Chapter 1-16: Names are Words, Too...

“Or maybe, instead of Banes, you had Ghost Touch, so you could hit spirits, right?” They all nodded quickly. “But you’re fighting zombies. Ghost Touch doesn’t mean squat. So, you switch to Flaming.” An aura of flame surrounded the dagger. “Or maybe Blessed.” A pure white light replaced the rippling flames. “Or Shocking.” Crackles of voltage snapped up and down the holo-dagger.

“So, it’s not POWER you get,” I said, making a rising gesture. “It’s versatility, and being able to have the right Weapon for the right opponent.” I made a widening gesture. “Options. It’s not something a Powered can’t duplicate a dozen different ways, but we can’t put it into a Weapon.

“The big thing is, you gotta start with a nice weapon. The kind of Weapon that makes someone who’s familiar with weapons go, ‘Ohhhhh, that’s DAMN nice!’, before you go adding magic to it.”

“And the stuff the army gives us won’t work, huh...” Dwayne asked, looking at the rifle, which I handed back to Pedro respectfully.

“No. It’s not badly made, but it isn’t a custom-made tool forged with love, sweat, and blood by a master craftsman.

“Magic loves master craftsmen. It loves things made with great degree of skill. Stuff made with production lines and mass-stamping can go take a leap, as far as magic is concerned. Magic is about people and how good they can be, not mass numbers. You want magic in mass numbers, then every single person has to work for it. It doesn’t just come to you. A craftsman without magic can make magic items, you know... just need to know the proper runecraft, and be good enough to do the job right... and by good, I mean DAMN GOOD,” I told them, before they could ask. “One of those people you see at work and just go fuuuuuuuuuck, that’s so smooth... not something a half-assed hobbyist can do. They are literally making something magical because they are just that good.

“It’s how most Dwarves do it, by the way. Most of the Rockborn aren’t Casters, but they are really good crafters and Runesmiths.”

Father Bower shook his greying head in wonder. “I have heard of Crafting magical items, but not like this, and did not know it could be done by those without magic. Do you know the basics of it?”

“No. I’m not a crafter,” Yet!, “and I’m not Primos. The techniques wouldn’t work for me. Static, y’see. I would just cheat wildly and weave magic into something like a smart person, but I’m not quite adept at that yet.” Meaning I hadn’t had time or the space to take the Item Creation Feats to do so!...

“Get a fine weapon. Name it. Fight and win!” Dwayne repeated, nodding repeatedly, almost to himself.

“And you probably want to stay away from automatic weapons.” He blinked at me. “Anything with spray and pray, where volume of fire makes up for skill... magic doesn’t cling to that stuff easily. Skill calls to skill, skill calls to magic. Fine weapon, fine wielder, makes a magic Name.”

“So, like a revolver, or a carbine, or a shotgun,” he nodded, getting the connection. “I got it. Make me a magic Weapon of my own!”

I hoped that would mean he wouldn’t try just shooting people on the street, but if it took no skill and had no risk, it wasn’t going anywhere, anyways. Sacrificing people to a weapon wasn’t about Naming it, after all. The whole principle was based on awesomeness, not butchery. Without that interplay of trust in the weapon and skill, it just wouldn’t work...

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Father Bower sent me out, with Dwayne escorting me. The young black soldier seemed to enjoy the job, and happily pointed out stuff and told me about the history involved here.

It had taken ten years to build the first layer of the wall across Long Island, and then they’d started over and built that first wall up to its present height. It had been kind of a competition, seeing if the undead could tear it down faster than it could be built up, and they’d gotten really good at putting it together and making it hard to take down. The modular units coming in linked together good and fast, and they could get an incredible amount of work done in a day once the crews knew their stuff.

It was a pattern soon replicated around the world, helping contain the undead spreading out from their Shroudzones and cities, and at least slowing them down, as fighting was generally pointless.

More to the point, it made it harder for undead to join the undead by wandering in from outside, called by the boss undead. As the numbers of undead commanded grew, so did the Shroudzone... and they couldn’t stop all the undead here. If they made it to the water, they’d just walk across the sea floor and be escorted into the Shardzone and recruited.

The number of walkers wasn’t high, as every effort was made to cremate or destroy the undead before that happened, but naturally they couldn’t stop everything.

I frowned as I considered how close the Shroudzone was to the wall.

Well, I could certainly do something to slow down the process, couldn’t I? Given some time...

-------

People were shuttling in via buses, having parked a couple miles back from the wall. I watched them dismount the unmarked buses, their demeanor a mixture of tension, anticipation, routine, and nervousness. They’d obviously done all this before, judging by their attitudes, but were still rightfully nervous of someone making an error, and having to face down a bunch of undead face to face, instead of picking on them from fifty feet away.

I followed them along towards the Wall, noting that pretty much all of them were Powered, and the ones that weren’t had magical Weapons tailor-made to shoot undead.

They were basically here to grind some Karma and work on their skills. Easy, empty xp that wouldn’t really have an effect on the world, since the undead would just be back tomorrow...

