Chapter 94: Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 55 – Grimoire of Flesh – Part One

Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 55 - Grimoire of Flesh - Part One

 

I read through the contents of the golden notification pane for what felt like the hundredth time.

 

[Congratulations {Tim}! You have qualified for a {Divergent Evolution} that will be made available during your next {Evolution} selection!]

 

Redirecting my focus toward the reference to Divergent Evolution, I leveraged my authority as Tyrant to explain what it meant.

 

More or less as I should have expected, a Divergent Evolution was an Evolution that diverged from the existing pattern or path. In the most extreme cases, it seemed that an outright change in Species was possible.

 

I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

 

Every Evolution thus far had exacerbated the features I had once hated most about myself. My time in this world, living amongst literal monsters, had tempered those feelings of self-loathing. However, a change in Species could be exactly what the Labyrinths needed to dredge up all of those abandoned insecurities all over again.

 

Idly reviewing my Status out of habit, my concerns over the Divergent Evolution took a back seat as my attention focused on a new addition to my list of Unlocked Classes.

 

Ogre-Mage

 

A vague memory of Nadine mentioning the Class momentarily surfaced in the peripherals of my mind, but I could not recall any details of the context it was mentioned.

 

At face value and accounting for my recent actions, the Class made a strange sort of sense. I was an Ogre and I had been casting Spells. Mages cast Spells. Therefore, I unlocked the Ogre-Mage Class.

 

With the mounting number of Classes outright denied to me thus far, it was almost reassuring that I had managed to unlock what seemed to be a Species exclusive Spellcasting Class. Until I considered the possibility that the existence of the Class might be the reason the others had been denied to me in the first place.

 

Brooding on the possibilities, I didn’t notice Teressa’s presence straight away.

 

“Is there something I can assist you with today, Majesty?” Teressa asked with notable enthusiasm.

 

“A couple of things, actually,” I agreed while shifting my mind back toward my reasons for visiting the library in the first place. “On a somewhat esoteric subject, is there a list of monsters that are capable of turning someone to stone?”

 

Teressa gnawed on her forefinger with a distracted look in her eyes for a few moments before nodding tentatively, “Yes, I believe there should be a reference list in Lord Reynold’s Bestiary, although Ser Albrecht's treatise on cures for Curses would have more reliable accounts on true Petrification.”

 

Before I could so much as glance toward Yor, she was already skittering off into the stacks at high speed. “Thank you, Teressa-”

 

“No thanks are necessary, Majesty!” Teressa interrupted excitedly, “Being allowed free access to this wonderful library is thanks enough for a lifetime!”

 

The elderly librarians straightened their shoulders and puffed out their chests a little at the indirect praise.

 

“Indeed...” Compared to Mortimer’s payment, Teressa’s request had originally given me cause to be confused. Then I was reminded that access to libraries of any scale was nominally restricted to the wealthy and elite. All the same, I had assigned Teressa a small budget for acquiring more books to satiate my conscience. “Well, I wanted to know if you knew of any tribes or clans of Ogre Variants in the Labyrinths.”

 

Teressa’s expression of happy enthusiasm froze, “Ah....Um...Well...” Her eyes drifted to the stacks, then to the librarians, who made an impressive display of avoiding eye contact and otherwise finding something of profound interest on the floor or ceiling. “I don’t have access to the Guild’s records...” Teressa hedged with visible discomfort, “So I couldn’t say for certain...”

 

Able to see the writing on the wall, I braced myself for the worst, “All the same,” I insisted.

 

“Wild Ogres exist in several former Asrusian territories, but the Guilds...they...uh...they made a point of removing any Variants...” Teressa answered nervously, “I would need to check to be certain, but I believe the Variants were all sold to one of the western trade Republics...”

 

“The Vetmerians-” One of the elderly librarians interjected before abruptly slapping his hand over his mouth and trying to hide himself away behind his compatriots.

 

Teressa paled and nodded silently.

 

“What is the significance of that?” I demanded, taking great care to keep my tone even. Keenly aware that intimidation would not get me the answers I wanted any sooner.

 

Another librarian anxiously raised his hand, “Majesty, the Vetmerians are major trade partners of the Aldmeri Dominion...And the Aldmeri are famous for...for...” He gulped dryly and worried at the hem of his shirt with trembling hands, “They are Slavers Majesty...Of a sort that makes the Werrians seem downright benevolent...man, woman, Beast, monster, freeman, peasant, it makes no difference to them...All are condemned to the mines and quarries of the Dominion...”

 

“I...” I had to take a moment to regain control over my voice. “Why do they buy Variants? Wouldn’t Wild monsters be cheaper?” Making the distinction left a foul taste in my mouth but I needed to know the answer.

 

One of the other librarians tentatively raised his hand, “I, uh, believe it is because of the belief in the soul...The Aldmeri religion is very particular about executing the, uh, the...Soulless...”

 

“They believe the Soulless are vessels for the evils of the Labyrinths...” Another librarian elaborated quietly.

 

From what I knew of the Labyrinths and the awakened, this policy seemed deeply flawed.

