Summon the Great Spirits - Book 1 Chapters 7,8,9 (Patreon)

Chapter 7

Adventurer’s Guild

Oudsted was a strange town. Not because of the haphazard town that rested outside the walls, far from their protection. But for the great variety of peoples within. Ethan spent enough time in the temple to imagine an ever-twisting image of the inhabitants of the lands. Even his imagination failed to predict the creatures—people, he realized—that roamed this world.

Humans were the dominant species. But walking among them were all manner of elves, dwarves, folk that only came up to Ethan’s knees, beastkin of every type, and even those that didn’t fit into the standards of bipedal motion. As Targe and Twist led him down the snaking alleyways, he couldn’t help but stare at everything. And everyone. The only thing that dragged his attention away from the shifting scenes was the system message, alerting him that his quest was completed. That and the pair of soft-soled shoes that hit him in the forehead.

“Alright there, Ethan?” Targe asked, stopping the procession.

First, Ethan scooped up his reward. Then he inspected the new quest.

[Heal Telbarantis]

Quest

Description:

You’ve made it to Oudsted. Good job!

Now you must heal whatever is ailing the Great Spirit Telbarantis.

Objectives:

Cure the Great Spirit Telbarantis

Reward:

Rank 1 [Caller] specific weapon.

The system expected him to level quickly to Rank 1. Ethan wasn’t as confident in his abilities, but perhaps this quest would take a while. He’d been meaning to ask the adventurers how long it would take him to level to a new rank. Other things were getting in the way. Instead, he found a wooden crate nearby and sat upon it, inspecting his new shoes. They were white to match his robe, with little brass bells tied to the side. He appreciated the bell theme, but worried about being covered with bells by the time he got a full set of gear.

[Caller’s Moccasins]

[Shoes]

Rank 0

Rare

Description:

Adorned with Calling Bells, the [Caller’s Moccasins] represent a noticeable part of a Caller’s attire. Soft, yet water resistant, these moccasins allow the caller to move faster, when required.

Effect:

Increase the damage of your summon’s abilities.

With intent, shake to invoke the [Caller’s Sprint] ability, once per hour.

As Ethan slipped them on, he agreed that they were comfortable. Far more comfortable than his old work boots, but without socks they felt strange on his feet. It would take getting used to, but he doubted the description’s claim that they were waterproof. He went on to examine the [Caller’s Sprint] ability.

[Caller’s Sprint]

Equipment Ability

Rare

Cooldown:

1 hour

Description:

When you have a Great Spirit summoned, allow both of you to move faster for 20 seconds.

Effects:

Apply the [Sprint] effect for 20 seconds to both you and your summoned spirit.

Kicking his legs over the edge of the barrel, Ethan appreciated the silence. Like his staff, the bells would only ring when he intended them to do so. A sudden burst of speed would be excellent in combat. He couldn’t wait to try it out.

“You had a quest?” Targe asked.

“Yeah,” Ethan said, tossing his old boots to the man. “Got a new one to heal… uh… Telbarantis?”

“The Great Spirit of fertility,” Twist said with a nod.

“I guess that’s the one,” Ethan said. “Do you know where their temple is?”

“Right here,” Targe said, pointing in a general northwest direction. “On an island in the middle of the lake.”

“Fair enough. That’s why the quest brought me here. Are quests common?” Ethan asked.

“Come on. We can walk and talk,” Targe said, tossing the boots back to Ethan. He fumbled with them, getting his white robe muddy in the process.

The group continued their journey through the winding town.

Targe pushed his way through a crowd, leaving a gap for Ethan. “Quests aren’t incredibly rare, but they’re not common either. From what I’ve heard, people with rare classes get them more.”

“Ahead,” Twist said.

They pushed through a few more crowds, finally coming out into a massive plaza. It was circular, surrounded with shops and buildings. The signs that hung outside were in a language that Ethan could read. They ranged from eateries, to administrative buildings. Rising in the north was a stout spire, reflecting the light of the sun from scattered stained glass windows. Targe led the way, pushing toward a building with a sign that read “Adventurer’s Guild. Oudsted Branch”.

Inside was a flurry of activity. People, clearly adventurers by their dress and weapons, talked in the wide meeting hall. They sat at tables, joining the disperate races of the land to discuss contracts. A frumpy looking male human sat behind a counter, surrounded by sheets of hanging parchment on the walls. Contracts, according to Twist.

Ethan was ordered to stay back as Targe and Twist talked to the balding man. From a distance, he could hear them invoking their sponsorship on their new Caller. The mention of the class drew a few heads. More heads than before, seeing as he was decked out in a few pieces of Caller-specific gear already. The two men flashed medallions on their necks. With some effort, the functionary rose from his seat and disappeared behind a door.

