I follow Eztli into another elevator as I poke at the new patch of my outfit.
The first place they took me was their textile workshop. In return for letting the centzon gush over the alien cloth, they fixed up the holes their traps had torn in my outfit. The quality of their work was far lower than Jav’s. I doubt their work would do anything to block the flow of water.
It’s not all bad though. They took it upon themselves to sew a layer of mermineae fur over the top. I was resistant at first — reminded of the disgusting cloak given by the mermineae — but I’m glad I let them. It doesn’t stink or feel rough. Like the centzon hunters, I have camouflage for myself now.
I’ll need to fireproof this second layer soon. The metal they have is still strange to me, so without a true understanding of how my fireproofing patterns work, I’d rather not experiment.
Our elevator clanks to the next lowest platform. We’re about halfway down the gorge now. There is a lot more housing and structures cramped in the same space down here than the higher levels, but considering the hunters reside up there, I’m not surprised.
I thought the hunters were the standard size, but with each floor we drop, it becomes clear they are the exception, not the norm. The hunters stand a good two or three heads taller than the rest of their kind.
Whether they get more space because of their size difference or their obviously higher social rank, I don’t know. It’s not like their average citizen is in any sort of the difficulties I’d seen back in the Zadok Kingdom.
Even as far down as we are, the platform is absolutely littered with random contraptions everywhere. Most lay unused, but some see constant use. The trolleys and cargo lifts always have something being transferred from one side of the platform to the other, or even between levels.
Like under the plateau above, there are plenty of massive gears and axles that spin just out of reach on the canyon walls. I’m unsure what their purpose is, but considering the hefty weight I can only assume they hold, they must be important.
“Ahead is what most consider the best view of the waterwheel in the regna.”
Our guide, Eztli, is a rather stiff character. She shows the same curiosity as the rest of her kin, but spends most of the time trying to make sure we don’t become aware of it. It is unfortunate for her, that her eyes betray her. They near constantly stray back toward us any time she thinks we aren’t looking.
Grímr and I approach the ledge Eztli motions toward. She’s right, it’s quite the sight, but I don’t think it brings about the same feelings in me as the centzon might experience.
Below, is a massive spinning wheel reaching from about a third the way up the canyon down into the depths of the water. It fills the entire width of the canyon and scrapes awfully close to both walls.
The wheel in all its height and complexity might be impressive, but I can’t tear my eyes from the water tearing through the gulf. There is so much, moving so fast, that as much as I try to tell myself that I’m safe up here, I can’t stop the rising stitch in my throat.
“So,” Grímr starts. “Beside the hunters, do any centzon rise to the plateau above?”
I back away from the ledge, not thinking about what is only a hundred metres below.
“We do not. The only time we would, is during a relocation after the destruction of our regna. But when lose our regnas, there are very little survivors,” Eztli says.
She acts like it’s a common occurrence. With this complicated labyrinth of contraptions and constructions they call a regna, I couldn’t imagine it taking anything less than entire lives to create.
What could… that’s a stupid question. I already know there are several incomprehensible beasts in this world. It’s not a stretch to assume some creature can break through their immense defences and destroy the regna. If it wasn’t for all the water, I might have destroyed them all.
“How does one of your kind become a hunter?” Grímr asks, clearly pushing the conversation away from any mention of death.
“One must contribute to the regna.” She turns and leads us to a conveyor. “Many jobs can give opportunities. A miner might consider a technique for more efficient resource extraction, A cook discover a way to improve energy provided by a meal, or even those on the bottom rung finding a better way to fish.”
She invites us on the conveyor that leads up to a section of the regna dug directly out of the wall. I’m surprised it doesn’t buckle under Grímr’s weight. I’d assume there would be at least some warping in the metal joints considering he is as heavy as thirty of the centzon. Maybe only ten of their hunters, though.
“Well, that’s supposed to be the case,” she continues as we slowly pass over a thirty metre drop. The hard stone of the platform below a much more relieving sight than the water. “But you will be hard pressed finding any hunters that didn’t originate from an engineer role.”
I tune out their conversation as she continues to show us around their home. Grímr is trying his best to keep us on good terms with them, even to go as far as being completely honest with everything we’d originally agreed to be vague about.
I know I’m being unreasonable. Their entire race has shown nothing but curiosity, even though it should be obvious that I’m the one that just attacked their home. I’m incredibly suspicious of their lack of hatred and anger being directed our way, but maybe that’s just me projecting.
