Vignette - Test of Dreams 1

Miranda, to her family, Frosty to her friends and Miss Frost to everyone else, very carefully did not slam her fists on the table. No matter how much she wanted to. Such an action would be infantile and pointless. She aspired to a higher calling of frozen perfection and precise control.

So to the messenger's asinine report, she did not immediately respond. She stared for a few moments at the picture on the wall. A snow covered vista from another time, another life. Where a small log cabin poked itself out of the pristine countryside surrounded by frocked trees. The image was of a place that likely no longer existed, but the memory of it remained. Of an ugly world suddenly covered up and cleansed by heavy snowfall. All the tree stumps and piled refuse that completely ruined the ambiance of her family’s summer cabin invisible beneath the all embracing perfection of the snow. Looking at it calmed her, reminded her that no matter how deep the fuck up went, beauty was still just a heavy snowfall away.

“One more time please.” Her voice was even, steady. Unencumbered by the fizzling useless human rage.

“Milady, Aspen instructed me to convey his polite but firm refusal. He thanks you for the warning but he claims the beast wave is no threat to the commune.”

It was no less idiotic the second time she heard it. “Prey tell, what reason does he offer for that rather… outrageous claim?”

The messenger, no. Swiftfoot shuffled his suddenly non-swift feet awkwardly for a few moments, noticeably swallowing before he coughed and spoke. “He ahh, they claim… Um, that is-”

“I’m not angry with you Swiftfoot. At least not yet. If you continue to waste precious time instead of giving me a clear accurate report that might change. The beast wave is not 15 minutes out!”

If anything his face paled even further. She did not sigh. Was she really that scary?

She attempted to force her normally glacial tone down to something a bit more approachable as she turned away. No longer fixing him with her gaze. “Your report if you please.”

“-Ahh, yes. Umm.” She considered interrupting him again, but what was the point? It would make the report even less timely. His feet might be swift, but if this continued he should’ve been named Stutter-tongue! “They claim that by living in harmony with the forest the beasts will not trouble them.”

As usual. Truth and blatant lies spun together into an unassailable whole. She could not argue with faith. A lack of accumulated magic would make them less likely to draw a beast wave, it was true, but they were barely 3 miles away from the hold. The incoming horde would not object to travel rations. No amount of ‘harmony with the forest’ would change that. The bunny was in harmony as nature intended, that didn’t mean the wolf wouldn’t take a bite!

“Thank you, return to your post.” Still staring at the winter wonderland she waited till he left the room before turning back to her council.

“Your thoughts?”

Galveston set his mug down and wiped some remaining foam from his heavy mustache. “Just as well. Either they are right and the beast wave bypasses them, or they are wrong and they would have been run down in the open.”

She looked at him confused, “It’s only 3 miles.”

He nodded, “And Aspen and his five ‘brothers’ could do that in plenty of time. But the two dozen norms under their care could not.” Right, she reassembled her thoughts. Norms so rarely left the hold any more that she had forgotten. She vaguely remembered that 8-10 minutes was a fast time for them to run a mile. A single mile on a smooth track, not three consecutive miles through the edge of the jungle. She didn’t bother to suggest they leave the norms behind. They’d taken responsibility for them when they left the horde against her advice. If they left them to die? She wondered if she would even open the gates for them.

“Can we help…” She spoke softly, considering the issue. 35-40 minutes if they were lucky, the best case would have them outside in a beast wave for over 20 minutes. That’s if they left now… No, best case would have been they left when warned over 15 minutes ago! Regardless, fighting outside fixed defenses against the tides of maddened beasts would cost her many irreplaceable men and women. “No. We can not.” She concluded, glancing around the table at the 4 middle aged men and 1 old woman who frequently supported her with their wisdom. None looked happy about it (she wasn’t happy either!) but none offered any objections. Adelson opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, then made a few more aborted attempts at speaking before shaking his head with regret and looking down at the table.

She did not sigh again. No matter how much she wanted too. It was neither ladylike nor would it show self control she aspired to. “Close the gates and prepare to receive.”

She led the way to the walls, taking a few moments to observe the turn out of the guard force. A nod of approval to those who managed the deployment without chaos or delays and merely a look of disapproval for those who did not.

It was important that they knew she was watching. That she noticed their hard work and their mistakes. Both would receive their appropriate award in time.

In plenty of time they were all formed up in their appointed positions. Ready and waiting to show these beasts the power that an intact intelligence could bring to bear.

