BoD B2C34 - Dangerous Growth (Patreon)

Took longer than expected!

The numbers were shocking in and of themselves. He’d known he’d done something unusual, risky, something admittedly more complex than what a Mage of his level should be attempting. He’d been proud of himself, for having succeeded, for having the inspiration to see the possibilities, and the daring to follow through.

Now he was just scared.

“D-Dove?” he stammered. “This doesn’t seem right. Something… something is wrong.”

The skull, sat on a nearby rock, scoffed.

“You fucking moron. By the gods, you shit me, Tyron. How can someone be such a gifted Mage, and be so fucking stupid at the same time?”

“I’ve taught myself spells before!”

“You taught yourself how to cast light, you braindead, dickless shitbag! Don’t you think figuring out the method to create Revenants by yourself is slightly more impressive? The Unseen rewards feats such as that, which is why I’m assuming you're staring at the page like a gormless fish with a cock in its mouth.”

He’d gained levels, of course, in both his main and sub-class. He’d done a fair bit of fighting since the last time he’d performed the ritual. The deeds he’d been forced to commit were no doubt pleasing to the patrons also, sowing unintended chaos in his wake.

But some gifts belonged only to the Unseen to give, granted to those with exceptional insight into an aspect of its power. Not one, but both of his mysteries had been elevated by his success, and by more than should have been possible.

The entry on his status which had previously read:

Spell Shaping (Initial): INT +3 WIS +3

Words of Power (Initial): WIS +3 CHA +3

Now said:

Spell Shaping (Advanced): INT +20 WIS +20

Words of Power (Advanced): WIS +20 CHA +20

A dramatic change to say the least. What was truly shocking was that he didn’t believe it was possible for a Mystery to progress this far at his current Class Level.

Had the Unseen broken its own rules for him? Such a thing was unheard of!

“My Mysteries progressed, both of them,” he stuttered to Dove.

The once-Summoner grunted.

“I figured as much. Judging by your reaction, they went further than you expected, right?”

Tyron nodded numbly.

“Haaa. Fucking kid. If I’d had balls like you… I’d have probably killed myself because I could never work magick the way you can. Which, for the record, pisses me off.”

The skull muttered angrily to itself for a moment.

“Right. The biggest change you’ll feel, greater even than the stat-boost, is the hand of the Unseen working in your favour. The mysteries represent your understanding and ability stretching beyond what is normally possible. To turn that difference into discernable power, the Unseen will put its hand even more firmly on the scale.”

This was much as his Mother had told him. Both of his parents had possessed multiple Mysteries, all of them highly advanced. He hadn’t really believed her when she’d declared he would share the same status as them one day, though he’d hungered for it.

“I’m presuming your parents told you all about this,” Dove said shrewdly.

Slightly embarrassed, Tyron nodded.

“Fucking hell. Sometimes I forget that you were raised by literally the two strongest Slayers in the fucking province.”

“I… wouldn’t say ‘raised’,” Tyron hesitated to say. He felt disloyal, even if it was the truth.

“You had access to them, at the very least. There are a ton of people who’d cut off their left nut to be taught just about anything by the Steelarms. Especially your dad.”

“Why is that?”

It never made that much sense to Tyron that his father was the more respected of the two. In his eyes, Magnin was the less responsible, less organised and generally more easygoing, whereas Beory was both driven and intense. Both were incredibly strong, though they possessed very different classes.

“I suppose the Magnin you know is a little different from the one most people hear about,” Dove observed. “Look, Magnin Steelarm is the fucking shit. You might not believe it, but he’s legitimately one of the strongest swordsman in the Empire. The man is fucking godly. When you combine that with the fact that Swordsman Classes are exceptionally powerful duelists, you’ll realise that one on one, he’s absolutely the strongest Slayer in the entire Eastern Province, and it isn’t close.”

“Huh.”

“Your sword skills being so shit despite living in the same house as that man. It’s hilarious, in a way.”

“Thanks….”

“Look… I’m reluctant to ask this, but since we’re on the topic of Mysteries, my curiosity has been piqued and you’re probably the only person who can answer this question. You’ve seen your parents' status sheets, right?”

He had, once. The two of them had never really hidden it from him, but he’d only worked up the courage to ask them that one time. He nodded.

“I’ve always wondered how many Mysteries those two had unlocked. Any chance you can tell me?”

Tyron didn’t see the harm in it.

“My mother had five.”

“FIVE? What the fuck?! FIVE?! How is that even possible? She’s a Mage, for fucks sake! Are there that many Spell related Mysteries? I’ve never heard of that many! By the munificent mamarries of the golden goddess. That’s bullshit!”

Dove continued to sputter away for a minute until he finally managed to calm himself.

“I almost hate to ask… what about Magnin?”

Tyron hesitated.

“I don’t think I want to tell you.”

If he got that sort of reaction for his mother’s sheet…. He didn’t want to deal with five minutes of solid cursing when he was halfway through a status ritual.

“You can’t leave me hanging like this, you little shit! Don’t tell me he has more than five. If it’s more than five, I’ll grow a new body right here and now just so I can shit myself.”

“Let’s just focus on the status ritual for now, okay?”

“It is more than five, isn’t it? Don’t avert your gaze from me! You look as shifty as a brat with a pocket full of biscuits….”

“I’m not talking about this any more,” Tyron declared. “I need to focus on this. Getting distracted during the ritual is a rookie move. That’s your advice.”

The skull grumbled a bit but subsided after a few moments.

“Hitting me with my own words. That’s low,” Dove declared.

Tyron was just relieved. If Dove had found out Magnin had eight Mysteries… he might have had an aneurysm, undead or not.

Three levels of Undead Weaver, and three in Anathema. Another incredible leap. He’d expected his progress to slow dramatically after reaching Level 20, but so far, that hadn’t been the case.