My flames thrash around me, visible as I think about how we have to rely on the help of these people who trapped us. The writhing fire doesn’t even scare the centzon around me. Instead, they watch on in wonder and awe as my inner flame flickers over my body in ways that would be deadly to any of them. I can feel a few children having followed us for a while now.
I left myself visible to scare them… not give them a show.
My anger and frustration can’t even be blamed on the knots of my psyche. This is all completely natural, unlike the fear I used to feel.
What I want… is an excuse to let go. To vent against the world that keeps stoking my flame, but won’t let me incinerate the stick that is doing so. As much as I’d initially placed the centzon as my targets to roast, I need to let that go. Knowing how things have gone so far, I’ll get a new focus soon. Whether it’s the mermineae or some new evil, I’ll have to see.
The centzon hunters do not waste time. Before night falls, we are already back on the plains and travelling. Our goal is one of their sibling cities; another regna about a week north.
Unfortunately, that week is at their pace. If Grímr flew a few of us, we’d reach it likely within a day, but they refuse to even consider flying. Well, it’s not like the ten we are travelling with are likely to all fit on his back.
Another hunter party is heading west. Their objective much the same as ours; convince the other regnas to join the fight.
“So how likely is it that these other regnas will join us?” Grímr asks as we walk past hunters reconstructing gears and rolling out pre-built traps.
“Oh, there’s no doubt that they’ll help us. We just need to convince them to invest more of their resources into this venture than they would by default.” Tzilac walks beside us with that same contraption weapon slung beneath his arm.
I’m back to riding on Grímr’s back. It’s the best way I’ve found to avoid the questions or conversation of the centzon around me. Grímr has been kind enough to take on all communication, so I’m allowed to hide away and soothe the irritation for these people that — probably — don’t deserve it.
The camouflage layer to my clothing is admittedly great. It does a great job of keeping me hidden against the green and gold sheen of Grímr’s metal feathers. After application of a basic fire resistance on the fur layer, I can simply show my flames when I want to be seen, rather than open it up like the centzon do.
It… is somewhat against the teachings of my tribe, but I doubt those teachings could have considered this scenario. It should be fine.
At least the centzon leave me alone while I’m hiding on Grímr.
“Resources?” Grímr asks. “Do you mean more hunters?”
“Well, sure there’s that, but we—” Tzilac trails off before a grin plasters over his face. “Actually, I think it would be best to let you wait and see.”
“We met some incredibly strong mermineae last time cloaked in dust. Do you think you’d be able to compete?”
“You faced the cult leaders? The cultists are trying to leave too?” Tzilac twists to the centzon by his side, one that was with him when he first came to face us. “Patli, go inform Xipil. We’ll need the heavy-hitters.”
Patli is off running without another word.
“Cult?” Grímr asks simply.
“The direct worshippers of the fake god,” he spits. This is the most heated I’ve seen Tzilac get. It’s good to see they aren’t as perfectly averse to wrath as they pretend to be. I should push for more.
“What makes you think she’s a fake god? What even makes one a god?”
He spins on his feet and points toward the Alps, where the Euroclydon watches over all, peering worryingly close to us. “That is the only thing that could be considered a god. Kalma, the fake, is a being far from comparable to the true gods of this world.”
Tzilac lets out a breath to calm himself. “Though her strength is undeniable. Her claims of godhood are as unfounded as they were four hundred years ago, but fighting her is impossible.”
“Are the Viisin too much for you, too?” I ask, ignoring Grímr’s warning glance.
“We’ve been fighting them in these plains for hundreds of years. Of course, we’ve developed ways of dealing with them. Us centzon are intelligent beings and we shall adapt and overcome our tribulations, unlike the savage yoe that leave their bellies in the dirt and subjugate themselves to a creature that does not deserve worship!”
Whelp, I guess they really hate the mermineae. I’d thought they were putting too much effort into assisting us for it to be simply to save the source of fur for their hunter clothing. It’s actually quite a relief to know they have a completely justified reason to participate in what is most likely going to be a massacre.
I would trust motivations supported by rage and hatred over logic any day. That’s just how people work.
Tzilac hides his anger well, but now that I’ve seen that insight, I’m sure he’s seething, waiting until he can get his hands on those that do him wrong and burn them until they are nothing but ash.
