Abyssal Road Trip - 117 - Jungle Fever (Patreon)

Since she’d stopped broadcasting the predator vibe, the jungle had come alive with sounds. The air’s humidity had made her sticky with condensation before Amdirlain landed and crouched to examine a Panthera pride on a lower branch. Copper blended with flora scents as they consumed the kill they’d brought down, a prey that looked like a grizzly with a nest of sharp horns across its skull.

Their prey’s long claws had opened wounds on some of the pride, but the blood had already clotted in their matted fur, and they ate unhampered by their injuries. Though it had bloodied its antlers in the fighting, she spotted no injuries that matched them on those feeding. Whether that was because it had killed some—or other injuries obscured them—was unclear. The minds of the giant cats were fixated on slaking their natural hunger, and no thought remained of the recent hunt.

A cough drew her attention along the branch, and she saw several smaller Panthera accompanied by a fully grown female. The others only spared them a glance before they resumed eating. Only when the adults finished did the younger felines and their escort get their turn.

They were living creatures—not Demonic spawn—and Amdirlain had no clue how the species she’d seen survived in these Planes. She had to restrain laughter at the mental image of David Attenborough doing a documentary on the Abyss — as it threatened to get loose, teleport quickly moved her far away rather than disturb their meal.

The sheer volume of animal minds pushed Telepathy to its limits as she travelled through the Jungle. The mental presences as inundating to her mind as the constant humidity was to her flesh. Though she didn’t sweat, it didn’t stop the moisture clinging to her and as the shadow vine’s cloth became saturated again; she drew the moisture into Inventory and sprayed it over a tree branch. A knot in the trunk opened, and there was a spark of alien awareness directed at her before the knot closed and it vanished.

Here in the twilight zone.

A furry spider—the size of her head—covered in fern-like bristling fuzz, slowly lowered itself on a silken thread towards the water. As cautious as it was, the slowness just made it a target, and it disappeared when a bird dived between branches and snapped its line. The large arachnid ended up smashed against another tree, and the bird hurried to open its flesh with swift pecks before it could recover.

* * *

Her explorations had gone on for two cycles in a jungle ripe with life, all while the blistering sun had stayed continually overhead. Amdirlain had found nothing that tempted her to fight, nor any sight of the flowers. She’d expected the Plane to possess Demonic life-forms, not for it to be populated by living beings just going about their existence. Not everything was larger than she knew from life, but enormous forms of species weren’t uncommon, including the Giants she was observing presently.

Four Giants kept watch, each armed with an enormous bow, and rune-etched, amber-barbed arrows—the thickness of her forearm—notched on bows two-metres or more in length. Enchanted raw-hide clothing protected deep greenish-brown skin, and they spread along different branches to ensure they could watch over each other safely. They were nearly five-metres tall and the way their leader moved the grizzly things—larger than the one that the Panthera pride had taken down—they had plenty of strength to spare. Their Souls weren’t malevolent like the Fire Giants she had encountered. They hunted for food, not sport or tormenting others, and though she had no business with them, she indulged her curiosity.

Analysis

[Name: N’Oye

Species: Jungle Giant

Class: Ranger / Fighter

Level: 67 / 67 / 65

Health: 7,326

Magic: 52

Mana: 536

Defence: 134

Melee Attack Power: 192

Ranged Attack Power: 181

Combat Skills: Bow [M] (12), Dagger [M](7), Spear [M](23), Staff [M](18) - Various Nature Blessings.

Details: N’Oye and his clan have survived in the Abyss over nine thousand years since Demons overran their home world. Though the Portals’ opening didn’t involve their Clans, they used them to flee before the Demonic horde finished pillaging their world.

]

Another group who can level their species as well.

The details prompted Amdirlain to keep flat against a branch hundreds of metres away not risking being spotted. Telepathy let her listen to their surface thoughts and once they were ready to head home, a change of form and teleport put her in position to accompany them. A splinter suddenly tacked into a kill’s bloodied fur went unnoticed as they moved off rapidly through the trees, and she listened to their minds to learn about the surrounding jungle.

