't think that’d go over very well,” Joe murmured ever so softly to himself, glanced to the side slightly as a shiver ran down his spine. When he looked to the others, acceptance was clear in his eyes. “I understand. Look, I’m not trying to fight against this, I just need to make sure everyone has a clear understanding of what this deal is going to be. I’ll get you the core, Pete. But in return, on top of everything else, if there's ever a time when I'm competing with someone else to become the Class Sage for Ritualist, you'll support me. Deal?”

The other two were stunned by his audacious statement, but it was Pete who reacted first, chuckling and shaking his head. “A Master in only one of the disciplines, and he's already got his heart set on becoming a Class Sage? Do Grandmaster skills just grow alongside the road like weeds? Sure, Joe. It's a deal. Take your time… it only matters that this happens. We don't need to be first; we just need to get there.”

Quest gained—and accepted. For some reason, I felt the need to add that part in.

The makings of a Sage. You have agreed to Grandmaster Pete’s request. He will provide sponsorship in the Tower of Rituals, training as able—no less than one hour per month—dedicated support when attempting to break through a bottleneck in your core skills until each of your core skills enter the Grandmaster ranks, support should you ever be in competition for the position of Class Sage of Ritualists, and direct mentorship under Class Sage Mirascible. Should you ever be in competition for the position of Class Sage, he will support your bid.

In return, you will provide a Mythic core to him and support him as he ascends to the Skill Sage of Alchemical Rituals.

Rewards: Maximized reputation with Pete. Failure: You will enter a blood feud with the entirety of the members of the Tower of Rituals as well as Class Sage Mirascible, unless the entire cost of your tutelage and sponsorship is repaid.

“Wow. When it's all laid out like that, it does kinda look like I'm getting the better end of the deal.” Joe murmured thoughtfully as he read over the details. He looked over at the powerful people he was dealing with, noting the ecstatic expression on the wizened, white-bearded Ritualist. Then he glanced at Mirascible, really studying him for the first time. 

It was clear the man was old, ancient even, but he didn't really look it. He was clean-shaven, his hair a salt and pepper coloration, and well-healed scars adorned practically every inch of his skin, some wide and vicious, others thin and shallow. His ears had a sharp point, indicating some sort of Elven heritage, though he looked nothing like the High Elves inhabiting Alfenheim.

Suddenly remembering a part of the conversation they’d glossed over, Joe quizzed the duo, “That arena you were talking about, why wouldn't they let you come back and fight again? Just too powerful?”

“Yes. Exactly that.” Mir looked like he wasn’t going to say more, but Pete refuted his statement with a sharp huff of air.

“As if!” The Grandmaster’s face scrunched up as he shot some side-eye at his friend. “They'd love to have him back, no matter how strong he got, if it wasn't so abyssal boring to see him fight. Oh, what's he going to do next? Look. A bolt. Oh, he changed it up with a cone-”

“The fundamentals are everything!” Mir halfheartedly growled at Pete. “That's the entire point of what I teach. Who needs fifty different skills for fifty different situations, when you have five that you can adapt, shift, and use to dominate any scenario?”

“This is why you don't have friends.” Pete playfully shoved the Sage, only to stumble backwards slightly as the man didn't budge even fractionally. “Besides me, that is.”

“No, being boring in a fight isn’t why I have few friends,” Mir retorted darkly, though he didn’t elaborate further. Pete looked like he was about to do so on his behalf, clearly in an exceptional mood, when the light in the tower shifted ever so slightly. Just then, the sound of a gong being struck rang through the air.

The Grandmaster's face fell, and he heaved a deep sigh. “Just like that, duty calls once more. I'll give them this, they're persistent.”

“I could go have a talk with them, if you'd like,” Mir offered as he cracked his knuckles menacingly. “You're not the only one who tires of the endless interruptions.”

“No, no… if the Tower of Blood Rites wishes to continuously feed us Honor, who am I to deny them their daily tribute?” Pete half turned his hand, a green glow at his waist expanding outward and blocking Joe's vision for an instant. “Mir, keep an eye on him, would you? Make sure he follows the rules.”

In a blink, he found himself standing at the gates of the square wall built around the base of the tower. Pete was in front of him, while Mir stood just to the right of the newcomer Ritualist. 

Before Joe could regain his bearings, the gates swung open, and a cloying tension draped over him like a thick, wet blanket. Just beyond the wall stood a formation which exuded discipline and danger—warriors wrapped in matching battle robes, though a formal version meant to be worn after a victory. At their forefront was a single figure, his presence so steeped in bloodlust it pressed against the senses, utterly suffocating in its intensity. 