The ground began to shake and leaves, most the length of her forearm and some considerably bigger, fell from the trees in a disquieting counterpoint. Constant rumblings of the ground so out of touch with the gentle swaying of leaves on the wind. Stunning beauty over the top of impending ugliness.

In other words, life!

Then they broke through the covering trees and underbrush. Hogs to the fore as expected but leaping or flying between tree branches overhead she noticed more than a few feline and avian shapes. Scavengers, not part of the attacking army, but more than capable of causing harm despite that.

Neither was a threat if properly handled.

If.

But they were well trained and even more well prepared. Great embossed circles of magic lit up with guardians standing at their center in the casters pose. One arm directed to the front, palm upright and facing the enemy. On each palm a tattoo was emblazoned, already glowing with accumulated power. The palm was preferable to fingers as it was large enough to hold a more complex tattoo and it was directly connected to the heart. The magic they released was powered by emotions, protective impulses, anger and hatred, all things symbolized by the heart. Such emotions were a powerful accelerant for magic, but they were only the fuel to a wise spell caster. The brain, bereift of such distractions, must offer the control.

Sheets of ice formed right before the charge, destroying their balance and control even as earth speakers drew stone spikes from the ground to meet them and flame dancers ignited pits filled with dried, but still oil impregnated, castor plants into apocalyptic blazzes.

Yes, they were prepared!

The attack lasted most of the day, but aside from one young burnout case, there were no casualties.

At least not within the walls.

Scouts soon brought word that the commune, a wooden tree fort once proudly situated 60 feet up on the side of one of the great trees, was but a blood splattered jumble of wood and vines piled on the jungle floor. There were no intact corpses and little enough besides blood to say that there ever had been occupants.

She nodded with no expression, hiding the horror within, to their reports, then sent them off for a well deserved meal. It was as she’d expected, but it still hurt. What hurt worse was the whispers that began to spread through the hold.

Whispers that she didn’t even try to save them, and worse, that she did not care.

People who once thanked her in the streets for her help would take great steps to avoid having her shadow fall upon them. Services once offered quickly and with a smile became slow and sullen.

Even the defenses suffered as the guard details could not be filled with volunteers and emergency drills were not attended.

No!

She shook her head, that would not work. She spent a bit longer staring at her winter wonderland. Trying to find some inspiration in it’s familiar confort. She waited while Swiftfoot left the room, then turned back to her councillors.

“Your thoughts?”

Galveston set his mug down and wiped some remaining foam from his heavy mustache. “Just as well. Either they are right and the beast wave bypasses them, or they are wrong and they would have been run down in the open.”

She nodded, feeling a brief moment of disquiet, before lasering in on the issue at hand.

“Saving them may not be possible, and even trying will subject whoever goes to a fight with short sight lines and no fixed defenses. Nevertheless, we need to try.” She could withstand the cold shoulders and the contempt, if with difficulty. But 100 guardians at half efficiency due to a break down of trust or 80-90 at 100%. The math didn’t seem to work in favor of doing the smart thing.

“...away from our defenses? Out in the jungle during a beast wave? This is…” Adelson stopped, clearly biting his tongue for a moment then continued in a much more mild tone “is this wise?”

“No, it’s not wise. Not at all. But letting our people think I’m not willing to face risks to save fellow humans might be worse.”

Looking around she saw disagreement on several faces, not just Adelson's usual intransigence. She couldn’t even blame them for it. Without calculating where the safe, smart path would end, she would, and did, think it was foolish too.

“Trust me this time. We must try. To practical matters. I can’t ask anyone to go out there if I’m not willing to do the same. So I will be leading the rescue force.” She drove over the top of their open voiced objections. “I know, I’m responsible for too many things to risk my life without a corresponding gain, but I really do see too big of a threat not to go. And I do mean it. No leader can send her troops out on a risky run like this if she’s not willing to go herself!”

The arguments would have continued for hours if she’d let them, but time waits for no woman. Merely three minutes later she was outside at the head of a squad of twenty volunteers, all that could be spared from the hold’s defenses. At a full sprint the three miles sped past in under 10 minutes, killing a few beasts in self defense without pausing to harvest the bodies. Magic aided leaps and bodies well fortified with Tiered beast meat made old world olympic records look slow and tired.

