Author's Note:
All aspects of the story are fictional. All characters that participate in sexual activity are over the age of 18.
Edited by Expoh and AnnabelleFalls13.
****
Strength - 100 +10 (+10%)
Vitality - 185 +19 (+10%)
Agility - 43 +2 (+5%)
Compulsion - 0
Persuasion - 0
Spirit - 40 +10 (+25%)
Health -- 248.00/248.00
Essence -- 123
Carry Weight -- 28.4/59.0
****
"Now," Hanta said, "I've said this before, with other words. But the reason a spear is good is because it is long."
"Analyze," Jackson murmured.
A transparent screen blossomed in front of him.
Name: Hanta
Status: [NPC]
Factions: People-Under-the-Mountain, The Windseekers
Talents: Strength, Agility
Notable Skills: Spears, Shields, Knives, Archery, Grappling, Hunting, Weapon Crafting, Tool Crafting, Leatherworking
Hanta's stats were revealing, but expected. Jackson wondered if there was a way to see more detail. Maybe it was just something the game wanted him to play by ear.
"Jackson, are you listening?"
"Absolutely," Jackson said. He reached up and tapped the box closed. "Just killing two birds with one stone."
"This is important," Hanta said. "Focus."
"Sorry."
"Well," he said, "I suppose I can't complain after the shield you had Shaka make me." The leather disk was strapped to the stocky man's back. Jackson could see the glint of the essence crystal that Shaka had embedded in its center, surrounded by several runes. He recognized them all on sight.
Protect wielder from harm. Return magic unto source. Deflect weapons. Great Great Great Strength.
It made him feel a little better about his own crude healing magic. Runes were more flexible than they seemed; they weren't particular about grammar. It was more about the feeling of the words and the intent of the writer. In fact, the biggest factor when it came to enchantments was probably the spellcaster, not the spell.
"She did a pretty good job," Jackson said.
"Better than good," Hanta said. "There won't be a warrior that can stand against me on the battlefield."
"It looks like it has different enchantments," Jackson said. "Four of them."
"So it does."
"I thought you couldn't use magic. How do you pick the right one?"
"Well," Hanta said, "Shaka told me that when I use it, it will know what is needed. It won't draw magic from the crystal unless my body and soul acts."
Jackson wasn't sure if he'd trust an automatic enchantment. It sounded convenient, but what if the crystal ran dry of power while Hanta was doing something risky?
Living things were easier to work with, but aside from growing plants and healing, it was a limited aspect of magic. Jackson could apply an enchantment to his weapon or his clothes, writing on it like Shaka did, but to use it, he'd either have to burn his own essence or what he'd stockpiled in gemstones. And it was even trickier for someone like Hanta to use an enchantment -- without a natural magical talent, you had to use a raw essence crystal, which were dangerous to acquire. The last time Jackson had been around enemies which dropped them, he'd almost died.
"There has to be a better way to enchant things," Jackson said.
Hanta looked skeptical. "This is already beyond me, Jackson. How could it be improved?"
"I don't know."
"And neither does Shaka, or she would have given me that!" Hanta chuckled. "Come. We aren't here to ponder the mysteries of Shakhan, but the spear, yes?"
Jackson found himself pondering. Shaka was an experienced shaman, a true medicine woman -- but that didn't mean she knew everything about magic.
Vuntha sighed. Hanta's son was sitting on the grass next to Jackson, leaning back on his hands. "I tire of talking," he said. "Let's spar again."
"Patience," Hanta said. "Jackson's magic requires him to absorb knowledge this way, so that is how it must be."
"We can spar in a second, Vuntha," Jackson said. "I'm almost there."
"I don't understand your scar, or your powers," Vuntha said, "but if you say so."
Vuntha looked up at the mountain. And then, together, Jackson and Hanta did the same. When one person looked at it, everyone always followed suit.
The great black rise towered to their left. Looking up at the mountain was like leaning back to look at a skyscraper. It just went up, and up, and up, ending at some distant pinnacle that seemed infinitely high. The sky seemed small in comparison.
Now that they were at its foot, Jackson could appreciate how abnormal it was. Aside from a long shoulder that stretched around a few foothills, the mountain jutted out of the plains all by itself, a lone stalagmite leaping from the endless green flats. The sharp slopes at its base consisted of a brittle, crumbling onyx that looked ready and willing to cut into bare feet. It gathered in mounds at the base of the cliffs.
The mountain was not natural. It was an anomaly. The only thing that came close to being normal was the fact it was the source of two of the rivers that wound across the plains, one running from either side of the slopes. It was the origin of the creek that they had been following on their long trek.
There was something about the mountain that Jackson couldn't place, something eerily attractive. It was an obelisk erected in the name of something ancient and unknowable. A dark monolith magnetized to the human heart.
Jackson could feel it pulling on him. It felt like a rope slithered into his body through the scar. It dove into the mark on his hand, ran through the inside of his arm, coiled around his torso. And it sat there, squeezing slightly. The pressure on his chest didn't hurt, but it damn sure didn't feel comfortable to have a lump sitting under his skin.
They'd reached the mountain four days previous. He'd grown accustomed to the sensation, but it still bothered him. He had trouble relaxing at night.
His gaze dropped. He didn't look at the peak for long; his eyes were drawn toward the base of the thing. That was where the rope pulled - under the mountain, beneath the spear of black rock.
The three of them had walked a half mile from the camp of the gathered tribes. That put them on the other side of one of the foothills, which offered a bit of privacy. Many of the other warriors that were going to participate in the games used a similar strategy to prepare themselves in relative peace.
Vuntha was still itching to spar. Jackson didn't blame him. Their plan was simple enough, but it had been a long wait. Anything to bleed the nerves away was welcome.
But, for the time being, they were sitting in the grass and listening to Hanta.