Standing on a fresh pair of legs, with a new set of arms, Reinhardt felt like a new man. He was certain he would get used to the increase in power through his "shoulders," "arms" and “calves,” and likewise the better mobility he knew the cuisses would grant. He drew the Broadsword and began going through a few drills. It was noticeable - not substantial, or even marginal, but it was noticeable. He liked the feeling. He wondered at the Soldier’s Gauntlets, and the way he had sensed that they would actively penalise Dexterity, but give a commensurate increase in Power. Would the pauldrons do the same? Would he trade a slight loss of mobility in the shoulder joint for an increase in striking power? They were also larger in most dimensions, with a haute plate running over the crest. Not a huge one, but enough to help fend off most strikes at the neck. He would go and grab them after he was done here.
He dragged the Lady’s throne-like chair to the back wall and climbed atop it. Even after knowing how it was mounted, it still took a few moments to dislodge the existing shield. It popped free, and he dropped it unceremoniously. He took the dragon shield and set to work, trying to hook the grip and enarmes over the mounting block. He was there for a while, muttering and cursing under his breath, before, with an seemingly audible “click” the shield locked into place. That was a good sign. That inaudible “click” felt a lot like the Broadsword had when he had unmounted it. He guessed that in 18 hours, he’d know. He jumped down, marvelling at the “solidness” of his landing, and the ease at which his “knees” and “thighs” absorbed the shock. He looked at the greenish blue of the large round shield, taking in the large boss and reinforced edge. It wasn’t a bad piece, but it just wasn’t the Monarch Heater Shield, or the fabled Magical Yellow they had found. But, to go and grab the Soldier’s Pauldrons, and take on the Statues, it would be fine. He picked it up and set off, out the Main Doors.
The increase in “calf” strength and “speed” of his legs was again, noticeable. Reinhardt would have liked to have access to a set distance and some hourglasses, or eggtimers, so he could have measured his speed before and after. The increase wasn’t much, maybe 5 or 7.5%, he knew, but he was only Black 5 in Blue 6 armour. He couldn’t expect that much. But he was also on track to gain another Level today, if he could take out some Statues without taking too much damage. He wondered idly if that was considered too fast, and what the average speed of Essence accumulation was. He imagined that two Levels in one day was much much faster than normal - the three boys were budgeting a Level every second day. But as he rounded the corner to take him through Officer’s Quarters, he realised that he had a fair number of advantages - he didn’t need to eat, sleep or breathe, he didn’t feel fatigue, and at the cost of Essence he could heal and recover from wounds. As a result, he could utilise the full 24 hours of each day. But then, he will never be able to run shuttles to increase his Grace and Stamina, or obstacle courses to increase Grace and Power, or do push-ups to increase Strength and Power. He stood over the already turned over pile of armour outside the Armoury and frowned down at it. He was given a second chance, and all he could do was gain Levels and equip better Magical Items.
Reinhardt gathered the Pauldrons into his arms. He considered taking the Rerebraces, but he ultimately felt that the additional Power would not have been worth the trade-off. The shoulder joint losing a few percent in mobility was negligible, but the shoulder and upper arm together may impede his swing and impinge his defences. The Soldier’s Pauldrons also had a defensive argument with the scale and the haute plate, while the Rerebraces did not. He would have to seal himself in the Leftenant’s Quarters while he worked to dismantle and reattach both arms again, step by step. He groaned to himself, but this was no different to the pain of hard training to improve Power. He walked into the Leftenant’s Room and dumped the Soldier’s Pauldrons down on the bed. He firmly shut the door, he most definitely did not want to be interrupted while he was disarmed.
He sat there, stripping off pieces of armour and reattuning to them, while he considered what his life now was. He had been dead, convinced he was a ghost for an indeterminate length of time. He had come to terms with that, mostly, and then found out he wasn’t truly dead - just 90% non-existent. He was a head, and he was a Soul - a Soul that had, it turned out, an extremely interesting and unique Innate etched into it. In any real sense, he was dead though. The unfeeling metal of the Armours he clad his Soul in weren’t in any way alive, and his head, whilst being flesh and remaining “him” with all his memories and cognitive ability, was not truly alive either. It, as well as the Armour, was being puppeted by his Essence - his Soul - via his Spirit and his Innate. Wasn’t that an interesting concept? Was he “living” proof to the ages-old question? Are people truly Essence spirits, and the bodies they inhabit as meaningless as the Armour he had just pieced together? What was the threshold for “living?” Some philosages argued that fire could be considered “alive” as it required food in the form of fuel, it breathed in that it required air, and would use its physical properties to propagate and survive. Well, Reinhardt didn’t need to eat, nor breathe. But he was fighting for survival, in fact, unlike fire, he was making the conscious choice to survive. Was DeWagones correct when he said “I exist, since I can think?” Reinhardt knew he existed, even if he wasn’t alive. So that implied that existence was not tied to living.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
So, that left just one thing: He existed, his Soul was intact - in fact, he was learning more about the relationship between the Soul, Essence, and the Spirit and how they interacted and manifested - and there was a physical remnant present with his head; So could he be healed? Was he able to be resurrected? He guessed yes. Necromancy existed and Mythic Tier Spells existed. Body, Life and Spirit Magic were all recognised disciplines, and had Skills and Innates tied to them. He was certain that as long as the Soul was intact and some part of the body remained, someone could be resurrected or healed by someone of high enough Level. So that meant getting to the Capital, most likely. Proximity to The Palace was the best chance of finding someone high enough to return his body. That meant getting into the Palace, so that meant either doing something worthy of notice by the King, or paying so much money they would consider a petition. Or, he supposed, perform a service for a noble of high enough standing. He was shocked out of his reverie by the last thing he expected to hear - voices.