If they were lucky, she mused, coming to a stop next to the massive tree trunk and looking up at the tree village, a series of light wickerwork homes sandwiched between two wooden platforms circling the massive trunk. Parts of the bottom platform rested on low branches and massive cables reached from the bottom to the top then on up to tie off on large branches above. Enough support, shelter and room for the almost 30 nutjobs to live the rest of their perhaps short lives.

That won’t help you convince them, let it go. She took a deep breath and tried to shift her frame of mind. The beast wave was minutes away at best. They didn’t have time for pointless arguments.

“Aspen!” A smidgen of magic projected her voice up, she didn’t dare to shout this far out. “We’re coming up. Either drop the ladders or I’ll use magic to make one. Not something either of us wants with the wave so close.”

She wasn’t bluffing either. She’d prefer not to use active magic right here, right now. But if this jackass didn’t move fast enough there was no way she was leaving her people out in the open. A few ice knobs on the side of the trunk and they would jump up the damn thing like mountain goats.

Thankfully Aspen wanted them to use magic even less than she did. Three rope ladders dropped together in less than 30 seconds and they swarmed up the sixty feet in even less than that.

“What are you doing here!” Aspen, a pretty, sledor, middle aged man who’s model-like looks were unfortunately marred by a rather large vertical scar bisecting his left eye through the edge of his lip and down to his chin, demanded in a very quiet voice, but not a whisper that would paradoxically carry even farther.

“Trying to save your fool ass. I assure you I would prefer to be behind our nice thick walls standing on top of magic amplification circles and actually helping my people survive. Instead I'm stuck trying to save you and yours from yourselves.”

This was her decision. There was no way to evacuate the commune in the time available. So the best she could do was to help defend it.

“You’re not saving! You are directly endangering us! Large quantities of magic attract hogs, we deliberately don’t have those here and you bring 20 mages, chock full of magic to mess it up!” He visibly paused to calm himself, “At least you had the sense to ask for the ladders. Thank you for that.”

She nodded regally, choosing not to restart a pointless argument. He was willing to be reasonable, she needed to do the same. Besides, the faint rumble of hoofs on the earth was already audible, like distant thunder, foretelling the coming storm.

Several quick gestures split her team into groups of 4 in each cardinal direction, with the remaining 4 looking up. No point trying to coordinate with Aspen and his brothers. They had seconds before the storm, and building up effective teams took months to years.

Still, if they couldn’t work as one group, then they could still work as allies. All of her troops were well practiced together and Aspens had not been gone so long that his group didn’t at least know the basics of working alongside them. And despite their craziness, they were still all covered in ‘cat coats, just like her people. It should hide their individual magic signatures, for a time at least.

“For what we are about to receive.” She subvocalized. The rumbling had dramatically increased and now she could feel, not just hear the wave approaching. With the very ground shaking like an earthquake it wasn’t pleasant to be hanging off the side of a tree. She glanced back in concern to the lightweight homes behind her. Hoping against hope that the norms within had thought to take objects off of shelves and lie on the floor. Otherwise there was going to be a number of headaches in the near future.

Then she pushed it from her mind. Peaking over the edge of the platform she watched the hogs come in like the tide. They called it a beast wave for a reason. Like the surf crashing up the beach they came. In numbers too large to count in the time available and clumped up like a herd of bison from some old cowboy movie.

A herd that approached, then passed by without paying them any attention. A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding slipped out of her. Ok, so Aspen wasn’t completely wrong. Without obvious magic accumulation they weren’t noticed… for now. Their scent was surely on the wind, and hogs had a great sense of smell, but the magic of the hold was too much of a draw for them to bother.

Then again, she glanced up at the canopy above and across at some low hanging branches. It wasn’t just the hog’s she was worried about. Then, just as her earlier prediction had indicated, the scavengers approached, following along behind the tide. Birds and arboreal chameleon cats moving between the trees at significant heights, and completely capable of seeing the sandwich of wood filled with all those tasty humans. The cats will have a bit of trouble climbing out and around the top layer, but the birds won’t. On top of that the damn cat’s are nearly invisible. It was going to be a rough day.

Especially, she grimaced looking below, as they would need to keep magic usage to a relatively low level. With a grimace she accepted a spear from Aspen, watching as her troops picked them up as well. They didn’t need to pull some martial arts exhibit and stab everything to death. Just discourage them for a time, until the bodies lying about became so plentiful that they would find better, and easier prey.

The first few birds, orange vested falcons, were apparently discouraged by the close set cables linking the bottom deck to the top. With a wingspan of over 5 feet that was a bit to close for them to consider. At least not without a pressing need. Their magical talents, an ability to throw out blades of wind from their wings, were certainly still a threat, not just to the defenders but to the rope supports themselves.