 

“So...If I want to go looking for Ogre Variants, I would need to go to this Dominion?” I asked warily.

 

The librarians all shifted awkwardly in place while waiting for someone else to answer.

 

“Barring incidental discovery?” Teressa worried at the hem of her sleeves, “Ah, y-yes, Majesty. Discovering a Variant Ogre in the wild would be...most uncommon...Ah! But perhaps individuals could be found on the open market?...”

 

The idea of ‘purchasing’ intelligent beings caused me to scowl without fully realising it. At the same time, my attention momentarily drifted to thoughts of the Midnight Caravan. Short of speaking with Slavers themselves the members of the vigilante emancipation group would be my best bet for making further enquiries.

 

Unable to recall the names of any members of the Midnight caravan off the top of my head, I made a mental note to speak with Sebet and Gric later in the day.

 

Yor returned a couple of minutes later with two books clutched protectively against her chest, “I have the requested materials, my Tyrant!” She declared excitedly, tapping her spindly chitinous forelegs energetically as she set one book down and began hastily but carefully shifting through the pages of the remaining book.

 

There were a surprisingly large number of monsters capable of Petrifying an enemy. However, most forms of Petrification killed their targets or wore off in a matter of hours. According to the literature, only one Species of monster was known to apply a permanent Petrification Curse. The Gorgon.

 

Encompassing several different body types, the most familiar example of the Gorgon illustrations resembled a mythical Greek monster, the Medusa. However, several variations were otherwise entirely unfamiliar to me. So I didn’t feel as bad for not thinking of the possibility sooner.

 

Unfortunately, a Gorgon’s Curse of Petrification could only be broken with the death of the Gorgon itself. This meant there was little we could do for the poor Petrified woman besides store her somewhere safe to wait down the clock and hope for the demise of her attacker.

 

Left with a great deal to think about, I left the Library and returned to The Grove.

 

Having had the time to think it over, I realised that Mortax, the Minotaur-Esq Aurochian could stand in as my sparring partner. Except there was a problem. He had the completely wrong temperament for it. Conditioned to be controlled by his former masters, and perhaps in part due to traits of his Species, Mortax was utterly docile until provoked. This would have been more or less alright, but once provoked Mortax had no real semblance of control over his actions.

 

I could accept a certain degree of risk in training, but the thought of bludgeoning Mortax unconscious to end a sparring match didn’t sit well with me at all.

 

Of course, Pete and Suzy would need peers of their general size to play with. While there was technically nothing stopping them from playing with the other children of Sanctuary, I would very much prefer it if they reserved their rougher play for children as durable as themselves.

 

Settling into the shallows, I began to set my mind to Summoning Gric and Sebet but paused as I felt a familiar sensation spreading through my body. Sparing only a moment to confirm it against my Status, I patiently waited for the appearance of the golden Alerts.

 

[Swamp Ogre-Mage Tyrant: +2 Strength, +2 Toughness, +2 Presence, +10 MP. (Unique*)]

[(Racial Ability: Thick Hide): You have an abnormally thick hide that will shrug off minor damage. {Toughness} increases the level of damage resistance.]

[(Racial Ability: Brute Strength): You deal more damage with {Primitive} and {Heavy} weapons. {Strength} increases the amount of bonus damage.]

[(Racial Ability: Iron Gut): Consuming food accelerates {Healing}. {Toughness} increases the rate of digestion.]

[(Racial Ability: Savage Nobility): You are a paragon of primal might and authority. {Strength} increases the effect of {Racial Abilities} and {Class Abilities} modified by {Presence} when targeting {Allies} and members of the same {Species}.]

[(Racial Ability: Sorcerous Blood): Your very blood is a powerful magical Reagent. Harvested blood can be used to {Empower} {Spells} and {Rituals}.]

[(Racial Ability: Born to Rule): You were born to rule over your lesser kin and all who lay eyes on your majesty cannot help but bear witness to this absolute truth. Members of the {Ogre*} {Species*} are subjected to {Lesser Domination} while within an {Immense Radius} determined by {Presence}. Suppression of this Ability concentrates its effects and increases the difficulty of any and all {Contests of Will} that attempt to deny or subvert this Ability.]

[(Racial Ability: Birthright {1}): Your genes are superior and create superior offspring. Sired offspring will always match your Species and Tier of Evolution. Sired Half-Breed offspring will always match your Species when determining Primary Species and Racial Abilities.]

[Confirm Evolution: {Swamp Ogre-Mage Tyrant} (Accept/decline}]

 

Contrary to my expectations, the five Alerts were all identical to one another with the minor exception of the environmental prefix. It appeared that Divergent Evolution was to be my only choice.

 

Somewhat confused that the Species had taken on the same name as the Class, the thought soon occurred to me that it might be the other way around.

 

Mountain, Hill, Lake, Plains or Swamp, the choices seemed largely irrelevant except for maintaining the connection with my children. A single stat point shifting between Toughness, Strength and Agility didn’t seem particularly important. Of course, there would be minor physical changes as well, but I had grown accustomed to having an armoured pair of secondary eyelids.

