Chapter 30 (Early Version)

Chapter 30 - The Power to Choose

A lucky ballista bolt shot from atop one of the border forts was able to fell one of the lesser dragons from the sky, piercing it through the heart. The bespelled adamantine tip punching through inches of rock hard scale and thick muscle. The mages of Arastia ecstatic having acquired a vessel of indomitable power poured all of their magical might into the dragon’s now still corpse.

- On the Cataclysm by an unknown Quassian Scholar circa 103 AC


It began with the usual dark dreams, but soon I felt a shift in my dreamscape. The scenes of violence and promised pain changed with a jarring, shifting sensation. There was now a dusty attic or storage room strewn with a variety of objects and artefacts. They ranged from the unremarkable, like a baker’s pin or a sewing kit, to exotic looking lamps and fabulous weapons. I knew then this was not part of a dream, but some sort of vision sent by this world. Cobwebs clung to each corner of the room and a thin layer of gossamer grey dust coated everything. The thin walls seemed to be made from an off-white or grey wattle and daub, with wooden supports running through them. Mould and mildew could be seen in the corners.

The room seemed a little drained of colour, as if it had been bleached out, except for all the items strewn about which drew the eye in disconcerting ways. Somehow I just knew the objects in this room were of great significance. I knelt down next to an iron dagger with short upturned quillons, rusted and pitted with grime, my hand drawn to it. Hovering just above it I then saw the message;

Assassin

No, this was not for me. Though the thought of becoming a shadowy individual flitting across the rooftops silently disposing of his quarry did hold a certain adolescent appeal, but it was not the choice I would make.

My thoughts roamed for no discernable reason to my last faithful dog, Shadow, who had passed away the year before last. A wonderful companion who somehow always knew how to lift my spirits. I saw then in the corner of my eye, a large worn leather collar studded with iron spikes. Stopping my hand just above it, a new message came to me in the manner of the dagger;

Beast Tamer

Interesting, I thought to myself. The idea of taming great beasts seemed a tantalising one. But with no idea how to go about doing so, or the dangers involved with the profession, I decided to reject the offer. Taming a wild creature was only half the battle. After all, there was the care and upkeep which was a lifetime commitment. I simply did not have it in me to make the emotional investment, nor could I see how this choice would help me in my current circumstances. Though idly I did ponder whether it was possible to tame an Echo Stalker…

I needed something more practical, with a bit more punch. As the thoughts came to my mind I found myself treading across cobwebs and dust, my being drawn to a pair of gloves. They were a pair of fighting gloves, leather stained and cracked with age. Vicious hobbed metal plates at the knuckles.  I moved my hand cautiously towards them to see what choice the item represented;

Pugilist

In many games the Pugilist or “monk” classes were popular and valid choices, but why on earth would anyone actually choose to fight monsters and other evil creatures with just their fists? Surely any weapon would be better than almost nothing at all? I couldn’t imagine for the life of me the advantage of foregoing a weapon would be in combat, and for that reason, I dismissed the choice out of hand. Supposedly they could improve their bodies to reach near superhuman heights, but I simply could not risk it. Yes, if this was all just a game I would be tempted, but this was not the time for idle experimentation.

Wandering across, my hands questing here and there I almost grasped the scabbard of what looked like a longsword. The scabbard had intricate floral patterns of spiked vines and exotic looking flowers running along its length, faded and dull from the passage of time.

Warrior

Far too pedestrian. In a world of swords and sorcery choosing just to wave about a metal stick, no matter how skilfully, seemed rather banal. Like choosing to eat at a familiar fast-food chain after flying to a faraway and exotic location. A waste. Why just use a knife when in this world magic seemed to be the equivalent of having a gun? Besides, I needed something that could leverage my magical abilities. Still I could admire the romance of following the path of the sword. Gun… something about that word sparked something in my mind before swiftly fading into the haze of the dream.

As my feet took me to my next destination in the room, I wondered exactly just how many choices were here. Was I allowed to return to a previous choice? These thoughts floated around my mind as I scanned the room which I couldn’t quite place the size of. Small yet large. Glancing down I saw a long wooden rod before me, tipped with a cracked and broken amber gem. Its lustre was dull and muted. Around the tip and just below the gem, bronze copper rings wound themselves loosely around the haft. What was this I wondered.

Mage

This was more like it. Being a specialised magic user certainly held great appeal. It would significantly boost my prowess, allowing me to deal great damage through esoteric means. But my stats, as I remembered them, were geared more towards that of a ‘tank’ or ‘warrior’ build with most of my focus on my Constitution and Strength. Also the survivability of the Mage class was a consideration I had to contend with. In this savage and brutal world I needed to be able to protect myself as much as possible. Was it Elwin who once remarked that Mages could be killed with simple arrows if they were not careful? Or was that a memory from a previous life? Regretfully I had to reject this choice as I needed something with a lot more durability and with some capacity to heal if possible.

Something began to pull at me, almost incessant in its force, persuading me to rise once more. Slowly, as if time itself stood still, I began to walk mechanically to my next goal. A lone chair sat in a forgotten corner of the strange room, with a dull grey dust cover cloth draped across it. As I moved closer I could see on the seat of the chair a tarnished silver medallion with delicate-looking links for a chain. Small gems framed the noble profile of a veiled woman etched onto its surface, the face looking to the left at the centre. Even before the message played across my thoughts I had already begun to place the medallion around my neck.

Paladin

Laughing a little, I couldn’t help but realise that somehow this room was reacting to my thoughts. Perfect for me, I concluded to myself as the dull metal settled around me. Its lustre immediately started to return as it became warm to the touch. A Paladin, a knightly champion that in modern representation in games was depicted as a warrior in heavy armour very capable in the martial arts, as well as able to cast healing spells and blessings for survivability. This was exactly what I needed.

The room’s grip on me began to fade, my environment becoming increasingly blurry as the last whispers of the dream began to slip away. Just as I thought I would begin my journey back to wakefulness, my left hand began to reach out to a black oily puddle against my will, a thin layer of grey dust coating its dark surface. As my hand grew closer, a new message filled me with horror and existential dread;

Reaver

Sharp tentacles flew from the puddle growing in length and piercing my hand with a cold fire that burned through me. I could see black tendrils of darkness wriggle their way just under my skin, seeking heart, as my arm was shredded from within by total agony. At last one of the questing tendrils of solid shadow found my heart and I felt a great lurching feeling as if falling from a great height as the oily dark continued to ravage throughout my body and very being. The sensation of violation of the body and soul was an exquisite lesson in agony as I began to scream still trapped in the haze of the dream.