Chapter 38: Chapter 32- Packing Up

Desperation is a thing that far too many face on a daily basis. No matter where one may go, someone will have some sort of a problem that they cannot afford to fix. Hunger. Thirst. Lack of security. A tale as old as time. It is an unfortunate consequence of civilization that some are stuck at the bottom of the totem pole, as it were. In a war-ravaged world such as ours, those who are not as fortunate may not get the help they need. Of course, Traits are an obvious solution, but they are not the cure-all. Unless they are an insectoid, a non-hunter having levels in [Thaumavore] is a sign of expecting to go without food.

-Excerpt from ‘Traveling the World,’ By Gelnak 

 

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Norta looked around the dining room with tired eyes. It had been about half a day since her brother and her joined the oddly chipper lich’s skiff, and she was not sure what to make of the whole arrangement. While she was thankful for not having to wander the city in search of odd jobs to keep her and her brother afloat, she was also slightly wary of the dozens of undead that lived in the skiff, though less so after meeting the sapient ones.

In the short half-day she had been a part of the group, she had already somewhat made friends with three of the ‘pyraustas,’ as they were called, the hot orc made of blood that acted like a butler, and the cute little red slime that liked to rest in her lap when not receiving the attention of the other undead. It was surprising to her that undead could be so… normal. She had heard horror stories about what a necromancer’s minions were like, heard of how they could be kleptomaniacs or bloodthirsty monsters. Never before had she thought that they would want to play a game where a slime and bug shell fought to topple the other over while they bet on it. Even the three normal zombies who had, to her, popped out of the woodwork, simply sat down and made small talk with any pyrausta who came close by to meet them, speaking in some sort of odd language she had never heard of.  It was quite surreal.

For a few hours, they had been sitting around, doing a whole lot of nothing while one of the only other living people around was planning out a skiff upgrade. Just hearing a retelling of the story about how they got the skiff from the lich herself, after they got back from their —frankly— absurd adventures, was enough to make her pale. ‘Forty pirates. All armed with at least some sort of gun. On their skiff. Alone…’ the rough details cycled in her mind over and over again as she thought. She herself was not very special. Her status proved it.

[Name: Norta Bricnok

Species: Human

Variant: Desertborn

Level: 17(34%)

Traits:

Physical: (Dense Musculature V), (Reduced Gravity V), (Thaumavore III), (Enhanced Blood Pressure II), (Enhanced Senses II) 

Spiritual: (Sole-mana Casting), (Body Imbuement V), (Brawling Affinity V), (Enhanced Memory), (Mana Sense III), (Danger Sense II)

Granted Traits: (None)]

All things considered, she was painfully average in terms of a poor worker in the city but she was ashamed at what Mokan had to do for them. 

She banished the thoughts in a single moment, ‘We’re doing better now… I don’t know what kind of thing the lich did with or to Mokan, but so far, he’s been normal, if not a bit happier. I just… can’t trust them too much. Not yet…’ She stopped brooding in her own head and looked up, finally noticing that the lich was staring at her. While she had stared down much fiercer foes and stood tall, even without [Emotive Control] to help her, so while she was not shaking in her boots, the newly-emotive skull was enough to put her on edge, “Um… Did I do something?” Norta asked the lich. The white bone stretched into a small smile, something she had never thought she would see.

“I was just wondering,” she said, “Are you sure you don’t want to get your things? I know Mokan dragged you here without knowing much, but you have to have something you want to keep, right?”

Norta thought on it for a few moments. They were poor; that fact was something the lich either was too dense to notice or too ‘unique’ to care about. Neither one of them had much to their names, but standard things like clothes, tools, and other personal effects were not foreign to their poor lifestyle. “We… do, but not much. Some clothes, some tools —cutlery, knives, other arts and crafts stuff— and some other stuff. Why do you ask…?” she hesitantly asked.

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The lich wore an unreadable smile, though it may have been due to the fact that she had never gotten around to learning the obvious facial emotions of emoting skulls, and stood, “I was thinking you two could go to your house and grab your stuff; you are going to be here for a while, after all, and getting important stuff stolen doesn’t seem like a good thing.”

The lich, in spite of her redundant and obvious statement, had a point. She had worked hard for what they could afford and it would leave a bad taste in her mouth if everything they had was stolen from them, “I agree,” she said, “It would be bad.” From the corner of her eye, she could see the orcish guard tasked with watching over the lich grin, “I don’t think it’ll take very long to move most of our stuff over, a single trip at most. Do you want to do that, Mokan?” she asked. The young man pulled his nose out from his book and nodded with a smile. She took notice of his choice of mana-type from the book, being related to shadows, but did not say anything. ‘Maybe being a thief is in his blood?’ she thought to herself. “Alright, we’ll both go then,” she said as they both stood, prepared to leave. 

The lich laughed, “That’s the spirit!” she cheered as if it were some sort of accomplishment, “Unless you mind, I can send a couple of those clowns with you to help.” The aforementioned ‘clowns’ jabbered some sort of rebuttal in unison, the only intelligible one’s being lost in the noise, as the lich rolled her eye-flames.

