A Record of Ash & Ruin: The Grieving Lands

Book 3: Chapter 34: Beron’s Dream

Puissant indeed are the priests of the River. When touched by their God, they are given the power to pierce the veil of what is yet to come and to peer into the mists of the forgotten past. Unlike their God, they are mortal, and thus flawed. Their vision crude, their memories stained by imperfect minds, means what they see requires wisdom to interpret correctly. These mortal advocates of the River can not see the Source, the start of all things, nor can they see the sea of infinity into which time flows.

Many say they are the guardians of order that protect our world against the coming of the next Cataclysm.

I know that for a lie. They are the servants of a cage that binds mortal free will and even I will never let them have me.

- Attributed to the Wrack Witch before her execution circa 245 AC.

Paying for the meal, we found the service to be efficient, though hardly welcoming. This didn't detract from the food's quality, which was outstanding, albeit somewhat lacking in flavor. Zariyah had warned me of its spiciness, but I found myself disagreeing. It seemed she had a more sensitive palate, as evidenced by her frequent sips of water to tame the dish's supposed heat.

After our meal, we cleansed our hands in bowls of lemon-scented water, and I offered my thanks to the server whose name I hadn't taken the trouble to learn. It was not custom, but I left a few tattered bills as a tip, drawing a puzzled glance from Zariyah.

As we made our way to the lair of the resident Alchemist, I could not help but notice the odd looks that were directed my way, likely a reaction to my disheveled appearance. However, these were merely fleeting, stolen glances, and none bore a hint of challenge. And rightly so, I thought to myself.

A set of stairs, wide and carved from the local yellowstone, led to the basement. There was no handrail, but the steps were relatively shallow and the gradient gentle. Glowing purple Zajasite set at uniform intervals provided adequate, but not great, lighting. Intrepidly we descended.

A smell, familiar yet different, slowly crept upon us as we continued our descent. Unguents and preservatives, burned herbs, and long-hidden rot mixed into a strange melange that stole upon the senses. Zariyah wrinkled her nose signaling her discomfort.

You know the best places to take a girl, she cried out with her fingers. The whiny complaint was writ clear in her discomfiture.

“Wait for me above, if this is unpleasant for you. I will try to conclude my business as quickly as possible,” was my considerate suggestion.

By your leave, she replied formally, before scurrying back up.

I continued my descent into the bowels of the Guild, the smell growing ever stronger. At one point I swore that my Health had even dropped a point, only soon to be regenerated. At the bottom of the stairs was a black wooden door banded with iron. For some reason, or another, I felt like there would be a significant encounter beyond that door. I needed to be prepared, as well prepared as I could be.

I reached into my pack, rooting around until I found the cheaper Mana potions. I looked at the blue liquid for a moment, unstoppered the glass vial, and swigged down its contents. It tasted like purified and distilled water, liquid nothing, as it slipped down my throat. I grimaced as I drank it down, more at the potential waste of money than its flavor. Seconds later, starting in the pit of my stomach, a tingling sensation came over me, spreading. It felt as if all the pores of my body had opened and that something electric and unnatural was filling me. That I was sucking something in, strange and alien. This must be Mana. I was feeling Mana itself coming to me.

I observed my Mana bar in the corner of my vision. Slowly it rose as I waited before the threshold, trepidation and caution stopping my entry. Wanting an excuse to waste time, I went briefly over my character sheet and Status.

Health: 418/434

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Stamina: 66/75

Mana: 14/18

When my Mana had returned to over three-quarters, I could no longer make the excuse to myself that I was just being cautious. I knew fear for what it was. I could defeat it. With this thought, I placed both my hands on the door, felt the very grains of the dark stained wood, and pushed.

The door opened inward and I was immediately greeted by a hammer blow upon my senses. The stench, an almost palpable thing, was pungent and thick. Just breathing it in felt as if my lungs were being clogged up. So distracted was I that I barely noticed the chimes that tinkled, signaling my arrival.

