Gareth used to prefer night time over day time. Madam Connelly had sent him on jobs that needed sneaky skullduggery; jobs that were better committed in darkness where no one could see.
After experiencing true Night on Yggdrasil, he wanted to amend his decision.
He had watched as the last light of Sol slowly, ever so sluggishly, slipped beneath the horizon. With it went warmth and light. With it went the sweet calls of summer birds he’d grown so used to; the afternoon porch smokes with Guanji he’d grown to anticipate; the light of Sol stunningly reflecting off the wet crystalline leaves of the Volun city tree; the feeling of safety.
Creatures of Light, such as himself and most residents of the Empire, were not welcome in the wilds come nightfall. They were expected to hole up, stay in their homes, and try to survive. For once Night fell… Creatures of the abyss could roam freely.
Shades could appear from any shadow, especially the ones under your bed, Eldritch horrors could tease out your nightmares into reality, and Doug the necromancer would finally get a chance to live out his kinky little fantasies.
Night did not so much ‘weaken the membrane between the worlds for shades to come crawling through’, it simply allowed for what was already there, to manifest. Doug always wanted to be a kinky little boy, he just couldn't do so where his mom could see him. So, like all the shades, like Ozgoth the devourer, like Kenneth the Unkind, he had to wait for Darkness to overtake his small corner of Yggdrasil.
For once Night fell Spirits of the Day were replaced by Courts of the Night. Societal rules changed drastically as it necessitated a time of justice - keeping to the law, because if societal safety measures failed… let's just say little Dougy could become quite the problem indeed.
In many ways Night resembled Day:
As blinding as a ‘flashlight to the eyes’ could be, so too could darkness steal your vision.
As much as badgers come out of their burrows when summer ambles by, so too do ancient horrors of unfathomable evils rip their way out of forgotten graves.
Just like Sally drank her tier 4 macho caffe grande espresso on her morning runs, so too does Gnashteeth the devouring worm consume the Peligro branch of Yggdrasil, as time…rolls on.
The world does not fundamentally change. Fact.
But on a micro scale, Gareth realised it was fucking cold come nightfall!
“And it's dark! Ugg.” Gareth grumbled as he sipped his green tea, looking out at a sloshing, icy, torrential fucking downfall of sleet.
“It does you no good to complain. Accept the present circumstances, and adapt.” Guanji sagely replied as he read the morning jade-tablet news – rather unfortunately colloquially known as… Jewt.
Guanji’s living room was comfortably lit up by soft, warm, lanterns: their warm luminescence assisted by a snapping yellow fireplace.
His Night decorations consisted of reinforced tier 6 orichalcum bars over the windows, with tier 5 inlaid protective enchantments.
He did not have curtains, but drapes of deep ruby, reflective, slightly textured elegance.
Mans has rich taste.
From an ancient style megaphone played a smooth jazz: Tinkling piano, jolly concertina, slowpaced soft drums, and a singing violin that accompanied the theme.
Gareth sighed softly, threw the sloshing rain outside another mournful look, and lay down on the plush, soft, creamy beige three-seater couch. From the chocolate brown side-table, he picked up the book he’d been reading:
John Hobert’s treatise on inter-faction politics.
It was, unfortunately, his prescribed reading from Ellisandra. It was as dry as it sounded, and he threw another look at the book he really rather wanted to read: Solenmum’s travels through Darkness. It described Night in ways that terrified and fascinated Gareth in equal measure. Once Night came, any tamed creatures below tier 4 needed to be contained; for their bestial nature would emerge, and they would seek to mate, fight, or feed.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Much like people, now that I think about it.
On a different note; apparently, some houses have spirits that inhabit them, both good and evil, but the good ones protect your house against evil ones come Nightfall.
He asked Guanji about it, and he said that, “Volun is too young for a house spirit to form. It will take at least 500 years for a house to have experienced enough for its Intent to form naturally, and you never want to force a house spirit to form. That is how one permanently ruins your abode.”
Now, apparently – because Gareth didn’t believe in ghosts and shit – good spirits would be boosted by the dark rays of Mogeel, who inhabits Ginnungagap. Just like Shaevalur’s healing light shines from Sol and benefits all plant-growth, so too does the pitch-black sphere of darkness benefit the growth of spiritual energy. It is the time when shadows gain will, when fire starts hissing at you, and when Shekaron truly starts to play.