At least he has a target for that anger. I can hardly stay fuming at the centzon for trapping me; they’ve been far more cooperative than we ever expected. I’m still irritated with them, but I won’t lash out.
What type of weapon would the centzon have to deal with the Viisin, I wonder? I’m assuming it’s some sort of contraption, considering their obvious focus toward traps and machinery. But then again, I haven’t seen them fight. Nor have I seen what their log-like weapons can do.
Do they have mages? Or at least some variant of them? Every race I’ve come by so far has at least some capability of it. Whether it be the markings of the eastern races, the natural manipulation of both áed and áinfean, or the weird gifted decay of the mermineae. If they don’t, that would only make the structures they’ve made all the more impressive and daunting.
As I’ve said, this camouflage is amazing. I don’t need to stick to Grímr’s side all day now to defend against the dangers of the plains. As long as I keep low to the ground, I’m all but invisible to everyone’s eyes. Of course, the moment I use my fire, my camouflage expires. The fur has an odd tendency to want to imitate my flames and I have no idea how to stop it.
Getting some space to myself for the first time in a while is great. The pace set by the centzon isn’t anything I can’t keep up with. The improvements to my ability to redistribute weight across my body having improved my running speed by quite a lot.
It’s also been great to get some actual spear training in. I’ve spent most of my time in the past few weeks riding Grímr working on my balance. I have absolutely gotten better, but I haven’t really been able to apply that to any of my fights recently, considering I’ve gone back to just trying to burn everything that might be a threat.
I really need to hold back on my flames and just try fighting with my spear. I’ve already seen that despite the absolutely devastating inferno I can create with all the energy I have, I lack the intensity to kill stronger enemies. Sure, I can char them a bit, but they can just push through until either I’m dead, or they are far enough from me that I can’t hurt them.
If I can’t even breach the Viisin’s cloak of dust, how could I hurt them?
“Revontulet ahead!” Tzilac calls. “Circle to the right.”
A revontulet? The beings that have the unfortunately extreme likelihood of being possessed?
I search ahead, and there’s no missing the massive white creature tearing its maw into the corpse of something even larger. It has to be at least twice as tall as I am, and far longer from snout to tail.
A pure white fox. A fox that I recognise.
It’s the same intelligent creature I’d seen back in the Void Fog.
I follow Eztli into another elevator as I poke at the new patch of my outfit.
The first place they took me was their textile workshop. In return for letting the centzon gush over the alien cloth, they fixed up the holes their traps had torn in my outfit. The quality of their work was far lower than Jav’s. I doubt their work would do anything to block the flow of water.
It’s not all bad though. They took it upon themselves to sew a layer of mermineae fur over the top. I was resistant at first — reminded of the disgusting cloak given by the mermineae — but I’m glad I let them. It doesn’t stink or feel rough. Like the centzon hunters, I have camouflage for myself now.
I’ll need to fireproof this second layer soon. The metal they have is still strange to me, so without a true understanding of how my fireproofing patterns work, I’d rather not experiment.
Our elevator clanks to the next lowest platform. We’re about halfway down the gorge now. There is a lot more housing and structures cramped in the same space down here than the higher levels, but considering the hunters reside up there, I’m not surprised.
I thought the hunters were the standard size, but with each floor we drop, it becomes clear they are the exception, not the norm. The hunters stand a good two or three heads taller than the rest of their kind.
Whether they get more space because of their size difference or their obviously higher social rank, I don’t know. It’s not like their average citizen is in any sort of the difficulties I’d seen back in the Zadok Kingdom.
Even as far down as we are, the platform is absolutely littered with random contraptions everywhere. Most lay unused, but some see constant use. The trolleys and cargo lifts always have something being transferred from one side of the platform to the other, or even between levels.
Like under the plateau above, there are plenty of massive gears and axles that spin just out of reach on the canyon walls. I’m unsure what their purpose is, but considering the hefty weight I can only assume they hold, they must be important.
“Ahead is what most consider the best view of the waterwheel in the regna.”
Our guide, Eztli, is a rather stiff character. She shows the same curiosity as the rest of her kin, but spends most of the time trying to make sure we don’t become aware of it. It is unfortunate for her, that her eyes betray her. They near constantly stray back toward us any time she thinks we aren’t looking.
Grímr and I approach the ledge Eztli motions toward. She’s right, it’s quite the sight, but I don’t think it brings about the same feelings in me as the centzon might experience.