Thankfully, like many predators, they weren’t interested in spending more effort than the prey was worth. With merely a curious look or three they passed on by. But their luck didn’t hold for long. A series of soft thumps, barely perceptible through the upper deck when it felt like the entire world was shaking, were signaled by the ‘up’ team. Standing on top of crates or tables they were touching that surface, feeling as much as listening, for impacts.

Cats above, their hand signs indicated. It might be tricky to make the jump from the top ring to the bottom, but tricky wasn’t impossible. And being unable to see them without magic help was a deadly danger. A bit of magic would have to be risked.

Gesturing briefly to Aspen, she took a deep breath and blew out a thin wisp of fog. Smoke like, but cold and cleanly scented, it spread out quickly into a ring about the edges. Cats might be invisible, but the eddy’s of their passage would not be. It was a very minor magic, but still she glanced below. There was no reaction. Her shoulders loosened a bit in relief. They could not survive this with a few pointy sticks. Not against invisible cats and circling buzzards.

Almost as if she’d called them familiar black, white and orange shapes slid into view in the distance. Buzzards they called them, vultures worked too. Either way they were not falcons to make logical decisions about effort vs reward. 150lbs of pure meanness and spite with a 10-15 foot wingspan. They would not pass by, nor would they approach. Not while their prey was capable of defense.

The first screams started while she dithered. Unsure of how much magic it was safe to use. Glowing white outlines broke off of their approaching forms to strike straight through the ropes, homes, tree and anything else physical in a straight line. Delivering a nasty blow directly to the mind of anything it passed through.

One hit was bad, like a willow switch striking across the hands, it took a very strong person not to flinch. That was just one though, and buzzards rarely acted alone. Five of them together was less a switch and more of a baseball bat. One of her defenders, unfortunately positioned such that he was touched by all four ghostly shapes, collapsed with blood dripping from his nose and ears.

The vultures started circling. Past experience told her they had about 30 seconds before the next batch of psychic pain and hate. Risk or no, they couldn't just sit and take it. With a quick series of gestures she gave a simple command. Each guardian who was capable of ice magic, most considering they looked to her, made a few simple gestures and breathed out into the fog. Its colors paled as it thickened from a light smoke into a nearly opaque mist that radiated cold and left a thin layer of her namesake on the ropes and platform edges. A bit of dangerous footing was no small benefit against the cats as well.

Then with several mystic gestures and a quiet chant she did her part, drastically expanding the fog to include the hateful birds. Frost on the wings, and if she was lucky in their throats, would quickly ground the damn things. And ground in this situation was a quick trip to the afterlife. Couldn’t happen to a better group of assholes.

The momentary impact of a nearly invisible creature with the ground at the same time raised her spirits, but it didn’t come freely. A number of hogs were now slowing their desperate advance to look up. While nominally out of their reach… that didn’t mean much when they could release their momentum charge to launch their bodies at upwards of 30 miles an hour.

The thought was a fleeting one as a series of porcine muscles shattered the platform, her men, and herself.

No!

Using that much magic was clearly a mistake. She’d taken the early success as an indicator for more, and paid for it. But she wasn’t sure what else could have been done. Simply sitting back and taking repeated hits would have led to death as surely as dropping into the horde had.

The winter wonderland painting offered her no answers as she stared into its depths. At last she sighed, they didn’t have much time and she couldn’t keep putting off the decision.

“Your thoughts?”

Galveston set his mug down and wiped some remaining foam from his heavy mustache. “Just as well. Either they are right and the beast wave bypasses them, or they are wrong and they would have been run down in the open.”

Hearing those seemingly reasonable words almost pushed her over the edge. Her fingers dug into her palms with enough force that she felt them grow slightly wet.

Her voice rose unconsciously, “Then WHAT should we do! If we do nothing they die and our own people lose faith in us, think that I don’t care if they die! If we send troops out, in a beast wave, in the open, without fixed defenses, then we throw them to their deaths. WHAT THE HELL CAN WE DO?” The glaciers were long since melted, and lava dripped down the cliffs in their place. She slammed her hands down on the table, leaving bloody prints beneath them as she grit her teeth in rage and frustration.

What the hell was wrong with people? Doing the smart thing led to destruction. Doing the dumb thing led to destruction. What the fuck else could they do?!

