A Record of Ash & Ruin: The Grieving Lands

Book 2: Chapter 22: Know Thyself

Fight the wielder, not the weapon.

- The Living Sword by Fen Vaigorus circa 520 AC.

The next few days were spent in a predictable, yet not overly-taxing pattern. During the day, I stayed in our wagon, trying to glean some scraps of knowledge from the ragged remains of the book I had gotten from Elwin. I also decided to take the time to half-heartedly write a journal, using Amon’s writing kit. However, the quill and small ink pot took a little getting used to, and were no match for the modern conveniences I had grown accustomed to, not to mention the difficulty of writing in a moving vehicle. Still, on paper and in my native language, my thoughts were at least private.

In the evenings I was given riding lessons for a turn-and-a-half of a sand clock, an hour or two by my estimation, by a member of the caravan guard. My instructor was a gruff man, just at the stage where rash youth was finally beginning to be tempered by wisdom. He was black-bearded, of average build and height, and he introduced himself simply as Alik. As was my habit, I cast an Identify to confirm the truth of his words.

Alik Al'Kabar - Soldier (Human lvl.11) Health 115/118 Stamina 21/28

Mana 8/8

Alik was the same level as me, but I surely dwarfed him in terms of raw attributes. It was a shame that my Identify did not show his exact attributes or any of his skills. His class or ‘calling’ was of passing interest, as it displayed only ‘soldier.’ I had expected it to be ‘guard,’ or some such.

He was a good teacher, though a little curt at times. Arik had the voice of one used to barking orders, grating like a drill sergeant. After the second day under his instruction, I could at least mount my bored and borrowed steed unassisted. I was even rewarded with a new skill for my efforts, plus ten points of experience.

You have learned Riding (lvl.1)

Every day, after the evening meal, and sometimes feeling a little saddle sore, it would be my turn to join the rotation of guards who patrolled the outskirts of our camp.

My time among my fellow guards allowed me to converse a little with them. They were from all over the place, the names myriad and exotic. One of their number was a lad from a place memorably labeled Dullstown, far to the West. Dullstown’s only claim to fame was that, in its long history, not a single person from its population had ever been able to harness magic through the gift of Mana.

They spoke to me a bit of their lives, their meager existences up until now, and it was of little note. All except for Alik, my instructor, who joined us one evening on a passing whim. His was a far more interesting story. A fellow guard, Raza, a young slip of a man with a mop of curly brown hair and seastone gray eyes, was able to badger him into telling us a story of his past.

A surly Alik told the abbreviated tale of his not-so-distant youth. A few years he spent in the Adventurer’s guild, and he spoke of some of his early exploits. These were moderately interesting tales of slain monsters and unearthed treasures. But what piqued everyone’s interest was that a certain event caused him to quit adventuring. No amount of pestering by Raza or the other guards could convince him to explain further, and an air of mystery surrounded the end of his tale. He simply stated that he learned something in an infamous place known as the ‘Iron Quarter’ that had put him off from adventuring. From his limited and brief description, I ascertained that it was probably the game world's version of a 'dungeon.'

Something in its dark and dangerous depths had made the gruff Alik quit his chosen path and instead join the rival Mercenaries Guild. Another few years and a few failed campaigns later, sick of the bloody business of war, but unable to put up his sword, he took up employment as a small-time thug in a local gang in a small town. What money he had left at the end of the day, he spent on cheap drink and loose women. He was eventually recruited into the Ravens by Khalam, the caravan’s Guard Master, who dragged him out of a dirty drinking den.

Kidu, too, would join us on occasion when he finished his duties, and his bulky armored form would cast large shadows in the firelight. Larynda would also enter our little circle, if she was not overly exhausted from her training and study. Somehow, the child was able to earn praise and the odd smile from even the most world-weary and surly of the guards.

A harsh liqueur called Arag, which was made from fermented mare’s milk, was passed around liberally on such occasions. One sniff told me it was not for me. I only pretended to drink it, the liquid just barely touching my lips when it was my turn to take a pull. The Hunter refused altogether, saying that the burning water of Kazass, the wildman’s term for alcohol, did not suit him. The other guards did not press him, nor did they mock him for it. This I found mildly amusing, for just the other day they had relentlessly ribbed Raza for his poor constitution against the strong drink. Larynda wrinkled her nose at the stuff and refused to partake - not that I would have allowed her to drink alcohol at her young age, anyway.