Below, is a massive spinning wheel reaching from about a third the way up the canyon down into the depths of the water. It fills the entire width of the canyon and scrapes awfully close to both walls.
The wheel in all its height and complexity might be impressive, but I can’t tear my eyes from the water tearing through the gulf. There is so much, moving so fast, that as much as I try to tell myself that I’m safe up here, I can’t stop the rising stitch in my throat.
“So,” Grímr starts. “Beside the hunters, do any centzon rise to the plateau above?”
I back away from the ledge, not thinking about what is only a hundred metres below.
“We do not. The only time we would, is during a relocation after the destruction of our regna. But when lose our regnas, there are very little survivors,” Eztli says.
She acts like it’s a common occurrence. With this complicated labyrinth of contraptions and constructions they call a regna, I couldn’t imagine it taking anything less than entire lives to create.
What could… that’s a stupid question. I already know there are several incomprehensible beasts in this world. It’s not a stretch to assume some creature can break through their immense defences and destroy the regna. If it wasn’t for all the water, I might have destroyed them all.
“How does one of your kind become a hunter?” Grímr asks, clearly pushing the conversation away from any mention of death.
“One must contribute to the regna.” She turns and leads us to a conveyor. “Many jobs can give opportunities. A miner might consider a technique for more efficient resource extraction, A cook discover a way to improve energy provided by a meal, or even those on the bottom rung finding a better way to fish.”
She invites us on the conveyor that leads up to a section of the regna dug directly out of the wall. I’m surprised it doesn’t buckle under Grímr’s weight. I’d assume there would be at least some warping in the metal joints considering he is as heavy as thirty of the centzon. Maybe only ten of their hunters, though.
“Well, that’s supposed to be the case,” she continues as we slowly pass over a thirty metre drop. The hard stone of the platform below a much more relieving sight than the water. “But you will be hard pressed finding any hunters that didn’t originate from an engineer role.”
I tune out their conversation as she continues to show us around their home. Grímr is trying his best to keep us on good terms with them, even to go as far as being completely honest with everything we’d originally agreed to be vague about.
I know I’m being unreasonable. Their entire race has shown nothing but curiosity, even though it should be obvious that I’m the one that just attacked their home. I’m incredibly suspicious of their lack of hatred and anger being directed our way, but maybe that’s just me projecting.
My flames thrash around me, visible as I think about how we have to rely on the help of these people who trapped us. The writhing fire doesn’t even scare the centzon around me. Instead, they watch on in wonder and awe as my inner flame flickers over my body in ways that would be deadly to any of them. I can feel a few children having followed us for a while now.
I left myself visible to scare them… not give them a show.
My anger and frustration can’t even be blamed on the knots of my psyche. This is all completely natural, unlike the fear I used to feel.
What I want… is an excuse to let go. To vent against the world that keeps stoking my flame, but won’t let me incinerate the stick that is doing so. As much as I’d initially placed the centzon as my targets to roast, I need to let that go. Knowing how things have gone so far, I’ll get a new focus soon. Whether it’s the mermineae or some new evil, I’ll have to see.
The centzon hunters do not waste time. Before night falls, we are already back on the plains and travelling. Our goal is one of their sibling cities; another regna about a week north.
Unfortunately, that week is at their pace. If Grímr flew a few of us, we’d reach it likely within a day, but they refuse to even consider flying. Well, it’s not like the ten we are travelling with are likely to all fit on his back.
Another hunter party is heading west. Their objective much the same as ours; convince the other regnas to join the fight.
“So how likely is it that these other regnas will join us?” Grímr asks as we walk past hunters reconstructing gears and rolling out pre-built traps.
“Oh, there’s no doubt that they’ll help us. We just need to convince them to invest more of their resources into this venture than they would by default.” Tzilac walks beside us with that same contraption weapon slung beneath his arm.
I’m back to riding on Grímr’s back. It’s the best way I’ve found to avoid the questions or conversation of the centzon around me. Grímr has been kind enough to take on all communication, so I’m allowed to hide away and soothe the irritation for these people that — probably — don’t deserve it.
The camouflage layer to my clothing is admittedly great. It does a great job of keeping me hidden against the green and gold sheen of Grímr’s metal feathers. After application of a basic fire resistance on the fur layer, I can simply show my flames when I want to be seen, rather than open it up like the centzon do.
It… is somewhat against the teachings of my tribe, but I doubt those teachings could have considered this scenario. It should be fine.
