Authors Corner

We're out of first gear now. We're now in … well you'll have to keep reading to find out.

Onto new things! Thanks for reading!

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Solitude & Solace

Part 2

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Chapter 16 – Home is where your heart is.

Wil

On the move in a field of huge boulders.

Three months later.

Home is where the heart is.

My heart is definitely here.

What a beautiful place.

“Are we good to go?”

I hear a question shouted from behind me as I am running. Turning around, seeing nothing but boulders I can't really get a look at the source of the voice.

I jump over a boulder and look back over my shoulder at the same time. Other humans would have trouble jumping high enough and would have even more trouble being half turned while doing so. For me, however, this act of agility is nothing.

I never get tired of this body. And this body never gets tired, period.

“Keep up the pressure! Some are breaking off!” I shout, eying my pursuers.

“Wil, another group has appeared! We're losing people in the...” I hear a shout from my far right fade away.

That's not good.

This job … it might be hard to finish. I'll be lucky to get half pay for the day.

I don't really need the money. Ever since I moved out of that overpriced mansion of an inn, I've had no monetary concerns. I could live for years if I was to be economical. Sitting around not working just makes me a useless human though.

That's why I've set a goal to earn 100 gold. It's something to keep me busy, and feel useful at the same time. It will take a very long time at my current rate.

But it's not the gold I'm worried about right now.

It's my reputation.

I take my job very seriously. I want to be the best of the best. Others have come to respect my dedication and hard work.

What do I do?

I'm a decoy.

…

Oops.

That acid almost hit me. Dodge, dodge!

One of my pursuers has caught up. It's a tiny white fluffy creature with smaller black tufts spotted along it's sides. It has lovely eyes glowing red with insanity. It's known as an Albarg. Their favorite hobbies are spitting streams of lethal acid and ruining my day.

This one is quite the hobbyist.

Aside from it's murderous tendencies, I quite like the little fluff balls. They are a very amusing creature. Once they see you, there is a low chance they'll try to attack. It's just that once they lock on, they never stop trying to attack you. They don't even mind if they're attacked by someone else. They'll follow you for days, without stopping to rest, eat or drink. They'll throw their lives away for their absurd longing to kill you. Basically, their personalities are twisted, feral and pointless. I feel like they could be my kindred spirits.

Dodge, dodge, keep running, dodge.

There is also another peculiar reason for me liking them. They look exactly like a soccer ball. I don't know where the thought came from, and I can't remember much about soccer, but the first time I saw one I had a strong urge to run up and kick it.

I can't though, because it'd wreck the fur. The fur is the whole reason I'm here in the first place.

The hunting caravan I've joined is on it's last day. This is the last herd of Albargs we're rounding up. The leaders of this little expedition sold us on a huge final hunt. Right now, they number over four times our previous record. This massive herd was, up until a few moments ago, chasing me. I'm not sure what caused the herd to split, but I had noticed I was losing my little friends. I suppose it's possible that some of the Albargs weren't locked on to my beautiful face. I ran by too fast for them to truly appreciate it, after all.

Hisssssss.

I turn to check on my would-be murderer.

The fluff ball behind me is hissing rather profoundly.

I keep my speed even while keeping an eye out for my companions. I don't see any of them, so I quickly throw up a Mirage. It's one of those things that I want to keep to myself. My pride won't let me admit to using the bubbles, and very few people would appreciate me still calling myself a Mage. Or finding out I was ever called one.

As for the Mirage, my bubbles now number in the millions and are so small that when brought together they are indistinguishable from solid wall of distorted air. I can curve it with enough subtlety that it's hard to tell where I am or that the air is even distorted. I've gotten proficient enough that it it only takes a moment. I call it a Mirage, even if it's not quite the correct term.

The small fur ball hisses in confusion as I suddenly disappear from it's view behind my … Mirage.

Non-magical subtle bubble distortion is a terrible name though. I need to take naming into consideration. The first use of the useless bubbles shouldn't have a bad name. I feel like they represent me, in a way.

Mirage is good. I like it. I think I'll keep it.

Now that I've gained some distance from the Albarg, I call out to the others.

“One left! Can I get a stab over here?”

I figure from the comparative quiet that most of the herd has been defeated.

“Wil? Is that you?” I hear a voice from nearby.

“Ohhh, Vaxov? Ya, come on over” I say as I turn towards the source of the voice.

I barely had time to finish my sentence before I see the huge man called Vaxovol coming into view from around a boulder, holding a spear.

On it is my little friend from earlier.

“Oh, you already got him?” I ask.

“Hahaha fierce little one he was.” he says with a laugh while nodding. “I'm always amazed at your speed. How can someone so fast not be good at hunting?”

