Hell's Songbird - 4

Another shiver hits me harder, but Ilya is still standing there open-mouthed in shock at my choice.

“Ilya, can we get moving?”

“What’s your rush, looking for something to kill you?” Ilya asks, blinking at me owlishly. “Or to kill?”

“Neither, but I’m knee-deep in snow, and my arse is going to freeze off,” I grumble, waving at the snowbanks higher up the mountain.

“This is mild,” Ilya says, giving me a grim-edged smile. “We’ll wait till you stop shivering before we go anywhere.”

“Why?”

“You need some resistance to cold,” Ilya replies, the words ringing true with her silver notes.

She mutters something that I miss as her gaze returns to the marching troops.

When I shift position closer to the edge, a chunk of snow slides ahead of me and prompts more to go speeding off the edge. The motion causing a dramatic change in the melody resonating from the surrounding mass; more snow trickles after it carrying the quickening beat.

“We might want to move,” I whisper, glancing between the snow I churned in my tumble and the now childish giggling mass higher up the slope.

“You chose Luck?” growls Ilya in disbelief.

“Yeah, I did. Why?”

I’m not sure what she’s getting at, but I hope it doesn’t annoy her to ask.

“Luck has two sides,” Ilya states as the snow overhang I’m watching starts shifting in a trickling wave.

The notes shift from soft giggles towards full-throated laughter, and as the front shifts, its laugh is infectious. My laughter’s notes match it perfectly, and the tempo doesn’t shift so much as hit the gas. An avalanche comes off the mountain towards us, but we’re no longer standing in its way.

[True Song (5->6)]

When I fall, this time I will myself upwards, and without a single wingbeat, I stop in mid-air and slowly rise. The mountainside is now below us, and snow is cascading towards the troops, and my laughter continues in disbelief. When the wavefront comes over the lip near the Portal’s lake, it explodes into steam and rushes past us, fluttering my unmoving wings. As Ilya glares at me, I swallow my laughter, the nearest snow too far away for me to hear if I was still in tune.

[Flight [B](5->6)

“Oops.”

“Don’t say oops to me,” Ilya growls, yet her music contains delighted giggles.

“I’m sorry,” I say and gesture towards the mountainside, still cascading snow. “Am I in trouble?”

“Avalanches happen; it’s why the wards are in place to protect the Portal and pass,” Ilya’s reply is reassuring as she distractedly digs into a pouch. “The tour will have to wait. There is somewhere we can go to easily to purchase the Divine Focus you’ll need; unless we want to spare days on you trying to make one.”

“Where is that?”

“The Exchange,” states Ilya. “It has stringent rules, and accidents like that aren’t ignored.”

“How do I make a focus?” I ask, all too aware of my lack of anything involving funds.

“I understand you need to channel granted Mana into it,” Ilya’s uncertainty doesn’t instil confidence. “Oh, the focus has to be related to the Power served, but that’s all I know. It is a vulnerable aspect of a Priest; if you can destroy their focus, they’re easier to hold captive.”

“Do you take captives often?”

My question brings a wry shrug and a surge in the increasingly complex melody I can hear from Ilya.

“When my orders call for it. Some Priests have thought their Powers would protect them from fulfilling their side of Hell’s Contracts,” Ilya states, giving a grim smile that matches the bitterness twisting her music. “But they’re always wrong.”

“If you’re uncertain, I certainly don’t know, so perhaps going to your exchange is the right move.”

The reassurance is all I can offer, and I wonder if I’ll ever stop feeling out of my depth or if I’ll just drown.

“I’ve never needed to make a focus, nor do I know what you consider Luck. Mistakes in Deals with Hell or Powers are costly,” Ilya’s response still contains wariness, but as I nod, her music loses its edge. “The Plane is commonly known as The Exchange, but that’s not its name; names are the key to using Planar Shift. You might even get into Dimensional Vaults if you know their key name.”

[Planar Lore Unlocked!

Planar Lore (1)]

“Before we go anywhere, can I ask what do I do about increasing my attributes? Some are far lower than others. I don’t know why my Intelligence is so low.”

“Attributes increase as you get more levels in a Class that makes use of them. If you spend time focused on attribute training while levelling, they’ll jump at various points. You’re still smarter than a lot of beings, but don’t go trying to outsmart anyone yet,”

I consider the difference between my imprint and what the Profile had shown me. The moment I want to raise Intelligence to match Willpower, Mr Message replies.

