Adventurers’ Guild - City of Ecbatana - Kingdom of Darius

The northerly wind swept down from the lakes and brought a storm that lashed the city. Rain and wind constantly slapped against the front door and soaked the deserted street. Arrivals had slammed the door so often over the morning that its noise blended into the background. The clerk didn’t even look up when someone forced it shut yet again.

A soft knock on the countertop brought the clerk’s attention from his ledger to the soaked young woman he hadn’t noticed enter. “Sorry for disturbing you, but how do I go about joining?”

The strangeness of her appearance distracted him from her demurely put question. Her lithe but voluptuous build barely filled the plain manly shirt she swam in, but its soaked cloth clung to her like a second skin. The long, carefully tended fringe heavy with water didn’t match the hacked off length of loam brown hair that barely concealed her ears. White teeth made it clear how young she must be, and those matched her white, strangely unmarked skin.

“Be older than sixteen years and have four golds,” grumbled the clerk. His eyes immediately returned to the ledger, the neat script readable even to the woman at the counter given the illuminating crystal set in the ceiling shining above his desk.

The sound of clinking metal caught his attention, and he glanced into an earthy brown gaze—a soft hand with carefully tended nails having brushed her fringe aside. The woman smiled and shifted position in a fashion that stretched the wet shirt across her hard nipples and full breasts. She tapped next to four large battered golds that sat on the countertop.

“My apparel is confusing, I’m sure,” she purred. “I lost most of my possessions when my home went up in flames. This Is one of the few shirts I’ve gained since hiding from the Manes, but I’ve coins as you can see.” With her word’s husky timbre licking their way across him, the clerk swallowed and tried to focus on his duties.

The clerk coughed and hurriedly lifted a rune-coated, silvered-steel plate barely two palms wide from the desk’s draw and set it on the countertop. “Four small golds are to cover the Class assessment and costs of the ward stone to prove your membership. If you lose your ward stone, it will cost three gold to get another, and frequent losses—aside from being expensive—can penalise your next rank assessment.”

Taking a single coin from the counter, he efficiently replaced it with six small golds.

A wary look peeked through the fringe, but she gave him a pleased smile. “What’s involved in the Class assessment?”

“It’s nothing, really; simply touch that circle close to you. I’ll copy the information onto the register and attune a ward stone. Then we can discuss what work options are available at present. Can I start with your name, please?”

The woman’s smile broadened warmly, a reef of ice-white teeth clearly on display. “Julia, please call me Julia; I feel sure we’ll be fast friends.”

Julia leaned against the desk, her shifting posture pinching the shirt against the counter’s edge and drawing the wet cloth somehow tighter still. A quick motion swept the coins from the countertop, but the clerk couldn’t see where they went.

“My name is Payam,” offered the clerk quickly.

Julia’s smile warmed her eyes, but the clerk’s gaze was locked on her hard nipples, showing against the fabric of her ill-fitting shirt.

“I’m sure it will be a pleasure, Payam,” Julia said, following his instructions, and the plate glowed with life.

Payam started reading aloud the moment the glowing words appeared.

“Level twelve Wizard, part Moon Elf—I wondered why you look so pale—all tier one and two affinities. I’m surprised, you don’t look like a Wizard.”

“You likely shouldn’t read it out so loudly; anyone could be listening. I’ve had some recent setbacks, but I’m looking towards the future and coming back into my own,” Julia stated firmly. “Would you know of any adventurers needing a Wizard in their group? I have some skills to contribute.”

Payam nodded and drew a sheet of rough papyrus from the drawer. “It’s just some we get can’t read or write anything but their mark. I’ll get details of your skills down, then look into that. There are a couple of groups with mentoring spots available. I believe one of them is present in Ecbatana; given your level and multiple affinities, I’m sure they’ll be interested. It’s been a while since I’ve heard of a Manes attack.”

“I’ve travelled from the Kapisa Province. We hadn’t even finished building the palisade around the village centre when they attacked,” explained Julia, her voice growing louder and rough.

“You’re lucky to have survived,” Payam said sympathetically.

Julia slapped the countertop with booming force. Rage burnt so hot in her gaze it distorted her beautiful features in the clear crystal light. “If I’d had any warning, things would have been different. I dug myself out of the shop’s rubble and checked for other survivors, but my spells found nothing alive, not even animals. My skills had pleased me before, but I just want revenge after losing my future home. Since the members of Adventurers’ Guild helped turn the war, then I hoped joining would help me gain the power to teach that bitch a lesson.”

Payam removed a ward stone from a locked box and held it out to her. “The Manes’ Matriarchs can be powerful, but any Manes you kill will help keep others safer. Hold on to this with me please, I’ll need to activate it properly.”

Her hand trembled with the aftereffects of fury, but she carefully pinched the ward stone’s curved edge. Payam gave a grim nod of condolences before an uttered word caused a copper symbol to flare into existence in its centre.

“That’s now yours,” says Payam, letting go of the disk. “Don’t lose it; if anyone else presents it, the symbol won’t display. While no one can impersonate a guild member, that won’t save you the coin of replacing it.”

Viper just smiled mentally behind Julia’s features and kept the act from slipping again. Shifting the shirt about, she enjoyed the attention stretching it tight across her breasts received from Payam. Not as much as she enjoyed savouring the villagers’ Souls screaming in the Abyssal Heat of her flesh.

* * *

Isaac’s PoV - Desolate Elven City - Cemna

“I have someone I’m interested in but we’re taking things slowly. It’s complicated, and not just from my baggage,” Amdirlain protests, and I snort trying to suppress my laughter.

“Is it complicated or are you making it complicated?”

“He’s a Celestial-”

“A Fallen interested in a Celestial—that isn’t complicated. It’s trouble,” Ilya interjects.

At the interruption, I can see the shutters snap shut in Amdirlain’s gaze. “If you pair don’t mind, I’ll open a Gate to the Outlands and we can see about freeing you. I almost forgot Ilya’s ‘only tell her what she needs to know’, policy is still in force.”

