Chapter 14: Talentless - Chapter 14

Rayden woke up from a nap a few hours later, completely disoriented. The cramped wooden walls around him were unfamiliar, and the darkness outside his window was unexpected. He rubbed his eyes and took a few breaths, then it all came rushing back.

Oh fuck.

His heart began to hammer in his chest as every worst-case scenario he could imagine raced through his mind.

I cleared a gate without approval, they’re going to fucking hunt me down. Penrith is going to be destroyed, and it’s going to be all my fault. A possibly-a-goddess has wrapped me up in her schemes and is sending me to my death. My companions are using me. How can we trust each other when we’ve only known each other for a few days? Ivy is going to punch me in the face. Jim is going to talk to me for hours. I’m going to shit my pants in front of Quill!

Rayden did his best to ground himself, focusing on his breathing and the sensation of the pillow he was squeezing, but the small room was making him claustrophobic. His mind was racing, and he couldn’t make it stop. He’d fallen asleep so fast earlier that this was the first time he’d been alone with his thoughts in thirty hours.

On the verge of panic, Rayden remembered that he had a Refuge now and could use it as exactly such. Focusing on the offbeat of his mana core, he dived into himself, briefly experiencing the feeling of falling before re-emerging in a familiar forest.

Rain washed away his sweat and cooled his skin, gradually calming him down as he looked up at a familiar sky. The wind blew but did not howl. Lightning struck far away, and thunder rumbled like a grumpy old man. The storm’s quiet rage made everything else seem inconsequential.

He took a long, deep breath. Now and then, it was nice to realize exactly how little you mattered. Unfortunately, his new patron had assured him of the opposite, and Rayden remembered that he had a blessing to inspect.

He walked over to the mound of stone in the center of the clearing, examining his Glyph for changes. He felt several. The core of his power remained unchanged: lightning, thunder, and wind, but there were a few new accents.

The new additions were vague, not powers, but something more nebulous, like passive boons that could be harnessed but not controlled. That seemed appropriate for what someone would call a blessing.

He focused, closing his eyes and feeling out the details of the new enhancements with his mana-sense.

He saw a well-protected fortress, secured by impregnable walls and defended by loyal guards. It flickered out of view, replaced by a patch of fertile soil, waiting for his power to grow. A portrait of the Mother’s tear-stained face flashed across his mind next, reassuring him that he would never be alone.

Lastly, he saw a trustworthy man speaking in the center of a town square, gesticulating with passion as an audience of warriors listened closely to his words.

Rayden blinked, and the strange slideshow was gone. He clicked his tongue as he thought over what he’d seen, somewhat confused, but not exactly surprised. The iconography was vague at best, but it felt in line with what his benefactor had said during the blessing: peace of mind, blessed mana, watchful eyes, and truth of purpose.

The first phrase and the fortress it conjured were easiest to interpret. The Mother had done something to protect his mind. Of course, peace of mind could mean something akin to happiness, or his general mental state, but considering how he had just woken up with a near panic attack, he was confident that she specifically meant it as peace from outside influences.

How exactly that worked, he had no idea, but if he was interpreting Quill’s Talent correctly, he had a feeling she could help him test it.

The fertile soil depicting his blessed mana was a little harder to understand, but he had a general sense that she was affecting his growth, and probably his Talent specifically.

All Attuned advanced their Talents by absorbing mana through progressively more dangerous and sophisticated dungeons. However, the actual evolutions themselves were more complicated and akin to how Talents formed to begin with, influenced by subconscious intent, experience, and imagination.

Rayden considered his conjuring of lightning, for example, as he was sure plenty of Attuned in Sepith could also wield it in some way, just as the shade and the crow had done. Their powers would all start similarly but diverge as they rose in power, due to experience as well as interpretation. Some might see themselves as masters of summoning lightning, some might choose to enhance their bodies with its properties, and some may warp their magic even further by taking a more metaphorical approach.

Rayden had heard of a man who saw himself as fire, and was always burning to the touch and quick to anger. It was likely just a rumor, but it illustrated exactly how malleable Talents could be.

That was why it was generally frowned upon to get carried or rush through the dungeon tiers quickly; you were limiting your imagination. Rayden's best guess was that the Mother’s blessing made it easier for him to mold his Talent.

The third part of his blessing was even more ambiguous. Watchful eyes could mean several things: that his literal vision was enhanced, that he was blessed with some type of sixth sense, or even that he was being watched by the Mother and her cronies from afar.

