Riloth 19th the 751st

After a brief discussion with Dagmar, we decided that I should return to the Dahn with this rod that appeared the same size and shape as the door handle to our new home, while she explored further down the tunnel. By then, Vortex had purged most of the foul air from the area, and Dagmar could breathe unaided. I Teleported to the surface and ran back towards the Dahn at full Wind Run-enhanced speed.

When I reached the edge we’d climbed earlier, I leapt, casting Wind Jump to slow my descent while pushing me further on. It worked—mostly. I sailed through the air, accelerating at first before my speed leveled out. I must have traveled two feet horizontally for every foot I fell. The ground approached rapidly, and at the last instant, I redirected the wind to come from the front to arrest my speed and avoid tearing myself to bits on impact.

The stopping was abrupt and very unpleasant, but better than the alternative.

Laying in the grass, rubbing my neck, I thought back on the alteration I’d just performed to an active sorcery spell.

How did I do that?

The wind of my spell blew as I lay there. I focused on the thread of my mind that still connected to the Arcane Realm. It felt more substantial than it used to. Before, the thread maintaining a spell felt like—well, it was like walking a dog on a noodle leash. You had to be very careful. If the dog ran away or you slowed down, the noodle would break. If you squeezed too hard, the noodle would break. If you tried to rein in the dog—you guessed it, the noodle would break.

I couldn't change the effect of the spell, because all my efforts went into holding on to the thing just right.

Now, it felt like an honest-to-goodness leather leash. It was easier to hold, harder to break, and—most importantly—strong enough to allow me to direct the dog.

I pulled on the mental thread, and the wind spun around to blow the opposite direction. I twisted it and the intensity lowered. Each time I cast this spell, I set the direction and intensity, but now I could change them on the fly. Each tweak cost a small amount of Will, but that was nothing compared to the initial cost.

This is definitely not supposed to be possible.

I got to my feet, directed my spell to blow the dirt off my back in a focused jet using my newly discovered skill, and then took off toward the Dahn.

As I ran, I continued to experiment. I took larger bounding leaps, increasing my speed in midair while slowing before landing to keep my footing. My pace increased measurably, but the constant Will drain of altering the spell showed this to be unsustainable.

I returned to the Dahn with a comfortable buffer before the reset to find the group sparring in a massively expanded foyer.

"What in the Flood?" I said in awe, mostly to myself.

Before, the entry room of the Dahn had been a round room, fifty feet in diameter. Now the room was cavernous, still a circle but easily two hundred feet across, with a domed ceiling arcing up to the central crystal stalagmite, which too had grown to stretch down half the height of the room. The stained glass window depicting the capture of the Avatar had grown proportionally to the room and was joined with a dozen more, each depicting a significant event in Kaltis or Daulf's life. Many I did not recognize, but one of Daulf locked in combat with a dark twin of himself pointed to what the subject matter of the rest were.

The fountain remained its previous size and was on the far wall from where I'd entered. The stairs were still just to the side of the entryway, and a second unknown door sat opposite the entrance I'd just taken.

"Do you like it?" Daulf asked, clearly proud of the expanded structure.

"How?" I asked, still taking it in.

"I'm not sure. We were eating dinner a few hours back, and I suddenly felt claustrophobic. I pushed and the dining room grew. Whatever had been limiting the Dahn’s sizes had given way and I felt I had much more room to expand.”

He chuckled at his own pun and his laughter echoed in the great chamber.

“I think I might have an idea about that,” I explained, pulling the rod out of my bag.

* * *

Once everyone—save Dagmar—had gathered, I explained what I had found.

“The spider was much larger than expected,” I began.

I described the battle, complete with a graphic description of Dagmar’s battle with the Ian-sized spider.

“Arachnian,” Trish said, interrupting.

“What?” I asked

“Arachnian,” she said again. “You should name the spider Arachnian. Because it's an Ian-sized arachnid.”

“If I had suggested that, you would have made fun of me,” I observed, not disliking the name, only pointing out the hypocrisy.

“Well then it's a good thing I suggested it,” she said.

“Alright, just make sure to tell Dagmar you named it. She’s had enough of my names,” I said and then continued my description.

When I reached the end, I explained the rod.

“This,” I said holding it up, “was found in the spider’s lair, near some bones I suspect to have belonged to a certain missing gnome. I think it’s a part of the Dahn.”

Daulf took the rod from me as I continued.

“Everything in the lair was completely devoid of Will to my sight, but this quickly regained an aura—the mixed sky aura both Daulf and the Dahn share.”

