“It’s really quite simple, friend Symeon. Each element and each esoteric is aligned with either order or chaos. As humans, we are inherently chaotic, and thus find Fire, Water, Presence and Momentum to be natural fits. Especially Water.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would Water be chaos but Air be order? Why are Humans better with Water?”

“Because Gods, friend Symeon. When in doubt, the answer is because Gods.”

Symeon finished roasting a Lasle nut with a maintained field of Fire, and handed one of the three portions over to Istroama. “Seems damn arbitrary ta me.”

“Yes! You understand!”

“Yeah, naw. I’d say it’s all gibberish but here I am, cookin’ lunch by starin’ hard at it.”

Istroama pointed at Symeon with his uneaten chunk of Lasle nut, a rising fervor in his eyes. “This is just the beginning. We haven’t even delved into complexities, yet. That was my specialty! And with you having unfettered access across the spectrum, we should be able to come up with some cantrips that make up for your limited output.”

“Complexities. What like mixin’ stuff? Fire and Water to make steam or somethin’?”

“Well, yes, you can do that, but that’s not what I mean. Each type of magic has a secondary aspect, a complexity. I would say the complexities are where real power comes from. I myself focused on the complexities of Fire and Water, being Energy and Time. Oh, nothing like stacking multiple explosions in a temporal fragment! Drains the old mana pool dry, but a fine way to reduce the foe to scattered epidermis."

There it was again. This affable, pudgy little hairless man, now less hairless with a day of stubble built up, would reference lethal mayhem with the same casual tone as discussing the flavor of the water supply. "Yeah, naw, we don't need ta be blowin' anything up. Let's talk walls. I get I can't just make a wall outta nothin', but I can shape one outta stuff I had ta hand?"

"Oh yes. Just a matter of how you wanted to do it, really."

"Okay. Let's say a mound of earth. I just drag some over to where I want to build, then use magic to make sure it stays up after I turn off the mana?"

"Correct."

"Then we got two jobs today. I need to build us a village so we can let those poor bastards back at the beach loose, and we need to see if we can unlock your magic too."

"I say, I do like that! How shall we proceed?"

------

Istroama did not, in fact, like that once presented with the fine details.

Symeon had pointed out three things he had done the day before that Istroama had not. First, the duel against the Imp known as Flappy. Second, releasing Istroama from a chrysalis. Third, keeping guard through the night by the fire. Istroama had no objection to avoiding that fearful 'sleep' experience again, and releasing a chrysalis was not something Istroama could do.

Thus, while Symeon experimented with shaping soil into hillocks with magic, Istroama had been sent to the beach with the task of "gettin’ some blood on it". There were assurances that if the screams got too loud Symeon would cone running, but these were made as Symeon was engrossed with the complexities of Water, Earth, and Presence. Water to Time, Earth to Growth, and Presence to Life, Symeon was using all three in various degrees to grow and shape plants among the mounds of soil.

“Naw, yeah, it’ll be fine. If yer not back in an hour I’ll come lookin’. Now get. I’m on ta somethin’ here.” This all said without making eye contact, utterly focused on a Lasle sapling that was visibility growing under his attention.

So it was Istroama found himself trudging toward the beach, a spear of mana-shaped wood clutched in his manipulators… hands… and a vague unease in his heart. It was not so bad as when he had gone into the forest alone, but regardless Istroama found his form reacting in unexplained ways. Sudden quivers, moisture gathering on his exterior, the tiny follicle nubs on his limbs puckering uncomfortably. His body was a traitor against his intent, but he steeled his will against these anomalies and went forth in search of a worthy foe.

He also completely failed to notice Symeon following him at a distance. To be fair, Symeon was using the complexity of Air, Knowledge, to enhance his senses in support of that distance. He had no intention of having Istroama go out alone, but wanted his companion to feel some level of stress in case that too was a factor in activating magic. Thus, Symeon stalked behind, ready to intervene if matters escalated badly.

Istroama wandered up the beach, stopping at times to observe the unchanged Chrysalises and the floating node of Fire out over the water. The Fire node was a source of interest not just to Istroama, as the waters beneath it fairly frothed with strange life. Misshapen things reached out to bask in the heat and power, only to be pulled beneath the waves by other beasts with the same yearning.

