Orphan At The Edge Of The World - 271 The Magician 29

An extra layer of fuzzy, memory distorting haze drifted over his consciousness. He had expected it. The world would reject him as soon as it felt his presence. The trio of linked planes had marked his soul’s signature for immediate expulsion upon sensing it and this plane of the the three was the most wary of him.

To allow him entry, the system had to link him to his world-side host as more of an avatar than a vessel but that meant the hollow soul shell had more influence on his consciousness while he was in it than it otherwise would. It was just as well.

Due to the ridiculous ‘Eternal Burden of Heroes’ title he had earned for clearing the tutorial world completely unconscious, he had to take the vessel most closely linked to immediate need of an NPC protagonist’s help. To top it off, for whatever happened during his run in Jarvis’ world, the young mage earned another ‘bad’ title that evolved to ‘Sacrifice’ in conjunction to the first one.

Because of that, Orison was always linked to the most tragic of NPC heroes available for any given story. In conjunction with ‘Marked for Death’, even an easy scenario that wasn’t a trap became Nightmare Mode for whatever vessel he had. It would be the most vulnerable, least powerful one among valid options, typically. That usually meant…

The young mage took a moment to look over the vessel. “I should feel fortunate that there weren’t girl options available in the last story that matched my title restrictions. I would have been screwed in more ways than one. Looks like that wasn’t the case this time.

“What am I working with? A cleric acolyte, huh? Enough prepackaged grace to cast two sh*tty heals and a ‘Field of Sanctuary’ and that’s it.”

As Orison was doing his examination within, the soul shelled vessel was on auto pilot in the ‘story line’. The girl was reeling in horror at the fate of her first adventuring party. While the surviving mage was doing her best to keep them alive with an arrow in her stomach, casting an unfocused ‘ice shards’, the traumatized vessel was trying to heal her.

The young mage within was well aware that with the state of the vessel’s weakened and hollow soul, any divine patron would be stingy with its bestowal of grace to such a being. Mentally smiling grimly, he reached out and, almost completely by instinct, offered to become her patron. In the girl’s desperation and directly under Orison’s influence, she accepted without a second thought.

As the remaining goblins closed in on the ‘cleric acolyte’ vessel, the girl that was still in autopilot story mode, screamed in terror and lost control of her faculties for a moment. The smell of fear and urine seemed to whip the goblins into a frenzy as they closed in on her. The young mage worked frantically to inhabit her more fully without getting rejected by the world but realized that he would probably not be able to cut through the girl’s emotional distress fast enough to save her.

While the first two goblins started ripping the girl’s clerical robes to shreds in preparation of administering a grim fate, the young mage prepared to ‘disconnect’ before he was dragged into experiencing it with her. It was at that moment that a rock slammed into one goblin’s face with what seemed just shy of a mortar shell explosion. The fragments of dirt and stone chips pelted the girl but also distracted the second goblin.

Reaching through her, Orison prompted her to reflexively reach for the dead mage girl’s belt dagger and bury it into the other goblin’s eye. It stood up and screeched in agony before the knee guard of a greave entered side view, driving the hilt clear into the goblin’s head. Having delved in far enough, the young mage kept her from collapsing in relief at the sight of a ‘savior’.

Having her follow closely behind the rapidly moving armored figure, he managed to prompt her into two more assists, earning the vessel a touch of grace for killing world marked monsters. It was tough working through her near hysteria but with every goblin death, he could feel her emotional equilibrium evening out into a functional state.

As soon as the area was clear of threats, the armored figure tossed the cleric girl a canteen of water. “Take a few drinks and clean yourself. Your scent is too easy to follow.”

The girl’s immediate sense of shame nearly derailed the process. The armored man was a rough, no frills kind of person. He wouldn’t hesitate to abandon her if she became too much of a burden or threat to the man’s own safety. However, if she listened to his words, he would help as much as he could.

Using her own panic as leverage, Orison got her to strip and comply with as much speed and efficiency as possible. With an end flourish, he pushed enough ‘gift’ through to wick away the water and repair her outer clothing to a state of something wearable as she redressed with a spare ‘scentless’ undergarment.

Returning from his swift scouting of the vicinity, the man said in a deep voice, raspy from disuse, “What miracles and orisons do you have left?”

The young mage within was startled by the question as the girl said, once again in autopilot, “I have enough grace for a heal and two orisons within the creation domain. I can also lay a ‘Field of Sanctuary’.”

