(Vol 7) Chapter 19: Decoding

Sammy and Azure determined they’d arrange the betrothal at a later date left flexible due to their ever chaotic lives, but certainly relatively soon at some pocket of free time. The wedding in contrast would probably wait longer for a more settled period. As with most things, it was slated for ‘playing by ear.’

Not sure things will ever be fully settled. Perhaps before the war really starts rolling? After Merrington — if we win — maybe there will be a gap in intensity. Caneboro is the big question mark. Can I end conflict there for a while, and if I do, would I really have any time before needing to push an advantage?

Lots of questions up in the air. In any case, it felt good to be ‘unofficially’ betrothed. Azure was especially satisfied. She wore the sash proudly like a scarf.

She checked in with Ash to make sure all was ready for their operation… one hundred percent. They slated it for deep in the night when the majority of old, powerful wizards were asleep. Ash didn’t think she’d get detected, but minimizing potential contact was a good policy.

In the meantime, she needed to cap off her development of the custom cloaking spell they’d use to layer over the mirror and make the Sixth Sage’s psychometric spellcraft whiff. It was fairly easy stuff because it relied on a comparison test she didn’t need to beat him on, because they planned to use [Alter Fate] and force the issue. Mostly what she needed was a long duration. The nature of the spell itself made it ‘caster level in days.’ She shifted the pressure of various values in the spell and then added an Illusion FE requirement to bump it up to ‘caster level in months’ with an option for permanence. Easy peasy.

Finishing the spell off didn’t take long at all with her vast reference pool and learning bonuses. Total Mundanity was complete.

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Total Mundanity (36 MP, 2-10 Illusion FE)

(Level 8; Illusion, Information, Enchantment) A target object in line of sight has one or more features of its aura suppressed and resistant to reading, including every possible aspect of information about it, including features of its history or manufacture. Lies may be substituted if the information in general is reduced or made more mundane (you cannot add lies that aggrandize the item or add wild supernatural abilities).

Any [Information] spells or information-seeking abilities must beat a contest against your caster level +3 or the information will only be as you specify for the item. Extensive familiarity with the item can give bonuses against this contest.

If so desired, any magic capability is suppressed along with the aura and not accessible to anyone who does not win the contest to identify the capability. Anyone who wins the contest obtains the true information and this spell effectively does not exist for them.

This spell lasts for caster level in months at FE (Illusion) 2 expended. This increases to caster level in years for 5 FE (Illusion), caster level x 20 years for 7 FE (Illusion), and is permanent at 10 FE (Illusion).

Base caster level is [Wizard]. One additional class may add as normal, providing (level/3, rounded up) to the base class — this includes [Bard] as well certain special classes (Note: [Goddess] adds).

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You have gained 2 exp in [Magineer] through spell acquisition thanks to [Comprehension: Evolver].

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Now I just use it through [Sympathetic Targeting] after Ash more or less snips a hole in their ‘magical fence.’

With that done, and with time left before doing the actual deed, she moved on to her next priority: meeting with the mysterious northerner who’d cost Follower lives in Caneboro, to rescue. She poked around to see who could set it up. Estara was busy, so some other Follower was tapped to check on ‘Sailman.’ They had moved him to the Farm hideout, which was convenient for Sammy to shift to the Green Avatar.

Momentarily, Sailman was ready and waiting in the bedroom-sized meeting room they kept on the second story. Sammy switched over to the Avatar on the Farm, still in a form similar to how she’d met everyone there the first time.

Sailman was standing when she walked into the room. He seemed a bit nervous as he turned to her, then made an awkward bow. He had a powerful illusion around him, enough she did not see through it, at least not with casual observation. “I am honored by your presence,” Sailman said simply. “You are… Madam Witching in truth? The Goddess behind that facade?”

Samantha nodded and smiled at him. She invoked [Goddess] and [Ascendant] and said, “I am the Goddess of Fate, Light, and Pneuma, among others. I hear you’ve come from afar to meet me?”

His eyes widened a bit as he nodded. “Truth is a greater weight in your words.” He suddenly knelt on the floor and bowed his head. The movement caused a small quake and wood creaking from his great bulk. “My people call you Little Sister. In their name, I am here as their emissary. I hope that you will receive me though I have offended you.”

“Who are your people?”

“The Children of the Petrified Brood, whose carcasses lie under, whose horns are the mountains.” The big man spoke some guttural magical word like a little shout, and his illusion vanished into smoke. Underneath it was a furred being of similar size but with a great bovine head akin to a beastman, and pointed horns curling upward. But his fur was off-white with gray highlights, and something between tattoos and paint covered at least half of his body’s surface area in weird, blood-red geometric designs, often showcasing circles. Magical. He wore a light vest only over his hulking torso and something like a kilt with a heavy, bronze-studded belt. Otherwise, he had on bits of jewelry, and a small axe was secured to his belt. Cloven hooves and a lion-like tail were evident.