A good start, but not the goal. The creatures seemed thoroughly enamored of the node, and Istroama’s presence was doing nothing to change that. Istroama took some time to gather some varied stones, and then completely failed to hurl those same stones with any semblance of accuracy or distance. That is when the cursing started, as Istroama began to vent his frustrations with the situation and the world at large with increasing aggression and volume. His vitriol drifted toward the gods; with surprise and satisfaction he noted one of the larger Imps pausing to consider Istroama.

“Oh, you didn’t like that, did you? Your gods are bad and you should feel bad! Unfettered Chaos gives suboptimal results!” Istroama snarled and kicked some sand as he drew a deep breath. “THE FAR DWELLER IS DAMP AND UNPLEASANT AND DIFFICULT TO TAKE SERIOUSLY!”

“Oh, yes, that’s high quality blasphemy there”, Istroama chortled to himself as that large Imp peeled away from the churn and pulled rapidly through the waves toward shore. Istroama took up his spear with glee. So much of this new world was unfathomably alien, often horrific, but violence? Violence was a universal constant he understood very well.

Symeon was still well back, using senses enhanced by the complexity of Air, Knowledge. This gave him a better view of what approached, and seeing it Symeon began to close the distance just in case. He had seen these writhing things on the long-gone carcass after he first woke. As before, it resembled a serpent’s tongue that was forked on both ends, laden with insectoid legs like a centipede, though this specimen was twice as long as the meter-length one he had seen before. It slithered on the surface of the water like a snake, the multitude of limbs tucked close to its body.

As the Fleshripper Imp cleared the churning foam, Istroama had his spear at the ready, guiding the tip with the lightest of movements from the butt of the weapon. The tip danced before the Fleshripper like the reflection in a mirror, faltering only when Istroama tried some experimental leaps back. Each time the result seemed unsatisfactory to him, as if he expected to go much further than he did. Soon enough he set his heel in the sand and began essaying a series of short, sharp jabs toward the creature’s swaying mandibles, resulting in aggressive bites toward the spearhead. This did not last long. Istroama lunged in to meet one of these bites and the Fleshripper came away twisting in pain as the point gouged deeply. There was no hesitation in Istroama’s pursuit, lancing into the upper segments of the carapace and out the other side. The beast found itself skewered on the sand, thrashing in agony against the spear to no avail. Istroama kept it pinned until the thrashing faded to twitching and then grew still.

Symeon found himself in that same mental space he had reached before regarding Istroama; the man seemed naive, almost foolishly upbeat, and then he would exercise lethal mayhem without a hint of hesitation. It was both impressive and frightening, and now he found himself in the position of having to decide what to do next. He decided honesty was the best policy, and went down to meet Istroama.

“We can sure check killin’ an Imp off the list. Ya hardly broke a sweat on that thing.” Istroama beamed with pride as Symeon continued on. “Only thing I’d say is ya gotta double-tap.”

“Double-tap?”

“Give it one more stab to make sure it’s not playin’ dead. These things are treacherous, the one that came after me tried to stick me in the back after it was downed.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Seeing to the survivors.” Istroama withdrew his spear and drove it into the head of the creature, splitting it open with a wet crack but eliciting no reaction from the corpse.

Symeon flinched at the sound of the blow. “Wow. Yeah, naw, I wouldn’t put it that way, but you’re right.”

“Maybe I should hunt another Imp, just to be sure. What do you think?”

“I dunno. I mean, if we could get some useful bits off these things, maybe, but I can’t think much of a use for any of this thing I couldn’t just slap together with magic. I’m not about to eat it, that’s for sure, we got plenty of food at camp.”

“I say, there’s a point. What are you doing here? You said you would be working at the camp?”

“I did, ‘n I did. Work’s done to my satisfaction, ‘n it didn’t seem right lettin’ ya go off on yer own. Used Air to stretch my senses ‘n keep an eye on ya in case ya bit off more than ya could chew. Not that ya needed any help, in the end.”

“Well, that was very good of you to worry about my well-being, friend Symeon. Let’s be off! I do want to see what you got up to at camp.”