Book 5: Chapter 5 - Replacement (RAW)

In the name of the Goddess, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.

And the heavens wept, and in their sorrow was found the means to sweep away the den of perfidy that was Ansan. So the rains of the holy deluge descended without cease, washing away the sinners, cleansing them of their rejection of Avaria's Herald and Prophet, peace be upon him.

- The New Surahs by Cordelia de Aserac.

Finally giving up, I drew my friend's blood myself. One of the healers had wanted to do it, but I took the physician's place. They told me they needed to "make room" for other liquids, such as health potions they wished to force down his gullet as a last-ditch attempt to save his life. There was no hope in their eyes; they were only mechanically going about their duties. What hope did they have of success when I had failed?

At least this way, I would know when my friend passed from this world into whatever awaited him. Was there a digital version of heaven and hell for NPCs? A more guilty thought intruded: what if this was all real? As quickly as the thought came, I tried to push it down, attributing it to my grieving process... but why was I grieving if none of this was real? No, it wouldn't do me well to dwell on such thoughts, for down that road lay a path to dark madness.

There was no therapy to be had here, no soft counseling from someone pretending to care. All I had was myself to push through this.

I would express whatever I felt in a healthy and productive manner. And... and... when the dust settled, I would pay the man the respect he deserved, I concluded to myself.

Smiling grimly, I ran a hand over Enkidu’s equipment. He must have taken a liking to the gear we had gotten for him in Ansan, for the general configuration remained similar, though a little heavier. Thicker and more protective. His heavy shield-gauntlet brought a bitter smile to my face; this one was made from a hardened monster’s shell and thick enamel. My smile grew more bitter as I remembered his original steel one and its maker. Perhaps she now lay beneath the waters of the great flood that had come to the Grass Sea.

Maudlin thoughts, the kind old men indulge in. I’d have time enough to reminisce once this day’s business was done. I left the room where my friend lay dying and picked up Enkidu’s hewing spear. Strange, the way it felt in my hands; just the right length for him, but in mine, it was almost a short pike. Ungraciously, the spear’s head nearly scraped the door as I left—a bad omen.

Or so I would have felt if I were a superstitious dolt.

They tried to stop me. Farzan’s men, their armor shining and clean, warned me of the savage storm that had come—an unnatural tempest of sharp sand scouring the city in its manifest anger. I was tempted to simply push through when I heard a scampering of feet accompanied by the clickety-clack of wood striking upon stone.

I turned around. Coming down the corridor was a woman approaching me at a brisk pace, followed by a bedraggled one-legged beggar on rickety wooden crutches. Without warning, she suddenly stopped and prostrated herself on the marble floor a spear’s length away from me, her head touching the cool stone. The beggar looked like he wanted to do the same but instead settled for a deep nod of his head.

It seemed the world had the temerity to conspire to stop me when all I wanted was to leave. If only I could forget her name—a thing my Identify spell would simply not allow, for that spell seared fact and raw truth into memory.

It was the girl whose incompetent brother I had killed at the Festival. She was Imani, who was once Melis. My holiness had changed the very fiber of her being.

With all the grace I could muster, I deigned to address her, giving an automatic and polite greeting. Inwardly, as I went over the words, I sneered because, for all that I had helped Imani, she would no doubt want something more. Everybody did...

"...the greatest joy in my life is serving you, Her Herald, your holiness," she prattled on, her gaze fixed on the floor, a small inflection in her voice forcing my attention back to the present.

"And how have you served me this day, Imani?" I asked, my voice flat and even. "And... how did you find me here?"

"As you have commanded, I have brought one who is deserving of your healing light. The Goddess guides my steps in all things," she answered matter-of-factly.

So this was how the game was justifying its scripted events, the holes in its narrative that would not make sense. The stars aligning and the convenience of it all. It was a miracle that this woman, with a pathetic beggar in tow, had somehow made it through the Salahaem estate right up to me... where skilled assassins and treachery had failed. In this, the game, the world, the system or whatever it was, would label this simply as providence. The stars aligning at the correct conjunction.

A spike of rage, heavy and hot, threatened to overcome me. Like the prophets and holy men of yore, I mentally shook my fist at the heavens. Where was providence when I needed it? Why were miracles wasted on wastrels like these? Why did my own miracles not work when I wanted them to? My friend had just crossed the Shallow River…

Truly vexed beyond belief, I was about to turn around—the electrical signals already being sent from my brain to my muscles—when, as if sensing my thoughts, it happened. A notification in bold script blazed its way across my inner vision, demanding in its message.

New Quest: Heal the Veteran of the Pale Wars

It was most obnoxious. Truly, this world had decided to do away with the veneer of subtlety. In a fit of pique, I almost rejected the quest to thumb my nose at the powers that be. But something held me back—the cold, calculating part of me lured by the promise of its reward: more power. I will obey you, if you will reward me, I thought. For now, at least.

In that moment, I felt like a trained dog as I mentally accepted the quest.

The universe, as if acknowledging my choice, displayed another message.

I had killed my friend. I had slain...

One thing I had learned from him was that the people of the North added to their names through their own acts, their names growing longer as others recognized their valorous deeds.

Enkidu's death notification read like a saga of old tales: Protector of this, Slayer of that, Something's Bane, Beacon of Hope, and Breaker of Iron Chains, among many others. The long list went on and on—a litany of the man's varied and great accomplishments. Things that I had been a part of were there, I was sure, but the tale his death told was that for much of his life, real or otherwise, I had little part to play. Except for one, the most important one, at least to me: Keeper of a Life Debt. Enkidu had always been true when this world had been nothing more than a basket full of lies and deceit.