“Right. We’re staying at the Marsh Wolf Tavern tonight. If they take too long to process you, just come there and ask for Targe or Twist. They’ll show you the room we rented,” Targe said, placing a powerful hand on Ethan’s shoulder.

“Just leaving me here?” Ethan asked.

“You’ll be fine.” Twist said.

“Never worry about getting mugged in an adventuring town. The amount of people that would scoop up a bounty contract is uncountable,” Targe said.

“Safe,” Twist said.

As the pair of adventurers pushed past Ethan, he felt anything but safe. The eyes of those gathered here for contracts were on him. He shuffled awkwardly to the room’s corner, the barest spot, and waited. With his staff held before him, he took comfort in flipping through the system screens. He’d made great progress for a few days. But that was his own measure of his advancement. His concentration was broken when he felt something tugging at his robes.

Ethan closed the interface and spotted a fox-person with a fistful of his robe. From their appearance, he figured they were a woman. She had the standard patterns of a red fox from Earth, complete with the snout and twitching ears. She wore a sweeping robe of midnight, and held a staff.

“What has Oudsted done to deserve a Caller?” she asked.

Ethan held his hand out for the woman to shake. “Ethan.”

“Oh! A real name. How strange,” the woman said, taking his hand and shaking it. “Lilac. Most adventurers have an adventuring name. Keep themselves separate from the work.”

That would explain Targe and Twist’s names. He hadn’t thought of giving himself a name like that. It seemed stupid, since he didn’t have a different life to go back to. He was just Ethan, nothing more.

“Ethan is fine,” he said.

“First time in the Oud?”

“Yes, I’m on a pilgrimage,” Ethan said. His companions had helped him work on his story. “Bound to commune with Telbarantis.”

“Oh, how exciting. A bit of advice? Prepare for a crowd,” Lilac said. Other adventurers were edging forward, trying to hear the conversation.

Ethan bit back his curiosity. He paused for only a moment, coming to a realization. Everyone talked about Callers like they were extremely powerful, but he determined that wasn’t the case. He communed with Luca with ease, something that Twist and Targe thought was impossible. So, people would gather to see him commune with the Great Spirit.

“Of course,” Ethan said, dipping his head slightly. “I’ve seen it too many times before.”

A wry smile spread across Lilac’s face. “Adventurers are also good at smelling lies. Just a bit of advice. I don’t care either way. I’m a [Mage]. Specializing in illusion magic. See? No secrets.”

“Ethan!” a voice called from behind the counter.

Ethan craned his neck, spotting another human man waving him over.

“Time for me to go.”

“See ya soon,” Lilac said, placing her hand on his shoulder even as he shimmied past her.

Ethan found his way behind the counter, awkwardly shuffling to the side to get through the narrow passage. The man who waited for him had a head of thinning black hair, a few scars running the length of his face, and a body that hadn’t seen adventuring in years. He wore a simple shirt and trousers, completed with scuffed shoes covered in a thin layer of mud.

“Robert Alderant. Nice to meet you,” the man said, gesturing for Ethan to follow. “I’m here to do your interview.”

Following close behind, Ethan felt like a lost child. Adventurers edged to the front counter, trying to spot the pair leaving through that doorway. A few turns later, and the Caller found himself seated in an uncomfortable chair in a stuffy, windowless room. The administrator shuffled papers, nodding and mumbling as he read.

“So, you were scooped up by Twist and Targe,” he said, still nodding to himself. “That pair is hungry to get a support specialist. They’ve struck out on every attempt.”

“Yeah, they’re nice guys,” Ethan said.

“Hmmm. Something like that,” Robert said. “Look, I can put you with a better team if you want. I’ll lay it out for you. We don’t have information on Callers. There are about ten registered summoner-style classes in Wexenhal, and they all do different things.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that people are going to try and scoop you up just to see how your class works. You could be useless, and they’d keep you around like a pet.”

“Which means I’ll be declining your offer,” Ethan said.

Robert scrunched his nose, letting out a breath. That was true, though. Targe and Twist didn’t have the means to keep him around just to be an ornament. They needed him to fill out their team, designating him as their support specialist. And Ethan was fine with being in a supporting role. He was building himself to have massive [Mana Regen], and taking a subcore that had support abilities would work. He could always swap it out for something else, right?

“So, you’re happy with Twist and Targe? You can change teams in the future, but that’s frowned upon.”

“Very happy,” Ethan said. “I’m actually in town to see Telbarantis.”

Robert dropped the length of parchment he held, pausing for a long moment. “Not sure why you had to go and say that,” he said, pulling another sheet out and writing something down. “Just had to go and open your mouth like that.”

“What?”

“I need to inform the duke. When are you planning on summoning the Great Spirit?”

“Today.”

Sweat formed in beads on the administrator’s head. “Today? Why not tomorrow? Or a year from now?”

“Because I need to speak with the Great Spirit.”

