Mage Tank

Before parting ways with Ealdric Senior, the patriarch pulled Varrin aside to provide some words of wisdom. The pair made no effort to avoid being overheard and I made myself obvious as I waited on the big guy, so that no one could fairly accuse me of the eavesdropping that I was certainly engaging in.

“I see that you’ve taken up your father’s sword, Kazandak,” said Ealdric Sr., gesturing at the sheathed blade on Varrin’s hip. The giraffe-length weapon–20 feet at its longest–was the size of a normal longsword when fully collapsed. Varrin nodded at the patriarch’s words, placing his hand on the sword’s pommel, but didn’t speak.

“When your grandfather forged that sword,” Ealdric Sr. said, “it was the first blade made by a Delver that could only exist because it was made by a Delver. Other craftsmen had well-honed the art of producing blades that could only be wielded by a Delver–demanding mana weaves, absurd size and weight–but your grandfather was the first to cast the entire art of weapon smithing into the fire before using that heat to forge Kazandak.

“This weapon could not possibly exist without magic. No metal can be worked to be so long and so thin while keeping its structural integrity. Everything that had come before it relied on traditional designs, adapted to the abilities of Delvers, but Junior’s first masterwork asked the Delver to adapt to the weapon, instead. To wield Kazandak, one must bend to Kazandak. The blade makes itself a part of your technique, your style, a part of you.

“When Junior presented it to me as a gift, its requirements and enhancements fell well below what I was able to wield, but I recognized the potency of it. The blade is light, so it takes great advantage of Speed, but the force required to use it effectively at its farthest reach demands incredible Strength. When both are applied with skill, the sword proves itself more potent than many blades with… ‘flashier’ or higher-level bonuses. I used it for many years, before passing it down to your father.”

Varrin watched the patriarch respectfully, though it looked like he knew this story well. I imagined it was a favorite bedtime tale for many of the Ravvenblaq children, tucked to sleep with their wooden play swords to keep them warm in bed.

“Var,” said Ealdric, “when I was a child, we slept on threadbare blankets on cold stone deep within the mountains. Our family ate what we called Rhyming Soup, made from moisture collected from the mines and whatever vermin we could hunt for meat–bats, rats, and cats, mostly. We held nothing of value but for one thing: an ancient, brittle shortsword.

“For you or I now, something like that would be less than junk in our eyes, but at that time, it was a treasure. We could have traded it for a month of full bellies and dry beds near the warmth of the smeltery. Being discovered with it could also have sent my father to the pens for a year, which was the same as a death sentence. It was the most valuable–and dangerous–thing anyone that we knew owned.

“My father did not keep it for its worth in silver, or even to use as a weapon, however. He kept it because it was his totem; a symbol of his lineage, passed down from parent to child for unknown generations. Our family held no surname at the time, but that sword was our crest, the sigil of our house.

“I tell you this not to remind you of your heritage or because old men enjoy repeating stories they’ve told a hundred times… Well, maybe a little bit of that second part. No, the reason I am telling you is because our house has lost some part of itself since we were granted titles and lands and more money than we know what to do with. I have struggled with it myself, and I fear that I have failed to pass on the essence of my father’s customs. The customs that were held for centuries before the name Ravvenblaq was first spoken.

“To my father, that sword was not an object–not a weapon or a tool. To him, the blade was the spirit of our family. Each hand that had held it was a part of the blade, a piece of every man or woman who’d owned it, imbued into the metal. The sword was a living thing that spoke to him in some deep way, and he passed before I ever truly understood what that meant to him.

“I have struggled to hand his beliefs down through the family. When I was young and angry, I blamed my father for much of what we endured in my youth. Here was a man who muttered to his sword, instead of using it to cut down our taskmasters. A man who prayed to the ancestors that had allowed us to be enslaved. A man who never raised a fist to anyone, no matter how cruel. I thought him weak and foolish. As I have aged, I have… calmed down some.” He gave Varrin a smile soaked in regret.

“While my father never broke fetters or drove our oppressors back across the sea, he accomplished a feat that I think is just as grand. He kept our identity. Ours was the only family with history, with a story that told us who we were. We were connected to all those who came before us, and though that connection grew frayed and distant, it never broke. It persists to this day.” Ealdric reached down and placed his hand over Varrin’s along the sword’s pommel.

“That ancient sword is lost,” he said. “Stolen and shattered before the earliest days of the war. But, this blade,” he shook the pommel for emphasis, “this blade is our legacy now.” He released his grip and took Varrin by the shoulders. “I taught Junior everything I knew, Junior put everything he had into forging this blade, and your father…” Ealdric looked down for a moment and swallowed. When he looked back up at Varrin, he was no longer the Ravvenblaq patriarch. He was a man, forlorn and world-weary, who’d seen his share of tragedy.