It was just as well she monitored their thoughts, as their use of words was almost non-existent. Everyone in the party followed their route without pause, and exchanges were short clicking noises. The entry into their holding was as surprising as their presence. When they slip along a trunk; a section of bark opened at a light touch. Though there were no wards visible, Amdirlain played it safe and teleported back along their trail; an unnoticed splinter drifted to the ground.

When they sealed the entry she considered it through the rearguard’s mind. Their crafters had formed the section from another tree a distance away after they’d taken over the termite’s nest in this Elder tree. Though the guard was unaware of anything magical about the door, it joined seamlessly with the tree’s natural bark. Clairvoyance reached through the circular interior tunnels lit by patches of a fungus and breaks in the bark sealed with amber. As the rearguard followed the others, Amdirlain adjusted her form, and settled into a niche in the bark changed to blend in. Not yet knowing the situation with their wards, her focus stayed split between monitoring the exterior and shifting perspectives in the passages.

Broad passages merged into chambers, repurposed from however they served the original inhabitants. The Giants had set the acid polished wood with moulded handholds, and braces to allow easier movement along odd curves. Spiralling passages and arching chambers alike had additions to allow the new occupants to utilise them. Guard posts setup at choke points through the tree held additional weaponry and clan members alike.These Inner guard posts showed weapons that bore enchantments, and while nothing beyond what she’d seen in Eyrarháls they were more numerous.

Here and there were runes filled with a strange glowing fluid, not spilling despite the angle of some cuts. They served as anchor points for wards to enhance alertness and hinder hostiles with assorted distractions.

The exploration pushed her Skill as she poked into every unoccupied and nook within; ignoring treasures that in a game would have caught her attention as she pushed onwards. When she completed her tally, the ninety-odd seemed far too low, given all the furnished chambers. Not wanting to probe into minds, she cast a spell and teleported a wooden cup from an inner warded chamber and listened for alarmed minds within.

Moments later she returned it and tentatively reached to focus on the surface thoughts of a mind in a nearby chamber. She hadn’t run into any magical means of detecting Psi abilities but was loath to assume it couldn’t happen. Rather than seeking to reach within, she just listens for the echo of broadcast thoughts.

Amdirlain hadn’t liked the history Analysis had shown in N’Oye details, but instead of leaping in, she waited, watched, and learned. Learned about them and practiced Psi Skills, trying to extend her capabilities, aware she still hadn’t taken enough time in study or practice. She tried to understand their culture without digging within their minds between observing the Giants and merely listening to their surface thoughts. She dug into the Skills lists for anything to help her plans and wanted to scream at what she turned up.

Psi Focus

[A meditative skill that—when properly applied—will cause the Psi reservoirs available within the mind to soar.]

It got absorbed by Harmony, and I didn’t even go looking into it.

Psionic Lore talks about the proper application of Focus. Ki forms a cool mist rising from its pool, filling me and able to move at need. Psi is Mind though not flesh; I need to find the key for Harmony’s use. Just having Harmony absorb it hasn’t caused Psi energy to soar for me.

As the system showed another increase for Clairsentience, Amdirlain considered the unexpected evolution of Profile Control again.

[Experience Allocation confirmed:

Fallen 50% weighted

Pure Scion of the Sun 50% weighted]

A thought to set the others evenly gave a result that made her mentally grind her teeth.

[Experience Allocation confirmed:

Sora Master: 33% weighted.

Psion: 33% weighted.

Warrior Monk: 33% weighted.]

You want to steal more experience?

Attempting to set them explicitly to 33.3% gave her no change, but another attempt produced a response.

[Experience Allocation confirmed:

Sora Master: 33% weighted.

Psion: 34% weighted.

Warrior Monk: 33% weighted.]

