Freezing Shadows, Chapter 53

Chapter 53: Introductions

Thankfully, the beliefs of the Conclave were fairly straightforward. As combat mages who specialized in magic and blades, members were expected to, well, be proficient in magic and blades. This meant pursuing knowledge of magic, and martial prowess with both spells and blades. Or, in other words, after initiating, I would have to bring my Astral Combat, Blades, and Spellcasting skills to within one point of each other before I could initiate again.

Templar confirmed that while my Astral Combat was lagging behind my Blades and Spellcasting skills, that would not be a problem for my initial Initiation. However, that was something I’d have to fix, and soon. Unfortunately, the only way to fix it was through karma, which meant I’d be busy doing jobs.

Other customs included a sparring tournament held four times a year, which determined one’s ranking within the group until the next tournament. Basically, it was mainly for bragging rights, and being the ‘first amongst equals’. Nominally, the First Blade of the Conclave was the leader of the group, but trying to lord it over the others was a good way to get oneself exiled, or dead. They were all combat mages, after all.

Attendance at the tournaments was considered mandatory. Missing one would not only have your rank be set at the bottom, but you’d have to work off the ‘debt’ to the group somehow, in order to not interfere with the karmic bond holding the group together. There was some wiggle room for extenuating circumstances, but not much.

This was especially true since anyone joining the group took a magically binding Oath to uphold the strictures and customs of the group. Missing a meeting counted as breaking the oath, which made it twice as bad for keeping joined to the group. So, it was always best to make sure you were at the meetings.

Less troubling was the ‘fraternity’ stricture. Basically, the Conclave would have my back, if I needed them, so I was expected to have their back, in turn. If one of them needed something, I needed to help out to the best of my ability if they asked. Simple to understand, potentially troubling if someone got themselves in too deep, but a reassurance that someone other than just my team would be looking out for me.

Of course, there was always the possibility of betrayal. No one liked to talk about it, but everyone knew that sometimes things soured in a group, or someone made a bad choice, that compounded and kept getting worse. To help prevent that, members of the group offered a vial of their blood, to be kept in the Conclave’s headquarters behind wards. This blood could be used in rituals as a material link, allowing anyone in the group to strike at a betrayer, no matter how far they ran.

In return? The Conclave offered help with initiating, as I already knew, and access to the headquarters building. The warehouse wasn’t flashy, but with my being the tenth member of the Conclave, it only cost 500 nucred a month, for each of the members. Oh, and there was the fact that the Magical Lodge, or ritual space, was top tier. At Rating 9, it was the most powerful lodge I’d seen outside of corporate magical research setttings. I knew there were more powerful ones out there, but they were all property of higher-end magical groups, or Dragons and their ilk.

As we talked, Templar set about drawing the sample of blood. A quick cut on the palm, and dripping into the vial before it was stoppered and put in the locked and warded refrigerator with the other material links. A simple spell to heal the wound. No problem.

By the time that was done, the other members had begun to answer the call, eager to come and meet the newest member of the Conclave. The first to arrive was, coincidentally, the First Blade of the Conclave, an Asian woman, human, probably Japanese, by the look of her, or at least Japanese descent. She was wearing a lined coat not unlike my own, but her weapons were different. I saw a katana and wakizashi in a daishō arrangement on her right hip, a bow hanging from her back on a sling, and a quiver of arrows on her left hip.

“I am Sakane Suki, known as Miko, for I am a priestess at the corporate shrine in the Manzoku Corporation’s headquarters here in Seattle. As First Blade of the Conclave, I welcome you. Like Templar, here, I am guided by the Dark Goddess, but follow the Shinto faith and tradition.”

Her tone was welcoming, and she bowed in a traditional greeting, but I could see her evaluating me. I answered her bow with one of my own, and introduced myself. “I am Mirikon Mollen, known as Iceblade. Shark guides my hunt, and I follow the path of the Swordmage, though it is little known outside my homeland of Ola Serin.”

“Interesting,” Miko smiled. “We have another of the Conclave who follows that path, though I am sure you and she walk it differently. Are you also, shall we say, ‘forcibly displaced’ by the recent changes in your homeland?”

That was surprising. The game lore for the Swordmage tradition that I’d made was that it was a lesser-known tradition, practiced primarily by more martially-focused nobles within the country. Anyone practicing it needed to pick up martial arts (preferably Carromeleg, the elven martial art), and take a Geas that limited their magic when not holding a blade. They also tended to use fetishes to reduce the cost of casting their spells in combat, but it wasn’t required.

