As he marched through the snow, Frank couldn’t help but lament the wording of his quest.

“Seek the roof of the world on Ir-karlak’s path. Walk it clad in naught but the robes of a pilgrim, and stray not from his path in the walking. Only then, will the White Tree bloom for thee. Or if lesser miracles thou seekst, but touch the bark and know his benevolence.”

Walk. Walk to the tree and it would bloom. He could have traded some of this stones and services for a cart. It would roll and move, but keeping steady while carving would have been good Agility exercises, even if most would be blanks for lack of mana to invest. And he would be warm.

But no, he had to walk. In nothing but the robes of a pilgrim. Frank had hoped when he started out that shoes didn’t count, and the other pilgrims on the same path had confirmed as much. The robes were warm, but never warm enough, not for this weather.

The city walls were within sight. They’d been within sight most of the day, going down the mountainside, but now the caravan was almost to them. The group of true pilgrims, the walkers, had their own cart for food and supplies, rented together in the last town. They were in the back, with the caravan, for protection against monsters and animals, and the path the beasts of the caravan master were making in the deep snow.

Up front, the caravan master and the two nobles went to the gates. One of the few occasions all three were together. The party from the Empire and the Deep Sands kept apart, for the two realms raided and warred often. The Nobles rode, not about the lower themselves for this. Frank kept well away from the Empire party.

He was in some debt with his patrons, under Empire law. In his view, near death while fighting their battles made them even. Since he never showed up to claim his pay for the final battle, which would cover a significant portion of the debt, he doubted they would send someone after him for the rest.

He was more worried about Empire spies. There was no way a power such as that would let Heroes they summoned roam around freely. He was aware of what had happened to many who’d taken the smiling servants at the Academy at their word, that they were “free to strike at your own, honoured guest, but unlikely to succeed so within the Empire.”

What they left out was how big the Empire was. Some of the leavers may have made it across the border. But most who went out alone soon either disappeared, or died. The capitol region was deadly to those without connections or enough personal power to stand on their own.

Frank had found his loophole in taking up with a mercenary company, one that served on the borders. When he decided to run, he was already far from the Capitol. Running into a Noble here was bad luck, but something he’d expected.

There was only one White Tree in the whole human realm. From what he’d learned while training, the Nobility liked to make the rounds, sending their children to visit multiple Primordial Shrines to gather their blessings.

In a world of stats, traits that gave them were another way to get ahead. So long as you could spare the Destiny to slot them in. Raised limits on Abilities was one of the perks of being a Hero. He may not have gotten any of the special talents, but he had the full regular package.

Calling it up properly while he waited took a bit of focus.

Summoned Hero (Divine Blessing)

Divine Blessings: Having passed through the Infinity Circuit and bathed in the Celestial energies of Heaven, in passing through the realm in holy ritual, blessed are the heroes who come to save the realm of mortals.

Divine Potentia I: The energies of Heaven loosen the shackles of mortality. Thy limits break.

+6 Ability Limit (ALL)

Heroic Recovery: Having bathed in Celestial energy, thy own flows are enhanced. Doubled Health, Stamina and Mana recovery rates.

(Incredible Survival used. Unavailable for a year. 104/352)

Celestial Resilience I: The touch of the Heavens imbues thy flesh. Healing blood and resistance to poisons and diseases. Including aging.

+2 Body

(Heroic Bulwark used. Unavailable for a year. 104/352)

Celestial Charisma I: The touch of the Heavens fortifies thy mind. A sense of supernatural confidence, that everything will work out. An imprint of Heaven, beauty at the mortal limit.

+2 Presence

(Impossible Choice made: In the moment of perdition, you endured long enough to mix your presence with the Fires of Creation, inviting them in. Accursed fool, ignorant and arrogant beyond limit, thou are Scorched. Nothing short of Heaven or Divinity can lift this Curse)

Even in his reduced state, his limits were still broken. He wasn’t sure what the limits on Destiny were, but the mythical founder of the Empire was told in legend to have Destiny twelve. His ten was an achievement, if a mixed one.

Scorched (Creational Curse)

Creational Curses: Cursed are the lowly mortals who meddle in forces beyond their understanding. To weave the threads of creation without understanding is folly of the highest standard. Unworthy soul, suffer for thy transgression.

Horrific Burns III (Scorched): The fires have left your body ravaged, your skin weeping blood and your very bones frail. Almost half your body is marked by the flame, and everywhere it touched, you burned away.