 

While I did lose a certain degree of visual acuity, they allowed me to see while lessening the risks of being blinded by debris or weaker attacks. A Mountain or Hill Environmental Evolution might make my hide tougher overall, but that hadn’t been a serious problem thus far and could be made redundant by wearing armour.

 

A Plains Environmental Evolution might allow me to run faster or something similar, but that wasn’t a problem either. Given I had enough room to build speed, I was already capable of outrunning a horse.

 

Ultimately, it was the Lake Environmental Evolution that gave me the most cause for pause. No doubt it would have the same armoured eyelids the Swamp variation provided me already. However, it might also provide something that was otherwise preventing me from spending as much quality time with my family.

 

Gills.

 

For whatever reason, a Swamp Ogre didn’t gain Gills like most other Species. Like the Lizardmen, I gained a pair of armoured eyelids and a radically increased capacity for processing oxygen. However, going comparatively long periods without breathing was not the same as being able to breathe underwater.

 

Unfortunately, there was no guarantee that a Lake Environmental Evolution would provide gills either. On the upside, it was also likely to still provide the same general perks that I had grown accustomed to. But I figured it would probably come at the cost of increased reliance on water.

 

Since taking on the Swamp Environmental Evolution, my skin had become noticeably more sensitive to changes in humidity. I could only imagine that a Lake Environmental Evolution would turn the sensitivity into something more akin to dependence. Of course, there was the distinct possibility that nothing would change at all.

 

After deliberating for the better part of ten minutes I decided to take the risk. At the absolute worst, I would remain in Sanctuary until I could devise some sort of amphibious wetsuit. I doubted it would come to that though.

 

Taking several steadying breaths, I looked out over the lake and made my decision. “Lake Ogre-Mage Tyrant, accept.”

 

Unlike my previous major Evolution, I didn’t lose sight of my surroundings as my body began to change. My vision blurred briefly but came into focus moments later, revealing the webbing between my fingers as it slowly extended to the second knuckle of each finger on both hands.

 

A thin layer of oil was building on my skin and causing it to shine in the sun. Whether it was the oil or the Evolution itself, the dull pale greyish-green pigment of my skin seemed to take on a more blueish-green hue. The change wasn’t particularly striking, but it seized my attention all the same.

 

However, a rising discomfort and tightening inside my chest drew my attention. Looking down at my sides, I felt a momentary surge of panic at finding three large crescent slashes weeping blood on either side of my rib cage.

 

Before I could give voice to my distress, the ragged flaps of skin drew themselves tight and hard calcified growths began protruding through their surface. Transfixed on the change taking place before my eyes, it took me entirely too long to realise what was happening and calm down.

 

Each breath caused the bony plates to raise themselves horizontally to reveal the open gashes between my ribs before sealing themselves again. However, I soon realised that I could control the movement without breathing through my mouth and nose but otherwise going through the motions.

 

Wading deeper into the lake, I had to suppress a rush of panic as water began surging in and out of the holes in my chest.

 

The sensation of breathing with lungfuls of water felt profoundly disturbing and I couldn’t help myself from dry heaving after every few chest contractions.

 

The increased mana flooding into my system made things that much more intense, heightening every sensation and making it that much more difficult to establish a grip on my new circumstances.

 

Over an hour passed before I felt confident enough to submerge myself in the lake and attempt breathing through my mouth and nose in conjunction with my gills.

 

Every instinct was screaming at the wrongness of it all, flooding my system with wave after wave of adrenaline and demanding I make my way to the surface before I ran out of oxygen and drowned.

 

Fighting against the panic, I remained on the lake bed and counted backwards from a thousand in an attempt to try and normalise and otherwise ignore my surroundings.

 

All the changes I had experienced had not included any form of swim bladder. I was still less buoyant than a rock. The increased webbing between my fingers and toes did help with catching and displacing more water, but accomplishing any true degree of movement was still through conventional swimming.

 

As I had hoped, I retained the second set of eyelids. However, contrary to my expectations, they were somehow more transparent than before. Looking through them still made things somewhat blurry, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as before. After building up the courage to test the toughness of translucent skin, I was surprised by how hard they felt against my finger. My Swamp Ogre eyelids had felt rubbery, but these felt more like glass or bone.

 

While not particularly keen to test their resilience with an actual weapon, they gave me considerable peace of mind all the same.

 

After calming down somewhat, I realised that nothing else had changed in my outward appearance. Contrary to some of my wilder expectations, I hadn’t grown fins or a tail like Ril, and my teeth were more or less the same as ever.

 

Just about ready to leave the lake, I realised that another golden alert was patiently waiting in my lower peripheral vision.

 

[Congratulations! You have qualified for a Unique Class Upgrade! The transition will take place immediately!]

[Congratulations! Your Unique Class Upgrade has been completed! In recognition of your efforts thus far, Legacy versions of previous Class Abilities have been awarded!]

 

Feeling a fresh surge of panic I hastily opened my Status to see for myself.

