Jasper walked through a sword-seller’s store, admiring the blades on display. Midlunders favored heavy, flat-topped swords with basket hilts, almost cleavers. Ardish blades were slim and double-edged with an emphasis on flexibility and light-weight speed. The two styles collided here, in this conquered town…

- Basket-Gripped Scimitar (Ankhipede Bone Blade) -

Certified as Least-Potent

Absorbs light or fire typed manas from the user. Can be ignited for the span of two breaths.

- Cavalry Saber (Shrike Talon Blade w/ Mother-of-Pearl Grip) -

Certified as Least-Potent

Absorbs wind typed manas from the user. Can extend its reach by an arm’s length via energy projection.

Bone, chitin, crystal. Swords forged from strange materials sat in polished racks, the smell of blade oil filling the little store. The plaques underneath named their special qualities.

None of the blades Jasper examined were made with metal, except for the very cheapest ones, which were perfectly identical and mundane. Apparently, they were made via Blessing rather forged; there were combinations of Shards that would let you shape metal with magic, churning out a dozen simple blades in a day.

But those blades wouldn’t have the same strength as one forged from a monster’s body.

The clerk hovering at his shoulder was happy to explain the various small details. Apparently, metal blades could be imbued with magic, but it was far harder than drawing on magic already present in the material. This shop belonged to Saltboon’s best runesmith– and even they weren’t at that level.

Jasper ran his fingers down the blunt edge of the scimitar, admiring it. There was just one problem. No rush of instinctive knowledge entered him– his Operative ability was completely inert.

The blades had never been used by another warrior, had never soaked in any knowledge or ability for Jasper to mimic.

“Uh, these are really nice, but…” At the word ‘but’ he couldn’t help but notice the clerk’s expression twitch. Fair shit. She’d spent half an hour explaining the details of how blades were made to him, and now he was turning his nose up at the best the store had to offer.

She probably assumed he had no money.

“I, mm, prefer a blade with some character? Something that’s got a history.”

She sure wasn’t getting any friendlier, so Jasper just spilled out.

“I need a used sword.”

“We don’t sell used weapons. We’re not a flea merchant, sir.” She said, with a pained smile and dark, unamused eyes.

“Sanna…” A gravely voice emerged from the depths of the store. “Quit berating the customer.”

The smith was a large man, bald with a trailing square tablet of beard hanging from his jaw. He had sat silently at the edges of the room, meditating on a mat of reeds. Now he stood…

“Everyone deserves a good weapon at their side when the time for bloodshed comes. I’ll sell you a sword, boy. True, we don’t deal in used weapons, but we repair plenty of swords. The owner doesn’t always come back…” He nodded towards the back of the shop. “Girl, go get the abandoned ones.”

She sighed, and departed with a little flounce of a step.

“Your daughter?” Jasper asked.

“Oh, interested? I’ll marry her off for a golden oriole. She’s a good cook, too!” The man declared proudly.

Not even the most expensive thing in the shop. Jasper thought with a smile. No wonder she’s annoyed.

The girl returned carrying a bundle wrapped in oilcloth. Unrolling it across a table revealed six blades. Each of them a unique thing, shaped by the materials it was made with.

“You’ll have to test your luck and pick blind. I don’t remember all the details…”

There was a thin, straight saber of pale bone, the blade rough with pockmarks and shallow pits but polished to a razor shine along its edge.

A cleaver-edged shortsword with a hook on the back of the blade, forged out of what looked like turtleshell, patterned into black-green hexagons.

Jasper ran his fingers over both.

Three of the swords were simple metal, probably from far away. One was actually steel, a double-edged claymore that was so heavy Jasper couldn’t comfortably lift it. The other two were common iron.

But something– maybe his Knucklebones Blessing– was drawing Jasper’s hand towards the last sword.

It was a rapier blade, straight and thin and forged from clouded, dawn-gold crystal. It was almost completely opaque near the crossguard but grew lighter and more translucent as it ran towards the point, until the very tip was almost invisible. The hilt was a basket of silver wire, with a blue ribbon wrapped around the grip.

Jasper lifted it. The sword was feather-light, balanced– he didn’t know what made a sword high-quality, but it felt good. More importantly…

He could feel the lingering memories within.

You are mimicking the class

Duelist of No Importance

‘Grace & Poise’

Gain increased reaction speeds and slightly increased speed.

“Mm. Quartz-steel blade. Good tempering, high reinforcement. Might have an enchantment or might not.” The smith looked it over. “Seven wrens.”

Jasper didn’t feel like haggling, for once. It was a stunningly good deal. And he liked the class benefit the blade was imbued with.

He left seven wrens and two bronze rings lighter, with a good blade and a belted scabbard hung around his hips. It was dark as he stepped out onto the street– the night air was cool and dry, the moon hanging over the desert sands and painting them with a pale light…

The stars were brighter here. No pollution, no lights from massive cities blotting out the night sky…

It felt like the sky had an impossible depth to it. Like it went on forever, and the stars were a thin layer of light over a black abyss.