She was about to respectfully reject the lich’s offer when Mokan tapped her on the shoulder. The young man was a head or so shorter than her, likely an effect of the damn curse he was saddled with at birth, but still held a sort of maturity that she was proud of as a sister, even if they were twins. He looked to the undead, then back to her, nodding. She instantly knew what he meant to say, but she was still slightly wary of them —especially the ones that did not speak common. Just then, the hot blood orc appeared beside them, sketching a slight bow to the lich, “I could go with them,” he began, “Only one of them has taken [Universal Soul Language], but the others must get out once in a while. I can keep an eye on them and translate for them if you need me to,” he offered.

The lich thought for a moment, “Yes… you  make a good point,” she said, ignoring a light moan from one sapient undead, “Alright, do you mind if Aerolat goes with you?” she asked her.

Norta turned to the orc made of blood and nodded, “I don’t mind,” she said, “The help would be appreciated.” While the undead did make her a bit wary, she knew a good person when she saw one, and she saw Aerolat as a good person. Sure, he was a shapeless blob of blood that was only held together due to the power of necromancy and, presumably, air mana, but she had been on good terms with a guy with rocks for eyes, so who was she to judge?

The lich’s face crept into a smile, “Good! Alright, Jel! Fury! You two’ll be helping them move their stuff,” she said as two pyraustas stepped forward. They were very similar appearance-wise, but still differed in amount of scales and slight color differences. The two nodded to the twins as they stepped forward. “While you do that, we’re going to rearrange the bedroom situation; After all, there’re plenty of rooms to use and not enough beds to fit in them all,” she said as she began walking down into the hold of the skiff. The undead followed her, weary sighs passed around.

After every undead left, Aerolat stood, or rather, floated before Norta, “Now then, shall we be on our way?” he asked with a smile on his face. The other human, Fara, was still sketching designs on her piece of paper, so the twins followed the blood orc out onto the deck and out of the mod dock. 

Once they left the building, Norta and Mokan took the lead into the city. They walked in silence for a while, ignoring the glances they received from random people walking by. After a bit, Norta’s curiosity broke, “Hey, Aerolat?” she asked. The blood orc floated up next to her and nodded, “Why do you act so… subservient with the lich? I mean, I understand that you’re all her minions and whatnot, but she seems very lenient, for lack of a better word.”

The orc thought for a while, placing a hand on his chin. Eventually, he reclined backwards and put his hands behind his head, as if lying down in the air, “Well, it’s how I believe I can serve the mistress the best,” he said, “She is… new… to say the least. The mistress is rash, impulsive, and throws caution to the wind.” One of the pyraustas, the one named Jel, grumbled something to Aerolat, stuttering a few times while she did so, “I know what I said,” he replied, “But I doubt the mistress would mind a bit of constructive criticism. Besides, you two know I’m right. She’s all of the above, but most importantly of all, she is compassionate.” He paused for a moment, looking up to the afternoon sun, “When we are born, we know one thing instinctually: we have been born from a trade. We serve the mistress and, in exchange, we are given new life. While the mistress does not sustain us —that’s our responsibility— we are obligated to serve. We can’t rebel; it’s against our nature, in all honesty. We know that. It’s why we love our mistress even more than we would if she did not care for us. Really, calling it a trade is not right… it’s a contract. I know that holding such control over the lives, well, unlives, of people like us is wrong for most, but I don’t really care. We seek life, and the mistress seeks our service. It’s not complicated, really.” The other two undead nodded along with the blood orc, seemingly in total agreement.

Norta sighed, “I barely understood any of that, but I don’t think you answered my question,” she said.

Aerolat shrugged at her words, “I doubt you would. It makes perfect sense for us, if you ask me. As for your question, I’m just the one most capable of being serious while not being a total jerk like Pride.” Fury said something at that moment, “Well, no matter why he does that, it’s still pretty rude.” The two pyraustas shrugged at his reply, content with simply following behind them. 

“What other stuff doesn’t make much sense for you that doesn’t like your whole servitude thing? I never met someone with [Chaotic Adept], but you kind of seem similar. In a way,” Norta asked.

Aerolat shrugged, “Other than people thinking that serving the person who gave you life in the first place?” he said with a sarcastic tone, “Nothing much. I just don’t understand why people find us so weird…” he wondered aloud. Jel had a response ready, albeit one marred with stuttering, to which Fury nodded, “Okay, yeah, that actually makes sense. Why didn’t I think of that before?” 

After another moment, they entered an alleyway behind a large inn. At that point, they had gotten far enough into the city that they were between the bazaar and the docks, a good walk from the governmental district. Their apartment was one on the ground floor of a building at the end of the alley. 

The front door was just as she had left it, locked and secure with a few metal boards melted to the broken glass windows that ran along the front of the house. Norta and Mokan entered the house after fishing the key from her pocket, finding the house exactly as they left it. Breathing a sigh of relief, Norta made quick work of their packing, putting a few changes in outfit, her tools, a few books, and a burnt amulet into a large bag. 

Before closing the bag, she picked up the amulet and kissed it, a sad sigh emerging from her throat, a lump left behind. She picked herself back up, slinging the bag over her shoulder and turning to Mokan. He had a bag as well, though a bit smaller than hers. Inside, she knew he had clothes, a few books he loved to keep around, and she had no doubt he packed his lockpicks; he always kept one or two with him. 

The two siblings emerged from their home and shut the door, locking it behind them. Aerolat appeared next to her, “Is that it?” he asked. She silently nodded, turning to head back to the skiff. The blood orc did not stop her, hovering behind her and her brother as they left the apartment behind, leaving every tear-filled night behind them after their parents were killed.

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