 

[Tim - Lake Ogre-Mage Tyrant: 0 ] [HP: 52/52 ] [MP: 40/40 (+15,+25 ]

[Class: Ogre-Mage-Tyrant 0. +25 MP.] [Exp: 0/100,000 ]
[Party: Tim’s Party] [Lash’s Mate]

[Bloodline: {Tyrant 3} +1 Willpower.] [Bloodline Progeny: Pete, Suzy.]

 

[Strength: 22* ]

[Agility: 10 ]

[Toughness: 26* ]

[Intelligence: 10 ]

[Willpower: 18* (19*) ]

[Presence: 6* ]

 

[(Racial Abilities: {Hide/Expand})]

 

[(Legacy Class Abilities: {Hide/Expand})]

 

[(Class Abilities)]

[(Class Ability: Grimoire of Flesh.): The capacity for Sorcery runs in your veins and the secrets of allies and enemies alike are bound in your flesh. Witnessing the casting of a {Spell} allows the {Spell} to be permanently tattooed into your flesh. The maximum number of {Spell Tattoos} is increased with every (5) levels.]

 

[Group Synergies: {Hide/Expand}]

 

Unsure how I should feel regarding the abrupt Class change, I was forced to accept a certain degree of responsibility. In hindsight, I should have anticipated it. However, what I had not anticipated, or quite understood, was why my level had reset.

 

Curiously, my former Abilities appeared to be inactive. It wasn’t until I reviewed them each one by one that they became active again.

 

As the Exp from Takesation began flooding in, I felt the majority of my concerns lessen considerably. They may have disappeared entirely if I hadn’t noticed the 100,000 Exp requirement for my first level.

 

The Exp requirement wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Thanks to Takesation taking a certain percentage of Exp from everyone else as they earned it, I would probably earn the five million or so Exp to reach level ten by sundown. The thought of trying to level without it was so depressing that I elected to ignore it outright and focus on the fact that I had been allowed to keep my former Class Abilities.

 

The only difference the Legacy label seemed to make was eliminating the Ranks from a couple of the Abilities, making them slightly less effective. Weighing this minor loss of function against the prospect of gaining the ability to cast a theoretically diverse portfolio of Spells, I decided that I could live with the obnoxious Exp requirements.

 

Of course, that presented another problem all its own.

 

Which Spells would be the most beneficial to learn?

 

Reminded of when I had first acquired my magical hood, I decided not to rush anything and take some time to consider my options. After all, the longer I deliberated, the more selections I would be able to make.

 

Summoning Gric and Sebet at the shoreline, I immediately appreciated the drastic increase in my mana supply.

 

“How goes the rescue of the Dwergi?” I asked curiously while wondering if either of them would mention my Evolution.

 

“It has not been particularly profitable...” Sebet hedged with a slightly defeated sigh and a shrug, “But I understand that was intended to be the point.”

 

Gric snorted quietly in amusement and very nearly smiled at Sebet before gaining control of himself and turning his full attention toward me instead. “Ninety-eight Dwergi have been recovered and integrated into Sanctuary’s Dwergi Community thus far,” Gric declared with appreciable satisfaction.

 

“No problems so far?” I pressed.

 

Sebet slowly shook her head, “Not as such, no. The primary Contract is functioning as intended,” she stated defensively.

 

“The costs have been less static than originally projected,” Gric elaborated smugly before sobering up almost immediately, “This has led to a small number of emergencies involving Dwergi infants...”

 

“I thought the Contract was meant to function on a prepaid basis?” I challenged warily.

 

“It does!” Sebet insisted, “But it also requires consent! And drooling infants can’t control their bowels, let alone decide to sign a soul-binding Contract! Besides, we enacted a workaround...”

 

“They are required to be reclassified as ‘possessions’,” Gric elaborated with air quotes.

 

When did he learn to do that? And from who?

 

“Wait...What?” I had been distracted by the origin of the air quotes and realised I had missed something important, “Possessions?”

 

“Well...Technically, they are all someone's possessions, right? That’s the underlying reason for rescuing them all?” Sebet replied defensively, “They aren’t freed by the Contract until they arrive anyway...I was tasked with making a Contract that would combine several disparate Abilities into a single functional and convenient series of objects that would serve as intermediaries for binding nonverbal agreements. That the Contract is functioning at all is a testament to my efforts in this undertaking!” She sniped at Gric angrily.

 

Gric scowled but said nothing.

 

“Enough,” I motioned for silence, “So long as the Contract works, then that is enough. The Dwergi children will recover, right?”

 

Sebet nodded emphatically.

 

“Then it’s fine, for now,” I insisted, “I want to speak with a representative of the Midnight Caravan. Specifically a representative with knowledge of the Aldmeri Dominion.”

 

“Understood, my Tyrant,” Gric bowed his head in deference, “I will see it done.”

 

Sebet Narrowed her eyes dangerously at Gric, “WE, will see it done,” she corrected.

 

I dismissed them both before the confrontation could escalate and then made a mental note to sit Sebet and Gric down individually and have a talk about their behaviour. A certain degree of competition could be healthy, but I strongly suspected that things would quickly get out of hand if I just stepped back and left them to it.