She took several deep breaths, attempting to slip into the mantra of control she’d learned in school. But despite having the correct form, the spirit was not there and calm eluded her grasp.

Red eyed she looked up at her council, taking in their shocked faces without really noticing. Rage began to die as frustration and sorrow took its place. “What can we do?”

A

She looked up at them, lost for a moment, ice eyes reduced to a child hoping for an answer to an insoluble problem. “Please! What can we do?”

Adelson sighed, standing up to walk to her side and wrap his arms around her shaking shoulders. “There is nothing we can do to save them. But you’ve made the right first move in preventing a loss of faith.”

Strangling a pathetic sob before it could leak out she glanced up at him in confusion. “I have?”

“Yes, dear, you have. They made their choice and will have to live or die as a consequence. You can’t save them, but you also can’t be inured to the loss. You have to feel it, and you have to be seen to feel it.”

“...That's it? That’s the solution I can’t find? Just go out there with my heart on my sleeves and bawl like a child?”

“Haaaa, it’s always two steps forward, one back with you Miss Frost. They don’t need you to bawl, they just need you to share their pain. Not an unfeeling glacier willing to send them to their deaths, but a living, breathing, feeling young woman who will do her best to see them through this tragedy. And I didn’t say it was a solution. People will still be unnecessarily dead, and some will blame you for it. No matter how foolish that is.”

“It is a mitigation of the consequences, nothing more. But then, sometimes that’s the best you can expect.”

Chapter 13

“Settle down please!” Timothy sat at the front of the largest classroom in Paradise Hold once again, looking out at a field of excited students who were decidedly ready to move on from ‘school’. “In a very short while I’ll cut you loose for your graduation ceremony. Then you can sit through whatever boring ass speeches the various dignitaries have decided to grace you with.” It was a graduation tradition he’d just as soon see die an ignoble death, but such was life. “Before that I want to have a very quick final chat. You’ve all had a run at the Dream Fan-”

And wasn’t that a shit show? Bad enough that he was the only one currently capable of using the enchantment. There were a number of people who would be able to take over, in time. Even if it took a meld of multiple people it would be possible. But it would take understanding. Not just power. All of his enchantments did. If with perfect understanding they took 1 unit of willpower, then with 0 understanding it might take 100 willpower. So far, despite all the teaching efforts and use experience, no one other than him had managed to get the cost down to 1. Even the best of the guardians with tools they’d used for years hovered in the 10 range. But 10 was usable. 100 really wasn't. Not when the enchantment was as complicated as this was.

In time the Dream Spirit should be able to take a great deal of that load. She was literally born for the job. But she was also born yesterday… almost. It would take time to ‘grow up’. Thankfully not as much as a human. She already had the knot of common knowledge that took years to install in children. Just as long as she was treated correctly and continued to enjoy her purpose in life eventually the fan would be a badass object that could use itself.

He really hoped she would continue to enjoy it. She wasn’t a captive, allowing an embittered being to teach the best and brightest children sounded criminally stupid. If she grew to hate the job he would have to sever her connection to the fan, find her a new body and start all over. All that was possible...but hardly pleasant or inexpensive.

Until that time it was all on Timothy. And he had spent most of the last 2 weeks running them through it. Stopping only to catch a few hours of sleep or to convince another parent or Pathfinder that no, he wasn’t out to mentally scar their children.

Why does everyone go there first? Hadn’t he earned a bit of trust by now? If not then surely the fact that he’d tested it first on himself, then on a half dozen Pathfinders, each with no small reputation of their own, should have laid their fears to rest.

Should.

Unfortunately people are rarely logical when their children are in pain. Eventually he’d been forced to waste a good half day on the truth stage in the baths explaining that yes, it was in their best interest to go through it. The lessons they would learn were invaluable for there future survival and growth. Then on to; no, it wouldn’t leave long term scars. It was a dream and with time the exact events, and the sharpness of the emotions would fade, leaving a general overview of the situation and any lessons they might have learned.

He’d done a very good job with that enchantment, if he did say so (which he did). But like most good jobs, the reward was more work! His six alpha testers, having had enough time for the pain and emotional overload to fade, had spoken out in such glowing terms of the experience, of how much they learned about themselves and their weaknesses, that suddenly everyone wanted to try it.

He was hardly averse to allowing a good training tool to see more widespread use. But since only Timothy could work it, that meant more of Timothy’s time given up. Something he wasn’t about to take lying down.