“Your father lost his life trying to protect you with it,” he finally said, softly. “Now, this blade is yours, but I want you to meditate on the ones who came before you. Try to understand your connection, not just to the three generations that held Kazandak, but to all those who lived and died in the mines, and all those who lived as free men and women before. This may not be the sword that was taken from my father, but this is the sword he whispered to in the night. That history and connection go beyond the limits of this physical world.”

Ealdric grasped Varrin by the back of the neck and gave the big guy a gentle shake, then dropped his hand. He searched Varrin’s eyes for a few seconds, then turned to leave. Varrin watched the patriarch go, and I could tell the story had moved him but also left him a little confused. He raised his hand from the pommel of the sword and stared down at it. When he looked back up, the patriarch had passed out of sight.

He turned to me with a strange expression, as though he didn’t know whether he was allowed to ask me what the fuck that was all about. Eventually, he walked over and the pair of us moved to catch up with the rest of our party in silence.

*****

We’d been told to make ourselves scarce, so after setting a Checkpoint at my Formation estate–not ransacked and no squatters yet, so huzzah!–and making a visit to a few shops, we hustled our way out of Foundation before the Delver meeting was ever held. We spent the time waiting for our blockade passes by traveling to Port Sarsora on Hiward’s eastern coast, where we’d depart across the sea bound for Eschendur.

We took the journey at an easy pace and ended up with a few days in the port, which was enough time for me to use my Spectacular Vernacular bonus to teach myself the Imperial language to a conversational level. Uncommon words would be tricky and my accent was probably shit, but it seemed like a reasonable thing to spend my time on since we were about to be interfacing with a fleet’s worth of Littans.

Our passes arrived without a hitch, and no less than a dozen merchants and rental fleets denied us passage or vessel after catching on that we had an Eschen in our party, despite the fact that our passes expressly granted Nuralie permission to cross the blockade. As it turns out, Varrin was a deft hand at sailing and Etja had a good grasp of what was required from her inherited knowledge, and they assured us that we three laymen could be instructed for the brief voyage from shore to shore. So, we bought a caravel with a speed-enhancing mana weave.

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We set out at dawn with the wind at our backs and Etja’s tricorn making her look like the most fabulous of sea captains as its large, colorful feathers flapped in the breeze. Three dawns later, we were pulling up to thirty imperial warships off the coast of Eschendur and facing down one grumpy Littan admiral.

After dropping sails, allowing ourselves to be boarded and ‘inspected’, handing over our passes, and watching a schooner full of Littan soldiers sail away with them, I was still pretty calm. That didn’t last.

After an hour, a galleon moved into position on our starboard side along with a second which closed in on our bow. Both ships faced us broadside, with a battery of cannons on full display. The attempt at intimidation got me irritated, and I briefly wondered how much damage a cannonball would do if I took one to the chest.

When the admiral finally showed his face, it was from very far away on the deck of his galleon with a pair of level 3 Delvers at his side, full copper. One of them had a skill that amplified the admiral’s voice, the latter of whom began engaging us in a meaningful dialogue in which he made demands that none of us were willing to acquiesce to.

“You will remove all weapons and armor,” said the admiral in a nasally voice that echoed across the water. “My sailors will retrieve these items from you before allowing your passage into Eschendur.”

I looked around the party, seeing that I wasn’t the only one who had trouble with that idea. We’d debated whether to approach the fleet in full kit, casual wear, or hire an illusionist to make our full kit look like casual wear, but had settled on the upfront and honest approach. We had on our normal loadout, although most of us still had our main weapons in inventory.

“Our passes carried no such restrictions!” I shouted back to the man. “We were given unrestricted passage!”

A scowl crossed the admiral’s face. One of the Littan coppers, a woman in a sand-colored uniform, leaned over and whispered into his ear.

“You will also submit to an inventory inspection,” said the admiral.

I turned to the group.

“Is that a thing?” I asked.

“You can show other Delvers most of your screens,” said Varrin. “Including your inventory.”

“Yeah, but why haven’t I heard of an ‘inventory inspection’ before?”

“Because it’s an outrageous request,” said Varrin. “No one asks to look at your inventory, because no one wants to have their inventory looked at. Not unless you’re meeting with someone like the king.” He frowned. “In Hiward, anyway. The Littan Delvers may have a different culture.”

“Or they’re just being assholes,” said Xim.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna fly with me,” I said. “You know how much shit I got in there?”

Varrin rubbed at his face.

“I feel that they are intentionally making this difficult,” he said. “I haven’t heard of them making this kind of demand before.”