Okay, so it handles nothing under a whole percentage point. Darn! Titan needs to speak to his programmer about not using a base Int for coding.

I could push them up one at a time, but what difference would that make? Do I focus on evolving skills and hope for a better base class related to them, like Sírdhem and the others received?

Something to think about, but for now.

[Experience Allocation confirmed:

Fallen 20% weighted.

Pure Scion of the Sun 20% weighted.

Sora Master: 20% weighted.

Psion: 20% weighted.

Warrior Monk: 20% weighted.]

Amdirlain’s focus turned inwards, and she considered her Mindscape’s stars for a time before activating Spirit Bridge, hoping Laodice might want to speak.

“Amdirlain, I hope you are doing well.”

“Have your meditations been peaceful?” Amdirlain asked, steering clear of the subject of their recent arguments.

“Yes, Amdirlain, they have. I heard Father’s Servant provide information and a warning,” Laodice replied, her tone carrying amusement at her evasion.

“It’s about Class options, not your prison,” stated Amdirlain. “I’ll leave it be, for now. Ijmti taught me a lesson about proper steps.”

“Don’t you have ones selected to level?” asked Laodice, her tone confused.

“I need to explain what happened when I found the Lómë who had broken free from Balnérith.”

“No, I was listening through you; the feel of the Song attracted my attention. My suggestion is don’t worry about slowing down what you have now. Verdandi said Father evolved Torm into a new type of Angel, is that not correct?” Laodice asked.

“Yes,” Amdirlain replied, not asking how often Laodice eavesdropped without warning.

“I’ve been through a similar process. I found all my classes combined into my new nature. Given your situation as a Fallen now, if you gain another evolution, you’ll gain a stronger form,” said Laodice. Her presence through the link still making it nearly impossible to make out her features.

“Can you give me advice, or are you going to say it’s my choice?” Amdirlain asked after time spent considering Laodice’s words.

“If you play games with your classes, you’ll likely get better ones, but likewise, you’ll make it that much harder to earn another evolution. Father likes everything to have a proper balance, just like any artisan. Also, consider that your new classes provide increased insights into certain skills; if you improve those skills and then remove the key to how you gained the insights, what then? The Lómë’s former classes provided only a relatively minor focus on skills; yours do far more. Even with my advice, the choice remains yours,” replied Laodice, the barest hint of a smile evident in her radiant beauty.

“Any advice about the Giants?” enquired Amdirlain.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how to listen to your heart,” Laodice replied, amusement clear in her tone.

“Oh, I keep meaning to ask you. Do you know what—or who—sends out these notifications I get?” Amdirlain asked. “Because some make me want to strangle them.”

“That I can’t tell you for sure,” Laodice responded after a few moments, “There are entities Father assigns to monitoring things. Since I’ve never received those messages, I never looked into what Father had in place for the Hidden.”

The reply just raised more questions in Amdirlain than she wanted to pester Laodice with anytime soon.

“How many Hidden have there been?”

“That I do not know. I know Father’s grandchild sent the first. They used the token to send someone that tried to rape them here,” offered Laodice. “I didn’t interact with any Hidden; I simply knew of their existence. As for your message sender, you could always open a Gate in my Brother’s name, and perhaps he can scold them for you. Just be careful to make it clear it is only an invitation; I wouldn’t open it inside a defensive circle as you did the Lómë.”

“That is something I hadn’t even considered,” exclaimed Amdirlain. “I’m not sure I’d dare after how long he spent trapped in the Necropolis.”

“The choice is yours,” Laodice stated.

* * *

A check on languages she’d expected to give her an obscure dialect for the Giants; instead, she found it appeared the system somehow enforced languages. The points spent in Giant (Jungle), and the Dwarf’s Khuzdul, had been an easy selection. When the Giant’s tongue raced into her awareness, the number of words they had for hunting surprised her, but the lack of written language wasn’t one. Not wanting to play peeping tom, she’d kept her mind out of their home once she’d determined how they lived. The sight of the care they took with each other had reassured her, even more than seeing Ranger appear in N’Oye’s Analysis.

