Misadventures Incorporated

Chapter 44 - Close Encounters of the Barely Intelligible III

An unnatural sense of comfort and warmth pulsed through Claire’s body. It originated in her core and spread evenly through the rest of her frame, restoring her to full health. The ice on her left arm melted and all sensation returned while its mirrored counterpart snapped back into place. The scattered fragments that made up her broken ribs wriggled through her flesh, returned to their rightful positions, and painlessly pieced themselves back together. For a moment, a very brief moment, it no longer hurt to breathe, but the freezing winds soon restored the status quo. A sign for her to get to work.

“I hate winter. Why does it have to be so cold?”

A series of begrudging groans escaped her as she waded over to the yeti’s corpse. Most of the fur was ruined. It was punctured in a thousand places and stained a deep crimson. The latter problem was easily solved—all she had to do was rub it in the snow to clean it—but the former was not. A coat with an irreparable number of holes in it was hardly any better than no coat at all.

Only the beast’s legs were in a remotely harvestable state. Its lower half was still covered in blood, and some of the hair was torn and frazzled, but it looked like it could be salvaged. Most of her attacks had been aimed at its core, where its vitals were gathered.

She tried removing one of the girthy limbs with her dagger, but slashing at it wasn’t working. She couldn’t get through the fur unless she switched to stabbing, which to nobody’s surprise, didn’t work too well. The leg was thicker than her torso. She was going to need something longer than a dagger.

Looking around provided an alternative in the form of the beast’s horn. Its jagged appearance gave the impression that it was more than sharp enough for the job, and technically, it was. But there were two sides to every coin.

Handling the crystalline appendage proved surprisingly difficult. It would slip out of her grasp if she didn’t hold it tight and its handleless double-edged form made it impossible for her to grip it without cutting herself. Permanently solving the problem required making the shiv a shaft, but her magic provided an equally effective temporary solution. Pushing and pulling on the knife like a saw allowed her to slowly but surely sever the limb.

Once the leg was detached and the horn jabbed inside it for safekeeping, Claire headed back to the one-eyed monster’s abode. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the fire was still going and that the cave had remained much warmer than the outside. Taking a few deep breaths to rid her lungs of the arctic winds, she abandoned the yeti’s limb just outside the entrance and sat next to the crackling flame. She spent a few moments yawning, stretching, and settling down before popping open her log and absent-mindedly listening along as the unnamed goddess listed off her newest notifications.

Log Entry 886
Basic Force Manipulation has reached level 6.

Log Entry 887
Envenom has reached level 11.

Log Entry 888
You have slain a level 37 Iceborn Llystletein Watcher.

This feat has earned you the following bonuses:
- 6 points of agility
- 1 point of dexterity
- 5 points of spirit
- 2 points of strength
- 6 points of vitality
- 9 points of wisdom

Llystletein with another modifier? No wonder it was so strong.

Log Entry 889
You have leveled up. Your health and mana have been restored and all harmful status effects have been cleansed.

Your racial class, Halfbreed, has reached level 28.

Your primary class, Llystletein Rogue, has reached level 38.

Your secondary class, Llystletein Force Mage, has reached level 9.

You have gained 40 ability points.

Halfbreed gained 3 whole levels… but Rogue and Force Mage both gained fewer than I was expecting. Isn’t it usually the other way around?

Log Entry 890
You have unlocked a new spawnwable food item.

Log Entry 891
Achievement Unlocked — Cadrian Diplomacy

You have somehow managed to transform a peaceful cultural exchange into a display of barbarism and violence. The makings of a true Cadrian diplomat run through your veins.

Oh, shut up Box. I have nothing to do with Cadria anymore. My father already disowned me.

Log Entry 892
Basic Force Manipulation has reached level 7.

Log Entry 893
Makeshift Weapon Mastery has reached level 10.

Log Entry 894
Paralyzing Gaze has reached level 3.

Log Entry 895
Unarmed Combat Mastery has reached level 6.

Is that all of them?

Yawning again, Claire combined the fire with the log beside it, crawled over to a corner, and tucked herself in under a thick pile of furs. Her consciousness grew hazy as she prepared to sleep. But the land of dreams eluded her. Just thirty seconds later, her eyes shot wide open. A sudden wave of lucidity splashed over her like a bucket of cold water.

“You killed him.”

“Shouldersnake?” she groaned. “What is it this time?”

“I wanted to kill him.”

“And he’s dead. What’s the problem?”

“The problem, Claire, is that you’re not letting me kill things!”

“Not my problem.”

“You know what else would’ve been not your problem?” The snake paused dramatically as it scratched the underside of its chin with its tail. “Oh, I know! The watcher! Wow!”

“I don’t care.” Claire rolled her eyes.

“Well I do!”

The rogue gave the scaly apparition the least amused stare she could muster as she put on a display of lifting her hand to her shoulder.