I was even invited to join in on one of their card games by Likam, an old gray-bearded guard. Knock-kneed and flat-footed, his old armor fit his ungainly frame poorly, and he walked with a slight limp from a previous injury. According to the old hand, his limp had been caused by a supposedly powerful foe that had knocked him off his saddle. The others disputed his claim, saying that he just suffered a bad fall trying to break in a new colt while drunk, much to his consternation. I was given to agree with them. When we talked about the losses in our lives, we were always only beaten by the strongest of foes, or were the victims of the direst of circumstances.

The game I was invited to was called, simply, ‘Blessings.’ The aim of the game was to complete ever increasingly-complicated sets, or Blessings, as the game termed it, by picking up cards from the general pile and discarding unwanted cards from your own hand. The player who was able to complete a set was able to ‘cash in,’ by collecting an agreed amount of money from the other players. Alternatively, he could choose to continue - in an attempt to collect another set, or expand upon his own.

Each of the sets came from a ‘suit’ representing one of the Divines - the gods or goddesses of this world. These were, according to the sets, starting from the most valuable: the Sun, the Vagrant, the Twin Swords, the Withered Tree, the Matriarch, the River, the Behemoth and, lastly, the Hunger. The Hunger was mostly worthless unless it was paired with the “Herald” card from one of the other sets, a combination that was almost impossible to achieve.

It was a simple game, once I had memorized the sets. I counted myself fortunate, as my fellow guards were patient in their instruction. Beginner’s luck was on my side for a few rounds, which allowed me to even claw back a few coppers. Halfway through a hand, I was hit with a flash of inspiration. Just as I had used Identify before, to help with my wager back in Ansan, could I not also use its magic here?

Surreptitiously, I searched the faces of my fellow players while I cast the spell on their cards. On the wily Likam, who had won considerably more than he lost, I burned through five Mana to reveal his entire hand. The old hand was the biggest threat. Throwing caution to the wind, and simply excited that my underhanded tactics had worked, I went through the rest of my Mana, revealing more of the other players’ cards.

Suddenly, the odds of the game were turned on their head. Now I was the master of the cards—the decider of fate, for this round at least. Keeping the other cards that the other players required and discarding only the ‘useless’ cards, I was able to win the round. I won with the Herald of the Twin Swords and a single card of the Hunger. A perfect combination. A few eyebrows were raised, and the guards commented bitterly that I had probably used up all of my good fortune for this one game. Luck was not something to be rationed out by the powers that be, it was made. Smiling slyly to myself, I was rewarded for my masterful use of magic with an increase to one of my more mysterious attributes, and a small bump in experience.

You have gained 1 Luck.

With my winnings, I was able to exchange my simple pouches for a durable satchel from one of the merchants on the train. My new bag was made of waxed and boiled leather plates stitched together, and closed with a simple clasp. The treated material would protect the contents of the satchel from the elements, and at the same time allow for easy access. I placed my growing collection of potions within, along with my coin purse, some assorted pieces of jerky, and travel biscuits.

My inspired use of Identify drove me to focus on the spell in a bid to increase its power. The next day, I cast the spell on everything in sight when I could, starting with my own equipment. My current inventory consisted of;

Durability 239/245

Iron Parrying Dagger

Durability 119/125

Iron Throwing Knife

Durability 87/90

Iron Throwing Knife

Durability 89/90

Durability 81/90

Durability 163/190

Durability 349/350

Durability 323/350

Durability 324/370

Durability 98/115

Durability 46/80

Durability 147/175

Durability 134/170

Durability 76/95

Durability 110/110

Durability 10/10

Durability 50/50

Durability 50/50

Durability 50/50

Durability 10/10

Durability 70/70

I came to the assumption that potion durability referred to the flask as opposed to the actual liquid. In addition, when a piece of armor or item consisted of two different types of material, the spell displayed the secondary material in brackets. My gear was getting a little worn, especially my brown robes, and this was reflected in their lowered durability value. I would have to see, at some point, if I could get my equipment repaired by someone in the caravan.