I like Vaxov, but he's a little too forward. Everyone else is just happy I'm taking the brunt of monsters attention to ask me these kinds of questions. I hope he didn't see my Mirage.

“Ah, well, it's just not something I am meant for.” I say, hoping he'll drop it.

He just looks at me for a moment before shaking his head, disappointed. A typical Vol reaction. Crazy battle-maniacs.

Even if he's battle hungry, he raises a good point, but I just can't tell him about my issues, can I? Anilea cautioned me not to mention magic or the like to regular folk. She said that not even knowing all of my story.

These days I'm enjoying leading monsters away from hunting groups. I'm building my tolerance and exposure to danger with care, all while making money. In the worst case, if I go berserk when I'm leading away the monsters, none of the hunting party will be close enough to see me rage.

It's a small job, but I'm well known for it. My reputation as a maniac that kept screaming in his room was hard to leave behind. Fortunately, it was that reputation that made getting this job easy. You'd have to be crazy to want to do it.

Pretending to stretch and cool down from a hard run, I motion towards the direction of the caravan, which is now weaving through the boulders and coming towards us. Voxol nods as he finishes his work. The caravan's slow pace gives me time to finish my fake stretches and Voxol time to clean up his kill. As it closes the distance and we can see familiar faces, I turn to him.

“Time to head back?” I ask with a knowing smile.

“Yes, it was a great hunt this time.” Voxol says, his grin matching my own.

The slightest breath and we're off running.

We both race each other over to the caravan. Trying to get the good spot on top of the fur wagon.

I win, of course, much to Voxol's chagrin.

Ahh.

I stretch and lean back on the nice fur bed.

My thoughts accompany me to the city.

I can't wait to have a drink.

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Wil.

Gol-ta.

Sitting in his favorite spot, in his favorite tavern.

Surrounded by muscled idiots.

“Wil, you want another drink?”

“Aye' Dron, pass me another.”

Nice man, that Dron, even if he's a Heramite.

It's hazy sometimes, but I go by Wil now.

No one ever knew me by a different name, due to my botched introductions, but in my head I had called myself Wilson. The new name is a change for me, at least. It's an inward change meant to radiate an outward one. I've changed a lot since I first came to this city. I've grown. I've become more... human.

The frightened man who could barely speak without stuttering is still inside me, somewhere. He comes out from time to time, but I now expect his visits and prepare. I've finally come to terms with being on a different planet.

It took me a long time, and I reached some dark places inside. Everything I've done is part of me, but I don't really blame myself. Shock isn't something that's easy to shrug off. I know that now.

The maniac who enjoys kill everything comes and goes. I know what causes his abrupt appearances.

It was so obvious, looking back.

Interrupting my rare moment of rumination, Dron arrives with a nice mug full of delicious golden brown liquid.

“Thanks Dron.”

“Haha, nothing for my best customer.”

I smile at him. I hope it doesn't seem to condescending. It's just that I'm still smiling at my own stupidity too. It's not a smile about the drink.

It's my Ethul.

It fuels me with everything I could possibly need when I encounter danger, including literally insane amounts of hormones needed to maximize my kill potential. The stronger the danger, the stronger the response is.

That's my running theory, patched together from observations from the present and slivers of insight from my past. It's proven to be a solid theory so far. If something is harmless to me, I am calm. If imminent harm is closing in, my derangement scales accordingly.

I don't know the finer points or the limitations, but this theory has been accurate enough to help me cope.

It's hard to manage sometimes, but I need the robe.

If I take it off permanently, mana corruption will eventually melt my organs and make me truly insane.

I have a nice muddy stone that tells me this, many thanks to Anilea. If I take off the robe, my mana corruption starts growing at a noticeable rate. It's supposed to be impossible, but when I put the Ethul back on, the glow will dim to nothing, given enough time. The only thing I know for sure is that this means my miraculous body has absolutely no mana resistance whatsoever. Even the mana in the city is enough to be toxic to me.

Maybe it's because my body is brand new, like a newborn, I can't know.

Thinking about my chances of becoming a Wizard drags my thoughts into a bad place.

My eye gives a slight twitch and then calms down on it's own.

What I do know is that all the danger has pushed enough hormones through me to make the change to my psyche semi-permanent. It doesn't help that the culmination of all my life experience isn't more than half a year. My psyche was susceptible to begin with, and my wild experiences didn't help.

I can't shrug off my life so far and I still don't get along with bearded people, but I've gotten over worrying about it.

I know now that time is the only cure for this particular problem. I've felt part of the cure already.

...

I take a sip of this delicious drink.

Mmm...

Tastes like home.

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