There was a chance that this practitioner was a Beta Tester, like I was, but I counted it as a minor possibility. Even with the bonuses I’d gotten, including the bump in Karma from fighting a dragon, I wasn’t sitting on a wealth of Karma. So, it wasn’t likely that another player had gotten to an initiate group and initiated yet.

That meant the character was an NPC, another noble who escaped Ola Serin during the revolution. I’d have to be on my toes around them. They probably wouldn’t have any connection to my ‘family’, but you never knew.

“Indeed? That is a surprise,” I said, diplomatically. “I was a lower-ranked member of my family, which made leaving prudent. Some of the others did not survive the revolution, but I know some of the family remains there, since they spent their power and wealth wisely.”

“Do you think you’ll return?”

“Not likely, at least not anytime soon. I’ve made a living for myself here in Seattle, after all. And crossing contentious borders is a pain, at the best of times.”

Templar laughed at that. “Too true. Especially since the borders haven’t loosened any. They’re still tight as ever, from what I’ve been told, despite the change in government.”

“Oy, what’s this, now?” Another voice cut in, speaking with a heavy accent that would have been called Irish, back in the real world. I turned, and saw a red-haired elf walking toward us, a rapier hanging at his side. “Ye must be the new Blade, eh? Name’s Scott Murtagh, from the wonderful land of Ola Tarin, and the Path of the Wheel be my calling, along with the Phoenix. Though some be callin’ me Demon, thanks to me habit of using some nasty Health spells to take down those who are being a problem. Fifth Blade of the Conclave, and all that. Who might ye be, then?”

I shook the offered hand, and introduced myself, as I had before. Ola Tarin was the other elven country, in what used to be Ireland, so the hair and accent made sense. The Path of the Wheel was also a magical tradition almost exclusively practiced by the elves of Ola Tarin, and even in that country few non-elves were brought into the tradition. The few who tried usually got ‘encouraged’ to shift their beliefs. By force, if necessary.

“Ach, another noble from Ola Serin?” Demon sighed dramatically. “Countess’ll be insufferable now that there’s another of her ‘people’ here.”

“Don’t say that, Demon,” laughed a man who just entered. He was a metavariant (or subspecies) of Human called a Nartaki. Bright blue skin, and four arms, to say they were distinctive was an understatement, putting it mildly. They were also incredibly fucking rare, even in their homeland of the Indian Union. Less than five thousand, worldwide, and most of them kept under the thumb of the Brahmin caste. Seeing one in Seattle was understandably rare.

The man wore an armored vest, and had a pair of monofilament swords hanging from his waist, with a shotgun slung across his back. But before I could consider his fighting style more, he gave a martial salute with both sets of arms, and said in a thick accent, “I am Roodra Sanyal, known as Prodigy to some, Third Blade of the Conclave. The Hindu faith is my tradition, though I rebel against the castes and the restrictions of the priesthood by coming here, and the Dragonslayer guides my hand. It is good to have another man in the Conclave, even if we are still outnumbered.”

I introduced myself again, and said, “I’m surprised you were able to escape the priesthood. I only know a little about your people, but they are supposed to be quite controlling.”

“Yes, well, I had some help,” Prodigy admitted. “I bargained with Mars Industries, letting them run some tests on me, to try and determine the baselines for my kind, in hopes of targeting future products. It did help me in developing my fighting style, however. The benefit of having four arms is that I can have a shotgun ready and aimed, even while wielding a pair of blades, allowing me to adapt quickly to changing situations.”

“Brutal, and effective,” I nodded. “I like it.”

“You want brutal and effective, you got it, little man,” a troll laughed as he ducked through the doorway. Trolls were unusual as Magicians, since their metatype restricted some of their mental attributes in return for their impressive three-meter height and physical capabilities. But it made sense that, if there was a troll mage, they’d be a Combat Mage.

This troll had an armored jacket (the heavier version of a lined coat), and form-fitting armor underneath, along with some extra protection strapped on. He could probably go toe to toe with Berzerker in the ‘taking a hit’ department. And the massive two-handed claymore on his back said that he could dish out the pain, as well.

“Daniel Cooke,” he said, “Puyallup native and Fourth Blade of the Conclave. I’m a scholar of the Hermetic tradition, but Wolf found me, and sees to it that I keep up with the pack. Some call me Crusher.”

“Crusher, but you use a blade?”

Crusher shrugged. “People see a troll, and they think big brute smashing things. So, I ran with it.”

“Fair enough,” I nodded. “Better than something annoying like ‘Tiny’, or something outright insulting, like some people get named.”