But so would they.

There were a few sideways glances at me, being escorted by a wounded soldier and all, and not in what looked like combat garb. Prestidigitation kept my borrowed clothes clean and pressed, and I headed up the long sets of stairs with them, uncovered and built into the back of the wall, purely practical and minimum investment. It did have a handrail, but not a place to be in a thunderstorm.

Dwayne gamely followed me up the stairs, probably for the opportunity to admire my tush, given the grin he couldn’t keep off his face, but I just let it go as I got to the top, and looked out over the Shardzone.

Shadows were growing slowly, the sun would be setting in about a half hour. People were spreading out along the section of the wall, claiming their preferred spots, or moving on if they were occupied. There was an obvious pecking order between experienced crews and newcomers, but kind of inverted... the closer to the stairs you were, the more of a noob you were, as you wanted to be close to the way to flee. The experienced people didn’t have that mindset.

They started unlimbering rifles, carbines, pistols, shotguns, wands, orbs, and staves.

Dwayne started pointing out teams like they were sports stars or something. There was the Six-Guns, all using revolvers or repeating rifles; those men and women in red were from the Fire Walkers, a fire-oriented Casters guild; the Ivory Shields were sponsored by Harse, here for tempering and escorted by Clerics to aid them, and doubtless seen as emergency healing by everyone. That was a Special Ops team, mixed Casters and non, getting their daily practice in, while a team of Archers over there thrummed their stringless Windbows, and what looked to be a scruffy band of mercs waited lazily around to do their thing.

“Am I correct in thinking that they do their thing for about ten, fifteen minutes, and then go home?” I asked Dwayne, my eyebrow raised.

He had to grin. “That’s pretty close. Those guys using guns don’t want to keep spending ammo, so they rely on some of the Casters for ammunition. They gang up shooting at the spirits with Buffed weapons, and when the spells providing the ammo wear off, they call it a night.”

He pointed at some of the other teams. “Powered guys, like the Casters and the Archers there, can go all night if they want to. They pull one in, and the rest of the team finishes it off. They are pretty reliable, unless someone misses and hits something out there they weren’t supposed to.”

“Yeah, I imagine that could get hairy rather quickly. I gather the soldiers get pretty antsy on overwatch while these guys are farming Karma.”

“Yeah, but the terms are that they have to stick around until morning if they harvest, so they become back-ups if the undead decide to do a serious climb. There’s always some missed shots pulling in stuff, and if it’s really strong, everyone knows to focus it and kill it.”

“You ever had to stand overwatch?”

“Shiiiiit, no. I’m nowhere near enough of a good shot. You gotta shoot Expert to qualify up here, and I only grade Sharpshooter. The guys on overwatch earn some nice Karma getting these civvies outta trouble, too.”

“I imagine.” I looked around. “Does Helix work the wall?”

“Yeah, he’s a Caster. He’s probably with the other Airheads thataway.” He pointed north. “He’ll be on overwatch until most of the gun-users are done, then kinda fall in with his Bloodline bros.”

“Okay, I’m gonna Message him, and see if he wants to pull for me.”

Dwayne looked a little surprised when I said that. “You got the punch to finish these things?” he asked, impressed.

I flicked up my Darts, hovering there, black inside silver, black, white, and gold. “Oh, yeah. That’s how I got out of there in the first place, you know.”

“Right...” he finally nodded, sighing and letting it go. “Ima head back down now. You need me, you just Message me with that funky magic stuff, and I’ll come on back. I’m sure they’ll let you sleep in the medical tent tonight, but you gonna have to find someplace else tomorrow, or make arrangements,” he reminded me.

I didn’t really have anything to safeguard, I didn’t need to eat, and I could plunk my ass down somewhere for two hours and get all the sleep I needed. I’d only need help if it started to rain, which didn’t feel likely here, and if I had to, I could just Endure Elements and make the adjustments...

“Got it,” I nodded. “Thanks for your help, Dwayne!”

“Hey, an ass like that, I’ll give you all the help, Miss Traveler!” he saluted me. I lifted an eyebrow, and he laughed and headed back for the stairs down.

I let it roll off me, flicking through a Message, and sending it out to Helix. “Hey, flyboy, I’m up on the wall, and wondering if you can Pull for me. Down by D-12,” I sent him, glancing at the nearest location pole.

“<Be right there!>” he sent back on the rebound. A moment later I saw him rise into the air and come scooting down this way. Given I was dressed in civvies, and not in fatigues and flak armor and leathers and stuff, I wasn’t hard to pick out, and he swooped down next to me with a grin.

“<Miss Traveler>,” he half-saluted. “<May I be of service to you this evening?>” he grinned.

“Yes. I’m intending to kill a whole lot of the shadows and wraiths here, but I need some help to do so.” I flicked up my Darts, and he eyed them alertly. “These are short range, but they pack a nasty hit. If they can be pulled in, I can hit them and take them down.”