At least the centzon leave me alone while I’m hiding on Grímr.
“Resources?” Grímr asks. “Do you mean more hunters?”
“Well, sure there’s that, but we—” Tzilac trails off before a grin plasters over his face. “Actually, I think it would be best to let you wait and see.”
“We met some incredibly strong mermineae last time cloaked in dust. Do you think you’d be able to compete?”
“You faced the cult leaders? The cultists are trying to leave too?” Tzilac twists to the centzon by his side, one that was with him when he first came to face us. “Patli, go inform Xipil. We’ll need the heavy-hitters.”
Patli is off running without another word.
“Cult?” Grímr asks simply.
“The direct worshippers of the fake god,” he spits. This is the most heated I’ve seen Tzilac get. It’s good to see they aren’t as perfectly averse to wrath as they pretend to be. I should push for more.
“What makes you think she’s a fake god? What even makes one a god?”
He spins on his feet and points toward the Alps, where the Euroclydon watches over all, peering worryingly close to us. “That is the only thing that could be considered a god. Kalma, the fake, is a being far from comparable to the true gods of this world.”
Tzilac lets out a breath to calm himself. “Though her strength is undeniable. Her claims of godhood are as unfounded as they were four hundred years ago, but fighting her is impossible.”
“Are the Viisin too much for you, too?” I ask, ignoring Grímr’s warning glance.
“We’ve been fighting them in these plains for hundreds of years. Of course, we’ve developed ways of dealing with them. Us centzon are intelligent beings and we shall adapt and overcome our tribulations, unlike the savage yoe that leave their bellies in the dirt and subjugate themselves to a creature that does not deserve worship!”
Whelp, I guess they really hate the mermineae. I’d thought they were putting too much effort into assisting us for it to be simply to save the source of fur for their hunter clothing. It’s actually quite a relief to know they have a completely justified reason to participate in what is most likely going to be a massacre.
I would trust motivations supported by rage and hatred over logic any day. That’s just how people work.
Tzilac hides his anger well, but now that I’ve seen that insight, I’m sure he’s seething, waiting until he can get his hands on those that do him wrong and burn them until they are nothing but ash.
At least he has a target for that anger. I can hardly stay fuming at the centzon for trapping me; they’ve been far more cooperative than we ever expected. I’m still irritated with them, but I won’t lash out.
What type of weapon would the centzon have to deal with the Viisin, I wonder? I’m assuming it’s some sort of contraption, considering their obvious focus toward traps and machinery. But then again, I haven’t seen them fight. Nor have I seen what their log-like weapons can do.
Do they have mages? Or at least some variant of them? Every race I’ve come by so far has at least some capability of it. Whether it be the markings of the eastern races, the natural manipulation of both áed and áinfean, or the weird gifted decay of the mermineae. If they don’t, that would only make the structures they’ve made all the more impressive and daunting.
As I’ve said, this camouflage is amazing. I don’t need to stick to Grímr’s side all day now to defend against the dangers of the plains. As long as I keep low to the ground, I’m all but invisible to everyone’s eyes. Of course, the moment I use my fire, my camouflage expires. The fur has an odd tendency to want to imitate my flames and I have no idea how to stop it.
Getting some space to myself for the first time in a while is great. The pace set by the centzon isn’t anything I can’t keep up with. The improvements to my ability to redistribute weight across my body having improved my running speed by quite a lot.
It’s also been great to get some actual spear training in. I’ve spent most of my time in the past few weeks riding Grímr working on my balance. I have absolutely gotten better, but I haven’t really been able to apply that to any of my fights recently, considering I’ve gone back to just trying to burn everything that might be a threat.
I really need to hold back on my flames and just try fighting with my spear. I’ve already seen that despite the absolutely devastating inferno I can create with all the energy I have, I lack the intensity to kill stronger enemies. Sure, I can char them a bit, but they can just push through until either I’m dead, or they are far enough from me that I can’t hurt them.
If I can’t even breach the Viisin’s cloak of dust, how could I hurt them?
“Revontulet ahead!” Tzilac calls. “Circle to the right.”
A revontulet? The beings that have the unfortunately extreme likelihood of being possessed?
I search ahead, and there’s no missing the massive white creature tearing its maw into the corpse of something even larger. It has to be at least twice as tall as I am, and far longer from snout to tail.
A pure white fox. A fox that I recognise.
It’s the same intelligent creature I’d seen back in the Void Fog.