She’d been waiting for a few cycles when a large hunting party headed out. Amdirlain narrowed her focus to them and followed their minds. Not wanting to imply any sort of threat to their community, she waited until they were kilometres away before she moved. When the Scout caught sight of her in Wood Elf form, it was in a location that allowed the Giants lots of options. The Scout gave a series of rapid hand signals to those following, even while they remained focused on her position.

As the party leader came into view, Amdirlain recognised N’Oye. Their mottled green-brown skin patterns made each Giant distinctive, but they all shared similar deep brown irises and primal features.

“Why are you in our hunt’s path, stranger?” N’Oye asked. His word choice showed the group was out hunting for medicine.

“I mean no harm, and I hope to trade,” Amdirlain replied.

As she spoke, the rest of the patrol came into view and spread out, their gazes searching for threats in the canopy. The set of leather armour both genders wore were all similarly enchanted: protection, silence, and concealment. Curiosity had her disable True Sight, and the patrol blended into the wide branch and the canopy behind them. It was only when they made more than subtle movements that Amdirlain picked them out of the foliage. The patrol leader didn’t respond as the group scanned the canopy. When each flicked the same hand sign back to him, he spoke again.

[Perception [M] (42->43)]

I see what Torm meant.

“What do you seek, and what do you offer?”

“I’m looking for a tree covered in large flowers that have tentacles around them,” Amdirlain stated, staying focused on his wary posture. “What can I trade for knowledge of a path to them?”

“The nearest groves of the devouring ones aren’t close, and you’ll need to be lower in the canopy to see their tops,” N’Oye replied. Amdirlain couldn’t make out anything from his tone, but his gaze kept roaming about the trees as he spoke, though he never turned from her direction. “The Elder trees don’t like their ground, so they grow clustered in only a few places.”

“That is helpful. I appreciate you aiding my hunt. Can I assist you in return?”

“I’d prefer you merely gone from our lands stranger,” N’Oye replied, gesturing back towards the lake. “The information you seek is unimportant. Go back to the black lake, circle up to three arrow shots out, within five heights of ground you will easily find some.”

“These are corrupt and dangerous lands,” stated Amdirlain. “Has your Clan considered moving to a safer Plane?”

The moment she made the suggestion, N’Oye’s posture tightened, and his gaze locked on her, burning with controlled anger.

“Our ancestors brought us here. They give us strength to hunt, and we will remain here with them,” N’Oye declared, gesturing dismissively in the same direction as previously. “Go now.”

Fuck, now I’m the rude one.

“My apologies for the insult I gave to your ancestors and your people,” Amdirlain said, bowing her head respectfully, hoping that wouldn’t offend. “Might I make amends?”

“Only if you are worthy does your apology mean anything but gut wind,” said N’Oye, a double hard click at the end signally contempt.

“Might I prove my worth in a way that aids your people?” Amdirlain asked, keeping still as N’Oye’s hard gaze stayed on her.

“You are small for one who would hunt. Keep pace with us,” instructed N’Oye. “When we arrive, I will give you one chance to prove your worth, then we can speak of making amends.”

“As you say,” replied Amdirlain, giving another bow, not feeling any offense having been taken by the gesture’s use.

“K’Rya and O’Lpa, keep your focus on the small one,” N’Oye ordered, only turning his head slightly as he spoke. “If she falls by the way, point her in the lake’s direction and ensure she leaves.”

Two Giantess clicked their understanding, and when they set off, Amdirlain moved between her chaperones. The patrol tried to hide their surprise when the small one easily kept pace, but though they were small facial tics, the size of their features made them clear. They were at least sixty or seventy kilometres from their home tree when their Scout’s path trended downwards. Branches had overlapped constantly at the edges of the trees’ growth, providing a confusing warren of pathways. Amdirlain held to her principals given their Souls’ nature and restrained from seeking in their minds for a destination. The whole patrol stayed focused on their immediate surroundings, and their thoughts gave nothing away.