“I sense conflict!”

But a third voice, identical to the other two, joined the conversation before she could wave her self-proclaimed guardian spirit away.

Trumpets blared and feathers fell from the sky like pieces of confetti as a tiny red carpet rolled out thin air. It extended from a ball of light that appeared directly in front of her and ended right where her collarbone met her right arm. Down the aisle came a palm sized pony with a disproportionately large head, a body half as long, and four tiny legs, each a third the length of its neck.

“And there is no better person to solve it but I, the magnanimous, charming, and ever elusive Shoulderhorse!”

“Oh, great... You’re back.” Claire sighed.

“Where the hell have you been this past week?” asked the snake.

“I was busy, of course.”

“Maybe you should have stayed busy. We don’t want you here,” hissed the danger noodle.

“Oh, you silly thing. We all know you’re just saying that…” said the horse with a snort.

“I’m not ‘just saying’ anything. We both hate you.”

“Please, we all know that there is no way you could possibly hate someone as intelligent and beautiful as I.”

The contest of words droned on in the background, but Claire paid it no mind. Its volume fell each time the speaker changed, each time her consciousness took a step towards the void.

“Well we do. Now get out of here, you stupid pony. I’m trying to talk to Claire.”

“Why, I don’t see why I should be the one to leave. Clearly the two of you should relocate instead.”

“That doesn’t even make sense. See, this is why we hate you. You’re dumb and an asshole.”

Like leaves in the wind, the voices drifted, further and further away.

“I believe, fellow shoulder beast, that the correct term is horsehole. I am not a donkey.”

“Where do I even start with you?” groaned the serpent.

“With worship, of cour...”

“Abs... no…”

Before long, they faded completely, leaving her with peace, quiet, and an overhead view of the mansion she had lived in just a week prior.

Again? Why is this happening so often?

She shook her head as she descended through the clouds. Down and forwards she went, closing in on the distant manor. There weren’t actually any footholds, but each step she took brought her closer, as would an invisible staircase.

Casting her gaze over the horizon provided a familiar set of sights, landmarks she was almost starting to dearly miss. The Langgbjern Mountains, a set of cliffs and peaks that reached nearly as high as the capital’s keystones, lay to the north. Though the occasional city dotted the range’s base, her former countrymen laid no claim to the Langgbjerns themselves. No one did. They were too hazardous, filled with all sorts of creatures that no soldier ever wished to see. If the bards of old were to be trusted, there was no benefit to exploring the great peaks. The once dwarven-belt had been long conquered by freakish chimeras of bird and beast.

To the east, there was an ocean, a glimmering sea that split Mara’s people and monsters alike. Merchant vessels would often cross it, traveling from country to country, continent to continent. But intelligent life was by no means limited to the land. A countless number of societies thrived at the ocean’s various depths, a series of warring states whose rulers knew of nothing but greed and glory. And yet, the Ryllain Sea was known not for its barbarism, but rather, its luxurious cuisine. The states produced the most able chefs, one of which was the manor’s very own Amereth, a once masterless warrior turned confectionist extraordinaire.

Tal’Ihir lay to the south. The rainforest was vast, spanning over a thousand kilometers in every direction and sporting an impressive two score and seven distinct territories, one of which had fallen under Cadrian control. Now serving under the eleven horned king, the land of the gorgons was a place of freedom no longer. Its traditions were shackled by masters that ruled it from land, sea, and sky.

Beyond the great wood, further south of Primrose’s Boundless Grove and the divine sapling it contained, was an empty unblessed desert, a land that had supposedly incurred the wrath of the gods. Even its name was taken, erased from nearly every record.

Thinking of the barren badlands left Claire with an inexplicable itch. Something in the back of her mind seemed to scream at her, but she couldn’t quite put a finger on exactly what it was. In the end, she ignored it and cast her gaze westward. The mage knew that many a nation lay beyond the plains, but Cadria was all that extended as far as the eye could see. The grasslands that the people grazed and tended to were abundant and fruitful. Golden hills upon golden hills, interrupted only by the occasional river or forest. It was a bountiful land that could not be maintained without the frequent application of violence.

If repelling foreign nationals was not on the agenda, then it would be filled instead with culling monsters, exploring into lands untamed, and recovering riches long lost to time. At the end of the day, they were all tasks that fell upon might and magic. There existed not a single wealthy household without its own private army. The more successful a man was, the greater his forces. And that was precisely why House Augustus was commonly considered home to Cadria’s finest warriors, outranked only by those in direct service to the crown.

But that was something Claire cared little about. She didn’t even glance at the heavily armoured men sparring in the courtyard. She was focused instead on the roof, where her younger self was sitting with her legs dangling and her eyes rested upon the biggest tree in the garden.

