Inheritance OT Fallen ch 3

I began rifling through the pockets of the dead. As I methodically searched, the campfire smoke shifted, casting flickering shadows, the crackling of wood punctuating the eerie silence. The scent of blood and char kept growing, a morbid reminder of the sudden violence that had unfolded.

With a look of distaste, I had started with Breen, the burly leader, his lifeless eyes staring vacantly into the sky. As I explored Breen's pockets, I found a worn leather pouch containing a modest sum of coin—mostly coppers and a few silvers. His belt held a simple dagger, well-maintained but unremarkable. The weapon wasn’t worth taking, and neither was his sword.  I unbuckled his armor, a mismatched set of leather and chainmail, and set it aside. It had seen better days, but it was still serviceable.  Whether I’d take it or not was debatable.  The chaimail was worth more than the sword, but it would be heavy to take, too.

Then I moved on to Twitch, continuing my grim work. His body was lighter, and I found that his pockets were filled with an assortment of small trinkets—likely stolen from various victims. Among them, I found a small, intricately carved wooden figurine of a bear, its eyes inlaid with tiny chips of amber. I inspected the figurine with my mystic senses, looking for any value other than a keepsake.

As I rolled the intricately carved wooden figurine between my fingers, I appreciated the craftsmanship. The bear stood on all fours, its head slightly tilted, eyes glinting. I focused my mystic senses on the figurine, trying to discern if it held any magical properties or hidden value. As I concentrated, the figurine seemed to hum softly, a faint magical resonance emanating from within. It was subtle, but it was there—a gentle, warm energy that felt almost comforting.

Frowning, I probed deeper, trying to determine its actual purpose. In matters like this, my unofficial title as a scholar was useful. I had likely come into contact with most types of magical items and artifacts at some point or other of my life, and I had read dozens of books on the subject. My mystic senses were unusually sensitive, too.  As I focused on the figurine, the hum intensified, resonating with a familiar warmth—a signature of earth magic. I realized it was a minor enchanted totem, likely used for good luck and perhaps a weak earth focus. I pocketed it, thinking it might fetch a decent price from a collector or mage.

After tucking the bear figurine away, I turned my attention to Darlene, the witch. Her body lay crumpled where I had left her, her dark hair splayed out like a tattered crown around her head, now matted with blood and dirt. I knelt beside her, trepidation and curiosity churning in my gut.

As I began to search Darlene's body, the first thing I noticed was the intricate tattoo etched into the skin of her right forearm. The design was a pentacle, its lines precise and dark, with symbols interwoven within it that seemed to shimmer in the fading light. I recognized some of them as sigils of protection and power, marking her as a witch of considerable skill. I realized again how fortunate I probably was to have killed this group. It was only planning, patience, and maybe a little luck that ultimately let me triumph. If I had to do it all over again, I wasn't sure that I would have attacked them.

The uncomfortable thought occurred to me that maybe my father had been right to worry about me.  I didn’t like thinking about it, so I stopped.  The fact was, despite already have the memories of being a grown man on earth and dying in a hospital, in this life, I truly did love my family and I respected my father.  He wasn’t perfect, but nobody ever is.

As I continued my search of Darlene's body, I found a small leather-bound journal tucked into her belt. The cover was worn and stained, the pages yellowed with age and use. I flipped it open, scanning the entries. They were written in a neat, precise hand, detailing spells, rituals, and notes on various magical experiments. I tucked the journal into my pack, knowing it was valuable, far more precious than its weight in gold.

As I continued to search Darlene's body, I found a pouch containing a few coins, mostly silvers. There were a few other items I pocketed, too.

Then I examined her blade. Darlene's dagger was impressive. It was a wicked-looking thing, with a blade as dark as her hair and a hilt wrapped in worn leather. I picked it up, testing its weight and balance. The blade was cold to the touch, and as I ran my thumb along its edge, I felt a faint hum of magic.

Delving deeper, I inspected the dagger with the full focus of my considerable skill. I determined its magical properties. As I scrutinized the dagger, the sun dipped closer to the horizon, casting the clearing in gloomy shadows. The campfire flickered, painting the blade with dancing highlights. 

I soundlessly whistled. The dagger was not merely a weapon; it was a conduit for dark magic, designed to amplify and channel its wielder's spells. As I held it, the cold metal seemed to pulse with a dark energy, resonating with the chaotic aura I had sensed earlier from Darlene. I carefully put the dagger away, knowing it was worth quite a lot. I had brought a good deal of money with me on this adventure, but it would never hurt to generate more and be more self-sufficient.

As I finished gathering the spoils of my grim victory, the clearing remained bathed in the dim, flickering light of the campfire. Neither of the men's weapons were worth carrying; their swords were of bad quality, and their spearheads were not worth much. The armor wasn’t worth taking either, I decided.

Luckily, I discovered the chest almost by accident as I was leaving, and one of the iron handles caught my eye, poking out of the evergreen branch pile it was under. Once I cleared the branches off, I saw that the chest was designed to be carried by two people, one at each end. The chest was relatively long, too. It was long enough to hold any number of weapons.