He looked up at the moon and wondered…

Was the moon divided into hexes? Far from being pale white, this world’s moon was blue and green, suggesting water and life up there…

As he walked slowly back towards the inn, he noticed something. Lights burning in the temple. A crowd of people outside on the steps.

A certain unease began to itch at Jasper. He’d put the incident in the temple out of his mind, brushed aside in the process of dealing with Sarabas throwing a fit, the possibility he wasn’t human, and then, the business with Thorn and the wart-horns.

But people had seen him.

He made his way forward, making sure to linger back in the shadows.

The crowd was milling about underneath the temple’s shadow; priests were assembled in a circle, a young boy waving incense over the assembly, their heads tilted down. White ash was smeared across their faces, golden paint dabbed beneath the eyes.

A dagger was passed between the priests. One by one, they dragged the edge over their palms.

The blood acted strangely. As it dripped down, the droplets stopped just above the earth, hanging in the air. As they took the dagger and cut themselves, the priests chanted, their eyes filling with a strange light. The blood began to spread out, forming a many-pointed star, a priest standing at each corner. Runes and strange designs wove themselves out of the dripping red.

In the crowd below, one opportunistic merchant was making the rounds, selling little paper cones full of fried pork skin and clay pipes packed with desert herbs. Jasper sidled up, passing over a fragment of a copper ring for a pipe and asking, “What’s going on?”

“Oh, friend, you’d hardly believe me. The gods have marked a heretic. In our town, even!”

“Is that so. Heh. Really hard to believe…” Jasper tried not to grimace as he felt that familiar, lurching sense of dread– the feeling you got when a day suddenly turned for the worse, and the creeping suspicion you were in trouble dropped away into total certainty you were fucked.

But he put his hand atop the sword, and let the confidence of the memories contained within steady him. “And... what about the ritual?”

The merchant turned his head towards the top of the stairs. Light was gathering over the shoulders of the priests, flowing around them like cowls of gold and starlight.

“They’re calling the inquisitor.”

“Mm.” Jasper said, in a thin squeak through his teeth. He didn’t trust the words not to just come pouring out if he opened his mouth. How fucked am I? This inquisitor– if they really need this many people, all this magic– how scary are they?

His feet told him to run, then and there. His heart was high up in his chest, rattling against the bars of his ribcage. If someone recognizes me from this morning…

But where was he least likely to be recognized? Alone, running, drawing attention to himself? Or as just another face in the crowd?

Forcing himself to pop a curled, airy crisp of pork into his mouth, he grinned at the merchant. "Thanks."

And he stood there, waiting for his doom to arrive.

There was blood hanging in a pentacle underfoot, and light coming down from above as the priest's chanted. Smoke wreathed around the scene, smelling of sandalwood and other perfumes.

The light was collecting. It became a pillar, a spike coming down from the sky. It grew ever more radiant, a gold-white scar cut through the air, and within a shadow began to form. Suddenly the blood fell away; the priests fell down and the light flickered brighter like a roar of lightning.

Out of the pillar stepped a woman clad in golden feathers, wrapped like a cloak around a body eight feet tall. Wings emerged from her shoulders, from the outer ankle of each foot, and from the sides of her blue-flame eyes. Golden hair fluttered in the breeze, and she carried a spear in one hand, a shield of mirror-polished brass in the other.

There was no mistaking it.

Jasper had seen an angel, and she was here to kill him.

“People of Saltboon, citizens of the Pantheon!” The angel called. Her voice was tall and airy, like a storm’s thunder. “There is no more need for fear. This very day, an Outsider was caught attempting to infiltrate the temple, to drink from the cup of the divine. I will hunt them; there will be no place upon this earth that is safe from my shadow. Anyone who has seen or heard of this Outsider must come forward, now. There will be great rewards for those who do so willingly– there will be great pain for those who hold their tongue.”

Y’know. There was a time when being hunted by a giant warrior woman would have made my day. Jasper thought bitterly. Okay, and it’s still going to be really hot once I put some distance between me and here. It’s the ‘being caught’ part that’s a problem.

He was edging his way towards the back of the crowd, waiting, waiting—

A group of people broke away, chattering excitedly amongst themselves as they headed off to spread the news. Jasper darted off to follow them, his heart rising to his throat as he left the cover of the mob. An alleyway just ahead offered darkness and sanctuary. He just had to make it four more steps…

Three…

Behind him, he could hear the crowd roaring their approval. No doubt who the villain was here. They would tear him apart on the angel’s word without thinking twice. Sheesh.

Two…

One…

“And if you are listening, foul one.” The sound of her voice made him want to jump out of his own skin, but Jasper refused to flinch, refused to look back. He just kept going. “Know that you are not the first and not the last to try and creep into our world. I have slain eight of your predecessors. You will not be the one to claim vengeance for them.”

In the alleyway, he slumped against the wall for a moment, feeling his heart beat.

Oh…

Oh this was not good.