The room I found myself in was exceptionally well-lit. The crystal Zajasite lights that hung from copper chains from the ceiling were almost as bright as any modern equivalent. Various specimens trapped in glass, animal and plant in origin, lined wooden shelves like alien soldiers on parade.

“Hello, Vincenzio?” I called out from the entrance.

There was no reply. I took a cautious step into the room and called out again. This time there was a rustle of movement. A curtain parted at the end of the room, and a thin sallow cadaver of man walked into sight. His eyes were sunken hollows, his skin the waxy pale shade of a drowned corpse. Brown robes, splotched and stained in many places, hung about him a skeletal frame, just this side of the grave. I was so taken aback by his appearance that I could not help but cast an Identify on him to confirm if the thing in front of me was human.

Vincenzio Utnapishtim Barbierri - Necromancer (Human lvl.32)

Health: 272/272

Stamina: 24/24

Mana: 16/16

My recent encounters with the locals had led me to believe that I was perhaps a little over-levelled for this zone. However, looking at this I might be proven wrong, either that or Mr. Barbierri was a sort of secret hidden boss.

In a voice, rasping and throaty, Vincenzio the Necromancer was the first to break the silence. “Ha, it has been many years since one has felt the touch of Sage’s Eye. You are too young to be in possession of such a magic,” he observed.

I was rather shocked, for it was one of the first times my staple spell had been detected by one of the denizens of this world, I found myself hesitant in my response. His level was worrying, even if his attributes were not. How many had this man killed to reach such height?

“Gilgamesh,” I began, “and you are Vincenzio Utnapishtim Barbierri the Alchemist, I presume?”

He crossed his arms, his pale hands lost in the fabric of his robes. “Very much so, young man, the very one. Though, one has not heard my family name in many long years, nor do I remember telling anyone in the Guild. Bravo, you even know the name my mother gave me, the legacy of her people. Your Sage’s Eye must be powerful, and thorough, indeed to know of these things,” he replied with a dark smile, his eyes focused on a space behind my head.

“And what is your business with the last scion of a long-forgotten Qisnian house, young master Gilgamesh?”

“Beron’s Vision. I have heard that there is a market for it and that you were a potential buyer,” I offered, waiting for the expected correction. It was always good to make sure the other side felt superior to you.

“Beron’s Dream, is the common layman’s term these days,” he corrected with a sniff. “Isurru Sutu wasits original name before it was ‘discovered’ by the insufferable Laney. Still, one doubts you would have any interest in that. I promise to pay well for it.”

I reached into my bag, producing the sample for his inspection. Reverently he took it, unwrapping it from its leafy container and placing it onto a small silver platter. The lichen had lost some of its luster, but it still glowed a weak green.

“Fantastic, a relatively fresh specimen and decently preserved,” Vincenzio observed, taking out a looking glass with his index finger and thumb. He brought my proffered sample up towards his face for his closer inspection, held it up to the light and muttered in appreciation. “You did well to wrap it in a leaf and keep it in the dark. Ignoramuses would just throw it in a glass flask and call it a day. Like you, young man, your work is surprising.”

He put down both glass and lichen and fixed on me with the dark hollows that served as his eyes. “Three gold, twenty if you can tell me where you found it,” was his flat statement, but underneath were the faint undertones of a very mortal greed.

As I was about to accept, a very rude and obnoxious notification flashed before my eyes, stopping my reply. A reminder that I was just playing a twisted game.

New Quest: Acquire the Animate Dead scroll from the Necromancer.

A sly grin crossed my face. It seemed that the world was shaping itself to see to my needs. My wants. Very well then, game, I will play you.

“YourManzaza Shiptu, the birth seed of the magic that has touched you. A scroll that imparts the new magic. For that, and not just the luster of gold, will I tell you where this lichen grows. Necromancer,” I replied. A pronouncement with the weight of an undeniable fate and destiny behind it.

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