Chapter 19: 19 – With A Little Ingenuity, Surely Anything Is Possible

Corbin became aware that he either wasn’t dead, or was in hell. His entire body, from claws to beak–

Ugh, he was still a raven. And he was in awful, awful pain.

He croaked, not even a nice raven caw, but something awful and raw, with pain threading its way through his birdie chest. He cracked open an eye and beheld numerous claustrophobic hanging plants, flowers and dead animals dangling from the rafters.

“Your freak of nature yet lives,” a wizened old voice said.

“My thanks to you,” Kyessy said. Okay, he wasn’t dead. He was pretty sure this was a good thing.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Brokered a deal for your life with this bog witch. You’re welcome.”

“You could have just let me die,” he said. He had been completely sure this was the plan from the outset. Turned out Kyesiara the tiefling ranger was full of surprises.

“And live knowing you had saved me from a baskarand and possibly from a tenrill? I think not. I made a deal with you… an unofficial one, but one I intend to honor.” She seemed both disappointed and somewhat amazed to be speaking these words.

He basked in this for a time, until at last her eyes narrowed and she either got an impression of what he was thinking, or she grew tired of him staring at her.

“Shut it.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Don’t have to. I know, and that’s what matters.”

“Have it your way. What’s our next move?” he asked.

She considered this. “We should be close to one of Denspire’s outlying communities. It might have been spared the army’s march out to meet Fellwroth. I’m informed that a day’s travel to the south and east will bring us to that place. The folk there stood and answered the call when Denspire betrayed Fellwroth, so it shouldn’t be nearly as bad as the last place. We may be able to find a sorcerer, a mage, or a warlock who understands your plight.”

“Did you get anything out of that baskarand?”

Her silence was confirmation enough.

“Definitely show me. And actually, while we’re at it, lay out all the other cards you ended up with. Let’s take a look at some tactics.”

She’d gotten a mythic. This thing was pretty incredible. Or would be if she could use it… it was for a Caster class only.

The Ancient Grimoire was a mythic item, without an aspect, and would randomly generate two uncommons, one rare, or three common Caster spells per day. Those spells would be usable for the day, then vanish into the aether every night at midnight. It required Kyessy to somehow unlock her Core-locked cards, which by all indications was impossible, change into a Caster class, and then become level 25 overnight… also impossible. He had a fleeting bit of hope that he could transform back into a human and take it, but remembered that wouldn’t work either. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t end up as a level one human upon his transformation. They’d need a place to sell this, and before the word got out that the gruff, unlikeable tiefling ranger had it. People would kill for this thing.

Still, if they were on good terms with the card shop in the place they’d just been… no. There was no way they would pay a decent cost for an incredible find like this, and it was located in the wrong direction.

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“Still, I came up with this also.”

She laid down an uncommon, which seemed strange at first, but fired up his imagination after a second of thinking. The picture showed a stupid-looking giant of a scarred barbarian (complete with ear necklace and double-sided battle axe) reading a thick tome and at the same time holding a slightly floating ball of fire. This was called Versatility, and the exact mechanical text on the card went like this: Three times per day, you may swap two of your Attributes for the next five minutes. It was followed by a wee bit of flavor text: With a little ingenuity, surely anything is possible.

It had no aspect, and was classed as an Ability. Curiously, it didn’t have the bottom bit, where it talked about what class you’d become if you equipped it into a Core slot. However, the moment Kyessy’s finger lifted off the card, the text swam into view. It now read, just like his own Familiar card: Special: If this card is placed in a Core Slot, the user may choose to become a Caster, Scoundrel, or Adventurer.

“This is the new best card you have,” he said. “Equip it right now.”

This didn’t seem to surprise her, but she really only seemed to run on apathy mode or fury mode, so he chalked it up to the former. Aside from the new uncommon savior of all, she only had her rare quiver card, which wouldn’t be of any use to him, given that he had no arrows. He also couldn’t use item cards from his ‘master’ regardless. His card specified it was only good for abilities.

She thanked the bog witch, exited the old woman’s hut, and didn’t immediately turn north. Instead, her shoulders slumped, and she looked up at him, where he now stood on her shoulder.

“You did this to us. I want you to remember that.”

“What are you talking about?”

 

New Quest received! – Vital Ingredients

The bog witch requires some trifles for her cooking, her foot fungus, and her dubious spellcraft concoctions.

Collect the following and return them to the bog witch’s cottage:

• void blossoms 0/6
• fither berries 0/12
• star sligs 0/3
• a relk’s tail 0/1
• a jar of unsullied moon sap 0/1

Reward: the bog witch won’t curse the both of you with festering pustules or Sasha’s Hideous Engorgement. After all, she already rendered her services, and you are in her debt.

 

He shuddered. Just the word ‘slig’ sounded awful, like it was covered in some acidic or poisonous ooze, or was maybe just a ball of eyes in the rough shape of a star. And Kyessy hadn’t put relk as one of the things she was least concerned about when entering the swamp… it could very well rank up there with the baskarand.

Completing this quest meant trekking further into the swamp, the land of bog baskarands and blackspore lung. Oh, well… he plucked up his courage, got ready to hold his breath, and inspected literally everything.

“You think they freed that wolf familiar?”

“We don’t need to rehash the nasty little felinian traitor who robbed me of my team, thank you very much. That girl is dead to me.”

That was apparently that. He inspected over there, and then the other way, and then for good measure, the exterior of the bog witch’s cottage. It’d be really nice if those things were just piled against the rough stone walls, but no dice.

 

 

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