The image he’d seen had pointed to the latter, but he didn’t understand how that would be a blessing. Was she watching him, or watching out for him? If the baron hired a Knight to assassinate him, was a magic woman going to descend from the sky to help him, or just watch from above with more tears in her eyes?

He was going to have to parse that out later; just thinking about it pissed him off.

The final blessing, truth of purpose, was easier to understand but harder to assign value to. He had seen a man he didn’t recognize but inherently trusted, speaking to a crowd of people who believed his every word.

Did that mean he would be seen as more trustworthy?

If so, that could have some truly insidious consequences that he would have to be careful not to abuse. Rayden didn’t want to be a duplicitous rogue; that was Jim’s job.

There was always a chance that the blessing was more existential, implying that he could more easily understand what he wanted out of life. While that fit the phrasing better, it seemed impossible for anyone, even someone as powerful as the Mother, to make another person better at “finding themselves”.

Just to make sure it wasn’t some type of weird clergy vow, he decided to run a test.

“My name is Rayden Flake, and I love big, beautiful, power-abusing tyrants.”

OK, he could still lie. That was important.

Sighing, Rayden decided he was done counting his blessings for the moment. Right now, he needed to take a moment to reflect on the past couple of days and take stock of everything that happened.

Goblins, spriggans, shades, goddesses, and bandits, what a grand fucking mess. He had gone to the bottom of Sepith's boot on behalf of a dubious quest and had ended up changing his fate forever. The ambitions he harbored ten years ago were suddenly more attainable, and that was terrifying.

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He had attained his Talent, but he was still a small fry in the eyes of the kingdom’s strongest. The consequences of the Mother’s meddling would be tumultuous for everyone, but the plans he was making in Penrith would put him and the town in its crosshairs. Eventually, he would draw attention from powers that could obliterate him and his friends with a wave of their hands.

He would just have to get stronger before it happened.

He was beginning to realize the price of standing up to power, the one that kept his mother in check for so many years. Dealing with bandits had been light work, but the next stand, and everyone after, was going to be a trial.

And yet, sitting here in the eye of his own personal storm, he had no regrets. He came to Penrith to help people, and he did. He trusted in his new companions, and they paid him back tenfold. He went into the dungeon to get his Talent and emerged victorious. There were strings attached, yes, but he’d rather owe the Mother than the merchant guilds draining the kingdom dry.

He knew his mother would be proud of him, just for getting this far. Rayden wished he could have one more conversation, and hear her say as much. He wanted to show her how the kindness she’d instilled in him had shaped into a man four Talented wanderers had chosen to rally around.

That day would never come, he could still keep her legacy alive. The bandits had met his resolve, and Baron Gustav was next on the chopping block.

Rayden possessed the element of surprise, and he was going to use it to the fullest. Most Lords were too arrogant to ever imagine their people turning on them, until it was too late. He was going to ensure that exact scenario happened, but first he had to turn Penrith into a stronghold capable of defending itself. A Talent and easy access to the Feral Lands would at least make that possible.

By the time the Lord was curious enough to intercede in the machinations he was planning, Rayden would have his hand around the bandit-loving man’s throat. He felt his heartbeat picking up. Planning an insurrection was exciting.

Tempting as it was to continue plotting in his Refuge all night, his stomach was calling him to action. He hadn’t had a bite to eat in almost a day. Thankfully, there was a tavern conveniently placed downstairs.

Rayden reluctantly returned to reality, immediately scavenging through his bag for a clean change of clothes. After washing up, he made his way downstairs and headed towards the long lacquered bar at the back of the room. A handful of oil lamps were unevenly spaced around the tavern, cloaking the tables in the long shadows.

There were a few patrons scattered around, but Rayden’s eyes were drawn to a familiar dwarf sitting in front of two big mugs of ale.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite dwarf in the world,” Rayden grinned as he sat down next to Boh. “Happy to finally have the ale you were so long denied?”

Much to his surprise, the dwarf didn’t even smile. He just stared down at his mug with dull gray eyes.

“I’m probably the only dwarf you know.”

“Not true. I have lots of dwarf friends,” Rayden lied. “It’s stiff competition, but you’re still number one.”

Boh turned to him with a faint smile, but it didn’t last. Rayden was baffled. The man was legitimately forlorn.

“Sorry,” Boh said dourly. “I ain’t the best company at the moment.”

Before Rayden could respond, the barkeep sauntered over. Her black hair, blue eyes, and pretty, angular face were familiar. He presumed this was Cassie, Darron’s sister.

“Hey there,” she smiled brightly. “I’m Cass. What can I get for one of Penrith’s heroes?”

