Chapter 82: Not a Tomb (Patreon)

Author’s note: Hi, everyone.

I'm back from my administrative break and damn I wish it was a week longer.

I want to thank those who shared with me their thoughts on the names of the orphans in my world. It took up a good chunk of my break time - don't worry, no hard feelings :D Anyway, while I'm not going to go into explanations and reasoning here, I'll leave that for the story to reveal, contrary to the original where the orphans if they didn't remember their surname were without one, I decided to name the Chief Healer and others Ardaivel'cas.

Next, I decided to limit the range of [Spatial Domain] to one meter as a base. Every glyph Korra gains in it increases its range by approximately ten centimeters. So with her current 12 glyphs, her domain has a range of about 2.2m. Unfortunately, I have yet to apply the changes back through the chapters

I've fixed the missing circles/tiers for weaves/skills in chapters 17 and 18 - I still have chapter 19 left to fix and and I also have to roll the changes through all the chapters. However, the main thing is the extra circle for [Indomitable Will]. Once I fix the weaves in chapter 19 I would like to post the complete Grid for better navigation.

Similarly, tomorrow I plan to release an updated Glossary.

But most importantly: I've been thinking about the pace of releasing chapters in the future and how to guarantee their quality without burning out. The thing is, writing Lament of the Lost is stealing more and more of my time. It took me a while to figure out the main reason - of course it's not just that. But to put it bluntly, the main factor is the number of words I manage to write in a given time. I found my limit at roughly 6000 words per week. Of course, it was much more than that. Hardly any chapters of Lament of the Slave were less than 3100 words and most were around 3200-3300. The idea behind the 6 chapters a week was to divide the 6000 into 6x1000 words and it works better for me in a way - many reasons for that which I won't elaborate on here. But like before, few chapters have only those 1,000 words, in fact this one reaches 1,300 and tomorrow's has over 1,500. All in all, I write an average of 8,000 words a week instead of 6,000.

Sure I loved to attribute it to my improvement, and it could be that, but I can't deny that it takes  more and more from me - at this rate, I was heading towards burnout. In other words, I need to slow down. One option would have been to stick to the 1000 words, but that has long since proven impossible so I've decided to limit the release of chapters to 5 a week, Monday to Friday. Though, that would leave us with only 3 chapters this week, so I'll still release a chapter this Saturday, but from then on it's five chapters a week.

If you've read my rant this far, you have my respect. Either way, I hope for your understanding.

Now without further ado, enjoy the chapter.

Chapter 82: Not a Tomb - link: https://www.patreon.com/posts/107382071


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Chapter 82: Not a Tomb

A bit shamefully, a pained whimper escaped my lips. Then, trembling with relief, I hid my head behind my knees and my wings. Not the way I wanted to be found. But having the light, if only of magic crystals lining the morgue walls, cut into my eyes after spending who knew how long in total darkness hurt like a bitch.

"Oh my tits! She IS alive," the smallest of the silhouettes in the doorway, a woman, said as she rushed towards me. Whatever it was, some residual beast instinct or the fear instilled in me by the oppressive darkness, pulling the ferocity from deep within me, I didn't know, but as she touched me, I flinched and growled. "No, no, it's all right, you don't have to be afraid. I'm here to help. You remember me, right? Becca, Becca Hill, the one . . . "

"Y-you got rid of the . . . the ticks in my fur," I stammered, choking back another bark and the horror of the morgue while struggling with the joy of this place not being a tomb. Someone came, just as I had hoped, and not only that, but even someone I knew a little bit. 

Trembling and with my eyes still unusable, I shifted my focus and expanded my domain just short of reaching the adjacent tables to get a look at the woman at least through my perception.

[Healer: ₪ sigils]

'It is her,' I breathed a sigh of relief at seeing a short woman in a white uniform, with shoulder length chestnut hair and hazel eyes full of care.

"Yes. Yes, the ticks, that was me. I rid you of those nasty suckers," Senior Healer Hill breathed, sounding more relieved than I was. "May I touch you? I need to check you're fine. Are you hurt? How are you feeling?"

"C-cold," I said after a moment's thought, still huddled behind my tail and wings. "Y-you didn't have to touch me last time."

"That was . . . you see . . . well, the thing is . . . "

"She doesn't want to make a mistake again," spoke the tall man who appeared behind her, obscured, like the Senior Healer Hill, behind the veil of tears that the light brought to my eyes. Like her, though, close enough for me to get a look at him through my perception. The man in the same white uniform as the short woman looked to be in his forties, with a sharp jaw, stubble covering his face, unkempt hair, and a smile that made my heart leap, spiced with a gaze of enchantment with me.