[You have 22 points not allocated to Attributes.

Do you wish to spend 4 points to raise Intelligence?

Yes / No?]

Okay!

[Confirmed:

Intelligence increased to 19.

You have 18 points not allocated to Attributes]

Wanting to match all my lowest attributes to Endurance gets Mr Message prompting me again, and I feel sorry for being rude.

[You have 18 points not allocated to Attributes

Do you wish to spend:

• 2 points to raise Strength
• 3 points to raise Intelligence
• 3 points to raise Willpower

Yes / No?]

Yes, please!

[Confirmed:

Strength increased to 22

Intelligence increased to 22

Willpower increased to 22

You have 10 points not allocated to Attributes.]

I know I wasn’t dumb before, but I hear details in Ilya’s melody that I’d missed and wonder what else I’ve been deaf to. It’s tempting to put more points Intelligence, but a memory of the Devil dying outside my cell prompts me to prioritise survival. I consider again what I’d sensed from the song that formed my Profile and risk asking Ilya a question.

“Should I focus on developing Quickness or Endurance?”

Ilya doesn’t reply immediately, her swirling music growing solemn before she answers. “It will be some time before either go up outside your classes, but Quickness helps with Defence and aiming your Bow. Killing something before it gets to you is ideal.”

“So the best defence is killing foes far, far away.”

“Precisely.” snorts Ilya in response, and I go with that.

My last points go into Quickness just as easily, and I hope it isn’t a mistake—forty-Two in Quickness, and Twenty-Two in everything else. I wonder what gamer advice Julia would give. Everything is over twenty; hopefully, that isn’t pathetic.

“Hover closer, however, you are in Flight without flapping your wings,” says Ilya, even as she motions me closer.

I take a few attempts, once almost face planting into her boobs, before I’m finally hovering facing her. The way she looks at me with pursed lips, I’d think she was angry, if not for her music gurgling away like a merry brook,

[Fly [B](5->6)]

What now, Mr Message? I was just re-positioning myself—Oh! I almost face palm but I restrain myself. Humming a few merry notes has my helper’s response, and I’m wishing I hadn’t been rude.

[Fly:

Determines the trained ability to perform aerial manoeuvres. Be it swooping in to make a fast landing, flying between walls, or dodging other flyers, regardless of the means of staying airborne.]

[Resonance [B](8->9)]

“We’ll find you a focus and exit The Exchange’s Gate. When I tell you to Plane Shift, return to Hades, and Teleport back here above the Portal. If we get split up, look for an exit out, don’t Plane Shift inside The Exchange’s barriers. Got it?”

I nod, and she narrows her eyes at me, clearly suspicious.

“I’m going to say a name; don’t lose focus on it,” Ilya says, her tone and notes matching in their sternness. “The same way you want to shift places, will yourself to shift to it. Now listen to its name. It’s important you focus on it and will yourself to be there.”

The sound’s syllables stir the air with energy that brushes across my skin, and somehow I know what she’s saying. As the word starts, my brain wants to goof off in knowing it knows Draconic, but I keep my focus on the notes and I’m somewhere else as they fade. I wonder if any lose track of themselves with all the hops we’ve been doing. Yet Hell persists as I notice one thing immediately.

“More queues!”

[Planar Shift (Self) Unlocked!

Planar Shift (Self) (1)

Erinys Class Synergy Detected.

Planar Shift (Self) (1->10) ]

The grumble leaves my lips even as I settle to the stone floor, but I’m not sure I’ll mind queueing here. Silver light shines down, washing over buildings and beings alike with no source apparent. The place’s music is a chiming metallic slither mingling inside me with all the strange harmonies resonating from the beings. Bellows and roars beyond the gates in place of rumbling engines idling in a city’s peak hour. Beyond the gates is a city apparently in a peak hour rush, beings made of energy walk beside bugs, or humanoids with skin, scale, or chitin.

[Resonance [B](9->10)]

A glance close at hand just adds more beings to match to the assortment of music I hear. I hear familiar silvery notes start within the beautiful cacophony, and Ilya appears a distance away before flitting to stand next to me. The music is intoxicating, and I get booped on the nose by Ilya as I close my eyes to focus on it.

“Don’t do that,” Ilya growls softly, her music matching the concern in her tone. “Never close your eyes, stay alert to your surroundings!”