 

Taking the opportunity to further acclimate myself to breathing underwater, I spent another hour exploring the central depths of the lake. Expecting to find Toofy and Ril in one of their air pocket hideaways, I was surprised when the Registry pinged them in the direction of my home instead.

 

Leaving the lake, I made my way home.

 

I found the entrance passageway spattered and smeared with tiny technicolour handprints, flourishes and swirls.

 

Making my way into my home proper, I found Pete and Suzy animatedly slapping and scribbling on the walls under Toofy, Lash, Ril and Cin’s thoroughly amused supervision.

You are reading story Ogre Tyrant at novel35.com

 

At just a glance, I could tell that Toofy had introduced Suzy and Pete to the concept of painting and drawing on walls.

 

The Goblins in Sanctuary made simple clay paints for decoration and ritual purposes. They also encouraged their children to play with the more common pigments so they could familiarise themselves with finger painting. It wasn’t a stretch at all to think that Toofy would ‘borrow’ some paints on the twin's behalf.

 

The chalk was a different matter.

 

So far as I was aware, the Asrusian army engineers were the only ones with chalk sticks, and those were only a half-inch thick.

 

Things quickly fell into place when I witnessed Cin extract a bright purple stick of chalk from the wall and set it down in a basket behind Pete.

 

Cin gave me an apologetic smile and shrugged.

 

“More!” Toofy demanded excitedly, “More pretty sticks!”

 

“Bah!” Pete nodded his head determinedly and continued scribbling on the wall.

 

Cin slowly began extracting a light green stick of chalk from the wall.

 

Ril seemed perfectly content with watching events from her nominally submerged vantage point in the deep pool that served as a bathing area. She had grown somewhat since our last meeting. Perhaps only a foot taller, probably less, Ril’s most striking difference was the lengthening of her fins. They gave her the impression of taking up far more space and made her seem much larger than she was.

 

The rigid spines on the ends of the retractable fins on her arms had grown so long that they were no longer able to be hidden by the profile of her limbs. Instead, the barbs extended past her elbows to form footlong spikes.

 

Just like many of the other Daemons, Ril had begun to give off a much more mature sense of presence. A nominal amount of baby fat had been lost on her face in particular which heightened the impression of physical and mental maturity.

 

As always, her inky-black eyes betrayed nothing beyond the impression that she saw and understood far more than she was letting on.

 

The more exotic finger paints seemed to have been made by Qreet. Including luminescent fungi that caused the paint to glow in the dark. They appeared to be Suzy’s favourites by a considerable margin

 

For his part, Pete seemed perfectly content to scribble away with the two-inch thick sticks of coloured chalk Cin was adding to the basket.

 

My Evolution and gills received only a few moments of polite inquiry before Pete and Suzy became the centre of attention again.

 

Lash had been experimenting with the paints and chalk as well, although she was far more accustomed to throwing punches and swinging an axe. Her strokes were aggressive and bold but didn’t seem to quite manage what she wanted.

 

Just by general observation, it was clear that she was attempting to sketch a face. However, it became less clear whose face it was intended to be as each sketch was so thoroughly different to the next.

 

As Lash grew increasingly upset and disappointed by her failure to make noticeable progress, I took Cin aside so I could speak privately with him in the passageway.

 

“I want you to observe Lash’s surface thoughts and give her focus form at the original scale,” I ordered, “Can you do it?”

 

“I uh, yes, yes I should be able to do this, my Tyrant!” Cin replied with nervous excitement.

 

“Good. Be ready,” I told him and then returned to the cave.

 

I found Lash still sitting dejectedly on our bed. She was watching our children drawing on the opposite wall with a conflicted and melancholic look in her eyes. Lash sighed quietly and rested her head against my chest as I sat down beside her and wrapped my arm around her.

 

“I know what you are trying to do,” I explained gently.

 

Lash stiffened for a moment and gave me a guilty glance before looking away.

 

“If you keep practising, you can overcome a lack of talent,” I continued in the same gentle tone while trying my hardest to remain as supportive and non-judgemental as possible, “But memory can be a funny thing. Revisiting memories can make it more difficult to remember the details. In extreme cases, memories can become so distorted that you can barely recognise them. But leaving memories alone can be just as harmful...If we don’t actively recall something, it will slowly fade into nothing...So reminders are important.”

 

Tears began running down Lash’s cheeks and she bowed her head, “Forgetting her...” Lash clenched and bared her teeth, “Unfair...” She hissed bitterly.

 

I hugged Lash tighter and allowed her the opportunity to express her anger and grief. Despite what I had planned, I knew that trampling over Lash’s feelings or trivialising them would only cause more pain. For my plan to work, I needed Lash to be calm and focused, so patience was the best approach.

 

After an hour Lash gradually calmed herself down and returned to her previous melancholic state.

 

“I have something that might help,” I explained quietly in a gentle even tone, “I just need you to trust me and do as I say, alright?”

 

Lash stared up at me with confused yet hopeful eyes.

 

“I want you to think of a memory from before...Before things went bad,” I told her quietly, “A memory where you and your sister were happy.”

 

Lash closed her eyes.