Even if he was not real, he had been a great character. A man among men. He had, quite literally, stool tall.

I read every word, burning each syllable into my heart and vowing to myself to give him the greatest funeral pyre. He would not go alone into the afterlife; of that I was sure.

"Imani, girl, are you sure he's all right?" the beggar asked, his voice edged with uncertainty.

"Shh... Harun," Imani chided softly. "He is communing with the Goddess." Her voice seemed distant, echoing from somewhere far away, calling me back to myself.

Harun... The name stirred something within me, a memory from another time and place.

"I have received a revelation," I declared. "You who hold so little faith in your heart, bear witness with your body and soul to the mercy of the Goddess."

"Here it comes..." Harun muttered under his breath.

"Harun, veteran of the Pale Wars," I said, letting each word resonate, more statement than question.

Imani shot him a proud yet slightly offended look. "See? The Goddess knows and provides all. Her Herald and Prophet will heal you as he healed me," she proclaimed, her pride evident.

"Broken by the cruelty and sins of war, yet you shall be made anew. I judge you worthy," I announced theatrically.

A paradoxical joy welled up within me—both intrinsic and separate. The song of Greater Heal, a melody my soul had sung countless times, leapt at the chance for redemption. It was its purpose.

Holy light enveloped me, a golden kyrie eleison, a miracle made manifest. The song broke free, tearing past the confines of my silent casting. The guards, once so cocksure, gazed in awe, realizing they stood in the presence of the divine.

There was a surge as it poured forth—a great tide that took something from me, channeling it into the broken man. Before our eyes, like the budding of spring, his leg regrew, his back straightened. The lines etched by hardship softened, the shadows of war around his eyes fading under the golden assault of healing energies.

It was a display of power, a restoration of balance within myself—a reassurance that I held both the power to deal death and to heal the very fabric of the world.

How it worked, I did not know. It was enough to know that it still did.

This spell was not about Harun. No, it was about proving to myself that I retained some control over my circumstances when gods threatened to take that away. This was my mujizah, my miracle presented to those who would deny it.

"Avaria's tits, I can walk! I have a bloody new leg!" Harun exclaimed, his smile stretching from ear to ear.

He cast aside his crutches, hopping and dancing like a youth in springtime. His joy was infectious; even the guards applauded the miracle, taken aback by the display. They had become reverent.

Imani got up from the floor, nodding to herself as if she had just witnessed nothing more than an every day fact.

The feeling was short-lived. My friend had died, and with his passing, I had received his experience—a cold comfort in the face of such a loss. The song that once resonated within me began to fade, and with it, the promise of its hope. Yet, a small ember remained, glowing faintly in the darkness of my grief. Still hot, it strummed its fingers across the chords of my soul, the place where the spell resided, making me feel less hollow, if only by a fraction.

"Lord Herald, my name is Harun..." the former beggar began, falling to his knees in abject gratitude, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"Harun was the man you were. No... you are Abdaladil now, Servant of Justice," I declared, my voice echoing with the fading notes of the song, each word carrying the weight of newfound purpose.

You have gained 1 Charisma.

You have learned Greater Heal (lvl.5)

A bitter laugh escaped my lips at the cruel irony of the notification, for a part of me knew that had this power come but a few hours earlier, I might have been able to save my friend. The part of me that was intrinsic to my being, yet separate. The thought pierced me like a rusty nail, and my emotions tumbled from the heights of anger into a new pit of sorrow.

There was worry in the eyes of the witnesses of the miracle for my emotions writ plain for all to see seemed to them as changeable as the weather. There was a worry that their prophet was lost to the mad, for those touched by the gods often were. Their ways were as inscrutable as the Divines they worshipped. Or so I assumed.

“Tell me, my new servant, what were you when you were just Harun?” I asked, my voice tired and resigned. 

“My Lord Herald,” he answered as he came to attention, spine ramrod straight. “Before in a different life, I was a military man. As a general, strategy and tactics were my path.”

“You speak as if you were on the path of the Mana,” I replied, growing tired already of shallow boasts.

“My exploits could have only been called magical, forgive my bluntness, your holiness,” he declared proudly, an old pride bestirring itself in his voice. I closed my eyes. “And to find yourself on the streets… as you were,” I questioned, opening my eyes and pointing to his dirty rags.

“I was famed throughout the Grieving Lands and beyond… until my first grave mistake.” The so-called former general’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you were all-knowing, your holiness…”

Imani’s fist answered this. “Do not test the Herald!” she chastised, punching his shoulder. He must have felt this, for he gave out an almost womanly cry. Her brother must have taught her a little of his limited skill.

“I have never said I am omniscient, Abdaladil. Only the Goddess is,” I rebuked with a thin-lipped smile. “And, those were Imani’s words, not mine.

He “A habit from my old days as a soldier, I ask your forgiveness…”

“You will find forgiveness by serving as best you can here, for the Salahaem… Let us see the truth of your words. There are two Dragons without a suitable commander. Make yourself available to them,” I commanded. Damn, providence forcing me to take up its scraps.

“You there!” I barked out at Farzan’s men who immediately stopped gaping and stood to attention. “Bring this man to Calder and Damien. If he is as qualified as he is, I am sure they will welcome him.”

The Divines giveth… and the Divines taketh away.

“I will be in my rooms… I will be fasting and in contemplation. Have no one disturb me unless you wish to blue marble stained with crimson,” I ordered, my voice heavy restrained sorrow.

The path of vengeance temporarily closed, I needed time alone.