“Sorry,” I offer, and meep at the hard look I get, the sound turning it into one of disbelief instead. “You booped my nose.”

“You’re insane, aren’t you?”

Ilya’s question stirs pure mischief in me, and I give into the Dad-joke moment.

“No, my name..”

Ilya’s hand clamps across my mouth, and she’s right in my face in a blur, fingers digging into my cheeks. Her eyes are full of anger, yet her notes sing her concern and its crying sound speaks of remembered pain.

[Sense Motive [B](3->4)]

“See these entities around you,” Ilya says as she twists my head about. “Why would you mention a Use Name in front of them? Are you insane? Do you seek enslavement or imprisonment? Even if they don’t use it, they could sell it to someone else.”

“I’m sorry,” I groan, wondering at how many traps lay ahead of me; I wish I could wake up as Ilya lets me go.

“Don’t be sorry, be careful, you know my name. If you get yourself enslaved, I will find you but only to ensure I send you straight to Hell,” declares Ilya, the heat in her voice making her cool notes hiss.

“I’m…”

My apology gets cuts off as Ilya’s glare cut me off at the knees.

“If you say sorry again, I’m going to pluck your wings,” growls Ilya, and soaring above her rumble, tinkling notes nearby catch my notice. Crystal dragonfly wings keep the naked miniature woman aloft as she looks between us.

“Meep.”

My startlement echoes an accompanying note rippling from her crystal wings, and Tinkerbell starts away as if goosed.

“You’re a Devil?!” Ilya exclaims in disbelief and shakes her head. “Just follow me—stay quiet and let’s get this done.”

When she turns away, I know she’s going to punish me, and there is my evil fate ahead-queues!

“I hate queues.”

“When we return to Hell I’ll make you stand in every queue I can,” Ilya promises, and I button my lip, her music grim and serious.

“Thanks for bringing me here.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ilya says flatly not even looking over her shoulder.

“No, really, this isn’t in the orders you were given.”

My honest protest flips her tracks in an instant.

“I meant don’t mention it ever, to anyone,” Ilya reply, makes it sound a threat, but her music has become relaxing and calm. Her posture is tight, as the anger in her voice and the difference make me wonder how much she is playing a part.

“Oh.”

The queue is actually fast and five minutes later we’re through the entry, better than the hours spent in the warehouse.

* * *

I’m apparently in primary school, and Ilya doesn’t trust me enough to let go of my hand. Her left hand stays clamped on my right—maybe to keep her sword hand free—now and then I wiggle fingers but she’s not eased her grip. As she looks between marketplace laneways, I hum the notes I’d heard again and look at Mr Message information again.

[Planar Shift (Self): Allows the Possessor to shift themselves, and up to 20 kilograms of equipment per rank across to a target Plane. Rank limits the degree of planar separation that can occur in a single step. The arrival location is random for the Plane or World unless a previously set Planar Beacon or Pact link is being used. ]

“What would you have done if I hadn’t been able to Plane Shift?”

The question had been mopping around, niggling at my brain as she’s dragged me through a maze-like marketplace. I’d thought I was trying to teleport, instead Mr Message had chirped up that other Power.

“It would have been tough Luck for you. I didn’t understand why it wasn’t in your imprint,” Ilya declares, shaking her head as silver notes cry out the now-familiar strains of her disbelief. “I’ve never met an Erinys without it before; we’re supposed to be messengers between Planes—. Keep in mind NEVER Plane Shift between layers in Hell, you won’t enjoy the experience. That’s what we need, come on.”

She moves so fast pain spikes up my arm to my shoulder and stays to nibble. I hope it fades as fast as the other injuries I’ve taken so far.

“Remember, touch nothing until you’ve agreed to a price. Make sure whatever focus you get aligns with how you see your concept. If you don’t find something, we can try somewhere else,” Ilya says, pushing me forward. Amid the market, I thought it was yet another shop, but the archway’s symbols having me reconsidering. Glowing effigies show odd-shaped disks spinning in mid-air, dice of all shapes and sizes in continual motion. Those symbols seem safer than others: bottles implying death or life, spinning blades alternating edges and gaps, a pair of lips switch between red and black, plus many more.

“Ilya, I’ve no currency, but how much is an Uhlobo’s siege pack worth?”

