Chapter 242: On Watch

Chapter 242: On Watch

On watch and with the others asleep, Leland toiled about, looking much more interested with the forest than he actually was. Were there monsters in these woods? Creatures with teeth the size of forearms? Yes and yes. But he wasn’t afraid of them, he hadn’t been afraid of the usual monsters in a long while by this point.

With the true monsters he’d faced, the small fries just didn’t cut it.

But still, watching the forest was an important job. If a monster did show up, he’d never hear the end of it from his friends. But that didn’t mean he had to watch the forest.

Crow Massacre:

Rank: 23 (B)

Call upon the ethereal familiar of the Lord of Curses.

Summon a full murder of 15 ethereal crows to attack targets for up to 2 minutes.

Promote a single crow to lead the murder. The leader is larger, faster, stronger, and more real. If permitted, the leader can stay summoned for any given length of time.

Leland had yet to fully utilize the promoted aspect of the curse. Sitting there, bored out of his mind, he experimented a bit. High above him, the leader crow circled. Even against the dark night sky, the outline of the bird was somewhat noticeable. Not because it stood out or basked in ethereal glow, but because of the aura it leaked.

Like High Inquisitor Rushwin, Harbinger Ashford, or even Isobel to a certain degree, the crow oozed magical authority. It was, in part, Leland’s own power that dripped from the bird, but also foreign augmentation of the Lord of Curses.

What did this mean in practical terms? Leland wasn’t sure, but he also figured most people wouldn’t be able to feel the aura his crow radiated. Maybe it was his time spent with the Lords, maybe it was his experience with contracts and pacts, or maybe it was the repeated abuse his body had taken by beings far too powerful for him to compete.

He shivered at the thought, his guts feeling like grated cheese where the Toy Maker Harbinger lacerated him. Or maybe it was how his neck stiffened and his breathing hitched when he remembered how the Undying Harbinger clamped his throat closed.

Either way, those battles ended similarly.

Soul Fire.

It was a plague, as far as he was concerned. A curse that broke the rules of magic, a calamity gifted by the Lord who oversaw terror and justice. The heatless flames of the curse still echoed in the back of his mind, a curt reminder of just how powerless he truly was.

“I know you are listening,” he whispered just loud enough to over take the crackle of the campfire.

He paused a moment, his chin low. Above, his promoted crow flew, circling round and round, its eyes darting through the canopy and tracking movement.

There was one more being Leland had been exposed to. Lords, Harbingers, they were one and the same by some human metric, beings with thought, reason. A goal to strive for, a hope to achieve. Even if they were monsters, their thoughts were easily discernible compared to some: Parasitic items.

Lodestar.

Leland could feel him hibernating on his back, a black tattoo with steel-silver luster. A ring, or rather, a portal. The weapon took the form of a hole, one that led to Oblivion – where life meets end.

During their battle with Ashford, Lodestar had started out assisting Leland. From Oblivion, Lodestar summoned a swarm of bug-like monstrosities. They rushed from the darker than dark portal, entering the battlefield like a true force of nature. Alien creatures, ones not meant for this plane, this realm, that’s what Lodestar could achieve.

But of course, that wasn’t what Lodestar wanted. Being a parasite – a former human whose soul was willingly tempered into a weapon to assist someone else to transcend – it was hard to understand what it was he truly wanted. Most would consider parasitic items to be a double edged sword lying in wait to ambush their host.

They fought and helped, usually at the command of the host, waiting for the perfect moment to consume their host’s soul and body – transcending, somewhat, themselves.

But that wasn’t exactly what Lodestar wanted, at least that wasn’t how Leland understood the weapon. Created from the soul of the Lord of Souls’ brother, Lodestar spoke. He acted. He had his own will, one that didn’t always fall in line with parasites.

He abandoned Leland against Ashford, he spoke to others like they were prey, he had emotions far further than biding time.

But most importantly, since Ashford, Lodestar had not spoken once. He had not appeared from Leland’s back. He has not responded to any of his host’s calls.

“I know you are listening,” Leland said again, emphasizing a bit more.

Again, there was only silence.