“Alright. So, what do I say to that?” I asked.

“If they insist,” said Varrin, “then we either comply or return to Hiward.”

My grip on the boat’s railing tightened.

“We can’t go back, we got important crap to do here.”

“Then impress upon them the significance of disrupting our journey.”

“Maybe you should take this one,” I said.

“That might be messy,” said Varrin. “You’re the party leader. It’s important to show a clear chain of command. It’s also important to establish that we are not here at Hiward’s behest. If I were to be in charge of communications, it might make that distinction muddier.”

I sighed, then shouted again.

“We are sailing for Eschendur with a full grant of rights to passage by your government! If you insist upon performing an illegal inspection, we will be forced to report your malfeasance!”

The admiral did not like that statement one bit.

“Blunt,” said Varrin.

“Hey, I gave you your chance, brother.”

“You may file your report back in Hiward, as is your right,” said the admiral. “Turn over custody of your Eschen passenger and you will be allowed to depart.”

My grip on the railing tightened further and I heard a sharp snap as it cracked, but it wasn’t my grasp that had caused it. I looked over and saw Varrin’s gauntleted hand wrapped around splintered remains. He tossed them into the water, staring darkly at the admiral. I turned to check on Nuralie and found her looking murderous. Xim had a flare of crimson flame rolling across her knuckles. Even Etja looked pissed, which I wasn’t sure I’d seen before. I turned back to the galleon.

“You have no right to-” I began to shout back, but the admiral cut me off.

“If you do not comply, we will fire upon your vessel.”

“You’re threatening to sink a legally sailing crew with full permission to–”

“If you attempt to flee, we will fire upon your vessel.”

“You cannot possibly be this stu–”

“You have thirty seconds to signal your intent to hand over the Eschen.”

“Ah, fuck this,” I said.

I cast Shortcut twice in quick succession and appeared on the deck of the galleon beside the admiral. The beastman stumbled back when I popped out of a dimensional tear two feet from him, but one of his copper flunkies steadied him before he fell. All along the deck, soldiers leveled spears and crossbows at me. The second copper, a brawny male Littan, stepped between myself and the admiral, glowing scimitar at the ready.

“It seemed like we were having difficulty communicating,” I said, leaning to one side and ignoring the level 3. “I think this is more convenient.”

The admiral’s eyes had gone wide, but he recomposed himself after the woman came around to join the other level 3 between myself and their commander.

“Listen, my guy, think about what you’re asking here,” I said. “I’ve got a full party of platinum Delvers on that boat, people that I’ve fought and bled with, people I care quite a lot about, and you’ve just asked me to hand one over to you. It’s not gonna happen.”

“I-if you refuse to cooperate, then–”

“Then what?” I said. “You’re going to shoot cannonballs at us? Do you think you’d hit any of us with them?”

“Your vessel will be–”

“We bought that boat with one-tenth of what we made in our last Delve. Sink it, see if I care. Or, wait, do you think we need a boat to make it to shore?”

“Seize this intruder!” the admiral shouted, and the coppers jumped into action.

They weren’t very impressive.

The woman began weaving a spell, which I Dispelled. She seemed genuinely shocked when her mana fizzled. Scimitar brought his weapon down, but I cast Shortcut again and appeared behind the admiral. I sent Gracorvus into targe mode and had it fly at Scimitar, who struck at it like a charging monster, which accomplished very little. I kept willing the shield forward at 40 miles per hour and Scimitar was sent tumbling off the side of the ship. The splash was satisfying.

The woman began weaving viridian mana, which I Dispelled again.

“You gotta, ya’ know, try to fake me out or something,” I said as I Dispelled a third spell. “This shit costs me like 40% of what you're spending on that magic and I guarantee I have more mana than you.”

She bared her teeth and pulled out a long dagger, then charged. I gripped the admiral by the collar of his jacket and jerked him in front of me, which caused her to stumble to a halt to keep from skewering her commander.

“We’re all reasonable people,” I said as a soldier stabbed me from behind with a spear. His weapon broke on my armor. “You gave me one option, which is to say, an ultimatum. I’ll do you a favor and give you two options. Option one, you let me and my crew sail to Eschendur like our blockade passes give us the legal right to do. No one gets hurt, and everyone walks away happy. Option two, you act like a pissy asshole and I sink your battleship. Less people walk away, happy or otherwise.”

The admiral turned and looked at me with one wild eye. Two more soldiers broke their spears on my back and I gave the admiral a winning smile.

“Your choice,” I said.

“Fire all cannons!” the admiral screamed.

“This is why I’m not a diplomat,” I said, my voice lost in the thundering sound of big guns.

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