He turned his head back up to meet her eyes — even kneeling and hunched he did not look up far. His face had a natural intensity and nobility most would probably find quite intimidating. His eyes were yellow. “Minotaurkind is the simpler word.” His voice had changed too, growing into a deeper, grainier bass. “I am Gelmak Por, Blessed of the Zedwarorra, here as an emissary to pledge my service to you and to deliver the code of Father Mountain. He wishes to speak with you.”

Sammy was stunned speechless for a spell. A minotaur! Gelmak Por. One of those who went to face the Sage below the city in that vision. A hero. Finally, she managed, “I’m honored. Thank you. Alright, what is this code? Who is Father Mountain? Your principal deity?”

Gelmak nodded. “Nu’Rammata, The Unpetrified. You must pull the code from my mind. It must never be spoken. Even I cannot use it, only you may. Through it, you will obtain a sacred access. I must inform you, should you deliver this to any other, all minotaurkind will hold you in contempt and grudge forever. Receive it and keep it and peace will persist between you and minotaurkind if you so desire. Otherwise, more is between you and Father Mountain. He may communicate through you to me.”

“You cannot communicate with your deity?”

“Not directly. Others. He prefers not to be disturbed unless there is a territorial invasion. He is usually sleeping, though was awoken recently.”

Sammy carefully resisted showing amusement. “An introvert. Very well, Gelmak. I’ll receive this code.”

“Forgive me, Goddess, but may I know your name for prayer? You could share it clandestinely if preferred. This is needed for the code. Nu’Rammata will know it once you use it. This has a trade-like quality.”

“Oh! No, it’s fine. Samantha.”

“My deepest thanks in honor for this gift,” Gelmak replied solemnly and bowed his head once more. Soon she felt the acknowledgement come through the prayer vector.

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1 FE gained due to user belief/acknowledgment. Note: not yet a Follower.

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There was something a little more there, though. The prayer was an open channel, and something within the ‘alcove’ of Gelmak’s mind waited. It reminded her of a runic structure, a spell ready to read. Almost instantly she was trying to read it, and this effectively triggered it.

It shot into her mind like fire as dense information unfurled within. It was not unfamiliar — once again, it was uncannily very similar to her first experiences with runebooks. There was an active component to decode it just like them, too. She couldn’t resist and did so immediately. Unlike those humble beginnings, though, she unraveled this rune within a span of a few seconds, a puzzle of a complexity having become child’s play to her by then.

It was an exceptionally long spell-word. Like the runebooks, it finally consolidated itself into a short-form symbology representative of the whole: Rammat Et Kar.

The thought that consolidated into that ‘word’ immediately opened a new vector: one of prayer. It was the True Name of a god.

She was sucked mentally into a hallucinatory space akin to environments manufactured by Zadkiel for communication, but much more immersive. A vast plane stretched, of strange, cracked rock like a lifeless hellscape, and a hazy, bruised-looking sky of gray-brown was above. It reminded her distinctly of ‘early Earth’ images. And then she saw a giant, bloated moon in the sky and it was even more uncannily similar.

A massive volcano stretched up alone on the plane. No magma was evident, but huge torrents of smoke cascaded up from it.

From within that volcano, or perhaps rising up from under it, a distinct rumbling came, like an earthquake. In a gradual harmonizing effect, multiple zones of vibration interacted to create a meeting point right where Samantha was. Those many interactions became a deep, deep voice of gradually improving clarity. “It has been a long, long, long time since anyone used that name. Ramifications are lost along with most of who he was. I’ve become someone and something else, yet the name refuses to die. I make some use of it, at least. That is what it is to be a spirit. A god. Adaptation, evolution. Not always upward, unfortunately. Growth out of the carcass of vaguely recalled failures.”

Sammy had formed a generic body by the necessity of total immersion. She stared up at the volcano and cleared her throat. “You’re Father Mountain, right? Gelmak Por connected us.”

A rumble of unknown meaning. “Delivered the code, which you unlocked to have access to me. Not many do at all, and only you remain of those with this vector. Kindly don’t share it.”

“I won’t. I was warned already.”

“Good. Threatened?”

“Yes, actually. Something about an eternal grudge.”

Another odd rumble. It might’ve been regret, like a sigh. “ ‘The stone does not yield its nature.’ They hold my direction as sacred. Old, old culture grown over with many honors in my neglect. I merely ask you in respect.”

“I appreciate that. How can I help you?”

“You’re the harbinger of the apocalypse, Samantha. What we call the Deciding Days, leading to the Final Conflict. The Eater of Memory should be punished and you are the one holding the whip. More will be needed to wade through his minions so the fibers of pain remain fresh; to hold him down and present his back to your ministration. Thus, I offer you an alliance with my children.”

Samantha grinned.

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« (Vol 7) Chapter 18 | Table of Contents | "Also, this: Mint of the Mouth. So your breath is as fresh as that sweet, sweet whip." »

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