-2 Agility, -1 Body, -1 Reaction, -1 Strength.

Scarred visage I (Scorched): A part of your face, and much of your body is covered in burn scars. It is an ugly, pitiful thing, to be dismissed and avoided. Your spirit is as weakened by the fires as the rest.

-1 Presence

Banked Еmbers I: In truth, the embers of the scintillating fire you willingly took into yourself. It is why it burned so badly inside you, burning away all your aspect and skill progress for fuel while absorbing some of the flames assaulting your skin.

If not for the Celestial energies lingering in your flesh, they would have burned you from the inside out, as any other fool who tried to swallow mage fire. They linger now, in the depths of your soul, hissing, waiting to catch alight again, only the slightest sparks escaping. But feed them, and they will grow.

+1 Magic – Fire

“Pilgrim Leader?” A young voice pulled him from his musings. Refocusing back on the world around him, Frank found young Deli standing next to him. Blinking, he saw the line had advanced and pulled the horse onward.

“Yes Deli?”

For all that no one wanted to look at his scars, the other poor pilgrims had adopted him as their voice among them. While he was sure at least one among them had the same Presence as him, none either could, or would, stand up to the nobles and the guards when they tried to push them around.

Fortunately, from what he could see, the nobles were busy pretending they didn’t hate each other’s guts. Frank had almost expected an argument to break out on who would be entering first, but the guard had large sign boards outside his hut. Painted on them were symbols of both nations, and he pointed to them and made new marks.

That settled the issue, somehow, and the Sand steeds went in first, followed by his escorts, and then the Empire. From what Frank had learned talking to the Sand people during the trip, for the guards and servants, the pay was the lesser prize of the trip. While their lord and master would go first, each would snatch a chance to touch the Tree and gain its blessing.

“It’s so big.” Deli said, tone filled with wonder. Frank glanced at her, and then followed her eyes upwards. The branches of the tree starched across the sky, high above them. Night was already falling, and in the evening light, the snow shined and shimmered like a rainbow: yellows, oranges and reds from the sun mixing with the browns, blues and whites of the tree, ice and snow upon it.

His breath might mist the air, but there was plenty to keep him occupied while they waited.

“Yes. Yes it is Deli.” Frank told the snowmaiden in white, his voice hushed as well.

***

Frank got stuck delivering their cart to the stables while everyone rushed to the Tree. He wasn’t worried about missing out. The noble parties would hog the tree to themselves, at first. He left the cart and horse in the care of the stable boy, and went into the tavern to get off his aching feet.

In the door was a pair of hanging furs, with a small air pocket between them. Frank was careful to open one, slip in, close it, and then open the other. He’d been shouted at for making that mistake enough times he did not want a repeat. With how cold it was out, such a mistake might be followed by a beating as well.

They gave those out freely, around here.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light inside. A fire was crackling in the stone hearth across the room, just by the counter. Eight tables were spread around the room, most empty. A few with lone drunks, or figures that gave him unfriendly looks.

At one, a bunch of young bucks sat with an older warrior, knots in fur tied in front of their belts, with tails to hang over their crotches. Similarly, two of the serving girls wore skirts.

Signs among the Ilvir that one was looking for company. It had been a while for Frank, but it wasn’t why he was here, even if anyone would have him.

He took a seat next to the full table, knowing better than to ask for a seat. That’s not how it worked in these parts. Taking out his water cup, he tapped the table twice and leaned back. His was a plain cup, baked clay with a glaze that served well enough.

The warrior gave him and his walking staff a look, one that sharpened after a moment. Then he got to his face and the burns, the pilgrim robes, and the gaze changed back to something more casual.

Frank had grown used to such looks. The ability of fighters to asses one another was near universal. So Frank turned to him as well and tried to do the same. His merely lacked the same extra feel, the sharpness of it. He figured that extra insight came with a higher Instinct score.

Looking at the man, Frank felt like he was facing a spear wall alone. Utterly outmatched. The old warrior was someone to mind his manners with. He caught the young ones in the same sweep, and none of them compared. Most, Frank was pretty sure he could take. They looked like adults, but from the feeling, Frank pegged them as teenagers pumping an elder for stories and lessons.

Most of them didn’t even acknowledge his sweep, but a pair, a boy and girl turned and gave him looks back. Frank tilted his head respectfully to the old warrior and got the same from the two teens.

“Welcome Pilgrim, to the Snug Pig, the warmest tavern and inn in Highmount!” The woman at his table wore pants and was a bit older than the other two. They all looked a bit alike. Sisters, maybe?