“That explains the massive growth!” Levar shouted, “But how old could this spider have been? Do you think this one killed Ken Tiach Findle all that time ago or this one is a descen—”

I lifted my hand to cut Levar off, “We can look into that later, for now, let's stay on topic. This find suggests we were right with our Primordial detection methodology. If this spider den drew Findle's attention—ignoring the fact it wasn't a Primordial—then we are likely observing the same phenomenon. Also like you said, this explains the growth, and also why Daulf feels more able to expand the Dahn. This rod—whatever it is—was connected to the Dahn, and served as a conduit for Arachnian to drain it of its power.”

“Hmm,” Daulf said, still examining the rod. “I have no idea what this does. It looks like the door handle out front. I wonder...”

Daulf trailed off speaking and walked out the door of the Dahn into the clearing. The campfire we’d kept outside had disappeared, signifying that the reset had occurred and it was safe to go out. Once he was a few paces out, he held the rod up before him and pulled.

A door appeared, fading into existence as Daulf opened it as if he was peeling off a layer of reality showing us the inside of the Dahn behind the veil.

He stepped inside, and then shouted, “Hey!”

His voice came at us from two directions, muffled from the door, and to the left, where he stood inside the Dahn, in front of the second heretofore useless door.

We all did a double take, looking from Daulf’s back outside, and his face to the left.

“Weird,” Bearskin said softly, speaking up for the first time.

“How did you know how to do that?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Daulf said with a shrug, “It just felt right.”

I placed my hand on my satchel where you sat, a little jealous.

It must be nice to have ensouled artifacts that just tell you how they work.

Feel free to reveal more secrets whenever you choose.

No? Okay.

What followed was more experimenting. There seemed no limit to how much we could pass through the door, not that we expected there to be. Everything we tried showed the door to be indistinguishable from the original.

At one point, we pulled a length of rope through the door and gave both ends to Bearskin, who played tug of war with himself. This test, I will admit, had little academic value to it, but it was fun to watch.

When Dagmar arrived back from town, she found us sitting in front of the door, thinking of what else to do.

“Can you close it?” she asked after being brought up to speed.

“I don’t know,” Daulf said.

When he closed the door and then tried pulling the handle out, the door faded, leaving an empty space. He then tried to reopen the door, but it would not appear.

“It seems there is some sort of cooldown period,” he said. “Good thing I never closed that original door. That would have ended poorly.”

“Can you open it up again?” I asked

Daulf tried, but no door appeared.

“Hmm,” he said, looking at the rod in contemplation. “It senses that it will not be ready for some time.”

“Is it an issue of Will?” I asked, activating my Willsight to see the rod’s aura matched Daulf’s in color and intensity.

“No. Not that. It just isn’t ready,” he explained. “I will let you know when it is.”

Oh great, more intuitive understanding of his ensouled artifact I’m not jealous. It's fine.

That ended our experiments for the time being. Levar wanted to see if Daulf could close the remaining door, but no one wanted to risk being trapped in the Dahn until we died of starvation.

Levar began to head towards the stairs to continue his studies, but I called for him to stay. I motioned for him to follow and we went over to where Bearskin was busy lifting large rocks. He’d gathered an array of different stones from the size of my head to the size of a large dog. Using his Primal magic to adhere the stones to his hands, he lifted them in repetitive motions to exercise his muscles. When we reached him, he lay on a bench, holding a small boulder above him as he raised and lowered it repeatedly.

“Do you have time to talk?” I asked him, once he’d set the massive stone aside in the circle of runes Levar had painted on the floor to preserve his collection.

“Yes. What about?” he asked.

“Something is happening with my sorcery,” I explained. “I thought it might have been my arcane signature, but now I think it might be something different. I have too much control over the Font of Air. I can do things with sorcery that ought not be possible.”

“Why do you think I can help?”

“Something Daulf said got me thinking. He mentioned that he could feel the power of your Font when he focused and that he felt something similar—yet weaker—in me.”

He nodded, saving his words as usual. Levar stood visibly restraining himself at the mention of Daulf’s ability to sense Fonts.

“Today I was able to alter the parameters of an Air spell after it had been cast,” I explained.

Levar’s nodding and excited look showed he understood the implications, but Bearskin clearly did not.

“Normally, I change things about a spell when I cast them. I can cast Gust in any direction, or at any power level, but once cast it's fixed and if I need to change it I must cast it again. But now...”