He winced, not ready to wear that name in public quite yet.

“Nice to meet you, Cass, please just call me Rayden. One ale, and um…some food?”

“Some food coming right up!”

Rayden tilted his head.

“She’s fucking with you, Rayden,” Boh said in between gulps. “Got me with the same wiles. Get a meat pie and be done with it.”

Rayden raised an eyebrow at the suddenly depressed dwarf before returning to the barkeep.

“Sorry,” Cass winked. “We have meat pies and biscuits tonight.”

“Some of both, please.”

She slapped the table as she bobbed her head, then leaned in so only he could hear.

“Is he OK? I thought dwarves were supposed to be more lively.”

“He was lively this morning, but something changed,” Rayden whispered back. “I’m on it.”

Cass nodded, then mouthed something like, “good luck” before she wandered back into the kitchen. Rayden turned to the gloomy dwarf beside him, searching for the right words. Eventually, he just decided to come out and say it.

“What the hell is wrong, Boh?”

The dwarf waved him off at first, but after another long drink, he let out a heavy sigh.

“It’s just the same ‘ol shit, you know.”

“Is it?” Rayden squinted. “Is delving fucked up dungeons and saving towns from bandits usual for you?”

“Not that,” Boh said, pointing at the ale in front of him. “This.”

Rayden scratched his head, assuming he was referring to his alcoholic beverage, but having difficulty computing as much. As stupid as it sounded, he’d truly thought that all dwarves celebrated their alcoholism. It was like…a cultural rite of passage.

Boh seemed to understand as he scoffed into his drinks.

“I know, I know, not what you expect. Nobody likes a sad, drunk dwarf, but that’s what I am. Our fun yesterday made me realize…this ain’t right. Working with you and the others, doing some good for the town, that was all great. But what’s the point if it all comes back to this,” he finished, motioning at the two glasses in front of him as if they were poisoned.

Rayden let the silence linger for a bit, smiling appropriately when the barkeep returned with his food and drink. He took a few bites to stave off his hunger, then tried to think of what would cheer up a sad dwarf…besides beer.

Boh asked a question before anything came to mind, “Rayden, why do you hate the merchant guilds so much?”

He tilted his head, mulling it over between bites. He wasn’t keen on giving the man his full story just yet, but he supposed the dwarf deserved the gist.

“One of them, the Blue Girdle, destroyed the town I grew up in and ultimately killed my mother, all over a bit of profit. I was just a kid at the time, and it really fucked me up.”

“I’m sorry,” Boh sighed. “Seen the same shit, unfortunately, in a lot of places.”

Rayden took a few sips of his ale, waiting to see if the man was going to follow up. It was a lot harder to enjoy his drink now, but he wouldn’t blame Boh for that. The dwarf looked like he was going to say something else, but it fizzled, and he just looked into his glasses while shaking his head.

“Give yourself a break tonight,” Rayden suggested.

“Bit late for that, bud, I’m four glasses deep.”

“No, asshole,” Rayden laughed. “I mean, stop beating yourself up and just have fun, you can be serious and sober starting tomorrow.”

“Huh? Are you telling me to give in to my addiction and postpone my personal responsibility?”

Rayden shrugged, watching the dwarf do exactly that with his mug.

“If there was ever a time to enjoy the moment, tonight is it. We cleared a dungeon and saved the entire fucking town, Boh.”

He nudged the dwarf with an elbow, seeing that the man was starting to come around.

“And there’s another reason, too. This one is even more important, more important than the life of every innocent man and woman in town.”

“Ha, what would that be?” Boh asked, eyebrows raised.

“I’m picturing a big, tall, barbarian sized woman with green hair and beautiful tan skin,” Rayden teased. “This stoic warrior, she puts up a brave front, you see. But I just know, deep down in my heart, that if she doesn’t have a jolly dwarf to drink with tonight, she’s gonna be terribly, terribly distraught.”

Boh picked up one of his mugs, eyeing its contents from below with a sigh.

“Well fuck, you got me there,” he conceded, finally revealing a genuine smile. “Guess I have serious alcoholic responsibilities tonight.”

“That you do. Good man.”

He patted the dwarf on the back, pleased with himself for helping to cheer the man up. Boh’s sadness was a good reminder that he’d just met his new companions. Even though they’d gone through one hell of a bonding experience, he still didn’t know that much about them.

The two of them exchanged a few more jokes until they heard the footsteps thudding down the stairs behind them. Ivy, Quill, and Jim were making their way down.