This meant he had reached level 28 in his main Class and Level 17 in Anathema. Another welcome injection of raw statistical power, and another chance to choose new abilities. Two for Undead Weaver, a feat and a new ability from Anathema.

He didn’t think too hard on the new Skill he had developed through his own methods, now listed amongst the others. Even if he tried to avoid it, his eyes still flicked to the name against his will.

Bone-Soul Melding - Level 3.

It was this technique that gave the ability to create Revenants, a more potent form of Skeletal Warrior.

He slid his eyes down the page and carefully read through the options. Concentration and careful, measured thought was required at times like this. Making the right decision was critical.

There were two options he hadn’t picked so far for Undead Weaver: Ghoul Flesh and Empowered Bone Armour.

The latter was immediately attractive, for several reasons. Staying alive was his primary responsibility as a Necromancer, and this would be a significant upgrade to the only defensive magick he possessed. It also synergised with his last feat selection.

Still, he couldn’t pick it immediately. There were four new items listed that he needed to consider first.

Advanced Death Magick - Replaces Death Magick and raises the Level limit to 20.

Bone Weapon Sculpting (Bow) - Create simple bows and arrows by moulding bones.

Crepify - An infusion of power to Undead Flesh, rapidly healing damage and strengthening for a duration.

Death’s Grasp - An offensive magick that wraps the target in Death Magick.

The Undead Weaver truly was a minion focused Class. Almost all of the choices he could make related to them, which is why he had picked it after all. A true Necromancer was only as powerful as the undead he controlled. By continually doubling down on strengthening the creatures who fought on his behalf, he truly believed he would reach the full potential of the Class he had Awakened.

When the moment arrived that even his basic skeletons became intimidating foes, he would have truly stepped into his power.

With these four selections, there was a lot to think about. Crepify could be put aside comfortably. He hadn’t even dabbled with flesh-based minions, and at this point, was never likely to.

Advanced Death Magick was attractive, despite his relative lack of spells that utilised that particular attributed energy. The main spell he used which fell into this category was his literal bread and butter - Raise Dead. Anything he could do to further empower that Spell was worth considering.

Although, another selection came along shortly after to help resolve this relative shortfall. Death’s Grasp. Finally, an actual offensive magick, though it sounded more as if it immobilised or hindered rather than killed. Which was perfect for his purposes.

Except the other options were also tempting! Skeletal archers would give him the ability to diversify his troops. Somehow he knew, even before purchasing the Skill, that his skeletons would be perfectly capable of wielding these weapons, at a basic level at least.

That meant there were four choices he wanted, but he could only take two!

After careful consideration, he placed a mark next to Bone Weapon Sculpting and Death’s Grasp. Advanced Death Magick and the improved Bone Armour were still well worth consideration. He’d have to hope his Class threw him some choices he could safely overlook to go back and select them.

Now for the Anathema choices.

The feat presented him with a dilemma. He’d hoped to see Wall of Thought II and indeed it was present on the list. Losing control of his mind terrified him, and this feat provided the best direct boost to his defence that he’d seen. Working against and alongside dangerous powers, the one thing he could never afford to lose was the integrity of his thoughts.

Yet Drain Life tempted him greatly. Direct experience of the suffering inflicted by a single wound had left him thoroughly disillusioned in his ability to function through the pain. Could he countenance consuming souls to heal himself? No. His moral compass may be sliding into the grey, but that he would not conscience. Siphoning health in battle? That could definitely work. If it performed as described against rift-kin, even better. In fact, it would be perfect.

With a sigh, he placed his mark next to Drain Life and moved on to selecting his last ability.

Only two opportunities remained to select Anathema spells and skills. Looking at the list, Tyron was quite happy to leave much of what he saw alone.

Neither of the new abilities tempted him greatly, despite sounding rather strong.

Mind Siphon - Examine thoughts and memories of a Suppressed Target.

Storm Cloud - Summon a magickally charged fog around yourself.

There was something on this list he wanted quite badly, something that he didn’t think would normally be offered and he was pleased to see it still remained.

Blood still dripping from his thumb, he pressed it to the page beside Abyss Tongue.

Mastery of this skill would bring the ability to commune directly with the Abyss without relying on Yor or the Vampires, freeing him of another hold.

Choices made, he finished the ritual and leaned back with a sharp intake of breath as the power of the Unseen flooded through him. Strength and knowledge flooded into his mind and body until he felt like a waterskin about to burst.

“Holy shit, that was a rush,” he gasped once it was over.

“I bet that was a fucking big one,” Dove said, “What with the mysteries and all that. I assume you’ve got a bunch of crazy shit you want to try now. Anything good? Wailing Souls of the Damned or something?”

Tyron still sat, breathing deeply as the changes continued to wrack him, puzzle pieces slotting into place deep in his brain.

“Almost… like that.”

He cast an eye over the back of the cart at his dwindling bone supply. With his strength increasing, the number of minions he could maintain continued to grow, as did the demands on his resources.

“We are going to need a shit load more bones.”

“Well, unless you feel like murdering a whole bunch of people…” the skull trailed off meaningfully and Tyron simply shook his head. “Then your out of fucking luck.”

“No, there’s a resource we can tap. A strategic reserve, if you will,” Tyron corrected his friend.

He looked up at the sky to see the light beginning to fade.

“We don’t have a lot of time on our hands either. Yor will not want to be part of this and we can’t risk getting caught. Dusk should be perfect for our needs.”

“What are you even talking about? Some buried reservoir of bones, just lying in the groun - oh I’ve got it. Obviously. Right.”

“We’re going back to my roots, Dove. The first thing I ever did as a Necromancer was rob graves.”