Inwardly relieved that the man was referring to whatever magic labeling the current world used, he exerted semi-passive control while providing patron options. “I have enough reserves for two minor mends or exercise any basic casting from the conjuration school, stronger if it overlaps with healing lore,” she blurted while slightly confused why she’d say that.

The armored figure nodded in approval. “Useful variety but within a tight grouping of abilities. You have a good beginner’s mentor. Don’t make the mistake of continuing to multi-class magics. It will cripple your upper potential.”

Under the sting of an implied possible error in judgment that was completely off base, no matter how well intended, she was about to run her mouth in an unhelpful way.

Orison directed her ire into a much more beneficial direction. “Help me get some more grace from monster kill assists and I’ll show you ‘useful’.”

The man paused his purposeful gait the young cleric was forced to keep pace with. He eyed her critically as she blushed under the scrutiny and her uncharacteristic assertiveness. Assessing her performance when he appeared, the man gave a slow grudging nod and a grunt. The young mage assumed that meant he’d try to give the cleric some chance openings when he could.

As they proceeded, the young mage was utterly shocked by the resourcefulness and frugality of the man. The armored man wore second-hand armor and was equipped with a worn but serviceable blade he never drew. Instead, the man would, more often than not, use and discard the weapons left by killed goblins whenever possible.

From time to time, they’d catch a patrol of one or two of the creatures and his measured movements would slow for a half-second. Neither Orison or his host recognized what the pause meant the first couple of times. The young mage caught on and galvanized the cleric into action after the first set of wasted opportunities the armored man tried to provide.

Broken spears, arrow heads and even a sewing needle from the girl’s pack; the young mage would whip her into action to inflict every small kind of aggravation and harassment possible. It was meager but the constant effort finally afforded enough of a grace reward to provide some additional future magical assistance if needed. The girl even managed to accidentally kill one completely on her own, drawing a sob from her.

Her original divine patron abhorred violence and killing of any kind. The moment she had taken a life, her fate was sealed. She would have to petition to leave the Earth Mother Church for the Sun Lord’s as soon as she returned. There were other options but it was the only one that would leave her carefully trained skills and knowledge still relevant.

The armored man noted the incident but didn’t comment. Even though he didn’t say or do anything overt, the young mage could tell that the man was coolly assessing options. He would probably have a terse but helpful word of advice to share once their current incident was over.

Over their journey deep into the cave system, the armored man abused unused vocal cords to provide little helpful tidbits whenever he could. The most difficult ones to hear were the few shared when they encountered the dead leader of the party she came with. The young man’s longsword was hindered by the cramped surroundings and a little too heavy for his stamina to endure for long.

More painful for the cleric, however, was the nearby grotto where they found the leader’s pugilist girlfriend. Once it was cleared of the two whelping ‘matrons’ and a small collection of breeder ‘guards’, the armored man kept the cleric from rushing over. The young woman was kept barely clinging to life but her eyes were dead as she looked towards where the guards had been playing with her boyfriend’s corpse.

Once the woman had been assessed of her situation by the armored man, she chose a merciful ending over being healed. Without hesitation, the armored man provided it with a swift dagger strike to the point where the neck met the back of the skull. She left the world instantly and painlessly as she smiled sadly, imagining whatever dreams her and her boyfriend had shared together.

With even Orison slightly stunned, he couldn’t stop the cleric girl from saying, “She could have been saved!”

The armored man faced her and said, “Saved for what?”

The world they were in wasn’t a forgiving or particularly charitable place. With the woman’s spirit broken, her days as an adventurer were over. Ending the lives of the goblin whelps almost assured to be inside her safely was the only way to life moving forward and that would take money.

Even if that help was provided, there was little refuge for the help she would need to overcome a slew of personal and societal stigma problems that would follow. Caring for her would be a full time job for quite some time. Assuming her family was willing and able to take up that burden, which they very well might not be, it was all too likely that she wouldn’t be able to endure and end up taking her own life anyway.

Orison quickly fed that understanding to her to keep her from speaking words that couldn’t be taken back to the primary means of their continued survival. As he did so, he leveraged against her own numb shock to keep her moving and following the armored man. Inwardly, he tried to convince himself of the ‘truth’ he was selling as well. That understanding was the only thing that kept the outpouring of painful empathy to a bearable degree.

The sense of numbness reached dangerous levels of detachment as the cleric watched the armored man dispatch a hidden nest of goblin children and whelps. The man displayed the same cool level of professional expediency he had exercised for the young pugilist woman. There was no sense of enjoyment or satisfaction to any of it. That didn’t help the girl at all but it did illicit some appreciation from the young mage viewing the world from within her.