The speed the Gate opens sets me back more than the sharpness in her words. I’m colour blind without the notes of her song to give me context, but it feels too strong a reaction. “You’ve not cared about what others thought of your views on things before.”

“Perhaps we can talk about it later,” Amdirlain replies and just motions for the Gate.

Perhaps frequently came up when Julia preferred to pull her own teeth rather than talk about how she was feeling.

Beyond the Gate is a ridgeline gleaming a brilliant purple in the Outland’s sunlight. The broken line shows an unnatural gouge; someone’s been mining its crystals. Amdirlain leads the way and shifts in mid-stride from Fallen to Wood Elf again. Instead of her pixie cut, auburn hair cascades down her back. Waving in the clearing’s breeze, the tendrils of hair flex and twist into a braid of their own accord. One moment I can see her Fallen form compressed inside flesh, and then a Spell with oddly muffled music obscures her again from True Sight. The notes fade away, blending into the Plane’s background song Resonance, only letting me hear the faintest trace, but I pick up its repeating notes.

[Resonance [S] (151->152)]

Oh, Mr Message is happy with my focus. I’ll have to practice listening to that Spell’s song. Ilya heads through the Gate with an amused glance for my humming along to the music. The notes lead me along and I almost stumble with worry twisting in my guts when I hear similar songs—breeze-like—along Amdirlain’s skin. Layered beneath one, I find clingy burning hate. Vileness turned into napalm that has me flinch. A Demonic brand, she’s got some explaining to do, but she said it was a long story.

I pull a coin from Inventory and glance at it. The ‘tails’ side gives Amdirlain more time before I’ll ask.

“I normally cleanse the Gates after I send people through,” says Amdirlain to a question I missed focused on the songs. “I should go back and clean it up in case someone finds it-”

A wave catches her attention, but I interrupt when she’s continuing. “I’ll take care of that,”

It only takes a moment of focus on the Gate’s music before True Song’s notes slide from my lips. The song doesn’t break her Spell but blooms into existence within the Plane’s split, and reality re-seals the tunnel without a trace of lingering notes.

“That was tidy compared to last time,” mutters Amdirlain.

I give her a prim look of mock disdain to cover my embarrassment. “Last time was pure panic. I got dragged through a summoning one time by an Elf. She’s still alive—as far as I know—and I thought it was a trick.”

“I spoke in English,” objects Amdirlain quickly, and yet again the words hit wrong. It’s not her tone, but something else, and still too quick to catch the song.

“It could have been a mental illusion getting through my defences. I couldn’t hear your song, which had never happened.”

The dancing sideways step takes Ilya out of Amdirlain’s line of sight, but she doesn’t seem upset. “You said you trust her. Are you sure this isn’t a different trick, Isa?”

“Trust but verify, I heard her song and felt some memories in it. I felt the emotions about things she locked down, and things I had never known. Some were surprising, but made sense. Which name did you burn first? I saw you copy my little ritual, but I didn’t catch all the things you burnt.”

Amdirlain’s wince is all Julia, and I almost ask how she’s been coping, but her song told me enough. Facing pain isn’t a thing she does. Vault companies would make a fortune to turn her mental safes into products. “Andrew’s name I burnt first, then Kathryn’s.”

Her face stays so composed, but she practically spits their names. It’s better than refusing to speak of them but isn’t good. I so want to hear her song. “You burnt the names, but you’ve not let go of the betrayal.”

“Let’s see if the Planar Attunement will work,” says Amdirlain briskly, turning towards Ilya and this time I catch the music’s iron slap.

Yeah, I wish Sarah had sat her down, she knows about psychology not me. “Why is she at The Exchange and not helping you?”

Amdirlain looks back at me with a frown. “She doesn’t trust herself near me the way she is now. Aren’t we still on a need to know?”

Ilya nods and holds out a hand. “Do you have the Spell’s grimoire? I’d like to see what you’re planning to cast on me.”

“I do indeed, it’s part of Planar Law; since you have Spatial Affinity, it’s certainly learnable by you,” Amdirlain says, unperturbed by being asked to share the Spell. Every Wizard I’ve met seems paranoid about sharing grimoires without compensation and she doesn’t even bat an eyelid at the request.

“You’ve more practice in it, so I’ll leave the casting to you,” Ilya says, and I catch the confused notes, yet she doesn’t ask how Amdirlain knew her affinity. “But I’d like to see how it’s constructed,”

The grimoire Amdirlain holds has an unassuming appearance, but its horrid stench and Abyssal song crawl along my skin and in my lungs—every note a vile maggot looking to feast. Ilya takes it with a nonchalance that reminds me of all the weird materials I’ve seen her gather. She’s so going to scrub her hands before our next alone time—maybe five times. The thought of that stench clinging inside me sends ice through my core. “You will wash your hands after touching that, Ilya.

“It’s a book,” Ilya protests, but Amdirlain thankfully draws it away from her.

The slap on the butt I give her gets me a pout. “Touch that and touching me again requires washing, lots of it,”

Confusion flicks into a comprehension from Amdirlain faster than I’d expected. “I’ll hold it for you, Ilya. She deserves the best.”

The words aren’t a slap this time, but maybe it’s her lack of song that’s throwing me off. The emotional energy coming into existence so abruptly in words makes their absoluteness stronger. Her lack of judgement about our relationship was like a cozy warm blanket when I didn’t know I’d been cold.

Ilya tilts her head for a moment and glances between us with pursed lips that curve into her kissable smile. “The amount of baths she likes is crazy but the water can be fun.”

“Her scented oil collection had a permanent spot on her bath’s edge,” reveals Amdirlain, smiling at least at my huff.

“That’s good to know, but some Demons hunt by scent alone,” replies Ilya, her attention shifting to the grimoire’s first page. A heavy wooden stand suddenly appears at the right height and angle, but when Amdirlain moves her hands, I wince at the severed, painful sound. The stand’s song is too precise in how it resounds from its grains before settling into more natural tones.