 

Several minutes passed as Lash’s expression alternated between anger, sadness and fear. Then, without warning, the hard lines on her face eased and her expression softened.

 

“Stay with the memory, but don’t force it,” I coached her gently, not wanting to distract her.

 

Lash’s lips slowly formed a sad smile, “My first axe,” Lash murmured wistfully.

 

I slowly nodded my head in understanding.

 

Receiving your first real weapon and pieces of armour was a coming-of-age milestone for the Deep Orcs. Beyond the physical aspect of being able to leave the village and experience a much higher degree of personal protection, it signified being recognised as an adult and that you could handle yourself.

 

“Hold onto the memory,” I encouraged Lash supportively, “Allow yourself to truly experience it.”

 

The minutes continued to pass us by and Lash grew increasingly more relaxed.

 

<It is finished, my Tyrant.> Cin informed me with a small degree of hesitation.

 

“There is something I want to show you,” I told Lash gently.

 

Lash slowly opened her amethyst eyes and curiously stared back at me before slowly nodding her head, “Alright,” she agreed quietly before glancing toward Pete and Suzy, who was still painting and drawing on the wall.

 

“We won’t be going far,” I reassured her and got us both up onto our feet.

 

Leading Lash toward the entrance to our cave, the thought occurred to me that Cin’s hesitance might have some bearing on his degree of success. However, I had seen Cin perform similar tasks before and was quite confident in his artistic abilities.

 

Exiting our cave, we found Cin just outside of the passageway.

 

As the Daemon stepped aside, he revealed the compelling and toothily smiling likeness of a tall broad-shouldered female Deep Orc statue. True to scale, as near as I could tell, the statue was roughly seven and a half feet tall. Armoured in the traditional thick iron plate Deep Orc armour, except for the helmet, the Deep Orc bore a striking resemblance to Lash herself.

 

Except for three long recessed scars running down the statue’s left cheek and neck, and the missing left ear, the statue’s face was nearly identical to Lash’s own.

 

“Crish...” Lash gasped in shock and surprise. Tentatively stepping forward, she reached a shaking hand toward the statue’s face.

 

I gave Cin each a firm nod of approval. As best as I could tell, he had done a very good job of capturing the likeness of Lash’s deceased sister. Pulling the details from Lash’s memory through invasive telepathy was ethically questionable, but I doubted Lash would mind in this particular instance.

 

Sensing that Lash wanted to be alone, at least for a little while, I waved Cin away and made my way back inside our cave to keep an eye on Pete and Suzy.

 

After a short while, Lash returned and bundled up Pete and Suzy into her arms before heading out again.

 

Following her back outside, I wasn’t particularly surprised to find Lash trying to introduce the simulacrum of her sister to our children.

 

For their part, Pete and Suzy expressed a reasonably large degree of curiosity but didn’t quite seem to understand what Lash was trying to do. Their development had been impressively fast up until now, so I didn’t doubt that they would begin using their first words within a couple of months. However, understanding the exact nature of Crish’s relation to themselves would likely take quite a while longer.

 

At least Lash didn’t seem to mind. Just talking to her sister’s statue about her new life appeared to be enough.

 

I had no fears that Lash thought of the statue as anything more than an artfully shaped piece of stone. The statue was just the excuse she needed to process her grief. It served a similar purpose to photographs or videos from Earth, providing a socially acceptable subject to project emotions and thoughts onto as needed.

 

To that end, I wouldn’t find it surprising if Cin was approached by others for a similar service.

 

At my request, Hana and her sister formed a more sheltered area around Crish’s statue to afford Lash a greater degree of privacy whenever she would need it.

 

Watching Hana and Kohana form a shaded space near the entrance to the cave, I was reminded that I had the opportunity to gain access to the Plant Growth Spell for myself. However, while the prospect of growing plants on demand held a certain degree of merit, I found myself more interested in Cin’s Shape Stone Spell instead.

 

Growing plants with magic had already been demonstrated as something of an art form with strict sensory requirements. Beyond the utility of accelerating the growth process for vegetables, I wasn’t confident I had the right skills to make the most of the Spell.

 

In contrast, Shape Stone’s basics seemed far more useful and accessible. Making a large solid wall didn’t seem particularly complicated but could have significant strategic importance. Similarly, Collapsing an enemy wall or making a breach seemed like it should be just as simple. Even if I proved incapable of the more sophisticated or complex applications of the Spell, I figured I would still get my money's worth, so to speak.

 

With Shape Stone serving as a trial run for the Grimoire of Flesh Ability, I mentally acknowledged my selection and waited to see what would happen.

 

Almost immediately, an itching sensation erupted from the back of my right hand. Two words written in Daemonic script slowly inched their way across the skin of my hand before coming to an abrupt halt. Despite not understanding the individual letters, I had a sneaking suspicion that the words would be the literal name of the Spell.

 

Picking up a stone off the ground, I concentrated on gathering mana into the tattoo, just like I had done with the Tomes in the library. Unsure of what I wanted to do with the stone, I decided to try and flatten it out like a coin.