But take it he would have to. Like it or not. Dammit! He had managed to limit the number of opportunities available to 2 sessions of 4 people each per week. And each of those spots would come with a significant price tag. The union was good at that at least. The norms underfoot were a constant reminder of the cost to the community of those who refused to pay for what they received.

Calling someone a leech was a deadly insult.

“-and I need to give you some ranking information. As I told you at the time, your results are your own. No one needs to, nor should you, reveal anything. This is for you to know. The longest surviving testee, at least that was willing to report it to me, managed about 20 years.” Donald didn't mind letting that bit out. The rest of his testers had averaged between Kevins 12 and Donalds 20.

It wasn’t entirely fair. He watched some faces whiten and a few show some pride. They were still kids, and inexperienced when it came to hiding their reactions. “The bottom end of the spectrum should be around 10 years. If you’re down there, or less, you probably shouldn’t be in charge.” He paused for several moments, observing the rage, guilt and regret on more than a few faces.

“That sucks doesn’t it? Hearing me write off your personal ability so easily. One test, no excuses asked for or acknowledged.” He let that sink in, looking around the classroom carefully, trying to make eye contact with every single soon to be adult. “It should hurt. Failure that is. Some will try to lessen that pain with platitudes. Not everyone is good at the same things. I’m just big boned. She made me do it.

His attempts at humor drew a few sad smiles, but little more. Just as well, it wasn’t a joke. “I hear this sort of claptrap all the time. It’s not ‘my’ fault, he or she is just more talented.” He watched them carefully, making notes on who was enraged, who was complacent and who was just unreadable. Faces told him some things, but their aura’s told him much more. Empathy had never been his best trait, but his perception was. And these youngsters lacked the skills to completely suppress the unconscious intent in their aura’s.

“It’s bullshit!” His voice rose to a yell, causing a small jump in no small number of his listeners. “One of the first lessons I taught you was about knowing yourself. If you know who you are, what you are good at and what you are not good at, then you have the opportunity to change those things. That’s one of the many things magic offers you. The ability to change your world. But more importantly to change yourself!”

“If you did terribly at this test don’t flinch away from it. Don’t accept excuses, yours or others. Face the pain, and it will hurt. Acknowledging that you failed, and that you suck at something always hurts. It should hurt! Hurting means you care enough to want to be great at it. Then use that pain as motivation to change for the better. Or accept that you are not suited for the position, have no desire to become someone who is, and find something else that will make you happy.” Then and now. It always started with ‘hello, my name is X, and I am an addict.’ AA had it right. Before you can change for the better, you had to acknowledge where you were deficient.

Rage fled, complacence fled, in its place their eyes now held a burning determination. That was a good expression!

“Good! GOOD!” He bared his teeth with a feral intensity. “Take that attitude with you, wherever you go. If you want to lead, lead. If you don’t want to, don’t. But for my sake, whatever you end up wanting to do, wanting to be, you had better be fucking good at it!”

Timothy sat back in his scrying room with a small clay jar of Bellview cordial. Arrogant those frogs might be, but damn did they deliver on quality booze, and if he was going to break his usual habits of austerity, then it was a damn fool thing to break it for less than the best.

He reflected on the childr- no, the young men and women he’d just released on the world. Some of them would succeed wildly, some of them would fail miserably and quite a few would linger in mediocrity. But they all had a chance. No, chance was the wrong term. This wasn’t a gamble. It wasn’t just about luck, though it was hard to completely avoid that most obnoxious and unreliable of aspects. They all had the opportunity for greatness. Just some would pursue that opportunity, and some would choose to let it slip by.

But Timothy was no hypocrite. The same truth applied to himself. It applied to everyone! Opportunities were constantly sailing through. They just had to recognize them and be willing to pay the price to acquire them.

Unfortunately, sometimes that price was quite large. A wave of his hand (and the corresponding flick of his will) pulled a three dimensional runic engraving into the pool at his feet. A manifestation, not of some outside existence but instead of the contents of his mind, impressed on the waters below him by his intent. It wasn’t a complete pattern, not yet. It was a work in progress and his current best hope for ascension. He snickered a bit internally. Such a pretentious word, ascension. But it was accurate. Oh he wasn’t presuming to become a god, or even godlike! But what other term could be used when describing the process of moving beyond human frailties and human limits?

It was just the next step along the path. But that step was a doozy. A cliff to be surmounted in some manner and each of them would have to find their own way to do it. The diagram before him was merely the outline of that step. A blueprint that would take significant amounts of time to flesh out. But it was at least a start.