I trailed off at the end, casting Slow Fall on Bearskin. I gave him a moment to get his bearings before the wind’s direction slowly rotated from straight up to sideways and then eventually down. Then, I slowly reduced the wind’s intensity until it cut out completely.

“I can’t make it more powerful than the starting power level, but I can change anything else about it.”

"One moment," he said.

He closed the distance between us, placed his massive hand on my chest, and closed his eyes.

Eyes still shut he said, "You have a connection to something. Not as strong as mine, but most people have none. It feels like those in my tribe who never gain our magic.'

"How do you know that?" I asked.

Bearskin thought for a moment before speaking, “I am not trained in the Bond. I know only a little. I can Bond things, and sense Bonds. A little. Some study the Bond. I am a warrior. Your ability sounds like what our master’s can do. They can Bond to things together, and then change the magic.”

“How does your magic work? How do you learn more—I don’t know what to call them—spells?” I asked.

“We call them Bonds,” he explained

Of course they do.

“Everyone can do this,” he explained, gesturing to the stone’s he’d just adhered to his hands. “Others can do more without training. I can sense Bonds. All other Bonds are learned through study, practice and sharing.”

“But how do they practice?” I asked. “Sorcery just comes to me in moments of need, but this... it's like parts of the spells I know become highlighted in my mind. Normally the spell is just a whole unknowable thing, but then suddenly I recognize a part of it and know that I can change it.”

“To study Bonds, we make what you called a ‘mental vault.’ We call it the Boundry. For them, the Font of Bonds is all around. Some people see houses or beaches. Most only see the Font. They practice forming Bonds here. They see the Bonds, like knots. They know what will and won't work, but must practice. Many many many years of practice. Making Bonds is like a muscle. Knowing how is not enough if you are too weak."

I sat thinking over his description and comparing it to my own experience.

"I don't know what any of these things will do until I try," I said, voicing my thoughts aloud. "But if what I'm doing is similar, why can I do it at all? My ability sounds more like what your experienced Bond-maker-people do. But, this is new. I'm not practiced."

Bearskin laughed, as if I'd told a joke.

"It is muscle. You—" he paused to reach over and gently rap his knuckles on my head, "—use the muscle. You make spells, so you can make Bonds—no, Airs?"

He shook his head, dismissing the term.

"Primal spells?" Levar suggested, to which Bearskin gave a noncommittal shrug.

He continued, "If I practice swinging my club, I get better swinging a sword too. If I lift rocks, I can better lift ogres. Muscles do many things."

"So, you're saying that all my training in wizardry and sorcery carries over to manipulating the power of the Font of Air?"

"No," came Trish's voice cutting through the conversation.

I turned to see her approaching, walking away from where she'd been sparring with Roland, both magical weapons in hand.

When she got closer she continued, "Uncle says you're not using the Font of Air."

I stood speechless.

Not using the Font of Air? What kind of nonsense is this? Of course, it's the Font of Air. Right?

Levar spoke my thoughts for me, "What else could it be?"

Trish shrugged, looking from an empty patch of air and back to us.

"He says he doesn't know but that your spell didn't draw upon the Font of his mistress Waas. But, he did say he sensed her power in it. But, he also said that was weird and he never saw it before, and that he doesn't know how he managed to get a stick up on his butt when he was only made of air."

At the last line, a gust of wind pushed Trish back a step.

"Alright," she said, raising her hands before her, not empty of weapons. "I may have added that last part."

She stopped to listen again and added, "He says your soul has the potential to connect to a Font, like Bearskin's, but it's only a little connected. He called you 'half a Primal that someone nudged next to a strange Font to see what would happen.' Now he's muttering something about Riloth and Illunia's meddling.

“A strange Font?” I asked, looking from Trish to Levar—Trish as a proxy for her Celestial companion, for her tone showed she had no interest or knowledge in the subjects in question. “What was the last time a Font was discovered?”

Levar was quick to answer, “The Font of Community was discovered in 53 AF by Master Wizard Harin and Lidia Oakcrest. Before that, a new Font hadn’t been discovered in over a hundred years.”

“That’s a long time. Why did the discoveries stop?” I asked Levar,

“They likely stopped because we found all the Fonts. They were difficult to find, but not that difficult. If any still exist unknown to us, they are Fonts of aspects of reality that have no representation here on Kaltis for us to use as a line on their location.”

“Community doesn’t seem like something that would take forever to find,” I observed.

He nodded in agreement.