"S-sorry, w-what? What mistake?" I asked, starlet a bit as, despite my warning growl, Senior Healer Hill placed her hands on my shoulders, and a pleasant, soothing warmth began to spread through my body.

"She clearly, and as her superior I apologize for that, judged you dead when you were brought in."

"I’m so very sorry, ma'am," Becca Hill blurted out. "I don't know how, but . . . I've never made such a mistake before."

"Not that it hasn't happened before," the tall man remarked. "Weaves allow one to do weird stuff. We had a guy here once who feigned death when his caravan was ambushed. He spent three whole days in this place before his weave let him breathe - almost buried the guy. Actually, the reason we leave the bodies here for two whole weeks. Or the other time . . . "

"Marcus. That's enough." 

I knew that forthright, strong, almost regal female voice. It would be odd if I didn't, I spent quite a long time talking to the woman.

"C-Captain Rayden?"

"Hello, Grey. I was sure I'd see you soon. But . . . not this soon, not like this, and certainly not here," she said, her soothing aura stretching across the space, tingling my skin. "This place gives me the creeps. What do you say we move somewhere else? Somewhere warmer, better lit, and not reeking of corpses?"

'Oh, that sounds good, really good.'

Whether it was the simple joy of not sitting in a tomb, the healer's warm touch, [Indomitable Will] keeping me from going crazy, Rayden's calming aura making the hairs on my body bristle, or the combination of it all, it washed away the horror of this place. As if by some magic, instead of cowering in fear, I nodded fiercely, more than eager to get out of here.

"Hold on, young lass," the tall man, Marcus apparently, stopped me as I broke out of my cocoon of wings and tail. "Becca, is it all right for her to move?"

"It - it is. I mean, I don't get it, sir. She had so many broken bones and stab wounds when she was brought here, but now . . . "

The man touched her shoulder, giving me a knowing smile and making my heart skip a beat. "Exceptional regeneration, lass?"

'T-the heck? How . . . how did he know?'

"Y-yeah."

"See, Becca, as I said, weaves allow you to do plenty of crazy stuff - even to bring you back from the brink of death. Saw it happen many times during the wars, right San?"

Captain Rayden just nodded back, waiting patiently with her hands behind her back.

"But, sir, I am sure she was dead, stabbed through the heart. It was even stated in the report that came with her," Senior Healer Hill insisted, struggling to understand where she had made a mistake. Little did she know that she hadn't. Feeling slightly light-headed and sorry for the woman, I took a breath to come clean, but Rayden took the wind out of my sails.

"Calm down, Sergeant Hill. No one is blaming you. I read the full report; the witness confirmed as much, and Corporal Farshine owned up to it as well. Actually, he'll be happy to hear that he didn't kill anybody - at least not permanently. The latrine cleaning duty will do him good anyway."

'What? Report? Witness? Corporal Farshine? Was he the one who killed me?'

"Rather than blame someone, I would prefer to move Grey somewhere where I won't feel like the dead are watching us?"

Okay, now she took the words right out of my mouth.

'Yes, please! I don't want to be here any longer, either.'

"Hold on, San. Are you saying her regeneration is good enough to bring her back from the dead?"

'Damn, was he a healer? Any empathy?'

"More or less, Marcus."

"But that's a dual-array shit, usually two hundred sigils, typically more."

Rayden sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Will it be enough to say she's one of the Lost?"

The man whistled, surprisingly quietly as if mindful of my ears, or not to wake the dead. "Oh, damn. Sorry to hear that, lass. Has its perks, doesn't it, though?"

'The f . . . k? Perks? Was not being able to die a perk? Well, I guess so, but . . . '

Wait, did the Lost always get some sort of "perk" from the Fae? If so, what did I get the first time? The ability to survive anything that the deranged asshole put into my body? The sudden burst of anger, however, quickly drowned in the ease flooding my body. Instead, feeling close to tipsy, I bared my teeth at the man in a teasing grin. "Y-you mean the prospect of being buried alive, mister . . . ?"

"Oh, I like you, lass. It's Chief Healer Ardaivel’cas, but you can call me Marcus." The man chuckled and tapped Senior Healer Hill on the shoulder.

"Is she good to go, Becca?"

"Yes, sir. She's . . . she's perfectly fine."

"Good. Then, it's time for a cozy chair, a blanket, and a hot chocolate. In my experience, it can do more than a dozen potions."

'Did he say chocolate?'

It wasn't just some tease, a mistranslation of my [Eleaden Standard Language] weave, was it? The chocolate was real here, right? It had to be.

If not, that would be too cruel.

"Only, sir . . . "

"Yes, Becca?"

"There's something in her belly I can't get a good read on."

'Oh, no!' The hope of tasting that divine sweet nectar again instantly turned to dread, tying my guts in a knot.

"Her belly?"

'The shitty beast core!'

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