Also, much to my disappointment, I failed to level up the spell, and was only given a small increase to my experience point total. I felt I was missing something, but what was it?

It was on the second day of determined practice that I received a flash of inspiration. We had stopped for the day. Larynda and Kidu were halfway through another session of strenuous practice, and the clack-clack of wood striking wood or the occasional cry of pain was a little distracting for me. Towards the tail end of their session, I saw an exhausted Larynda, near her limit, attack the wild man in a series of blows, trying to overpower him through reckless determination. It was a fool’s gambit.

“This is folly, girl. Know yourself. Know your strengths. You could never overpower, spear to spear, a man strong in the arm like me. Use your speed and the strength of your mind! Hah!” guffawed the big man, a smidgen of pride entering his voice and causing Larynda to renew her assault.

Something about Kidu’s words spoke to me. Know your strengths. Could it be? I wondered as I whispered an old and worn platitude to myself. I decided to cast Identify on myself.

Threads of magic wove their way through me, searching and questing for the nature of my being. The fabric of my soul was laid bare, but just before I reached an epiphany, any understanding was swept away by a tidal wave of black slithering things. The limited energy of the spell was diverted and distracted, and the sensation was lost. For a few brief moments, my own name, my true name—that I had thought lost to me—had come close to being revealed. However, more important than all of this, I had a breakthrough.

You have learned Identify (lvl.3) You have gained 1 Wisdom.

Finally, some progress! All thoughts of my old name were lost in a surge of satisfaction. I had to restrain myself from jumping for joy, as such an action would no doubt mark me for a loon. ‘Calm’, I told myself as I began to cast Identify on both Kidu and Larynda.

Kidu Kreshin - Hunter (Human lvl.13) Health 315/318 Stamina 21/28

Mana 8/8

Larynda - Chaos Mage (Human/Elf lvl.5) Health 31/35 Stamina 21/23

Mana 11/19

Kidu, as always, was a monster, and from the spell I could see that he had grown a little more powerful, both in mind and body. Our ward Larynda, too, had also made some progress, with small gains in Health and Stamina.

No! That was not the point at all. The spell revealed nothing new. No greater depth of information, like Strength or Skill, was shown to me. I ground my teeth as I watched their contest, irritated by the wasted effort. Then, suddenly, as I was about to smash my fist against the innocent wood of the wagon, it happened.

Larynda ran at Kidu again, his mocking causing her to launch another combination of reckless blows that left her completely open. Kidu casually deflected or avoided each of the strikes, reminding her of sloppy footwork as he tripped her up, teaching with pain what patience could not. The small girl’s Health dropped by one point, and I could see that she had also lost two points of Stamina.

I could see it! Sweet merciful gods, I could still see it. My Identify spell could now keep track of the status of combatants. Wanting to test the bounds of my spell I cast the spell again on my leather gloves, an inanimate object.

Durability 50/50

Durability 76/95

The information disappeared moments later, which was yet another disappointment. Flummoxed, I could only grunt in frustration as I watched Kidu continue in his spartan instructions. A few minutes later, the pair’s status disappeared from my mind’s view, the magic finally expiring. The information from identified objects would disappear nearly instantly while living things, humans at the very least, would display their information for considerably longer. I comforted myself that I had at least made some progress, and that the utility of the spell had certainly increased.

The evening meal was some sort of deep-fried root vegetable, cut into small chunks and wrapped in unleavened bread. It was cooked to be slightly crunchy and was quite pleasant, though a part of me decided it could have done with a bit more salt. Some ketchup would not have gone amiss, either. After we finished, I decided to tell the tale of ‘Goldilocks and the Three Bears’, which drew some false consternation from Kidu when Larynda commented that the giant of a man would probably be too big for any of the beds. The girl loved the story and took the time to poke a little more friendly fun at the large man’s expense.

Once our stomachs had settled, we checked our gear and prepared to join the guards for our turn at the watch. The sky at night, though painted with a myriad of lights, held not a single constellation familiar to me. Hopefully, my watch would pass with no issue under such an alien sky.

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