Amdirlain sighs, turning the page at a gesture from Ilya, but playing page girl isn’t the issue. “There is someone who’d like to join us.”

I can’t trust the frown, too much incomplete around her. Partly concealed truth feels too much like Hell, but she promised the story in time. “I didn’t hear any Message Spell,”

“I can get messages in other ways besides a Message Spell,” says Amdirlain, her gaze regarding me curiously, before focusing on Ilya.

“Exactly who is it?”

My question pulls her frown back in place, and shutters close in her gaze. “I’ve asked them to wait for now. Once we know you’re not getting drawn back to Hell, then I’ll chance it.”

“The Hound Archon?” probes Ilya.

“I said to wait,” Amdirlain rebuffs. Again, the force smacks notes within the air, a bass wave of sound so low it hums through my bones.

“You-”

Ilya growls at the energy’s slap, and Amdirlain's gaze locks her in place.

“Taking the same approach you took with Isa, so lump it until I know you’re free, or fuck off and I’ll just help Isa. You matter to her, so I’ll take the risk and help you, but don’t dictate terms to me, Erinys. I can see that girl’s head dangling in your mind. I don’t like continually getting that image from you,” Amdirlain says, the force of her words spearing through my guts.

Ilya’s hiss is a razor’s brush of steel. “Stay out of my brain-”

“I am. You’re screaming the image out. I’m trying to listen for approaching minds,” growls Amdirlain.

“Both of you, please stop it, and I know the meaning of the girl. It’s not what you think,” I grumble and switch quickly to English, trying to hold my place instead of fleeing. “You’re used to your stories and games where anything from Hell and all the lower planes is evil, but sometimes evil drags Souls there that don’t deserve it. Hell will twist a knife of guilt inside you and sear it through you-.”

“Don’t explain it. She doesn’t need to know,” Ilya interjects, and I quickly step close and hug, humming gently until the spray of pain in her song calms.

The knives were twisting around inside her, strumming dark chords, their sounds causing the sulphurous stench of my burning flesh to race through memories corridors.

I switch back to Celestial and caress her hair. “I wasn’t sharing her meaning. It was things from Amdirlain’s past I was talking about, so she’d reserve judgement. You think of her a lot when you question yourself. Don’t you believe you’ve paid the price for that mistake, Ilya? You were a child, and it’s been three thousand years—if not more. Forgive yourself.”

“How can I ever pay for it?”

“We can only repay them by making it matter. The fact it still hurts isn’t because you’re evil. It’s because you’re good; otherwise, you wouldn’t care at all,” I say, trying to reassure Ilya before I redirect my attention to Amdirlain. “You don’t talk about things you’ve tucked away. Don’t go asking Ilya to share things with you. Hell likes to stick hooks of guilt into you, to make you feel you deserve your fate. Do you want to ask me about my trip through the river’s flames? I’ll gladly share my pain with you.”

Amdirlain’s stern gaze locks on me, and the intensity makes my bones ache. “You didn’t deserve-”

“She got tricked. I got cursed. We both got tortured. I dropped into the river that runs through Dis. J! Every second you are in there, every hurt you’re inflicted on another comes back to you. If someone got hurt and you’re the cause, you know every moment of their pain multiplied a thousandfold. The river makes those seconds an eternal torment of fiery blades, repeatedly drawn along nerves, as its fire cooks your Soul. Your entire lifetime of guilt is flaying you and cooking through you. Your mind can’t collapse while you’re within the flames. It holds you aware so that the pain can break your Soul down into the form of a Devil. I got dragged out in a net because I’d already formed into an Erinys. Ilya was drowning in a lake for longer than she knew. So don’t ask about it again.”

“I’m sorry, Rach,” murmurs Amdirlain, the intensity easing from her gaze almost has me groan in relief.

“Don’t be sorry, just don’t. It’s not your place to be sorry about it. Ilya’s past isn’t the issue; it’s what she does now that matters. She saved me, so if you can save us, then do. If you can’t, we’ll keep working on our plans. We weren’t helpless princesses waiting on a rescue by you, Amdirlain.” I cry. “We can do without this bullshit.”

A coin suddenly spinning in mid-air stops them both with mouth agape. Luck’s song buzzing around me; I snatch it from the air and slap it down to check the side.

“Ilya, I need a heart to heart with Amdirlain for a bit. I’ll fill you in after we get done with testing this process,” I say, and after a glance at Amdirlain, continue. “If it’s still necessary.”

“Can’t it wait until after we test this process? Or should we just leave?” asked Ilya.

“It can’t. I was thinking about it, and the coin appeared; you want to read the grimoire,” I say, glad when she nods that I’ve made my point that I need to follow Luck’s path.

Words churn in my head, and I hug Ilya to make Amdirlain wait. It’s only after I’ve kissed Ilya for her pain do I calm enough to look at Amdirlain again. When I walk over among the trees, Amdirlain follows but gives me a moment to see the look of glee on Ilya’s face. I need to get her some more grimoires—she’s like a kid in a candy shop with them.

Ilya looks up from the page and smirks before wiggling her fingers and turning the page. I’m so pouring two-hundred proof spirits over her hand, or maybe holy water. Both?

“What was the coin about?” asks Amdirlain.

“I was just deciding what approach to take, and the coin appeared. It came up heads, so head on it is. First, I want to make sure I got something right; you know we’re lovers, right?”

“Yes, and?” asks Amdirlain, blinking in the complete emotional cluelessness that I remember so well, without a speck of judgement.

“Good, wanted to be sure you weren’t lashing out at her because of that. Since that isn’t it, Amdirlain sweetie, I mean this in the nicest possible way. Why are you so damn fucking blunt? Don’t you have any skill in Diplomacy at all?” I ask, ignoring the heat in my voice, and notes of my anger thrumming in my veins wash my fear away. Why can’t I hear her song!