“Is this the way you are going to be? I don’t want the powers you offer, I don’t want to fall into the trap you have carefully tried to lay before me. But I don’t hate you. I understand—”

Leland stopped himself. Truthfully, he didn’t understand – another fault of his. There were many, many things he didn’t know. Schools of magic, inter politics, the will of the divines. The feelings of a parasitic item were just as foreign to him as breeds of ducks. He could learn, sure, but there was only one duck breeder around, and he was tattooed onto his back.

His words echoed, the trees suddenly just one more hazard for the trio to watch out for. One of the crow cawed, causing the perceptive archer to flinch. Another cawed, this time opposite the first. She flinched again, eyes darting from branch to branch.

She muttered something to her friends, but through the leader crow who sat nearest the group, Leland was able to hear it.

“He’s alone. Summoner, just the birds I think. He can fly.”

“Yes, I can fly,” Leland announced, causing all three of them to stumble a bit. “I ask one more time. Why are you headed toward my camp with weapons out? Am I just unlucky, or are you coming to attack?”

The archer bit her lip. Another crow cawed. “Just unlucky, I’d say. We’re hunting. Tracks came this way about an hour ago.”

“Did they now?” he asked instantly. “Because I’ve been on watch for the last hour and a half. Nothing of note has come this direction, unless you are hunting rabbits. But a sword is a strange weapon to hunt rabbits with, isn’t it?”

He paused a moment. “Are you hunting rabbits?”

Another crow cawed.

And another.

“Woodlin Hydra. We’re hunting a Woodlin Hydra,” the archer declared, her hands slipping to the string of her bow.

Leland saw this and decided to give the group one last out. “No you’re not. Woodlin Hydras hibernate this time of year. Not to mention, I haven’t seen one tonight and let me tell you, I see all.”

All of his crows cawed at his sentence’s end, flapping their wings and bobbing up and down to shake the branches they stood on.

“I ask, for the final time, where are you headed with weapons drawn at this time of night? I see you pulling back on your bow, archer.”

She hesitated, her arm stiff and locked in place.

A crow darted down, clipping her elbow. Blood spilled at the same time she cursed. Her friends shifted around her, protecting her despite being nearly blind.

“Maybe some light would help you three in this situation,” Leland said, his hand flickering with sudden flame.

The cantrip was one of the first he learned. Create Flame. Simple, easy, strong enough to light a candle or start a campfire. It was nowhere near the strength to illuminate the forest.

That was if Leland had cast the cantrip the way he was taught. One perk of being a warlock rather than a mage was the use of lifeforce in place of mana. For him, the loss of stamina was negligible for the effects lifeforce had on normal magic. Augmentation was the simple explanation, but he preferred the simpler.

It made magic stronger. It made it different.

The fire Leland created hovered just above his outstretched finger. Being a bit larger than the fire of a torch, it took on the properties of creeping violet and otherworldly chill. It was heatless, purple in color, and was bright enough to cause sickly shadows to stretch into the forest.

All of a sudden, thirty odd eyes stared at the trio, each small orb reflecting the unnatural flame. The crows cawed again, this time causing all members to flinch and ready their weapons. Even the woman bleeding from the nasty gash on her arm prepared for battle.

But Leland didn’t attack right away. No, instead he studied two things. First was the swordsman’s Legacy Tattoo. He’d seen the bear-trap depiction made of ink before and recognized the Lord in question. Lord of Poachers. While not a Vile Lord, the Poaching Lord had few friends among the heavens, least of which the Lord of the Hunt.

Frostford had been plagued by a gang of poachers nearly a year ago, Leland surmised these must be the last of their ranks.

But he hardly focused on that. Instead he stared at the “W” brand the bleeding archer wore across her face. For as dark as it was in the forest, and despite heightened perception from the contract with the Lord of Chameleons, the dark-scarred brand was something he’d missed. If he had seen it when he first appeared, there wouldn’t have been any questions or preamble.

“Kneel before me,” he whispered, the words bleeding into reality like water being absorbed by a sponge.

No sooner did violet flame erupt from the ground, surrounding the trio like cornered beasts. The swordsman charged Leland, but the heatless flame seared his skin on contact. He bounced back, green mist leaking from his skin. The archers loosed a volley of arrows at him, but each failed to hit their mark, warping around him like space itself bent for his will.

Less than twenty seconds passed before the trio fell to their knees, their final words being pleas for mercy.

Leland gave them no such thing, taking and adding their souls to his bare collection.

Through all of this, Lodestar watched silently.