Vainglory 3.13 - Life in the City

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-Plum

13 – Life in the City

Ward found Doctor Croix’s office easily enough; all he had to do was hand the card with the address to a cab driver, and then, five minutes later, he was being dropped off. He chuckled as he turned to look up the slightly slanted road to see, just a half dozen blocks away, the statues atop the spires of the Assembly Hall rising into the sky. He could probably make the walk almost as fast as the cab had navigated traffic.

He turned to regard the artificer’s building—tall and narrow, constructed of the ubiquitous pale white marble that was everywhere in the city and capped with an untarnished copper roof. He climbed the short stoop, pulled the door open, and stepped into the parlor-like shop. Couches sat in an arrangement around a wide coffee table, and beyond the sitting area was a long, polished wooden counter. A man stood back there, goggles over his eyes, peering down through an enormous magnifying lens while he worked on something delicate made of crystal and brass.

“Come in, good sir,” he said without looking up.

Ward hung his hat from the rack beside the door, stepped around the couches to the counter, and watched as the artificer deftly nudged a tiny cogwheel into place with his needle-like tweezers. After a moment, the man slid his goggles up on his forehead and gave Ward an appraising look. “Well. A sorcerer, eh? How can I help you, sir?”

“My name’s Ward Dyer, and your services were recommended to me by an Assembly member—Vott Coral.”

“Ah! Assemblyman Coral! A great man, truly. I owe him a great deal. How can I help you then, Mr. Dyer?”

Ward got straight to the point. “I’m looking for a hemograph or similar device that can give me more detail about my bloodlines. Well, more detail about everything, really.”

“Well, I certainly have a few such devices. Let’s talk a bit more about what you’re trying to learn, and then I can ensure I choose the best product for your needs.”

Ward leaned an elbow on the counter and rubbed his chin, thinking. The truth was that he needed to get a better handle on his bloodlines. He didn’t want to end up like Coral, with bloodlines contending with each other. “The main reason I’m here, I guess, is that I have more than one bloodline, and I want to try to figure out if they’ll conflict with each other and, I guess, to learn if there’s any way to control which bloodline I advance.”

“Ah, well, a hemograph, if properly crafted and enchanted, can offer the best view into a person’s bloodline. I have other devices—aetherometers, eidolographs, and the like—but a good hemograph can offer far more insight into a bloodline. Now, as for controlling which you advance—that’s a matter for a good alchemist. I know they have secrets that lead down such paths, but I’m not an expert on them.”

“Can I see what one of your better hemographs shows? If the information is more useful than what my current model shows, I’ll buy it.” Almost as an afterthought, Ward asked, “And if you know the name of a competent, trustworthy alchemist, I’d surely appreciate knowing it.”

“Done and done, sir. Might I inquire as to the type of hemograph you’ve been using?”

Ward nodded and opened his satchel, pulling out the slim, polished wooden box. “I’m sure it’s nothing special, but it was one of the better ones I could get my hands on back on Cinder.”

“Oh, ah!” Croix chuckled as he turned the hemograph toward him, delicately opening and closing the lid. “It’s rather nicely made and has some clever styling.” He used a small tool, like a scoop-shaped screwdriver, and released some hidden catches, revealing the inner workings of the device. Ward watched as the artificer peered at the gears and shiny silver, rune-etched plates under the aetherflux-filled glass.

Ward leaned closer. “Never seen the inside before.”

“It’s not a bad device—easy to modify and improve. See these rune-etched plates? They control the mana the device employs; I can replace them with far more sophisticated runic systems. I’d offer to improve this one for you instead of trying to sell you a new one, but it will take me some time, and my schedule is rather full. So, a trade?”

“Well, I’d like to take a look at what you’re offering.”

“Right, of course.” Croix turned and shuffled through the back door, his leather-slippered feet hardly leaving the floor as he walked. When he returned, he carried a small silver box about six inches square and a single inch deep. It was much smaller than the hemograph Ward had set on the counter, but he liked that it was housed in silver rather than wood. Croix opened the top, revealing the swirling, iridescent sheen of aetherflux under a crystal-clear sheet of glass.

“Pretty,” Ward said, noting how the clarity of the glass and the aetherflux starkly contrasted the dim, cloudy mixture on the other hemograph.