“Yes, it is actually speculated that the Font wasn’t found until recently because it didn’t exist until recently. There is, of course, no evidence to support this claim, but it is a theory.”

“Fonts can’t be created, right? The gods aren’t doing that sort of thing anymore,” I looked to Trish and asked uncertainly, “Right?”

She waited a moment before repeating her Celestial companion’s words, “No, they are not doing that anymore. He doesn’t think they can be created. He says only the gods had the power to do so and if they aren't then no one can.”

“What was that thing about Riloth?” I asked.

Trish let out a sigh, clearly getting tired of her role as interpreter.

“Uncle Windy Pants says that your soul has been meddled with. It had the pieces to potentially make you a Primal, but you weren’t one. You also had a Blessing from Riloth. Now the Blessing is gone, but parts of it were used to build up your Primal connection, and that amalgamation is nestled up next to the draconic part of your soul. Your soul anchor has been moved as well.”

Before I could ask any of a dozen questions, Trish held up her hand, “He’s explaining stuff, cool it.”

After a short pause, she continued, delivering celestial revelation on the nature of magic and souls in the bored tone of a child reciting a school lesson.

“Someone—he thinks Illunia—messed with your soul. They tried to make it more like his”—she pointed to Bearskin—”and used a Blessing and your draconic bloodline to do it. Blessings are the only means by which the gods can interact with souls, and they can only do so if the soul recognizes and accepts the changes they are imparting.”

At a pause, I asked, “What about ‘soul anchors?’”

“He’s surprised you don’t know the term. He says that when you open a path to the Arcane Realm from your soul, the location you appear in is your soul anchor. Bearskins is inside the Font of Bonds, but yours is very close to this other Font. Unnaturally close, with signs that it was moved.”

“I was wondering about that,” I said, looking to Levar now, “Some time back, near the start of the resets, I noticed that my bridge opened up to what I thought was the Font of Air. I asked you about it but you didn’t have any information. So, if this isn’t the Font of Air, what is it?”

“It seems to me that all your spells involve moving air around. Wind?” Levar suggested.

Levar and I debated the idea for a while, during which Trish and Bearskin left us to pursue activities more suited to their own inclinations. In the end, we settled on calling it the Font of Wind for the time being, until a better idea presented itself through further manifestations of the Font’s power.

It did fit—assuming it's possible for new Fonts to exist. My mother was surprised by both the proficiency I showed in ‘Air magic’ before a knack ought to have manifested, and was surprised I could not learn Water Breathing—a notoriously easy spell for sorcerers to unlock after gaining access to the Font of Air.

I kept coming back to the same question, “But where did this Font come from?”

The gods made the original Fonts by isolating concepts from the ones that came before it, and as such, each Font was connected to at least one other. In my studies in the Dahn, I learned that traditional wizards used these connections to focus their magic in areas in which they could easily discover spell paths from their ‘soul anchors’ to the necessary Font. A mage who could easily cast Light magic would be able to cast Darkness, and Energy spells, energy being the parent of Light, and Light the parent of Darkness.

“By bridge opens up to this new Font,” I said, thinking it through aloud. “And I am able to devise Force spells with greater ease than any other Font. Which one is the parent? ‘Wind’ or ‘Force?’”

We sat in silence for a moment—we’d long ago taken seats on Bearksin’s boulders—before Levar jumped up in excitement.

“Parents!” he said as if it explained it all.

I gestured for him to elaborate.

“Parents!” he said again, “children have two parents!”

I repeated the gesture, but I thought I knew where he was going.

“The Font of Wind is derived from the combining of two Fonts. Air and Force! Apply force to air and what do you get? Wind!”

“That... actually fits. But is this possible? Who could have done such a thing?” I asked.

“I have no idea, but I’d love to meet them—unless it was Erebog or Bilieth.” he said, and then added quickly. “Or a demon, or Faust, or a fae.”

We ran to Trish with our theory, who was not happy to be woken for more “magic mumbo jumbo” but relayed to us that her celestial didn’t think our idea wasn’t entirely without merit, though he insisted still that only the gods had enough Will to do such a thing.

“So, now what?” Levar asked me as he ate the cold remains of dinner Daulf had made as we’d talked.

“I don’t know. Nothing? If we can find some Air spells I can test the theory, but aside from that, it doesn't change much about my wizardry. Sorcery though... if I have some small bit of Bearskin’s people’s control, I need to stop worrying about thinking about what should and shouldn’t be possible with sorcery and just see what I can do. Worst case scenario I just die, and that's only inconvenient.”