* * *

Mount Olympus

Petitioners around the building shifted in their dream-like state as the image in the forecourt screamed again. Nothing any of the Pantheon’s Gods had been able to do could stop its repetition. The image was a hoplite wearing Zeus’ armour melting in primordial flames until the last thing remaining was Zeus’ symbol. Everyone glimpsing the image knew both the reason and the sentence.

The screams emitted didn’t herald the Soul’s destruction, rather all memory and allegiance being purged from it—and it was aware of all that was being lost. Once purged, it could begin its journey again with an entirely clean slate. The Petitioners didn’t shift from concern, rather temptation at awakening from their current state. At last, the symbol flared white, burned to ash in a sudden flash turned gold. The shard of Zeus’ power invested in the Celestial returned to the Titan’s forge.

“This reminder will cease when you learn your lesson, Brother. I’m sure all your Petitioners will enjoy your humility if you can figure out what that is.”

The forge’s light sent heat and shadows dancing through the forecourt, and an unsettled huntress shuddered as a breeze brushed her neck. It was as unexpected as the breeze that had sent her arrow off target and its presence here sent ice down her spine.

It raced through an adjoining building and tore through the Fate’s loom strings quivered at its passage. A note rung through the loom as strings snapped and evaporated, but its owners knew no deaths followed. Threads released by the change in the tapestry’s tension shifted and joined the snarl around a bluish-golden thread. At its beginning within the tapestry, it looked the same as others, yet at its short, natural end, someone—or something—had seamlessly changed it into a new colourful thread.

Three very different aged women all appeared to glare at the increased tangled with equal measures of frustration. The unheeded breeze ripples past long age-whitened hair, across wrinkled skin, before it dips among black tresses, and across the busy spindle in the maid’s hands. A measuring string tightens in the grip of the motherly of the trio, and she glances between it and the tangle on the loom ignorant of offending breeze.

As the white-haired woman among them straightens to bring shears towards the thread, the maiden stops her with a gesture.

“Atropos you know that won’t work. How many times have you both tried?” asked the maid, the youthful beauty of her voice clear above the clatter of the loom’s shuttle. Each movement of the apparently simple machinery bends within reality, and the tangle grows worse.

“What else can I do, Clotho?” asked Atropos, closing the sheers and tucking them back into a pocket in her dress. “Epochē is still failing to fulfill my instruction to sever the abomination’s thread.”

“We should have never agreed to assist her promotion, despite the energy she delivered and insights into the Egyptian disruptions.” the motherly woman said. She paused before looking over a group of threads pulled out of position in the weave with grim concern.

“Atropos’ portfolio and hers do overlap, Lachesis. If we’d let Epochē ascend alone with her worshipers in our world, who knows what might have come of it,” replied Clotho.

“The Pact with Mab is no more since Viper cannot deliver. The winter court discouraged her worship on the other world after the failure as they did with Epochē’s.”

“Despite her insistence that the debt is Viper’s?” asked Lachesis, her calm faltering as Clotho shook her head.

“Mab requires the exact agreement fulfilled, so they’ve broken the Pact. Neither of them can even tell us who it was they were to deliver to Mab,” declared Atropos.

“What of the entity that brought up those strange golden Souls? Could that be the one?” asked Clotho, as she drew the ends of new fibres from her distaff to start another thread. “She and they appeared Elven.”

“None have learnt anything from other Pantheons, and she is beyond Apollo’s power to see,” said Atropos with a sigh.

“Not beyond his ability to drool over, given the image the other troops provided.” snorted Clotho.

“We should talk to mother,” states Lachesis, curling up the measuring string with sharp motions.

“You believe it’s wise to cross that bridge?” enquired Atropos, brows furrowed in concern.