“It’s one of my finer devices. The crystal housing allows for more detail in the aetherflux. If you’d like to try it out, press your finger against this smooth circle on the side.” He tapped the silver case on the left side, just below the crystal display.

Ward nodded and tilted the box so the top, on its recessed hinges, would block Croix’s view of the crystal display. “Do you mind if I don’t share what I see?”

“I don’t mind. I’m here to answer questions, though.” The older man returned to his enormous magnifying glass and picked up his tools. Ward, meanwhile, leaned close to the hemograph and gently pressed his forefinger to the circular spot on the side. To his amazement, he felt the metal give way; it looked seamless, but there was a spring-load disc there. Something clicked, and he felt a faint prick at the tip of his finger, but when he pulled it out, he struggled to see the faintest of tiny red dots. The needle had to be impossibly fine.

The hemograph began to click and hum, and the aetherflux under the crystal spun and whirled, filling with bright, pale blue light. Moments later, dense lines of tiny text began to take shape:

No previous readings of this blood in memory. Storing for future comparisons.

Evolved human with three bloodlines:

Lycan – Prominent signs, Aetherborn – Trace signs, Dreadmarked – Trace signs

Bloodline Integration: Coexisting

Bloodline potential conflict analysis: Minor conflict possibility between Lycan and Aetherborn

Bloodline Tolerance Threshold: 52% - 40% Lycan, 6% Aetherborn, 6% Dreadmarked

Accumulated Mana: 0

Mana Distribution: Natural – No allocation enchantments detected

Mana Well: Tier 4 – 9% to next tier, Enhanced regeneration from aetherborn bloodline – minor

Mana Sensitivity: Tier 4

Mana Pathways: Tier 5, 2 tiers from pathway artifact influence

Vessel Capacity: Tier 4

Vessel Durability: Tier 3 – 54% to next tier, Enhanced healing from lycan bloodline – notable, Enhanced bone density from lycan bloodline – moderate

Vessel Strength: Tier 3 – 79% to next tier, Enhanced physical power from lycan bloodline – notable

Vessel Speed: Tier 3 – 27% to next tier, Enhanced reflexes from lycan bloodline – moderate

Vessel Vitality: 85% – Tier-3 depletion rate

Anima Heart: Tier 1 – Emerging

Anima Pathways: Nascent

Anima: 12/100

Ward stared at the screen for several minutes, trying to remember what he’d seen on the device back at the Proving Gate. It seemed like very similar information, but there was a little more info on this one about his bloodlines. He didn’t like the idea that his aetherborn bloodline might conflict with his lycan one if he tried to advance it. On the other hand, it didn’t look like dreadmarked would conflict with either. Did the threshold mean he could continue to advance his bloodlines—he was fifty-two percent toward his maximum?

Clearing his throat, he decided to try to get some answers. “Can you explain a few of these readings to me?”

Doctor Croix nodded, looking up from his work. “Of course. I’m quite familiar with the workings of those devices, considering I’ve crafted that one and many others.”

“Can you explain the, um—” Ward looked at the display. “—bloodline tolerance threshold?”

“It means very much what it sounds like. A person can awaken their bloodlines up to a certain limit before they…are no longer themselves. In other words, if you try to go too far with bloodlines, you can lose the nature of your vessel that allows your spirit to inhabit it. In other words, your spirit will struggle to remain. For instance, if a man were to push his fire elemental bloodline too far, he would burn away his flesh, becoming a being of primal energy that exists on instinct alone; his spirit would flee as if he'd died.”

Ward slowly nodded. “So, if, for instance, mine said twenty percent, but it was almost all one bloodline, does that mean I could increase that bloodline another eighty percent without, um, losing myself?”

“Theoretically, I would say so, yes. However, if something happened and you increased another bloodline even a small amount, it would be more than your vessel could tolerate, and something catastrophic would happen; you’d lose yourself in some manner that would be, for all intents and purposes, equivalent to your death.”

“Got it.” Ward stared at the numbers, wondering what his lycan bloodline would be like if he woke it even further. “If I improve a conflicting bloodline, will it harm me?”

“Oh, it could, indeed. The conflict would be in your blood, and your blood touches every part of you, even your spirit.”