The leader gleamed with unapologetic flair, wrapped in a black and sanguine combat robe tailored with surgical precision. Shiny crimson trim reflected the light, and each measured step closer revealed a flashy sigil stitched over his heart. But it was his hair that first demanded Joe’s attention. The Ritualist felt his jaw drop in disbelief at the towering, sculpted pompadour that defied gravity, wind, and all conventional taste. 

Only then did he notice that every member of the battle group wore the same style, all without any noticeable sense of irony or awareness of the bizarre appearance they had. His eyes flicked back to the leader, who was now sneering at Pete, radiating momentum and a violence that begged to be released—like a storm only waiting for the last drop of water it needed to create a downpour. 

He remained locked in position as he stared down Grandmaster Pete, sneer fading into a knowing smirk and revealing small, twin fangs peeking down from his top lips. This was a man who seemed to already know how this battle would end and was simply waiting for everyone else to catch up.

 “A vampire? Is that a real thing here?” Joe murmured in quiet surprise, clearly not quietly enough. The aggressive group’s eyes snapped toward him in unison, predatory and sharp. For a long, breath-stalling moment, the opposing Grandmaster fixed his gaze on Joe, head tilting ever so slightly, as if adjusting the angle would help him figure out exactly what kind of threat he was looking at.

“How bewildering, Stompetti.” The vampire drawled with just the slightest lisp in his silky-smooth voice from the oversized teeth. “It seems your tower has taken on a rather… sparkling new recruit. Youngster, that glow of yours is positively radiant. Tell me, why didn't you join my tower instead? You'd fit right in.”

Only then did Joe realize he’d been ignoring a literally glaring fact—the only negative effect sunshine was having on these maybe-vampires was that they were lit up like disco balls; in fact, their skin shining with more than just reflected light.

“After all, that unnatural luminescence you exude is remarkable. Perhaps you've mistaken your calling? It's not too late to change your fate; the Tower of Blood Rights is always open to those who can appreciate power in its purest, most visceral form.”

“Mir, correct me if I'm wrong here, but they’re absorbing sunlight, as well as having natural bioluminescence, yes? They're basically humanoid fireflies with dental problems?” Joe's voice was pitched to carry—while he was actually curious, he figured that, since he’d already thrown in his lot with the Ritualists, he may as well let their enemies be his as well. 

“Mind your manners, kid. Don’t talk to me, answer him,” Mir responded stoically, not a hint of mirth in his voice, no sparkle showing in his eyes. Instead, there was only a slightly pained look, as if Joe was digging his own grave.

“Ah. I see. He’s as small a man as you are, Stom-petty. Go ahead and add him to the priority target list,” the vampire casually called over his shoulder, and one of his sycophants quickly stepped forward and snapped his fingers. A perfect image of Joe formed in the air, and the Master vampire lifted a book and clapped it around the photograph before nodding at his superior and stepping back into line. “Well, I guess we're already all the way past pleasantries now, aren't we? I tried to make an opportunity for advancement available to one of your recruits before they stagnated like the rest of you-”

“In ten seconds, I get to shut the gates on you for a week,” Pete casually called in a tired voice. “Did you bang the gong for a reason, or did you just come here to spew vitriol?”

“Fine, fine… I've had my say about the lack of advancement your tower has had since its inception. No Sage, no new advancements in your arts. While everyone else evolves, grows, and claims Honor, you merely survive. So, to help our world achieve excellence… I once more issue a formal challenge to the Tower of Rituals.”

“Standard terms?” Pete tried to keep his voice casual, but his opponent was having none of it.

“No, no, no. A little birdie told me you've had a sudden, rather unexpected windfall of Honor. I'm wagering triple my standard, to make sure you don't have enough to keep your gates closed to us any longer. Do you dare accept? Or will you step away and sacrifice Honor without even fighting?”

“It's kind of like a big blind, if you know how wagers work with gambling,” Mir whispered into Joe's ear. “Doesn't matter if you want to play that hand or not, you automatically have some buy-in just by having a spot at the table. Saying no too often just means not having enough Honor to wager when you do have a winning hand.”

Surprisingly, at least to Joe, Pete didn’t immediately accept the terms. “You seem quite confident today, Istvan.”

The vampire’s eyes twinkled maliciously as he exposed his sharpened teeth in a wide smile. “Ahh, but I am, Petti. I’ve finally found your weakness.”