 

The gathered mana in my tattoo began bleeding away and the stone in my hand flattened into a shape roughly resembling a coin. Albeit a misshapen and poorly cast coin.

 

Just as I had expected, I had to practise with the Spell if I wanted to gain more control over it. Thankfully, I had Cin and Ochram on hand if I needed advice. However, I decided to continue practising on my own for the time being.

 

It just didn’t feel right to ask for help when I hadn’t even made a serious attempt, let alone determined the limits of my abilities.

 

I decided that I would try the coin exercise again, only this time with a larger stone. Hoping that going larger would make it easier to determine where I was going wrong.

 

Practising on larger rocks seemed to be a step in the right direction. From what I could tell, visualising the final result was an important step, and that was easier to do with a larger subject than a small one.

 

Even without Ochram’s Racial Ability to sense minerals, I could still sense the small amounts of mana that permeated the rocks in The Grove. Similar to the training wheels on a bicycle, it made shaping the stones somewhat easier once I allowed myself to trust in the assistance they provided.

 

Contrary to my expectations, fusing stones was far too easy. So far as the Spell was concerned, individual objects only continued to exist so long as I took care to keep them that way. If I held two stones in my hand and attempted to shape one while ignoring the other, both stones would meld together and attempt to take the shape in question.

 

This was not entirely a bad thing, since it would make drawing stone from the ground that much easier to do, but it was something to remain wary of in the future. It would be entirely too easy to damage something otherwise irreplaceable if I wasn't careful.

 

Combining and moving all the stones involved in my experiments thus far was an interesting experience to witness. Somewhat reminiscent of watching cement run out of the barrel of a cement truck, the merged stones didn’t quite run like water so much as a horizontal mudslide. Curiously enough, the moment I stopped fueling the movement with mana, the stone slurry would immediately harden into whatever shape it held at that particular moment.

 

Far from the sterile but sharp angular forms of Cin and Ochram’s walls and houses, it made me appreciate the sheer difference there had to be in our respective degrees of control.

 

Having witnessed the pair erect buildings and walls on multiple occasions, I wasn’t sure just how much practice it would take to achieve that degree of control. Assuming it was even possible.

 

All the same, I was confident that I would be able to train to the point that Shape Stone would more or less be up to the tasks I required of it.

 

What’s more, practising with Shape Stone gave me cause to reconsider the Plant Growth Spell.

 

My initial fixation had been upon fortification and physical means of breaching the fortifications of others. However, I had downplayed the usefulness of one particular element of the Plant Growth Spell.

 

It could grow food.

 

Natural limitations of my senses would mean that I would never be capable of creating miracle healing herbs like the Dryads. Not without leeching off the Synergy of their Ability anyway. However, there would be nothing to stop me from growing the seeds or saplings of those same plants.

 

Similarly, being able to grow enough food to feed an army with the wave of my hand held a certain appeal all its own as well. The more I thought about it, the more I realised how short-sighted I had been in dismissing Plant Growth so out of hand.

 

Between Shape Stone and Plant Growth, I would have the capability of becoming a walking siege encampment, and I quite liked the sound of that.

 

***** Denbe - Tim’s Demi-Plane ~ Sanctuary *****

 

Trailing a respectful distance behind the giant amber reptilian bulk of his Daemon guide, Denbe couldn’t help but stare at their surroundings in muted awe.

 

Similar to the lush surroundings of Sanctuary itself, The Grove was practically bursting with exotic and beautiful plant life.

 

The central focus of The Grove was a pair of intertwined trees in the middle of a serene lake guarded by ever-watchful Lizardmen.

 

Although he could not be certain, Denbe felt he could almost make out a small gathering beneath the twisting boughs of the trees. However, the more he concentrated, the more out of focus they became.

 

Reluctantly shifting his attention from the tree, Denbe nearly lost his footing in surprise upon realising two more Daemons had joined their procession. A pale bat-winged Daemon had landed on the amber-scaled Daemon’s back and was staring at Denbe inquisitively while the second Elf-like Daemon with green-tinged skin regarded Denbe with a haughty stare from the corner of his eye.

 

“You will address the Tyrant with respect at all times, is that clear?” The Elf-like Daemon demanded quietly.

 

Denbe hastily nodded his head, “I understand!”

 

Rumours of the Tyrant's peculiarities had spread through the members of their organisation with a speed and degree of exaggeration that only rumours were capable of. However, Denbe could tell by the deadly serious tone in the Daemon’s voice that one rumour, in particular, was very likely true.

 

The Tyrant was said to possess a particular aversion to being called an Ogre. In any other circumstances, calling someone an Ogre would be rightly considered an insult. Unfortunately, in this instance, matters were complicated by the fact that the Tyrant was known to be a literal Ogre.

 

The rumours were unclear on precisely what would happen in the event someone was foolish enough to call the Tyrant an Ogre to his face, but none of the stories was particularly encouraging.

 

All the same, there was no doubt that their organisation had never had a patron as powerful and dedicated as the Tyrant. A figurative ocean of wealth had been diverted into the organisation’s coffers alongside the active support of the highest levels of the Asrusian government and military. More than that, Sanctuary itself gave shelter to its members and those they risked their lives to rescue.