My question stops her like a wet fish too long in the sun. Wincing and wiggling, with the tact of a two-year-old trying to avoid eating their greens, I wait until she finally coughs out the furball. “I purged the Skill. It worried me I could influence people in ways I didn’t intend.”

“What, like being nice and trusting you rather than, I don’t know, telling someone to fuck off?”

Amdirlain’s sigh is so deep I half expect her boot soles to show behind her teeth. “Haven’t you ever noticed Tongues picking words but feeling they were off even as you heard them?”

“I honestly haven’t spoken to Mortals enough to notice that, I spent most of the time running around on patrol duty. The few times we interacted with Mortals was with languages I knew.”

The tact she shows now. Where had that been before?

“It happened a few times when I was talking to the Erakkö, and it made me paranoid about what else gets twisted by skills. I hadn’t intended to purge it, but I was so relieved when it happened,” explains Amdirlain, and I can see her yelling ‘woot’ with excitement.

The image in my head spills calm water over my annoyance, but I stick with blunt. “Sweetie, what the fuck were you thinking? You can opt to ignore what your skills tell you is the right approach, like I did before when I pointed out how blunt you’re being. However, if you don’t have them in the first place, you’re just fucked.”

“How is that being diplomatic?” asks Amdirlain, eyeing me seriously.

Though there is a coolness in her gaze, there is no impact, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Precisely that. When you want to be blunt, you can be, despite mastering Diplomacy. It’s a Skill, it’s not in control, it re-enforces what you want to achieve. They’re like unfading muscle memory for physical skills, or recalling the textbook better if it’s knowledge. Powers, I agree, are different. I don’t know how we Teleport; it just works. I didn’t need to be a mechanic to drive my car or know how the signals worked to ride a train or program a computer to use my PC or phone. You need to stop being a control freak.”

“My Charisma frightens me,” Amdirlain admits, I expect her to continue, but she just stops—after a line that’s vaguer than a fortune cookie.

“I’m missing your point, girlfriend.”

Her incredulous expression has enough disbelief to kill Santa Claus at a thousand paces. “Haven’t you been paying attention to how your combat stats work?“

“If I say I’ve focused on learning and living, do I get a prize?” I ask, making my best cheery voice earn its keep.

“No, you do not!” Amdirlain retorts, with strained playfulness, and I can see the distraction in her gaze.

“Meanie! I want a pony!”

Her finger sat lightly on my lip, but I hadn’t seen her hand move, let alone close the distance. She’s already explaining before I get my heart to drop back into my chest. “One fundamental to most games I played is that attributes would provide a passive re-enforcement of skills. I’ve seen evidence of it here, and I’ve seen the effect my Charisma can have when it’s free. You felt it, I know. I saw how you both reacted when I changed shapes, and it got out just slightly.”

“That was slight?” I ask, my voice rising at the memory of wanting to drown in her sweeps through me again, and I bit my lip to keep what I want to say in check. Ilya’s joke about worshipping at my altar seems too accurate right now, and I fight the blush.

Amdirlain looks at me warmly, and I wonder what her Perception skill is at. “Yeah, only slightly. I had most of it contained in my mindscape, and you still stepped towards me. Did you even realise you’d done that?”

Her question is serious, and I realise what she means; there is only the riptide that swept over me. “No, I mean, you seemed closer, but you were so much taller.”

“You both did, while eying me like I was your favourite ice cream.”

The distaste in her voice makes me wince, and given she wasn’t judgemental about my being bi, I leave it be. There is something there, and I’m not sure I can deal fairly with her tale right now with my emotions on tumble dry. “Alright, but you control it. So what’s the issue?”

“I control the raw Charisma, but I control my Quickness and Strength as well. I don’t have to think about applying my Strength when I hit something. If I’m focused on convincing someone how vital something is to me, will my Charisma focus itself and overwhelm them?” asks Amdirlain, lining her face. “What sort of effect will Diplomacy have? Will I just push people into doing what I want? Will I take away their choices?”

“I think you are being paranoid,” I argue.

“I’d rather be paranoid than have everyone just agreeing with me,” insists Amdirlain. “The fact you’re able to argue with me is a good thing. I’d rather you not fall at my feet.”

“Make sure you always give them choices.”

I’d thought the answer was obvious, but Amdirlain shakes her head sadly. “We all can get focused on what we want, Isa. What happens if no choices are ones they want to be involved in, but they pick one to make me happy? So many examples of charismatic Mortals—even in our world—talking people into things they wouldn’t normally do. If Diplomacy provides a channel for my Charisma, I’m afraid it would take away their choices.”

I wince at her concern but wonder if she’s fallen for a different trap. “Your force of personality aggravates things. What was that term, negative feedback something? The body’s off switch? Whatever that term was. What if you’re turning them off and not realising it? We started talking to you, and most of the time you were fine; than there’d be sudden jabs of notes that were unpleasant smacks against my awareness. And when you were rude to Ilya, I wanted to scream. Are you going to risk someone weaker than me dealing with that? Not that I’m a fountain of Willpower.”

“What is your suggestion, oh wise marketing guru?” Amdirlain asks.

I fight the urge to return her sarcasm and go for teasing outrage instead. “Bite me bitch!”

“I’ll leave that to Ilya,” quips Amdirlain, the speed of her reply almost a zing.

“She’s more of a nibbler, and the way she uses her fingers, yeah gads,” I teasingly reply trying to lighten the mood, before I get back to her concerns. “Learn Diplomacy and listen to people first. Ask questions, Diplomacy helps with information gathering. You can learn what matters instead of what they’re requesting. Hear their concerns and then give them choices of only what you help them with. Leave what they do up to them. Don’t request their help; just let them know what you’re working on.”

“You’ve honestly not been paying attention to how the attributes interact with skills?”

The strange calm in her gaze is back again, and I wonder if she’s flipped her emotions off, or locking the argument away already. That really can’t be healthy.