Ward had his doubts about that. As far as he knew, the hemographs were just sampling his DNA or maybe some mixture of DNA and mana. Still, if that were the case and the conflict were at a genetic level, to his modern Earth mind, that would be even worse. Was that what was going on with Coral? Was that the explanation for his hunched shoulders, some tumor, or something?

Nodding, rubbing his chin, he looked down at the bottom of the display. “What can you tell me about the anima readings?”

“Well, you have the anima heart—that’s where an adept can gather and purify their anima. I’ve heard of adepts with ten times the anima of a normal person.” Ward almost interrupted—he was so flabbergasted to hear the man speak so plainly of something that had been an utter mystery on Cinder—but as the older man continued, he closed his mouth and listened.

“The anima pathways measure an adept’s ability to channel their anima into their mana core, converting it into the much less concentrated magical energy that spells and other magical abilities require. Broader pathways mean more anima can enter the mana well faster and thus give much greater power to an adept’s abilities. Of course, the final measurement is simply the total anima available to you.”

Ward found his voice. “And how do adepts improve their anima hearts and pathways?”

“That’s beyond my ken, sir. I’ve never met a sorcerer nor an anima adept who was willing to share their secrets; I just know what my master taught me, and that’s how to make the runes that draw the secrets out of the blood.”

Ward nodded, his mind reeling with the information. Grace had been right all along! He could remember—a fleeting wisp of a memory that seemed a thousand years old—when she’d told him that she’d heard stories about “wizards” who could share their anima with their “demon.” She’d speculated that they must have had a way to replenish the vital energy. He’d already learned he could replenish it, but this new information was something else. He could improve his anima heart somehow so he could hold more than he needed to move on from this life. He could learn to use it to empower his magic!

“Thank you for your explanations,” he said, slowly closing the lid of the hemograph. “If I trade you my old one, how much would you charge me for this hemograph?”

“Well, seeing as I can improve this other one to do nearly the same thing—I’ll take a good deal of my premium off the price. Still, the case is silver, and the aetherflux is top-tier. Let’s call it an even three thousand.”

Ward nodded, frowning but not dissuaded. He had the money thanks to the refund of his living ship ticket. In fact, he’d still have thousands left over. He just wasn’t sure the extra information he’d get from the new device was really worth it. In his mind, the deciding factor was the extra bloodline information. If he found another elixir, he wanted to be able to judge its effects immediately. He fished around in his satchel for his pouch of high-denomination glories and counted out six five-hundred-glory gems.

“That’ll do nicely,” Croix said, sliding them over the counter. “A moment, and I’ll write down the name of a competent and very reasonable alchemist. I’ll write a brief introduction to ensure she treats you right.” He pulled a small notebook from under his counter. Meanwhile, Ward slipped his new hemograph into his satchel. It was quite a bit smaller than the old one, and he appreciated the extra space it allowed his other belongings.

“Here you go, sir. Please give Ressa my regards.” Croix slid the paper to him, and Ward nodded, slipping the note into his pocket.

“Will do. I’m sure we’ll speak again.” Ward recovered his hat from the rack near the door and slipped outside. He pulled the note out of his pocket and read it now that the other man’s eyes weren’t on him. One side held a name, Ressa Aldove, and an address. The other had a short note scrawled out in neat cursive:

Ressa,

This man, Ward Dyer, is a friend of Lord Coral and a good customer of mine. Please treat him fairly.

Kind regards,

-Croix

Unless they had some kind of code like “a friend of Lord Coral” meant “kill this man,” Ward didn’t see any harm in the note. Judging by the transaction he’d just made in the artificer’s shop, he figured he’d trust it to mean precisely what it said. He stuffed the note in his pocket and turned toward the citadel. He wanted to walk back to the square outside the enormous building and then try to navigate to the alchemist’s shop on his own. In his cop’s mind, learning the city would be wiser than relying on the omnipresent cabs.

He walked along the wide, clean sidewalks, admiring the strange vehicles on the roads and the finely dressed people. He knew there had to be a darker underbelly to the city, but it was well hidden in the streets near the capital. As he walked, he resolved to explore the city's edges—those neighborhoods that sat in the shadows of the massive wall, for instance. He hadn’t been able to see them from the bay, not through the tall spires of the other buildings near the center of the town, but he bet they weren’t so clean and orderly.