Solenmum writes: “Shekaron is the disseminator of treasures, mysteries, and conundrums. When you randomly find a gold coin in your left sock, he is responsible. He is the patron of gamblers, whorehouses, merchants, politicians, thieves, assassins, the lustful, the cunning… and the witty.”
Gareth had literally found a gold coin in his sock the other cycle, but two cycles later found that his left shoe’s laces had been stolen while he slept. Give-and-take type of vibe. – he thought and laughed. he got a gold coin out of it, though, the first gold he'd ever touched, so a lost shoelace was worth it. He pitied the guy who was short that coin though.
-
The two weeks until he could level again had passed in a flash, and so much had changed.
Longsword mastery at [Beginner]; Armour mastery had finally also clicked over to [Beginner] as well. It had just taken Oliver repeatedly hitting him with a stick, until Gareth realised he could deliberately use his armour to block those incoming hits. Best of all: Gareth had started rapidly gaining weight!
It seemed his two bloodlines – both having to do with the processing of food – were extracting nutrients, and incorporating it into fat and muscle faster than ever. More muscle than fat luckily, but still. He had gained a solid 15 kilograms of body mass, and he was looking goo~oood. At least, comparatively.
He and Guanji were at the border of Neoborg’s temple, both of them a little nervous because True Night made the stormy sheet of rain seem even more ominous than the already ever-present Volun rain.
“Gareth, you must use all the meditation training you have been doing to keep yourself in the present moment as we walk. Keep your focus on your actions because you cannot be tricked into stepping off the path, if you do…you might be lost forever.”
Trying to find any lifeline of safety, Gareth tried to make an assumption, “But the temple isn't that big, won't I just wander out again?”
“Unfortunately not. Just like Shekaron’s maze, once you enter a temple, the natural laws begin to bend. People who enter the maze have been known to walk out on an entirely different Branch. It is said that Neoborg’s temple can do something similar, except you will fall through a storm. I expect that your Stormic tempering will aid the walk, but caution is the better part of valour.”
Gareth put his hand to his face and groaned, “That sounds só great. Okay,” He said to himself, “It's not so bad if I just stay on the path. Just stay. On. The path!”
To the surprise of everyone, including the god himself, they made it to the clearing safely. It felt anti-climactic to all, but sometimes things just go the right way.
There were no wind sprites to rip him from the path, no snow slicking the cobbles to have him slide into the churning maelstrom of sleet and ice and mist, just torrentially freezing rain. It was fucking nerve wracking, like driving full speed on a dark highway, with the wipers off, without headlights, while it haled and rained. At least nothing tried to tempt them off the path, this time.
So there they found themselves, sitting across from each other on wet, weatherbeaten granite pillars. Soaked, drenched, freezing, but the rain had calmed to a drizzle.
Gareth understood the process a lot more by now, but was nervous nevertheless. The ‘magmafication’ of the beast core - as he liked to think of it - had become a comfort to him, the sensation similar to a warm bowl of soup after a long winter's day.
The coating of his lungs proved wa~y harder to cover than his liver or stomach had been. Just because he kept fucking coughing, which would break his concentration.
When he’d finally managed to keep his coughs contained, a task that took 5 hours of continuous effort in freezing rain, he took a deep breath through tingling lungs and let the cascade of awakening start. He felt it happening, like a tsunami sweeping over his lungs and culling the weak cells.
It started with a fizzle, and then something shifted with such jarring strength that he fell off his pillar. His concentration broke, but luckily the cascade was a runaway train of which he had no control of to begin with.
His left lung started filling with liquid, while his right dried out and flushed bright red with inflammation. At the fork where the trachea split into the left and right bronchi respectively, a swirling whirlwind of cooling water and steaming fire coalesced until, laying on his side and gasping for air, blue and red essence spewed from his mouth. Imagine having the worst heartburn/reflux you've ever felt, then combine it with uncontrollably vomiting litres of 80% Stroh rum...all while drowning.
It was with immense pleasure that he saw the familiar tunnel vision effect of passing out, and he welcomed the dark with open arms. He blissfully slammed into unconsciousness.