“Honestly, I don’t care how they work; they work. They keep me alive, so I focus on learning and improving my skills. Luck and Skill go hand in hand; The more skilled I am, the more Luck has to work with to keep me alive.” I say, and before I can continue I catch a flicker of concentration. “Did you just buy Diplomacy?”

Amdirlain cracks her neck and reluctantly nods. “Yeah, I hopefully didn’t waste a point re-purchasing it. I’m sure the fucking troll will have fun.”

The sudden venom in her tone has me blink. “Troll?”

“Don’t you get a System message about Skill improvements and other things?”

I blink at her question and mentally sigh in relief. “Yeah, Mr Message. I admit it was weird at the start; he felt like a spam bot, but he’s cool and helpful. Now we have a working relationship. You get combat summary messages and Skill increases?”

“Yes, but you think he’s helpful?” asks Amdirlain, oozing scepticism. “Doesn’t he give you snark in Analysis messages?”

Wincing at the memories of my earliest reactions, I can only give her a shrug. “He’s helpful to me. The initial occasions were rough, especially when I thought I was insane, but he was too helpful to stay mad. Though, what’s Analysis?”

“You don’t have Analysis. How do you tell what you’re facing? And what to run from?” asks Amdirlain curiously, the calmness not closing her gaze, but there are no slaps of energy.

“Well, I have a cute native guide, but we shoot at things from a distance, and if we can’t hurt them, we run away. Ilya already had lots of knowledge about the various Demons, undead, and general inhabitants of lower Planes. That’s not including the massive advantage that, once I learnt enough, I could compare the strength of our songs to foes,” I explain, and a strange smile tweaks Amdirlain’s lips.

“It gives me combat statistics via Analysis, but also gives me details about the entity I use it on. The amount of snark I get when I just want to survive this curse pisses me off. If it’s the same entity sending me messages as you, they seem to have it in for me.”

“Maybe you need to be nicer,” I suggest and smile at her droll look. “Seriously, I say thank you—frequently—especially when I’m trying to figure my way around a new Skill. Those progress messages are constructive when I’m not confident I’m doing the right thing. They even gave me some context that let me treat Hell like a toxic office instead of wanting to scream and run even in the numbness.”

“Numbness? What happened after they dragged you from the river?” Amdirlain asks in a carefully soft tone, the sheer gentleness clearly something she’s had practice at maintaining. Contrasting it with the earlier force, I wonder how she manages it.

“Cliff notes, only some parts I don’t like, so I’ll fast forward. Initially, I was screaming and crying, so they chained me to a cell wall. The music thrummed through me like a bass drum, had me giggling and humming in time to the restraints’ music—touching my skin they were the loudest songs. I kept getting loose, but I didn’t know how; it was later I figured out echoing their notes made the restraints fall off. My bow made an appearance around then, and the gaolers kept beating me insensible.”

I half expect Amdirlain to interrupt, she is so impatient, but she keeps it zipped and nods reassuringly.

“My head didn’t get straightened out until an Erinys who’d been a weird pain Succubus drank up the river’s residual agony. Her kiss left me so numb I could function. There was some bidding process to secure me for their department and my imprint was so pathetic it was clear they’d wasted resources. They’d have lost reputation by keeping me around Hell, given the strength expected from a fallen Celestial. By the time that numbness ended, Ilya had been training me for days. She had to use a more ‘brute force’ approach once I started getting lost in the moment again. Luck, pure Luck, is the only reason I ever saw the outside of Hell.”

“Brute force?” Amdirlain asks, and though her eyebrow twitches, she doesn’t raise it. Wonder if I should give her credit for that one?

“We were in Cemna for training—being in the sunlight helped—Ilya took me there to run a condensed version of Hell’s basic training along with actual combat experience. She’d been driving home a lesson in knife fighting when the numbness wore off, and she had to snap me out of it. After that, every time memories swamped me, she’d stick a knife into me—or an arrow. Physical pain can be a great grounding tool for a Devil, but it’s not my cup of tea. Having skeletons, zombies, and death hounds rush you is a great focusing aid.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go mad.”

“Amdirlain, I thought I was mental. So I’m not interested in knowing what’s under the hood. I’m interested in two things: not ending up in the mailroom, or being assigned to sit on someone’s cock. I’ve worked to learn the skills and powers needed to survive and try to make the most of them. Fortunately, some of them I have fun with, others I hate, but I’ve learnt them, regardless.”

“Rach-”

I wave her off, not wanting to get dragged into my past mindset. “No, she died, and that’s it. I’m Isa. Can we do this already? I want out.”

“If you learned to master Diplomacy, why is your reputation in Hell so rubbish?” asks Amdirlain curiously.

“My Diplomacy’s rank is Senior Master. How do you think I gained a rubbish reputation and still avoid a mailroom assignment? Or get used to breed Erinys? They breed those they don’t find any other use for, or punish by lateral promotion; the same as they do the Succubi. Devils that can get pregnant have a specific use if they’re considered otherwise worthless. I’ve walked a fine line to be considered a menace they don’t want in Hell but considered useful in the field.”

“You’ve mentioned the mailroom before. What’s the deal?” Amdirlain asks in confusion, and I almost laugh, remembering my confusion.

“Never be the person delivering bad news in Hell,” I reply and walk back over to Ilya, leaving Amdirlain to follow or not.

Ilya doesn’t take much longer studying the details of the Spell, working out whatever calculations Wizards do to confirm its stability. The Spell’s result is beautiful, or maybe it’s just because I’m biased with all the sunlight. It sets a note running through Ilya that sums up the wild beauty of this place. Dregs of grinding notes wash out and vanish, nullified by the purity of the sound.

Her song, resounding with the Plane’s music, has my vision going blurry. I try to wipe them away discreetly, but Ilya locks gazes with me before I can. “I take it that worked.”

“Your song changed foundation pitch to match the Outlands.”

“I can tell it worked, but I don’t have an imprint stone at present to prove it to you,” says Amdirlain.