He needed that start. That change. His will was potent and powerful, but even with years of ascetic living, strengthening himself with constant temptation, there was such a thing as diminishing returns. The human mind had some limits that were beyond just the strength of his will. Enough pain, no matter how mentally strong he was, would send his body into shock. These were the limitations of human flesh.

He could really only see three options going forward. First was to improve his flesh. If the weak flesh of the body was the limiter then improve it. Push that limit back. The second option was to accept that diminishing returns were not the same as no returns. He could continue down this path, constantly escalating the degree of temptation he subjected himself to in order to continue to grow. The third option was to step beyond the previous two and remove the human flesh from the equation entirely.

There really was no trouble choosing between the three. The first path was something he had thrown away long since. Body building was exceedingly time consuming as the body was an incredibly complex system and making sudden ill thought out changes to that system was suicidal. On top of that every time he reset his body to reverse aging, he would lose all of that painfully and tediously acquired progress. No, the first option was not something he was willing to follow.

The second option looked far too much like a trap. To continually look for more trying situations to resist smacked far to much of masochism. And despite the constant accusations of the same, Timothy had no kinks in that direction. Worse then that was that this looked like a dead end path. It was like sharpening an ever strengthening knife. At first a normal whetstone worked. Then you needed some specially prepared metals, then maybe diamonds. Then what? There were only so many things in this world to use. Magic might increase the available distractions dramatically, but he would have to spend lifetimes searching for some new drug or experience. Eventually there would be nothing strong enough to strop the knife against.

No, constantly looking for a greater temptation to resist was not a good answer. Even if the temptations themselves didn’t eventually destroy him, whether into the depths of addiction or just plain descent into hedonism, he would eventually find a place where no stronger temptations could be found.

The path then was to rise above the limitations of the flesh. How could he do that though? This wasn’t a dnd campaign and lichdom was neither possible (probably. Although… Nevermind.) nor desirable. Just because ever increasing temptations wasn’t the path it didn’t mean that he was willing to give up on both the pleasures, the connections and the constant low level willpower improvements the flesh offered.

No, disembodied ghosts or animate skeletons were not a useful path. But an animated living, feeling body might be. If the usual human was a soul piloting a body, then that soul still required a large amount of support from the body to do the piloting. Small amounts of damage to the nerves or the brain could completely destroy the soul's ability to ‘drive’.

The term ‘soul’ was a bit of an enigma. There were various common assumptions and descriptions for it. But even there, despite a few commonalities the descriptions were highly different from culture to culture. Timothy had found something that fit some of those descriptions, though by no means all. Having no better term for it he labeled it his ‘soul’. It was the center, the core of a person's aura. The light from this core was the aura. The control point of a body's intent and the interface between the aura and the body. It was a metaphysical existence that interfaced with the physical for control, but was it the immortal soul of religious fame? That mythical immortal existence that existed between reincarnated lives for some, and was the vehicle for a person to be judged in the afterlife for others? It certainly wasn’t something Timothy could swear to.

That soul was the heart of his strength as someone who focused on willpower and perception. And so he’d made this crazy plan. He wasn’t willing to give up on a body entirely, but he also wasn’t willing to be restricted by its poor quality. He could have pursued a partial path of the body, deliberately improving the interfaces that let the soul control such an impressively delicate thing. But it didn’t make sense. A geo metro or a maserati, both were still cars and both could and would still fail to work without a steering wheel. The answer wasn’t to just get a better car. But the answer also wasn’t to just walk! Car’s were a blast to drive and supremily effective at moving him from point A to B in a timely manner.

No, after months and months of thought he’d managed to find a glimmer of a plan. To bypass the delicate bodily controls and directly control the body via the soul. In effect to export those controls to his soul and use the light from it, his aura, to puppet his body. Tsung Tzu said (Arthur could, and had, reproduced much of the “Art of War” from memory) ‘the places a man should defend are those that others cannot attack’. Or something like that at least. The soul wasn’t quite that, the direct application of foregn intent in sufficient quantity could damage it, but it was damn close. And the same intent that could damage the soul would also greatly damage the body in passing. Why defend both? No, his body would become a puppet that he could control, and no matter how damaged he could recreate it with his rune of self just so long as he was aware enough to trigger the enchantment.

To make that work he would have to export more than just the controls. He would also have to include memory storage, senses and thoughts. To think with the soul and not the fragile brain. To look and listen with the aura and not just the eyes.