"So this is why they didn't have much money on them," I said out loud. I reasoned that they'd moved around from area to area to avoid capture or arousing suspicions, probably hitting groups of travelers or adventurers after carefully choosing them and leaving no survivors.

As I stood there, hands on my hips, staring at the chest, the last light of day was close to fading, leaving me in the glow of the dying campfire. The clearing was silent except for the distant hoot of an owl and the crackling of the flames.

The darkness wasn’t a problem. Despite my lack of raw power, I had a decent number of spells for a decent number of situations, in part because I'd been preparing to go out on my own for a decade.  With a simple effort and an effort of will, I created a magic light orb to see with.  It was a cantrip and required almost no power.

But the next magic I needed to cast was a real spell. With a minor amount of mana, which was good because my mana pool was already halfway spent, I checked the chest for traps or any other dangers. 

The air around the chest shimmered slightly, the magic humming softly as it interacted with the environment. As the spell took effect, the chest remained inert, no hidden traps or magical wards triggering under my scrutiny. I let out a sigh of relief, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly.

I tempered my expectations before opening the chest. As I knelt down beside it, the damp earth pressing into my knees, I took a moment to appreciate the surprisingly skilled craftsmanship. The chest was banded with iron, the wood dark and worn, but sturdy. The lock was a heavy, old-fashioned thing, designed to keep out prying hands. I ran my fingers over the cool metal, feeling the grooves and scratches that spoke of age and use. Luckily, it wasn't locked. I really didn't want to rifle through any more pockets looking for a key.

With a sudden, sick realization, I realized that the chest had likely belonged to one of the bandits’ victims. The fine materials and good craftsmanship seemed as out of place in this camp as a temple to a god of justice would have.

“Bastards,” I whispered, and spit in the direction of the bodies.  For all I knew, they’d killed people I’d met before, traders who visited my family’s estate.  It even seemed likely.

After closing my eyes a moment, I centered myself, focusing on what was before me again and I opened the chest. The rusty hinges groaned in protest, revealing the contents bathed in the dim, flickering light of the dying campfire and the harsh magical light orb I’d conjured overhead. I was not prepared for the weird mix of smells.  The scent of old wood and damp earth wafted up, mingling with the coppery tang of blood that still lingered in the air. Despite my revulsion for the bandits, the violence, and all of my conflicting emotions, I still found myself leaning forward, curious to see what treasures lay within.

Inside, a jumble of items greeted my eyes. As I began to sift through the contents, the firelight glinted off metal. I reached in and pulled out a finely crafted short sword, its blade etched with runes that shimmered faintly with magical energy. The scabbard was plain, the hilt was wrapped in worn leather, stained dark from years of use, but the blade itself was pristine.

Curious why none of the bandits were using the sword, I inspected it with my mystic senses. As I held the short sword up to the two sources of light I had, the runes etched into the blade seemed to dance and shimmer. I squinted, focusing my mystic senses on the weapon, trying to discern its secrets. The magic hummed softly, resonating with a familiar energy—the signature of enchantment. I'd seen runes like these before, in ancient texts and in more modern primers.

With a firm, but deliberate touch, I flicked the blade and “listened” with both my ears, and my mystic sense. The blade hummed with a distinct magical energy, and I definitely recognized the runes as those of ancient Elven craftsmanship. The enchantment was potent, designed to enhance the wielder's speed and precision. I tested the blade's balance, swishing it through the air with a whisper of steel.

I still couldn't figure out why the bandits weren't using the weapon until I remembered that most people in Nuterra couldn't identify magical artifacts like I could. They likely had no idea what the sword's function was, or if it was even safe, or cursed. I set the weapon to the side, planning to trade it for my own, mundane weapon in my belt. The enchantments were nice, but what I really wanted was the blade's durability.

After putting the sword to the side, I kept going through the chest. As I delved deeper into the chest, my fingers brushed against something smooth and cold—a glass bottle filled with a dark, viscous liquid. The label was faded but legible: "Dreamweaver's Elixir." I'd heard of this before; it was a potent sleeping draught, favored by thieves and assassins.

As I set the bottle aside, I noticed a small, leather-bound book nestled among the items. The cover was worn, the pages relatively new and fresh, though. I flipped it open, scanning the contents. It was a ledger, detailing the bandits' exploits—names, dates, locations, and the spoils they'd taken. I recognized some of the names from missing persons reports I'd heard in passing.

"Well, this is grim," I said out loud. I figured it was the witch who was keeping the records, and I put the book to the side, too. Maybe the bandits had a bounty. The book would prove that I did them in.

I started digging in the chest again. As I continued to rummage around, the dying campfire beside crackled and popped, casting a gentle glow over the motley assortment of items I’d set aside. Again, pulling aside furs, and old clothes, my hands brushed against something hard and metalli. I pulled out a small, ornate box. 