“That’s okay, Isa’s word I trust,” Ilya replies quickly, the tight phrasing cutting at Amdirlain, but she doesn’t even blink.

Amdirlain nods acceptingly and carries on calmly. “What name will you use?”

“You expect me to pick a name like it’s nothing?” Ilya grumbles.

I see Amdirlain’s eyebrow raise, and when I brace myself for yet another blunt reply, but her soft tone is surprising. “I know it’s important, but you need a name I can use to make the change at present. You can change it again later, but you need something now.”

“How does this change of names work?” I ask to buy Ilya a little time. “Can I still call her Ilya and not ruin things?”

“I’ve told people to use names before that haven’t shown on my Profile, so I can’t imagine it will. Do they have your True Name?”

“I don’t have one; only stronger Devils have one, or at least know them. The process for discovering them in part solidifies them within you. Ainla, was one of my ancestors that I failed. I’ll use her name so I don’t forget them.”

“I’m still calling you Ilya, sweetie,” I say quickly and get a smile from her.

“Before you, I hated that name,” Ilya says, and I stop in shock.

I’d told her I hated Isaac but never asked her if she felt the same. “I’m horrible. I never asked if you hated your name as well.”

Ilya gives me a lop-sided smile. “If it mattered to me, I would have told you. You’ve helped me come closer to its meaning; instead of purely being something they gave to torment me.”

Amdirlain pauses, and I can see her consider her wording. “Would you share its meaning?”

For a moment, Ilya doesn’t answer, her gaze is so far away, I gently rest my hand on her shoulder before she speaks. “In my Mortal tongue, it meant noble or high born. My father was the village chief, and things happened. When I got to Hell, they chose Ilya out of spite. They made it clear why they chose it so it would be a continual reminder, yet still they took my family from me by taking my old name.”

“Ainla,” Amdirlain says, the pronouncement of the name echoing Ilya’s exactly and I hear the notes of it shivering through her. The music settled into place, marching its score through her bones.

“It worked,” I whisper. “Now it’s my turn, chop-chop.”

Amdirlain doesn’t waste a moment, and though I can’t hear her song, I can almost see weight lifting from her shoulders. The steel in her gaze becomes gentler, first as the Plane’s note echoes through me, and then when my new name makes me feel light-hearted.

[Achievement: Like a Bat Out of Hell!

Condition: Escape from a curse consigning you to Hell.

Reward: Hell now thinks something destroyed you permanently!

Note: Your records went up in smoke, and so did Ilya’s.

Note: Technically, she never correctly signed her contract. She should have taken them to the Infernal courts. Choices!]

“My name is Isa,” I giggle drunkenly, unsure how to break the news to Ilya.

“Now to sort out a Prestige Class at last,” Ilya states happily, and I’m not sure I’ll ever think of her as Ainla.

“I’d hold off selecting anything yet. You’ve more than enough levels, but we’ll need to figure out how to get an achievement so you unlock a Tier Seven Prestige Class,” warns Amdirlain.

“Tier Five is the highest,” says Ilya, going bugged-eyed at Amdirlain.

I quickly wave for her to calm. “It’s alright we have a Tier Seven achievement.”

I realise I never actually told her the instant her music soars rich with frustration and disbelief. “Since when?”

“Well, a few of them actually,” I admit carefully.

If looks could kill, I’d need a body transplant right now to handle my incinerated arse. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Need to know!” I retort, unable to help my smugness with her glower. “Since they didn’t permit you to take a Prestige Class, where was the need?”

Her growl starts deep, and discontent rides a freight train trapped in a tunnel. “Isa! I told you Tier Five was the highest, and you didn’t tell me differently?”

“Ilya! Then you’d have told Hell if they’d asked.” I retort gleefully and quickly pinch her cheeks.

“Brat!”

“Oh, you cougar, you.”

Amdirlain laughs at the English word I’d kept from Ilya, and I shush her quickly.

“You don’t want to let her know, my, my, what’s it worth?” teases Amdirlain, and I’m pleased she’s trying.

The teasing immediately spikes Ilya’s curiosity, and she turns to Amdirlain. “What does that mean?”

I give a tug of her hand, but she’s stays focused, and I give Amdirlain a pleading look. “She’s giving me grief about my choice of name I used for you, that’s all. It’s as simple as that right?”

“What does the word mean?” insists Ilya. “I’ve been asking her for years. She started off making noises that meant nothing to me—Owie, and Meanie—and still throws other things out I’m sure are words that Tongues won’t translate.”

“Given she’s using it with you, I’d take it as an affectionate term for a mature lover,” Amdirlain says, and I groan into my hands.

“We’ll talk about that word later, love,” Ilya declares, and I give Amdirlain a flat look for her amusement.

Amdirlain just gives me a gleeful smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Turnabout is fair play.”

“Yeah, but payback is a bitch!”

The expected retort feels flat to me instead of playful, but Amdirlain seems to take it for face value.

“Don’t you want to know more about a Class to look for?” Amdirlain asks dryly.

Everything feels so light inside I can’t help but try to tease. “I’m sorry. Can you please tell me what turned you from a Succubus into a Fallen, oh mighty and revered custodian of knowledge?”

“Oh, you’ll keep, buster,” retorts Amdirlain merrily, and this time I can’t tell if her mood is fake. “The Class is called Pure Scion of the Sun; it had an evolution indicator against it. Torm said the evolution Class he took felt like they had greater depth among any in the vision.”

“The Prestige Classes don’t present to me in list form or vision, I hear their songs,” I reply.

“Whatever works for you,” says Amdirlain, with a casual shrug. “I’d like to talk about that later. The system seems to translate into my perceptions so I’m curious how it seems to you for other things.”

I nod and focus on the music within, and the Profile’s Resonance ripples through me. A Class I’d heard before draws me with the richness of its song.

A tower of songs, each of them vibrating with more power, and while I can’t reach the highest of them, I let the music of the strongest fill me. For a moment, my flesh trembles, filled to bursting, pressure-tight across every part of me, and then I realise the issue. Seams stretch and groan, and I try to pull my armour into Inventory before it explodes apart.