As lost in their own thoughts as both the cleric and Orison were, it almost proved a fatal mistake. With vigilance dropped, the young mage barely responded through his vessel in time when the armored man suddenly dodged behind the cleric and barked ‘Field!’. Sparking the withered magical ‘package’ with the ‘Field of Sanctuary’ model marked on it from the earned grace pool, an ethereal set of drooping weeping willow branches sprung into existence around the girl.

With widening eyes, the cleric saw a club nearly as big as she was come to a stop mere inches from her head along with two arrows dripping of foul substances. A screeching sound of ripping metal issued out as physics battled with faith based magic for a moment before the magical dome around her started buckling.

With that bought moment of respite, the armored man picked up a discarded bow and fired off two collected arrows with deadly precision at their ranged attackers. As for the hobgoblin in front, the young mage went with the flow of her horrified recoil to jump back. He spurned her to snort and spit a glob of runny mucus in its face at the same time.

Distracted by the surprise assault from the dainty and fearful target in front of its eyes, it didn’t adjust its blow to still hit her when the dome of magical force broke. The creature tried to correct its stagger to block the side thrust of the armored man’s shortsword to its exposed neck but failed to do that as well. The grunt of approval from the armored man caused the girl to flush a shade of tomato in equal parts embarrassment and pride over the ‘unladylike’ action as the hobgoblin slumped to the ground.

A third and final hidden archer managed to get a lucky shot out before being dispatched by a speedy return fire. It was only a graze due to the man’s vigilance but there was a disturbing smear of filth along the cut on the armored man’s flank. He quickly parted the torn portion of the banded mail’s leather under layer to clean it with distilled grain alcohol. Swiftly moving on her own with little prompting from Orison, the cleric hit the wound with a purifying ‘orison’, a heal and a shaky use of patron supplied mending on the armor.

When the armored man looked somewhat questioningly at her for the ‘extravagant’ use of magic, she responded in a ‘no-nonsense’ tone, “Take no chances if the means are available. A silver of prevention is worth more than a gold of cure.”

The young mage could feel just how self satisfying spouting those little nuggets had been for the girl and the armored man saw no need to corrode the small amount of emotional bolstering it gave her. Neither did Orison, since it was quite possibly the last fully autonomous act of this soul shell’s life in this world’s branched version of events.

While the girl had inspected the wound, the young mage had confirmed a few things. And while she was still in contact with the man, Orison pushed as much of his personal existence into her as he could without being rejected by the world. With a straining exercise of his innate abilities through her passively resistant body, he forcefully relaxed the pattern of her existence.

The slight tweaks caused to her form weren’t that exaggerated. In the dim lighting of the cave, provided by glowing fungus, the armored man didn’t know what the girl really looked like anyway. The enchantment on the man’s helmet that allowed him to see so well in the dark place was related to heat.

Despite that, the man had keenly honed senses and even a normal person would have noticed the light that the cleric let off in the moment of transition. “What was that?”

Orison could sense the tension and wariness in his voice as he replied through her, “An innate ability to adjust and restore myself. It will be some time before I can use it again but it has a lot of minor beneficial effects in it. I’m no longer fatigued, for one.”

Although a hint of suspicion remained in the armored man’s voice, he said, “You should have waited until we left the cave or it was absolutely necessary. There’s little left to explore.”

“Sorry. I-I didn’t mean to startle you but I really was nearing the end of what I could endure,” the cleric said, feeling the bite of disapproval in the armored man’s tone.

The tweak that was externally fairly superficial was a great deal more profound internally. At that point, she was as much the young mage as she was herself. It was a heavy investment with some risk for Orison but nearly everything he needed to do relied on it. That included keeping his vessel alive and capable of being a better channel for his personal essence reserves and abilities.

Although still fuzzy, the young mage’s consciousness was also noticeably more coherent and not as affected by the girl’s emotional states. It was a trade of problems on that front, however. Taking on the shape of someone else’s longing was always problematic but that particular issue wasn’t as big of a deal to Orison as it was for the vessel.

While the young mage was determined to see and treat the people within the ‘story lines’ as real, there were important things at stake. As the cleric meekly followed the armored man around on his inspections and bounty trophy collecting, Orison quelled a twang of guilt by adding the girl to his list of ‘people to save when and if possible’. There was little else he could do on that front but a whole lot more options were available once he had acquired a vessel capable of channeling his power without a competing will.