The box was intricately designed, with swirling patterns etched into the tarnished silver.  As I inspected it, the light danced off its tarnished silver surface, highlighting the intricate swirling patterns that adorned it. The craftsmanship was exquisite, hinting at rich or prestigious origins. I ran my fingers over the cool metal, tracing the delicate designs, and found a small clasp holding it shut.

As I carefully unfastened the clasp, the box opened with a soft click, revealing a cloth-lined interior that cradled an unusual pendant. The pendant was a striking piece, a teardrop-shaped gemstone suspended from a silver chain. It was unlike anything I'd seen before, its surface swirling with a mesmerizing blend of blue and green hues, like the ocean captured in crystal form.

I used my mystic senses again to probe the pendant and learn more about it, cradling it in my palm. The gemstone seemed to pulse with an inner light, responding to my mystic senses. I closed my eyes, focusing my magical perception on the unusual jewel, specifically. The magic of the gem hummed softly, a resonant energy that felt cool and fluid, like the ebb and flow of the ocean. I'd never encountered a gemstone quite like this, its magical signature unique and intriguing.

It took me a bit of time, but my mystic senses never let me down. "Oh, so that's what it is." As I murmured to myself, the pendant's gemstone pulsed softly in my hand, its magical energy resonating with a cool, aquatic feel. I’d realized that it was a rare and valuable artifact, a Sea Whisperer's Pendant, meant to grant its wearer the ability to breathe underwater and communicate with aquatic creatures. 

I immediately put the pendant around my neck. As soon as the Sea Whisperer's Pendant was settled, resting against my chest, its magical energy pulsed gently in rhythm with my heartbeat.

For the next few minutes, I thoroughly checked the chest, but there was nothing else inside that caught my eye and looked worth carrying, so I found my pack, exchanged my swords, and began walking again, trying to beat the last fledgling rays of the setting sun to a decent campsite. 

As I set off, the last dim embers of sunlight flickered through the dense canopy, casting deep shadows on the forest floor. The underbrush crunched beneath my boots, the sound echoing through the quiet woods. I kept a brisk pace, eager to find a suitable campsite before night fell completely.

Walking in the dark didn’t bother me, but I didn’t have much mana left and I didn’t want to risk casting a night vision spell and being tapped out in case I ran into more trouble.  Luckily, I never needed to.  I finally found a little clearing inside a group of pine trees and decided it would do. The timing was perfect. I barely got up my two, circular wards before the last truly fled. 

My efforts to get ready for bed were not exactly the stuff of legends.  I managed to get situated in the dark without using any light spells and gave myself some decent camouflage before falling asleep. Thankfully, my rest was uninterrupted.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the pine needles, casting long shadows on my makeshift camp, the crisp morning air nipped at my nose. The scent of the surrounding foliage filled my lungs as I stirred, the remnants of my dreams fading like mist under the rising sun. I stretched, feeling the stiffness in my muscles from yesterday's encounter and the subsequent night on the hard ground.

It felt like my spirit had been cleansed. “Weird,” I muttered, but it wasn’t like I was going to complain.

I rose with a cautious optimism, and no matter how hard I suppressed it, it grew as I prepared for the day. If my directions were correct, I should be reaching the ruins by late afternoon, maybe even midday if I made good time.

It didn’t take me much time to break camp and start moving again. Since I was strong, and my ankles could take it, I tried to find ridge lines or natural rocky breaks in the forest to follow so I wouldn’t need to break through any thick underbrush.  Overhead, the sun began its ascent, casting slanted golden rays through the pine canopy, creating a dance of light and shadow on the forest floor. 

The undergrowth was more sparse the closer I got to the mountains, so I made even better time than I'd hoped…at first.  As it turned out, the hills and outcroppings could be confusing and messed with my sense of direction more than I would have liked.  And when I thought I was getting near where the ruins should be, I saw nothing.

Frowning, ignoring the dark thoughts in the back of my head, I finally rounded a nearby hill and gasped, my eyes flying open.

"It exists!" I whispered with a grin. Nestled against the base of two hills, I finally saw the ruins that I'd been dreaming of for ten years. I stood still for a moment, just enjoying the moment.  Meanwhile, the sun began to dip down in the afternoon sky, casting the ruins in a golden light that seemed to dance off the ancient stones.

In all my life on Nuterra, this felt like a special moment, a turning point.  It was actually crazy to think about everything I’d already been through in the last few days to get here, though.  My life had gone from fairly safe and mundane, if occasionally stressful, to ambushing criminals who’d as soon gut me as look at me.

With a shake of my head, I tried to focus on the positive and live in the moment again.

The ruins were more expansive than I'd imagined, with crumbling walls and towers that spoke of a once-great civilization. All the surrounding nature, some of which was encroaching into the ruin itself, seemed to underscore the moment, making me feel almost philosophical.  The air was filled with the distant calls of birds and the rustle of leaves, the sounds of life going on as usual, oblivious to the ancient secrets that lay before me.