I’m a moment too late, and leather pieces scatter across the grass and rocks, the enchantments not made for changing shape. My balance shifts, and I almost fall but catch myself and stay upright using Flight. From the way I loom over Ilya now, it’s clear I’ve grown at least a metre.

I catch my appearance from Ilya’s mind and stop in shock.

Skin, the same golden-bronze, Amdirlain possessed in her Fallen form, yet my wings aren’t black, or even an Angel’s white. They’re crystalline, with an aurora of erratically shifting colour glowing from them even with me holding still; the effect makes my now silver hair look like liquid metal.

My centre of gravity changing wasn’t the only issue, and muscles shift across my back when I flex my wings about me—there are four, not the two I expected! Their appearance calms the chills rushing up my spine, every shift of my wings causing the aurora of light to spill forth. The colours dance randomly about, without the slightest shift or change in light.

Running my fingers across my face confirmed what I’d seen in Ilya’s mind. The high cheekbones—no longer sharp— feel of graceful lines rather than predatory menace, and it’s the same with all my features, from the sharp chin to my eye ridges.

Ilya smiles happily. “Your eyes glow golden, like polished coins.”

“You mean my irises?” I ask, not having caught that snippet from Ilya’s mind.

Amdirlain shakes her head, “No, your whole eyes are just a solid softly glowing gold, instead of the black eyes I have as a Fallen.”

“You have solid black-eyes—how did I not notice that?”

“Too busy eye-fucking me,” Amdirlain retorts, and yet grief brushes past me. What?

“You give a come fuck me vibe,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

“Thanks,” Amdirlain drolly states, letting the word slip free, greased with enough sarcasm to handle a lorry.

“My Profile says I’m a Planetar?”

“Never heard of them,” mutters Ilya, but Amdirlain's sigh draws suspicious looks from us both.

“Don’t you have a Class to pick as well Ainla?”

“Ilya,” I protest.

“I’ll avoid using that name— since I renamed her—in case of aftereffects. I don’t have a manual for how it works,” Amdirlain explains, her tone apologetic.

“Can I have some clothes?” I ask, the flush running up my neck.

Amdirlain nods but hesitates with a hand extended. “I’ll make some if you take on a smaller size, or do you want to go around three metres tall all the time?”

“How do I change shape?”

“If you have Shape Change or Polymorph, just imagine the changes you want to make. The closer your form to the expected result, the easier it is. Perhaps just start at the height you want, and with or without the wings.”

Ilya put her hands up, and a mirror of water condenses from the air.

I nod and look myself over, planning the shape as I’d done with the Polymorph ring. “Without wings; having no wings makes some things easier.”

Ilya’s laughter accompanies my settling into new flesh. I’m still taller than I’d been in life, but I’m rid of the wings, settling for blue eyes, and shrinking the proportions to get me under six feet. I pat my full breasts, happy to have the girls back, and Ilya makes me snort by imagining kissing up my long legs.

“What Class did you take?” Ilya asks curiously.

“The song refers to it as a Varni Glinnel,” I state happily. The words sound Elvish but I’ve never learned to speak any of their tongues.

“Royal Singer,” Amdirlain says, looking at me with her scary intensity back in full.

“Tone it down, girlfriend,” I say, trying to focus on Ilya’s song. “Aren’t you going to take a Class, love?’

Amdirlain’s gaze weighs on Ilya, and she waves me off. “I should teach her extra Affinities to ensure she gets better options.”

“You mean it will be years before I can pick a Class,” grumbles Ilya.

“No, consider it an apology. It won’t take long to teach any Affinity to you. I can teach you four more Tier Four: Positive, Negative, Time, and Mental, along with all four Tier Fives quickly without risking injury to you,” Amdirlain replies. The moment she puts a hand on my shoulder clothing ripples across me, and I look down at the silk blouse and black denim jeans. Her hand lifts away and tearing notes shiver across my skin.

“Not combat gear, but it’s enough to get you into Duskstone. There are Dwarven Artificers that can make you equipment if I have nothing useful in the vaults.”

The jeans feel exactly like Earth jeans, but I’d never gone commando before. “How did you make these?”

“Secret, I’ll tell you later,” Amdirlain says before looking at Ilya. “Relax and perhaps close your eyes, you’ll feel me touch your mind, but I promise not to pry. We’ll meet on a mental middle ground so I won’t learn anything by accident unless you scream it at me.”

The calmness that I’ve seen Amdirlain manage a few times is suddenly in place again and Ilya closes her eyes. Surprise flickers across her face repeatedly before she opens her eyes again.

“How?”

“I don’t know if you want to undress, so you don’t blow up your gear with whatever evolution you get,” remarks Amdirlain, teasingly ignoring Ilya’s question.

“How long did I have my eyes closed?” Ilya asks, her eyes going wide.

The beats of time are easy to track. “Only a short time, three or four cycles of a trebuchet firing.”

“Eight Affinities in so short a time,” whisper Ilya, turning her unblinking gaze on me.

“Hopefully, that helps get at least some sort of Tier Seven Spellblade,” says Amdirlain.

I step forward and absorb Ilya’s gear into Inventory, but just hold on to her storage ring for her weapons. Her distant gaze flickers in surprise, and she explodes in height.

Her olive skin turns pure white, with swirls of blue glimmering within that seem almost to dance and move about. The soaring song roars as black feathers burn away, and rippling energy replaces them on four wings. Every feather is insubstantial as an air curtain and resonates with its wild music. I have to step back to see her eyes without a crick in my neck, and wisps of white light radiate from glowing sky-blue eyes. The bald look she’s gained in prime real estate has me suppressing a giggle.

“Two Planetars, well that makes three of you now,” says Amdirlain. “What gained you the evolution?