“Like you have one; they’re worth far more than a simple Divine Focus. Trade a feather if you’ve no coin; just don’t give them your name.”

Ilya’s reply makes me smile, and I head inside, almost skipping to the pulsing beat of dice and knucklebones rattling from within.

Random coloured tiles and mosaics decorate the walls, showing gambling dens and battlefields alike. Many medallions, medals, bracelets, and shashes hang from the ceiling, each decorated with a different charm. Some match the symbols on the archway, while others twist my eyes about. As I look down again, a mosaic shimmers between scenes, first showing an arrow killing one being, then another, to both still alive and their blades locked in stalemate. A pale woman kneeling by a dicing table is the only person present, clad in a clinging lacework dress, that forms a giant deep-red wine stain spilling across the tiled floor. The music that comes from her is mellow and sedate, sounding a sleepy chorus to me.

At my second step inside the room, she flows upright, looming over me, a human torso attached to a massive anaconda body. What I’d taken for lacework unwinds further into a serpentine body; the lace patterns scales as she turns to regard me with unblinking eyes.

“Erinys, how did you enter this shrine?”

The woman’s voice is an alluring alto that glides across my skin, and her music now carries edges of ice as she considers me.

“I walked in the door.” I poke a thumb over my shoulder even as I continue. “I didn’t teleport, honest. I’m seeking to trade for a Divine Focus of Luck.”

“Why would I allow you something of Luck to profane?”

“I don’t want to profane anything. I selected the Priest Class for Luck, and I need a Divine Focus for spells,” my statement makes no difference to her aggressive notes as her flexing tail stirs a breeze.

“I care not the reason you took the Priest Class,” she hisses furiously as her undulating body moves away from the table. “The Exchange’s rules allow me to defend this shrine. Do I need to drive you out?”

“No, no, no.” I wave my hands, unsure how things went south. “That’s not what I meant; the concept I worship is Luck. I’m a Priest of Luck, I swear.”

As a metal die rolls from the table, she halts as it bounces a few times and goes rattling towards me. She glances back at the die wobbling through a few more rolls. When it stops, she considers me again.

“Will you put your hand on Luck’s Altar?” She asks, her music shifting into a collection of random notes with no apparent pattern. A slim white arm gesturing towards an alcove holding what I took to be a continually changing work of art.

“I was told not to touch anything here if I hadn’t agreed on a price in advance,” I retort with a frown wondering what price I’d be stuck with.

“The Price is this: if you aren’t a Priest of Luck, it will kill you.”

Her voice is edged with anticipation, yet curiosity dances underneath it all.

“Oh, but I am! So, my touching it is going to cost you a medallion of my choice. Everything here has a price, I’m told.”

“A simple medallion, if you survive touching it for three strikes of the gong.”

The motion to the flat plate with a wrapped mallet beside it makes it seem clear what she means, but still.

“Only if you’re not striking me with it as part of the deal. No striking me bloody if you don’t like the toss,”

“I would not! If you are what you say, I’d be insulting Luck.”

Her sulky voice sounds so reasonable that I’m not sure I’d trust her if not for the music now. Random notes have settled into a quirky beat; its repeating riff sounds like a confused kitten’s mewling. Smooth motions take her to the strike plate’s side, and—lifting the mallet—she gestures toward the Altar again. When I touch it, the Altar shifts into a spinning coin, its sides a blur of motion, as the grooved edge dances beneath my fingertips.

The gong’s ring isn’t a single note but an overlapping chorus, and visions pulse through me, striking deep as the music sounds in my ears. I see so many differences in moments I remember. Some better and some far, far worse. The form I would have had if Makaro had demoted me from Erinys makes my stomach churn. Even the thought of living with unrestrained lust tainting my actions makes me want to hurl, I didn’t realise the Succubi’s song held such depths. From every moment I’ve seen possibilities stream off them, fading into non-existence as I take a step along the branch ahead.

The peeling sound of the hammer’s strike echoes off the stone in my memories, and speaks its way through me—the choices are my own. Shadows of possibility it leaves in my mind aren’t predictions of fate, but warnings of fates to avoid. Broken in so many ways, lack of Skill, blind mistakes or Luck leading to my downfall. As the second gong adds an extra layer to the harmonies other images roll through me. Branches that would be easy to access by giving into Hell’s plans and using Luck to seek promotions. Faceless Devils bowing to my command if I seek mastery and promotion within its folds. Makaro and so many others bowing to my whims as I dedicate courses of action within Hell’s rules.