He was up in an instant, ready to run out and greet them. But his thoughts caught up to him. He looked like an Animated Armour, and he had no backstory or explanation as to who he was and why he was here. Especially as they were likely the group from Hochiem, and would have been camped out the front of the Dungeon. They would not have seen him enter, and were likely paranoid enough to have set up a watch or have traps and alarms, so they would know that he didn’t enter while they were there. So that left him being a veteran delver who had spent years piecing together this suit of armour, who had entered the Dungeon more than two days ago. The fact his armour was not simply an existing suit, but had pieces of 4 different suits lent credence to that. Worst comes to worst, he could draw his Broadsword - the fact it was a Yellow Magical weapon implied he was already high enough Level to Attune to it. As to how he had remained in the Dungeon without their noticing? He had gotten in before them, and was deeper in the Dungeon, camping out in the Undead Village, or sleeping in the Lord’s Chambers. He frowned with thought. For that to be fool proof, he would have to know something about the Undead Village, just in case they knew something and asked about it. He didn’t know how far they pushed each run. He did, however, know two places in the Castle quite well, the Servant’s Quarters and the Leftenant’s Room. He could say he was attempting to get through the Castle Dungeons and out to the Undead Village, sleeping in one of those rooms. He was standing next to the door when the voices came close enough to hear clearly.
“Ah’m tellin’ yu, it just isn’t natural,” a brusque voice spoke in a lilting brogue. “Them bodies be laid out like that? There be somethin’ funni goin’ on.”
“I just don’t see how anyone could have gotten through the wards, and gotten in before us.” This voice was higher in register, with less of the lilting and more of the sing-song, the Manngering, he guessed.
“Ef Et even whir a hoo!” That was the woman, she spoke in a clipped tone, but the accent was thick enough to trip over. “Int naebody taekin’ awn awl six Armae as one.”
“As I waz sayin’ afore, it be the Dungeon,” the first man was back. “Sumthin’ be drawin’ the Ire,”
“It isn’t anything like that,” disagreed the Manngering with the melodic voice again. “The Armour was damaged, and there were pieces missing. There were only five sets laid out.”
They had passed by the door now, moving down the corridor at a brisk pace. They were obviously here for a reason, and they walked with purpose, not bothering to check the doors.
“Sae thur be sum one en hir killin’ Armae un taekin’ peeses?” If Reinhardt hadn’t been familiar with Magdi and his family, she would have been unintelligible.
“Tu be fair,” the first man replied. “It be Blue Grade Dungeon spawned armour. If I needed nu gauntlets, I might be tempted. But, that bringz us back to summon beein in ‘ere wis uz!” He must be the Bearded Brawler, he was the only one who wore gauntlets.
“Wull, Et dinnae matter a lick righ’ noo,” the woman’s voice was fading out of hearing. “We still goh tree daze ‘afore we must be leavin’. S’lon’ es we kin keep pullen silver and Magic, wid stul be abull ta git a bid togehthur.”
Despite it being so garbled and muted by the stone and the wood, he was sure he heard her say they were here for three more days, and they were trying to get materials for a bid of some kind. Well that was good. He could check everything tonight, clear out as much as he could in the morning and meet them in the gardens tomorrow. That would be for the best. The Animated Armours couldn’t leave the Castle, so seeing one in the gardens should stay their hands long enough to begin a conversation. He could also visit the Lord’s Chambers to reinforce his cover story, and check for the stylish clothes Otto talked about. For now, he’d just wait for them to leave, so he could explore the Castle without worrying about people, actual people, getting in the way.
He only had to stand there for a few minutes before he heard the voices again. He tried to pick out words, but they were rushing, and speaking too low to hear distinct words. He did know that the Man with the lilting Brogue and the Manngering were bickering about something, but they were hissing like geese and he couldn’t make anything out. He could imagine it had something to do with the armour pile he left outside the Armoury door. The Manngering probably noticed the missing pauldrons. He seemed observant in that way, a good trait to have in a delver, and especially in an Abjurist that he seemed to be. Maybe he’ll have a chance to ask them tomorrow. It’s always a little awkward to discuss skills and abilities, but he was sure he could put them at ease enough to answer some questions. In fact, they didn’t know he had seen them in action. Playing off his previous observations and theories would make him seem wise and experienced, indeed.
It was the sound of marching sabots on the stone that shook him from his thoughts. This would be the midday crossover. Time to visit the garden and gain another Level, and explore the upper floors of the Castle.
Chromatic Grading Scale:
: .
: .
: .
: .
: .
: .
: .