He lost himself in thought, imagining dirty streets and urchins, people scraping by to live in squalor; it was pure fantasy at this point, but it amused him to imagine that dark secrets—some imperfection—in the face of the pompous Assembly and finely dressed denizens of the city he’d run into so far. The fact that they kept most of the citizens of the entire solar system at arm’s length was enough to irritate his sensibilities, but he almost wanted there to be something more sinister about the place.

Of course, those thoughts made him wonder why. Why couldn’t they have an actual utopia here? The answer was obvious; if it was a utopia, they ought to let it spread to the other worlds. Was it truly a utopia if it could only exist for the few? He supposed it depended on whether Primus could exist in its state of “enlightenment” without the other Vainglory worlds. If this world was gaining something from those worlds, though—industry, agriculture, labor, or other resources, for example—then it was a farce, and Ward didn’t like entertaining other people’s fantasies about reality.

While his mind meandered down philosophical avenues, his feet led him back to the square outside the Assembly Hall. He paused on the corner, looking around the vast square where merchants had set up stalls. He was trying to decide which nearby merchant might be a good choice to ask for directions toward the alchemist’s address when a man clad in a dark leather duster and wide hat stepped toward him out of a nearby crowd.

His eyes gleamed with the tell-tale glow of magic. His face was well-stubbled, and his skin was dark and swarthy from the sun. He pulled his coat flaps aside, revealing the hilts of two broad sabers as he declared, “I am Thrund Borsten, and by the rules of the Noble Dueling Doctrine, I challenge you to a duel to the death. Will you accept, or will you deny that you walk the Road? Let the public bear witness to my righteous demand and your truthful response!”

Ward glared at the man for several long seconds. Again, he wished he knew more about gauging another person’s power, but he had to assume that Thrund was somewhere in the right ballpark to be challenging him, or he wouldn’t have done it so openly.

Ward had been expecting something like this. Even before Gwen, Coral’s sorcerous assistant, had warned him, he’d figured Veylan or some agent of his would put him to the test. Still, it felt surreal that he was being called out to fight to the death there in the middle of the city, right outside the Assembly Hall.

That fact only solidified the idea that this wasn’t some random encounter. The man had probably been lurking around, waiting for him—another likely reason Veylan had forced him to move into the Assembly Hall. Ward looked around and saw a crowd beginning to gather. He remembered the duel he’d seen in Tarnish on his second day away from Earth. He remembered how traffic had stopped, and people had made room for the two sorcerers. “So,” he sighed, “looks like it’s my turn.”

“Do you accept, or will you cower and step away from the Road?”

Ward arched an eyebrow. He hadn’t realized that was an option. If he threw down his sword and gave up magic, could he walk away from this sort of thing? He chuckled as he unbuttoned his coat. “I’m new to this sort of thing,” he said, affecting a slight lazy drawl. “Since we’re not on a ship, and you want to fight to the death, I’m assuming we don’t have to hold anything back?”

“That’s correct. So you accept?” The man was standing in the middle of the cobbled street, and Ward could see people standing in the seats of their vehicles for at least a block, trying to see what was going on or, perhaps, to witness the fight, well aware of what was unfolding.

Ward scanned the nearby crowd. “We’ll need more space, and before I accept, I want to hear from these people that they acknowledge that you asked for this fight.” At his words, the people nearby began to murmur, and many nodded in agreement. He heard several fearful exclamations as some folks tried to move back, only to find the crowd pressing too closely. Ward shrugged out of his coat and slid his satchel off his shoulder. He handed them to a lady in a flower-printed bonnet and matching dress. “Hold these for me, please, milady?”

She blushed and took the objects into her arms. “Of course, good sir.”

Ward stepped further into the street, then gathered his breath and roared, “I said get back!” He let a little of the beast into his voice and, amplified by his magical silver tongue, his voice rang out, echoing off the nearby storefronts. People stumbled away from him; someone even shrieked in terror, and to Ward’s delight, the sorcerer who’d challenged him went a little pale as he, too, took a step back. Ward whipped his sword from its scabbard. “Well then, I accept your challenge.”