“Not a bridge, a lifeboat. A storm may hit soon, and this ship’s captain is drunk with rage by now,” replied Lachesis, with a gesture towards the forecourt. A moment later—as the message repeats—the three of them nod.

“Have either of you seen Hestia recently?” Clotho asked, nervously licking her lips. The shocked look from both was all the answer she needed.

“That decides it,” Atropos declared as she collected a satchel from a worktable. “We should talk to Nox together,”

“He lured us into his trap, and we didn’t even see it coming. He thought we could deal with him as we did the first Titans. They forget they’re not the only beings capable of holding a grudge, and he and those he cared about suffered much from their games in the old reality,” said Lachesis with a grimace.

“No Lachesis, not their games; our games sister. We played a part as well,” stated Clotho, with a motion to the loom.

“A lifeboat might not be enough,” Clotho said, and set her distaff and spindle down.

Shortly after they vanished, the barely started thread looked to unravel from neglect, and the breeze swirled around it. For a moment, an Angel showed in the workshop with wings outstretched behind him, his ageless gaze focused on it. When Eleftherios vanished, the barely started thread—and the rest of the material from the distaff—were nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Eleftherios reappeared in the coldness of space and found Alberta present.

“You were not anywhere I could see, brother,” Alberta stated, her mind touch carrying a comforting weight. “What have you been up to?”

“I’m simply following the last orders that Father gave me,” said Eleftherios, his words carrying a truthful reassurance, despite a distance in his expression.

“He hasn’t given you any order since your return,” said Alberta.

“That is true,” Eleftherios replied the distant look on his face still present.

“What have you been doing?” asked Alberta, the slight furrows on her brow as expressive as a glare.

“I’m still dealing with the dangers to the Eldest and those they care about,” replied Eleftherios.

“The Anar are no more, and-” insisted Alberta.

“That isn’t quite correct now, is it Alberta?” interjected Eleftherios, a slight smile flexing a corner of his mouth.

“She waits for now, and may for hundreds of years,” declared Alberta. “Even then, she’ll be alone. I wonder what Father intends for her.”

Her certainty turned to confusion when Eleftherios just smiled and went back to watching the life starting its development on the world below them.

“I wonder what type of life form will win the evolution process this time,” pondered Eleftherios, and earned a look of exasperation from Alberta. The younger Angel almost crossed her arms but restrained herself from such an aggressive display out of respect towards her elder and folded her hands demurely instead.

“There is potential for an interesting blue-skinned species to develop: mono-gender, bipedal, long-lived, natural affinities of Gravity and Mental. I’m not sure why Father wanted their species inclusion; they’re not in anything he had planned until recent years. They seem unusual from what I could tell—almost Elf like in their aging—but far more reckless in their earlier centuries,” offered Alberta.

* * *

In an enclave west of the Slavic Kingdom, Shâgórim rose for the day. As he gathered his things, a golden-core feather he’d woven into his necklace years ago brushed skin. The familiar sensation still prompted him to pause and touch it reverently as he considered a choice he’d been stewing on for months. Two packs against the wall had far different purposes, and they held his gaze between them. One held his patrol kit—his duty to the tribe—the other travelling equipment. However, the second, others in the tribe, had discouraged him from assembling. Still, piece by piece, he’d added to its contents, trading for the equipment to be made. Seven nights ago, he finished trading for the last of his personal weapons; long ago he’d earned the medallion from her Priest.

With quick motions, he pulled on his clothes and instead of his duty kit, he plucked the other from the ground. As the Armsmaster had taught him, he made sure it was slung ready to release quickly yet secure enough not to flop about while travelling.

“Lady Amdirlain, guide my steps, help me find my way.”

His morning pray said, he left his quarters with the door open, and headed for the ramp that lead to the mountain’s surface. Squeals that echoed from the Direboars’ pens signalled the kobolds were already going about their morning labours. The caravan was heading east this morning, and he needed to move fast if he planned to be with it.