“Well, now,” came another new voice from the door. It belonged to a bald woman with ashen skin, a slightly elongated jaw, and fingernails that looked like claws. She made no secret about armor, wearing form-fitting body armor under a shirt of chain links, with additional protections strapped on over it. Her eyes were covered with a white film, indicating that she was nearly blind, at least in the physical world. But I knew she had no problem finding her way around. She was a ghoul, after all, and they were dual-natured, like Boomer, the Naga, and were just as dangerous on both planes.

She smiled, revealing a maw full of sharp teeth. It was a predatory smile for a predatory creature, and I had to smile in turn. Sure, her weapons were just a katana and shortsword at her hips, a big revolver in a shoulder holster, and her claws, but that didn’t change the fact that she was a predator, for sure. Shark stirred, and I already knew that we were similar in some ways.

“Such a scrumptious addition to the team,” she continued. “My government name might be Eliza Green, but everyone that matters calls me Huntress. Seventh Blade of the Conclave. Like Crusher, I follow the Hermetic school, and Shark is pleased with my hunts.”

I nodded to her, before doing my own introduction. After the same spiel I’d given a few times, I grinned, “And yes, I thought my Shark recognized a fellow hunter when you walked in. I think we’ll get along just fine, though I may want to invest in some spells to sterilize and decontaminate things. No offense.”

“None taken,” she chuckled. “Most people aren’t so calm about this.”

“I work on the principle that I’m not going to harsh on anyone else’s business unless and until it starts affecting me and mine. My sword arm is only so long. No sense trying to take on the entire world.”

“Wow, the new guy is already buddy-buddy with Huntress? That’s gotta be a new record!” That voice belonged to a human woman with a simple lined coat and reinforced bike helmet as armor, and armed with monofilaments sword, a long knife, and a machine pistol. “Lydia Hoffman, better known as Sparrow, and I’m Sixth Blade of the Conclave. Hedge witch, bruja, or whatever you want to call it, doesn’t matter to me. Lion’s my guide, so don’t start anything unless you want to hear this Sparrow roar.”

“Don’t forget about me,” another woman said as she stepped in just after Sparrow. Human, with a lined coat, monofilament sword, long knife, and I recognized the grip of a Nemesis Arms Praetorian, like the one I had, sticking out of her holster. She also had a distinctive leather collar around her neck with a black gemstone on a silver setting just over her throat. “This Black Magic woman will chew you up and spit you out if you don’t take me seriously, just like the Dark Goddess demands. Ninth Blade of the Conclave, Amira Cox, though I prefer Nemesis.”

Nemesis smirked as she advanced, dropping one hand to grab my ass. “And it is about time we had some more eye candy in here. Oh, Crusher is fine for the big gun, Demon’s got a wonderful tongue, and Prodigy is a prodigy with all those hands, but they aren’t pretty like a dark-haired elf.”

“Ignore her,” Miko said, chuckling. “Or don’t. Nemesis has a Geas requiring her to have sex to maintain her magic at the proper levels, and she’s not into committed relationships.”

“No worries,” I chuckled. “Maybe, if she’s lucky, I’ll let her join my harem. Just need to properly tame her, first.”

“Ooh, promises, promises!” Nemesis laughed.

“Well, well, well. This is a surprise.” A twinge in my implanted memories from my backstory went off as a woman’s voice slid over me like smoke and silk. Turning to the door, I knew this last arrival had to be the Countess the others had mentioned. Wearing a designer suit from the Berwick line, and kitten heels, a designer belt held a rapier at her right hip, and a long knife at her left, with a Mars Predator IV in a shoulder holster.

More importantly, I knew her, and she knew me. Or, at least, the me in game. I bowed formally to her, and said, in Sperethiel, “Countess Natasha Stephens, it has been six years, has it not? I am glad to see you are well, despite all that has happened.”

The Countess smiled, and nodded her head, before answering in the same language. “Yes, Lord Mirikon Mollen. Such a pity that you passed your Rite of Progression to be confirmed as a Lord, just before the ingrateful peasants rose up. It is good to see that more than just a few of Master’s pupils made it out of Ola Serin. We will need to connect more intimately, later on.”

Then, she changed back to English, so everyone could hear. “I am Natasha Stephens, known as Countess, and Eighth Blade of the Conclave. As you are aware, I am a Swordmage, and the Seductress is my guide.”

“Excellent,” Miko said, glossing over our conversation in the elven tongue, or how Demon groaned that there really were ‘two of them, now’. Well, you couldn’t lead a diverse group of mages if you didn’t know how to keep things on track. “Now that we are all here, we can begin the binding rite.”