“I can feel my breeze again—it’s back—I thought I’d lost touch with the wind forever,” Ilya murmurs, and tears spill across her face. “Tircundo, the Class I took was Tircundo.”

“That’s High Elven for Royal Guardian,” translates Amdirlain. “Why did you pick that Class?”

“Need to keep this songbird out of trouble?” retorts Ilya glibly and transforms to match my reduced height, skin turning a golden-bronze to match my own. A finger’s length of hair in an equally silvery hue, enough to just brush across the tips of Elven ears that match the fineness of her features. She didn’t quite manage the eyes though and they’re full of cloudy swirls, the pink skin of her bow-shaped lips strange after they’ve seemed bruised for so long.

When I tease her about being in for a few inches the thunderclouds turn bright blue.

Amdirlain clasps hands with her, and I catch what I missed before tendrils rush outwards from her to form the clothing’s weave. The tearing notes sound as they break free from her flesh.

“We’re wearing-”

“You’re wearing cloth, as that’s what it becomes the moment I separate,” refutes Amdirlain. “Ebusuku would like to meet you both, if that’s alright?”

“Who is Ebusuku?”

“She keeps me on the straight and narrow, and she saved me when I was in serious trouble. I should have given your guardian more credit, not everything in the lower planes deserves to be there,” admits Amdirlain.

“I’d like to meet her,” I blurt. “When do I hear your side of the story?”

“Even my cliff notes are messy,” says Amdirlain snickering at something, and I groan when I remember where she spawned. “Sage wrote it down—what’s safe to share—so you can read it as much as you want.”

The clearing and ridgeline burst to life with Celestials, and the beautiful music stops me in awe. Scores of Lantern Archons and over a dozen Hound Archons are shocking enough. Though the Solar, looming behind Amdirlain in golden armour, makes my jaw drop, especially reinforced by two others Angels, one dressed in martial arts robes of all things.

“I said you could come and meet her,” grumbles Amdirlain, and the Solar’s lips curve in a teasing smile. Her music, so completely wild, passionate, and free, isn’t anything like I’d expected to hear from a Celestial.

“Did you expect me to leave the others in Cemna, Amdirlain? I checked the Gate to Outlands for traps, and we used it to come back. We’d been waiting for your permission to approach,” says Ebusuku.

Ilya blinks and looks at Ebusuku in confusion. “Her permission? Why would you need a Fallen’s permission?”

Looking between Amdirlain and me, Ebusuku sighs gruffly. “Lady Amdirlain, exactly how much haven’t you told them yet?”

“I’m so confused,” I groan.

Ebusuku’s smile only hints at the bubbling joyful music that starts from her. “We are all servants to Lady Amdirlain. Since I doubt she’ll want to tell you her title I’ll -,”

“Why don’t you want to tell us your title?” I interrupt and—realising I talked over the top of a Solar—face-palm in disbelief. “I’m sorry.”

“It affects others when a Power speaks their title,” states Ebusuku.

Eying Amdirlain suspiciously despite the Celestials, Ilya holds up a hand. “I still want to hear it from her. I’m not sure if I’ll believe it otherwise. There are facts, and then there is the truth. “

Amdirlain groans and she bites her lip for a moment. “Don’t say Ebusuku didn’t warn you. Lady of the Accursed, Freedom, Hope, and New Beginnings.”

The words ignite in the air with an orchestral crescendo and would have dropped me to my knees. Amdirlain’s arms holding me up are the only things keeping me from hitting the ground, my legs too weak to stand, the music spinning me down rapids of power. Ilya groans next to me, held up by Ebusuku.

“I told you so,” murmurs Ebusuku. The words set me giggling in time to the musical score still ringing in my mind. “That was stronger than I’d expected.”

“I got an achievement regarding the Erakkö while I was talking to them,” offers Amdirlain.

“What happened?” asks Ebusuku.

“The Erakkö’s King adopted me as their nation’s principal Faith when joining my Faithful, so it’s no longer considered a cult. Though I don’t know how the numbers jumped so much at once.”

The Astral Deva stepped forward and rested a hand against my back to help balance me; the soft music coming off him, along with the scrolls floating around him, was soothing and calm. “Likely, he made an announcement. The Shapers can make metal plates vibrate to repeat sounds through the city. If he declared for you in such a fashion, many of the populace might have done the same.”

An absurd picture of everyone’s dinner plates vibrating food into the air winks from my imagination. “They have magical loudspeakers?”

Ilya speaks up with a glance between the Deva and Amdirlain. “Those are the people holding back the Illithid drones?”

“That’s right,” says Amdirlain.

“Might we meet them?” asks Ilya, her gaze flittering across the Celestials. “You mentioned helping them was one option to repay you for your help.”

“Torm is off trying to reach the Elves on Letveri. I’m sure the Erakkö would appreciate further help if you decide to do so,” agreed Amdirlain. “Though your species transformation proves how wrong I was to be rude—again, my apologies.”

“Do you have something personal against Erinys, Amdirlain?” I ask, hoping to distract from Ilya’s lack of acceptance.

“It’s part of my long story,” replies Amdirlain. “More a Valkyrie that got turned into an Erinys. Guess I still haven’t dealt with that properly.”

“Should I make a copy of my record of your tale Amdirlain?” asks the Astral Deva.

Looking relieved, Amdirlain nods quickly. “If you would please Sage, I hadn’t expected it to be useful.”

“I told you advanced preparations help,” chides Sage, his tone so light and teasing he feels like Julia’s brother.

Amdirlain’s pert smile isn’t the reaction I’d expected after the tension of earlier. Yet it’s not directed at us and fades before she turns back to me. “What would you prefer, getting equipment sorted out at Duskstone or the tale?”

Sage looks at us both and speaks up. “Might I suggest travelling to Duskstone, and while you talk to the Clan Gildenshield or the Artificers, I can organise the scroll?”

“Thank you, Sage, that makes sense,” I say, blinking at his beautiful Elven features and muscular torso, I’m taken, but yeah, the window shopping around here is fine!