Chapter 25: 25 – Restricted Functions

“I’d grind the solid shell into a fine powder, use it as the base for ink. Then, I’d distill the mercurial solution into an elixir, which I’d imbibe while tattooing an appropriate sigil onto myself,” he continued, the veneer of stoicism vanishing from his eyes to reveal a mad glint. A smile formed on his face, but he was snapped back into his usual attitude by the prod of the seal-bottle against his arm. He took a swig and passed it, leaning back and returning to his usual, laid-back attitude.

“If my understandin’ of the method is correct - which I doubt - this’d allow me to create a vector for tapping into some of the creature’s capabilities while maintainin’ separation between my soul and the creature’s essence. Given proper precision and planning, I could even layer these Azoth Tattoos atop one another, assumin’ my method works ‘course.”

The bottle had made its way to her again, and she took another swig. It was half-empty now, and Makhus took notice. He waited for it to reach him again, took his swig, and said, “Right, one more round n’ then we get back on the road.”

Zefaris nodded, while Sigmund just grumbled affirmatively into his beard. Zelsys simply placed the Azoth gem back into storage, going back to the Traits readout. Expecting nothing, she tried tapping on her Survivor’s Instinct trait, and to her surprise, the Tablet reacted.

Its projection became scrambled, with all but the trait’s name illegible. It flickered from white to yellow, then became scrambled as well. The Tablet died, its projection fading, and it just sat there as the four observed it in silence. Before anyone could speak, it flickered back to life, a different projection this time. It posed a question, and offered a choice highlighted in blue at the bottom.

Trait Details are a Restricted Function.

Soulbind this device to enable Restricted Functions.

Proceed?

 

Accept/Decline

It didn’t feel wrong, and trusting her gut had gotten her thus far. Thus, she tapped Accept. The buzzing warmth rushed up her arm, past her shoulder, and towards her heart as wisps of silver Fog shot out of the Tablet and seemingly dove into her markings, traveling up them as pulses of light. Her vision instantly faded to silver, and in her mind’s eye, there flashed several phrases in quick succession.

SOULBIND SUCCESSFUL

OWNER DETERMINED: ZELSYS

RESTRICTED FUNCTIONS ENABLED

FUNCTIONALITY RESTORED: TRAIT DETAILS

FUNCTIONALITY RESTORED: TECHNIQUES LIST

FUNCTIONALITY RESTORED: ADVANCEMENT ASSIST

She wiped the nothingness away with a series of blinks and a shake of her head, the three soldiers staring at her with varying degrees of concern. Makhus in particular looked a combination of concerned and befuddled.

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“Did… Did y’just… Huh?” he tilted his head, squinting at her as if he were trying to figure out if she was going to explode. “Fuck’d you do just now?”

“Looks like this piece of rock didn’t properly bond to me when I first picked it up,” she said, feigning nonchalant annoyance as she gestured with the Tablet for emphasis. “Took this long to give the option to do it manually.”

Before he could question further she stowed it away, holding out an open hand for a few seconds until Zefaris passed the bottle. She took a swig, passed it to Sigmund, and rose to her feet, walking a few steps and idly stretching as she waited for them to follow. Soon enough they were back on the road, making their way towards the edge of the forest with renewed vigor. Zelsys could feel the edge of the forest approach, as could the others - the trees weren’t getting any less dense, it was something about the way the wind blew.

As they walked, however, Makhus became visibly restless, as if something was gnawing at his mind. Bored by the mind-numbing monotony of trekking through a forest, Zelsys confronted his nervosity. 

“C’mon, spit it out,” she poked at him.

Cautious and strangely polite, he asked, “Your breathin’ technique. Who taught you?”

Zelsys was willing to do many things to cover up her own ignorance, but lying about this somehow felt wrong. She didn’t recall what it was, or the exact connotations of it, but for some reason unknown even to her, she understood that this was a touchy subject. Perhaps it was the uncharacteristic caution with which the swordsman asked the question, as if it was something deeply personal.

“I’m afraid I must disappoint you, but Fog-breathing comes naturally to me,” she answered honestly, before adding on a white lie to lead the conversation further. 

“Besides, I couldn’t point you to a teacher even if I had learned it from someone. You can figure out why.”

A disappointed, sad chuckle rumbled from the swordsman as he weakly shook his head, as if to dismiss the questions he would’ve asked were her answer different. 

“Of course,” he said bitterly. “The war took ‘em, like it did damn-near every Fog-breather. Makes y’wonder what the fuckin’ purpose of this war was.”

“We all know it was a matter of face for the old powers,” Sigmund piped up, stating an observation with surprising clarity, though his words were still somewhat muddled by the mass of rusty wire on his face. “Think about it. A couple city-states suddenly get united by some jackoff that calls himself the Sage of Fog. Not only do they make giant leaps in manufacturing technology enabling them to mass-produce things that take your craftsmen tens of man hours to produce, but they categorically refuse to share this technology and force you into trade deals that, while good on paper, are extortionate when you take manufacturing costs into mind.”

The bearded soldier raised his wizened gaze to meet the others’ befuddled stares, smiling through his facial hair. “What? Not all of us joined the army voluntarily. I used to be a history teacher,” he said. 

“So as I was saying,” he continued rambling as they walked, “the old powers needed to put us in our place for the sake of face. So they send a couple Fog-breather led battalions, maybe some golems or what have you, shave a couple kilometers off our borders and take a factory or two.”

“A trade paid in blood and Fog,” recited Zefaris, as if it were some sort of saying. Zelsys made sure to remember it.

 

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