“We’ve fresh milk, mead and clearwater, if you’re craving something to give you a taste of the sun.” She told him in a preppy voice that reminded him of home. No servants in the Empire spoke like her, so freely. For all the difficulties and need to adapt to yet another culture, Frank was finding the Confederation much more to his tastes.

“I thank you for the offer, but prefer to keep my sight. Clearwater tends to muddle it.” Frank replied easily. And it was expensive. “Milk for me, good lady.”

“Lady, mister? I’m a lass still, I’ll have you know.” She told him with a smirk.

Frank replied: “Won’t change my order, lady or lass, but I’ll remember it.”

She sauntered away, preening a bit while some of the teens listening in laughed at him. The trouble was, Frank couldn’t tell. Men and women in their forties could look just as fresh and vibrant as those starting their twenties, if they had the stats for it.

It was safer to assume a woman was older then the reverse, as it paid her a compliment, implying she had high Body. He got his milk, and the company, as she sat down at his table. That didn’t happen often, but it was a pleasant surprise when it did.

“What news from down the trail?” she asked him.

Now that was common, around these parts. While there were messengers one could pay for, both human and animal, and magic for truly important missives, most common folk got their news from travellers. And a cup of warm milk was a small price to pay for news from a fresh arrival.

As Frank launched into a retelling of their travels, he could hear the table by them quiet as well.

***

“You faced a Gorgodar in your passing?” Rila asked, suddenly a lot more interested.

“I did not face the monster myself, but I did ready myself for it. The nobles with us made sport of it.”

Rila grimaced. “These the same gits arguing up and down the city streets about each other?”

“I wouldn’t call them that.” Frank replied diplomatically.

“But you won’t deny it either.” Rila replied, grinning.

Frank kept his peace.

“Well, go on.” A voice from behind him told him. He turned and met the gazes of the pair that had felt him looking. He couldn’t tell which had spoken, but even the warrior was listening.

“Not much to tell. The Gorgodar roared as it came upon us in the road clearing, and came on. The Lord called out to the Dunerider that he ‘would prove the might and skill of the Empire upon its corpse’. Both parties rushed off, the Gorgodar running from them once they were before it. We didn’t see them until long after night fell, when both dragged trophies back, each claiming the kill.”

The Warrior scoffed. “Must ‘ve been a youngling.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Frank admitted. To him, it had seemed scary enough. White fur, the size of a polar bear, with the snout of an ant eater and beady black eyes that seemed to look into his soul from the other side of the clearing.

“You piss yourself?” The old man asked gruffly.

“No, but many did.” Frank admitted. It had been just a moment, and then gone. But when he’d looked around, he found his ears ringing. Many were screaming in total terror, or running around in a blind panic. It had taken a while to calm everything down.

The warrior frowned. “Had the look. Couldn’t be that young.” He admitted grudgingly. He peered at Frank.

“You not piss yourself pilgrim?”

Frank met his eyes and felt it as the whole room took a breath, people leaning out of the way between them as the old warrior radiated violence and threat. Frank met his eyes. He felt the pressure of the Skill, but wasn’t bowed by it. Compared to what he’d been through, it wasn’t nothing, but he could take it.

After several breaths of silence, the old warrior nodded to him, conceding the point and the pressure receded.

“Got a Will to you.” He muttered.

“Will to live, Body to survive.” Frank snapped back. That at last, got him a grin. He figured the saying he’d picked up along the road would be well received with the people who’d made it.

“Well then lads, see there? There’s a man that has a spine.” The warrior told his audience.

He waved him over, and Frank wasn’t about to refuse. Sure, he’d get a bit tired of talking if this stretched into the night, but it got him a free meal and another couple of drinks.

All it would cost him were some ordinary stories of mercenary life, and perhaps a brawl. A brawl was traditional, as an introduction to the local men. A way to show one could handle themselves.

With the Gift of Life giving him Health as a buffer, it wasn’t nearly as risky as it would have been back home.

***

He may have taken a few punches, but he gave as good as he got. It was all in good fun, and making good with the locals might be a matter of life and death if he got stuck here and his coin ran out. He checked his condition while setting up his sleeping bag on the floor near the embers of the once lively fire.

Health = 37/42

Mana = 8

Frank didn’t have the strength to start carving now. He may have missed a round of enchanting practice, but he could afford to skip one night. He was sleeping under a roof, on a warm floor. It could be worse.

“And tomorrow, the Tree.”