 

The requirement to observe a single social nicety was nothing in comparison to what the Tyrant was providing their organisation. Especially since the Tyrant had not asked for anything of consequence in return.

 

Having witnessed the city of Sanctuary for himself, Denbe could understand why it would be difficult for the Tyrant to place a price on his assistance. As best as Denbe could tell, there was nothing the organisation could offer that the Tyrant couldn’t acquire for himself.

 

That particular line of thought was what made Denbe so nervous.

 

A representative of the Tyrant had sought Denbe out by name and brought him to the very seat of the Tyrant’s power. Denbe could only hope that their organisation had not offended him in some way and that the Tyrant was just indulging an element of his curiosity.

 

Denbe had considered asking the Daemons if they knew the reason for his visit but discarded the idea almost immediately. Barring a small number of exceptions, the Daemons as a whole were notoriously stoic individuals when in the company of humans.

 

The bat-winged Daemon looked like he may have been open to at least some form of conversation, but the stern glare of the Elf-like Daemon banished any hope Denbe had of probing for answers. To make matters worse, the subtle shift in the Elf-like Daemon’s eyes gave Denbe the unnerving impression that he could read Denbe’s thoughts and was not amused.

 

Their procession came to an abrupt halt, although Denbe wasn’t sure why. So far as he could tell, the surrounding trees and lakeside were as much the same as those they had passed already. However, the Daemons were looking expectantly toward the lake in such a way that Denbe had to trust that they knew something that he did not.

 

Sure enough, a dark figure soon appeared in the depths of the lake and began to grow closer with each passing second.

 

A few moments later, a savage iron helmet erupted from the surface of the lake and was quickly followed by a pair of hulking pauldrons. A giant armoured body followed as the figure continued toward the lake shore.

 

Doing his best to suppress a surge of terror at the sight of the towering figure bearing down on them, Denge realised that the dark figure had to be the Tyrant himself. Larger by half than any Ogre Denbe had ever seen, he felt his heart freeze inside of his chest as the helmet slowly turned and the visor angled downward.

 

A pair of large dark eyes stared back at Denbe from the shadows of the helmet, but they were not cold or arrogant like he had expected them to be. Instead, they gave Denbe the impression of expectation, anticipation, and restrained curiosity.

 

Quite suddenly, Denbe’s perception of the dark figure changed. While the Daemons themselves continued to give off an aura of imminent yet restrained violence, the dark figure of the Tyrant remained at ease as he left the lake and began nonchalantly stripping his waterlogged armour.

 

Only slightly diminished by the absence of his armour, the Ogre was easily three times Denbe’s height and close to five times as wide. Yet just as before, he gave no signs of violent tendencies or intentions, only the same anticipation and curiosity as before.

 

“You can leave us. I am in no danger,” the Tyrant rumbled with surprising articulation as he sat himself down on a nearby boulder.

 

The bat-winged Daemon and the giant amber-scaled Daemon slipped away into the sky and lake respectively while the Elf-like Daemon lingered.

 

The Tyrant seemed to have anticipated or intended his presence because he made no signs of repeating himself. “You are Denbe of Thanifar, yes?” The Tyrant asked expectantly.

 

Denbe Gulped dryly and nodded, “Ah, ahem, y-yes M-Majesty...”

 

The Tyrant rested his giant hands on his knees and leaned closer, causing Denbe’s body to freeze momentarily in panic. “Good,” the Tyrant rumbled appreciatively, “I was made aware, on several occasions, that you are not the most senior member of the Caravan, But I believe you are better suited than the alternatives for my intentions.”

 

“Y-Your i-intentions?” Denbe stammered, entirely too rattled to stop himself in time.

 

“I am going to free the Dominion’s Slaves, and you are going to help me do it!” The Tyrant declared confidently.

 

Denbe’s eyes widened in shock and his body froze in place as the rational parts of his brain warred against primal instincts for control. The Dominion was where members of their organisation went to die. No one had successfully liberated a single soul from the Dominion’s territory since the latest incarnation of their so-called ‘God King’ had ascended the throne.

 

However, the Tyrant was no mere human. If anyone could launch a raid against the territory of the Dominion and return unscathed, it would be him.

 

If the rumours were to be believed, the Tyrant had already personally freed hundreds of Slaves. Many were freed during the same battle. No member of their organisation could claim even a tenth of that figure from any single campaign, let alone an active battlefield.

 

Denbe’s grandfather had been a Slave in the Dominion’s salt mines and had been freed in the confusion of an enemy raid. Most of what Denbe knew of the Dominion’s slave trade and internal practices were learned from his grandfather’s stories.

 

Chief amongst which were the roving bands of heavily armed manhunters that patrolled the countryside in search of escaped Slaves or anyone they could subdue and sell into Slavery. Combined with the ancient obelisks that dotted the landscape and prevented Teleportation, the only way to escape the Dominion on foot was at the head of an army.

 

“Or behind a giant wall of violent motivated muscle,” Denbe thought hastily as his mind caught up with the opportunity presented before them.

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