That was a little acknowledged fact. The aura wasn’t just a person impressing their intent on the world, it could also be used to feel the world's intent in turn. Communication at its finest. A fact he regularly abused when speaking with the many different cultures in the union. He may not speak their language, though he was working at it, but he could read their intent. It wasn’t perfect, language had nuances and cultural assumptions built in that sometimes slipped past him, but it was better than pointing and charades.

All those benefits and only two real negatives.

Difficulty and Danger.

This was the path he’d chosen, but it wasn’t a simple thing to do. The massive set of three dimensional runes represented his first blush of thought. They were by no means complete or exact yet. It wasn’t like he could experiment freely either. How could making mistakes on his very soul be a safe thing? Still, it was a path that fit his dreams, talents, and desires. To use the soul as a canvas and the mind as the etching plate.

He even had a plan for the ink already. The transition between the physical mind and the non physical soul needed an ink that had properties of both. Aspects. They gave everything physical its form, but could be distilled into pure magic as well.

The exact aspects used would be critical as well. Aspects like incorruptibility, malleability, clarity, strength and connection. Each of these needed to be balanced as well. A bit of malleability would let him bend and adapt to problems and new situations. Too much, though, would quickly become cowardice. Incorruptibility and malleability were found in gold, the so-called ‘noble’ medal. Copper was an excellent connective medal. He frequently used it for his own enchantments, including the Dream Fan. On top of that he would need something like a diamond’s crystalline strength and clarity to balance the two softer medals. Besides, diamonds were also forever right? Incorruptible and eternal… Those were excellent symbols to define one’s self.

And that brought him to the final issue. The reason he would have to start now even without having a complete plan yet. Strength came from within. It was one of his fundamental beliefs. Outside events could grind away imperfections and allow that strength to shine. But if they could only bring out the best of what was inside. Not create that internal strength wholesale. Learning from the world and all the hardships in it was a great thing. Becoming contaminated by it? Not so much.

Materials were just a shortcut. A way to quickly acquire those aspects at the expense of some currency. That could be a controversial issue. Currency at its base form was merely a counter for trade. This sheep is worth 10 pairs of shoes from a cooper. But its owner only needs one pair. Should they dig through the coopers house to make up the difference? No. Let the cooper sell all 10 pairs of shoes to different people who need them and repay the shepherd with the proceeds. Currency allows that trade to happen with ease and convenience. But with magic it had extra layers. Wealth became its own aspect, and it wasn’t just attached to the coin itself, but also to the method in which it was earned, or not earned.

When it comes to Daddy’s or Granddady’s money being passed down, wealth could be joined by laziness and extravagance. Stolen money could be infected with greed, spilled blood and deceit. Timothy’s own magic closely identified with strenuous effort and control of the baser human desires. Allowing symbols of those emotions to contaminate his work would be antithetical and possibly cause a backlash. Ensuring that he rightfully earned the currency he used and purchased the materials at a fair cost greatly minimized these sorts of contaminates. It was enough to make it a safe shortcut for enchanting.

But it was a little different when it came to long term work inside himself. Even though the materials were acquired with great effort, effort that was properly and fairly compensated, it was still borrowing the powers of nature to directly make strength. Not to sharpen or grind away defects, but to directly augment his inner self. That was a disaster waiting to happen. Thankfully he did have another option.

After observation and intense study he could understand an aspect well enough to create it with his own intent. That was the nature of intent, afterall. It affected the world around him and adjusted it to his liking. The remains of intent, once an active mind left the picture, were aspects. Saying it that way made it sound easy, it was nothing of the kind. The old medieval alchemists might be deeply jealous, he could indeed turn lead into gold… but they might give up on it all the same. It took so much time to do that with the same effort he could buy that amount of gold 100 times over. There was a very good reason that he used ‘shortcuts’ when building the Dream Fan or the Threshold hearts. Despite the heavy expense. They were a fraction of what making the aspects manually would cost.

Spend a few days (or weeks) creating useful enchants for the union, selling them for high prices then spending that currency to buy the ingredients. Or spend months or even years creating the needed aspects by hand, or mind rather? A pretty obvious choice.

He sighed and picked up a blank piece of slate, carefully etched with a simple image of an amphora. He placed it next to two tiny nuggets of gold and copper for comparison. The next year or so was going to be exceedingly tedious. And god knows where he would even find diamonds!