The halfbreed smiled. It was a day she remembered vividly. In due time, she would choose to jump. And though she somehow closed the gap and stopped herself from plummeting to her doom, her father wound up scolding her nonetheless. Her mother, on the other hand, lectured her father instead. The purple-scaled lamia never did quite seem to believe that falling from a height of three stories was capable of causing any significant harm.

Realising that the dream was a rare opportunity to see her mother’s face, Claire descended upon one of the mansion’s southerly verandas and entered through an open door made primarily of glass. She waltzed straight out of the guest room and through the hallway, this time, without any strange distortions to disturb her. The corridor didn’t mysteriously extend, nor did she suddenly find herself losing her nerve.

But there was still a problem.

The door to her mother’s bedroom didn’t look anything like it was supposed to. It was only two meters high and just shy of one across, half as tall and a third as wide as all the others. The material didn’t quite seem right either. It was painted white instead of brown and looked rougher and cheaper than the polished cherrywood used throughout the manor. Even its knob was wrong. There was only one of them situated just above her waist, far too low for most of the manor’s residents to reach. Strangest of all was the way it repelled her. She felt as if she wasn’t supposed to open it, like it was something she was better off ignoring. So she reached for it. She grabbed the forbidden handle and gave it an unabashed twist.

The door didn’t budge. It remained exactly where it was, completely unmoving. The halfbreed, on the other hand, was flung into motion. She was pulled straight into the keyhole, her body shrinking to a fraction of its size before being restored on the other side.

Again, she was among the clouds. And again, a familiar man stood before her. He was different this time. There was only one of him, and he looked much older. A full length greying beard grew from his face, and his frame, which was bulkier than it had been on every other occasion, was adorned with a simpler garment than usual. Gone were the multicoloured, art-covered shirts and the grainy blue pants, replaced by a loose linen cloth wrapped around his waist. He looked so different that she didn’t quite know how she managed to recognize him, let alone from behind. But she did, and easily at that.

He turned to face her as she walked up beside him, at which point in time the grim look in his eyes turned to one of bewilderment. He raised his hands to his face and pulled at his beard as he patted at his body with his other hand.

The man didn’t calm down until everything suddenly reverted to its usual state. Clouds were replaced with tiles and walls while his frame shrank down to the size that both parties were more accustomed to seeing. His facial hair receded and his wrinkles vanished while his skirt transformed into a more typical outfit featuring an artistic rendition of a dark helmeted figure holding a luminescent red tube.

“Strange.”

A bunch of silent words left his mouth, summarized in her mind as a single piece of glowing white text. He wandered about for a bit afterwards, pacing back and forth with a hand on his chin before suddenly lighting up and smacking a fist into his palm.

One snap later, everything changed again, all at once. The scene shifted to what she presumed was the man’s living room, where his less astral form was situated with its hands atop the artifact he had previously taught her to use.

“Again. This time. Easier.”

Log Entry 896
Detect Force Magic has reached level 11.

A copy of his device appeared right in front of her as the image-projecting box suddenly lit up to once again feature the same imperceptible long-eared female. There was something different about it this time, but as she was unable to see it in any real detail, she couldn’t quite make out what that something happened to be.

When the man’s physical form took action, he inputted into his mysterious wand a set of commands different from the ones he had shown her previously. The illustration didn’t grab its foe this time, nor did it smash said foe into the ground neck first. But it did still jump. After leaping into the air, the representation started to dash, back and forth, without the use of any sort of foothold. Somehow, its height remained constant following each set of inputs, as if gravity suddenly ceased to apply.

“Copy.”

Her second rodeo proved much easier than the first. The halfbreed’s hands somehow knew exactly how they were supposed to control the artifact, even though hers was one that could not be touched. The simplified instruction set helped greatly as well. All she had to do was push the ball-tipped rod twice in rapid succession.

Log Entry 897
Artifact Manipulation has reached level 2.

Seeing her repeat the motion several times, the man nodded, apparently satisfied. He held a palm in front of her to stop her, then pointed at the screen, where the illustration was now performing an extended, more violent version of the action. Each dash was followed by a kick; the cloak-covered figure would twist forward as it extended a leg, still unaffected by the world’s universal downwards force.

Again, the input was simple. It was just like the previous one with an additional instruction appended at the end, a single depression of the red circle marked with a rotated cross. He added another action once she mastered it, and then another and another each time she performed. By the end of the night, she was following along almost perfectly as the hazy illustration pounded away at an equally blurry foe. Artifact Manipulation didn’t gain any more levels. But somehow, another skill did.

Log Entry 898
Unarmed Combat Mastery has reached level 7.

“Good. Enough for today.”

Rambling happily, the man inserted himself between the halfbreed and the art-filled box right as the goddess announced the acquisition.

“Next time. Real martial arts.”

And then, with a clap of his hands, he was gone, world and all.