For all the certainty of the starting points their trails become so faint and unclear. It’s like career day with glossy pictures and whispers of can you see yourself filling that manager’s shoes, or a CEO having built a company of your own. Yeah, and how do I do that? So many factors combined with Luck, the right: words, moment, handshake, or resume picked. Luck and Skill going hand in hand, the more of one you have, the bigger the payday the other can provide.

The interlacing harmonies become so complex as the third strike throws more ripples into the pool. Light and Dark, mingling together or one drowning the other as I tread paths of pure branching chaos as I choose to walk my own way. Many unknowable possibilities branch around me amid the endless chaos of my own choosing. They sing a temptation to me of being on a path all my own. Yet they hold a warning that Hell’s hand would be set against me the moment they realise I’m running from their approved ways.

As the visions fade I find I’ve moved memories of physically dancing suddenly there, and the Altar is now far out of reach. Yet the Priestess isn’t angry but waits by the gong looking above me expectedly, her music low with breathless anticipation. I follow her gaze and look at the amulets hanging from the ceiling above me. The choices I have arrayed above me: a child’s face—one side, smiling, the other side crying—a simple die, an emblem of a spinning coin, and more beside. The split face repulses me as I sense Luck’s indifference to either outcome, and as I turn away another catches my eye. Tucked away and hung higher than the rest, the others had obscured it a moment earlier. I reach up and draw it down. I had expected it would need to be unhooked, but the moment I touch it, the amulet came free.

“Erinys, may Luck guide your path.”

“Thank you, Priestess, may Luck guide your path. “

[Religion (1->2)]

At my words she hooks the mallet back in place and moves to her dice table, collecting the rogue die along the way.

The amulet’s cord is silken against my fingertips and I part the loop and settle it into place. It’s long enough that the amulet drops between what cleavage I still have and hides beneath the armour’s edge. I feel the fletching of the silvery arrow, the shaft and the flat arrowhead settle against my skin. Heading for the door, I catalogue the parts in archery where Luck combines with Skill. So many parts combining, so many places fortune or misfortune can strike.

What part will I need to play to hold off Hell’s suspicions?

As I giggle at the thought of me fooling anyone at all, the notes sing around me, and I laugh. My delight makes the symbols above me dance and I feel myself spinning like a coin in mid-air. I’m not sure if it’s my broadening smile, the sounds or something else that causes Ilya’s gaze to narrow as I step out the door. Yet I’m also not sure I care—risky or not—I’m certain now there is a chance for me to get free of Hell.

I giggle deliberately, enjoying the realisation, and she rolls her eyes at me in frustration.

[Acting Unlocked!

Acting (1)

Bluff synergy with Acting detected.

Acting (1->2)

Diplomacy synergy with Acting detected.

Diplomacy at Journeyman Rank, bonus levels added.

Acting (2->12)

Erinys Class detected bonus levels added.

Acting (12) -> [B] (2)

Blind Luck (1->2)

Conviction (1->2)

]

“Come on, little Songbird,” Ilya growls, yet her music is still so relaxed. “Let’s find an exit.”

I move to follow her, and she stops and grabs my hand, her music almost sisterly in its concern as it resonates through me.

“Thank you.”

“That’s another thing to stop saying.”

Her growl is so expected I laugh and use its continued notes to sound out what I need, even as she shifts and grabs my ear to drag me along.

[Power: Blind Luck:

This increases the probability of an action resulting in a favourable outcome, especially when undertaken without proper planning or preparation.

]

[Power: Conviction:

This initially allows faithful to channel or sustain Blessings from personal Mana with no direct intervention. It requires higher ranks to access more powerful Blessings.

]

[Skill: Channelling:

This allows the Priest to draw on Mana because of the Power they serve. The lower ranks allow for the standard accumulation of Mana daily, while higher ranks allow for invoking a Blessing directly from the source of the Priest’s Faith. Such actions are hazardous unless the desired result is directly in keeping with the Power’s precepts.

]

[Skill: Religion:

This Skill is separate from any religious knowledge and allows the possessor to follow the correct actions in a Faith’s rituals. Possession of this Skill only benefits the rituals of your Patron. Those not following a Patron will always be an outsider among their traditions.

]