“They’ll want to throw a festival. Do you know the last time we saw Telbarantis in Oudsted? No? Of course you don’t, you haven’t been alive for 200 years. Dammit. Alright. Can you hold out for tomorrow? The boats are going to be packed when people hear you’re here. But the duke can arrange a private craft.”

“Alright,” Ethan said, his mind rolling over the information. “I can wait until tomorrow.”

“Well, there’s a mountain of paperwork for me to do. Alright. Whatever. So, here’s the deal. To get an initiate’s medallion in the Guild, you need to complete a supervised contract. Well, normally you have a year-long waiting period and at least 5 contracts. But Twist and Targe saved up their sponsorships, so those are waived.”

“Oh wow, that’s really something isn’t it?.”

“You don’t even know. They’re betting everything on you, kid,” Robert said. He withdrew a shimmering purple stone from under the table and set it down. “This is going to record who you are. When I generate your temporary identity badge, only you can wear it. It shows your rank in the guild, and some information about you. Such as your nickname. Got anything in mind?”

Ethan thought for a while on that one. He just wanted to be called ‘Ethan’, but a funny idea came to mind. “Bells.”

“Yeah. On account of all the bells? Sure, whatever. I’ve seen adventurers called Muck, Puke, and worse,” Robert said, gesturing to the stone. “Put your hand there.”

Ethan placed his hand on the stone, instantly feeling a burning sensation rushing through his body. It wrapped around his chest, darted to his extremities, then ceased as quickly as it started. The stone made a satisfying click, then a coin-sized medallion popped out the side. Robert ran a length of white silk through the slot on the top and handed it over.

“Wear this at all times. Where are you staying?”

“The Marsh Wolf Tavern.”

“I’ll have someone stop by to give you the details on the festival tomorrow. The duke might want to talk to you, so get ready for that. Otherwise, we’ll arrange for your supervised contract sometime after that. Got everything?”

“I don’t really have anything.”

“Excellent. Come back and ask the desk clerk if you need any more information. Meanwhile, I’m off to scramble around and get this crap ready for you,” Robert said, giving Ethan a tired look. “Welcome to the guild. Don’t mess it up.”

When Ethan left the room, he snuck out the front door as quickly as he could. With the comfortable silken strap wrapped around his neck, he felt some sense of pride. It wasn’t his effort that got him in the guild, but he still felt good about it. Up until a lilting voice came from behind.

“A brand new adventurer,” Lilac said, her voice sing-song.

“Jesus Christ,” Ethan said, clutching at his chest. “Don’t sneak up like that.”

“I cast some magic to keep you out of sight of the others,” Lilac said, doubling her steps to come alongside him. “I think the words you were looking for are ‘thank you’.”

“Thanks,” Ethan said, pausing just outside the Guild. “I don’t know where I’m going. Where is the Marsh Wolf Tavern?”

“Near the docks. That way,” Lilac said, pointing in a vague direction. “Surely you want to stay somewhere not so… Drab?”

“That’s where my party is,” Ethan said, pushing forward.

Lilac said something, but he had already fallen into his thoughts. Ethan didn’t expect to be treated like this in Oudsted. He wanted solid footing to start his adventuring, a place where he could live while he discovered the temples of the Great Spirits. Instead, he was getting a damned parade. The only upside he saw was the way people reacted. They weren’t excited that he was in town. They were excited because they would see their Great Spirit again. It was enough to soothe his soul, even as he spotted the Marsh Wolf Tavern ahead.

“And of course, that’s why they were cast aside. Understand?” Lilac asked.

“Yep,” Ethan said.

The tavern wasn’t easy on the eyes. Compared to most of the buildings within the wall, this one was shabby. It was another building in a row of endless buildings, and he didn’t spot the lake nearby. With a shrug, he entered and spotted Targe and Twist chatting at a table. Their heads swiveled in unison, spotting the Caller and waving him over.

“Baggage,” Twist said, poking a finger at the fox-woman.

“Thank you for the escort, Lilac. You can leave,” Ethan said.

“Any time,” Lilac said, bowing. She spun on the spot and marched out of the tavern.

“Quicker than expected,” Targe said, raising his hand. A lizard-man came over. “Another beer.”

The lizard-person scampered off, and Ethan found his seat at the tilted table.

“How long was that supposed to take?”

“Longer than that.”

Ethan explained the problems he faced. The potential for a festival, and the duke’s involvement. The pair of adventurers received the news poorly.

“Don’t like the duke,” Twist said.

“No one likes the duke,” Targe said.

The server came by with a metal cup of swill moments later. He placed it on the table and shuffled off to see another table. Ethan brought the liquid to his lips and sipped. It wasn’t good, but it was wet. He drank half the cup before locking his eyes on nothing in particular, staring into the middle distance. The other hiccup he needed to explain to his new companions was the delay on his initiation contract. He’d summon the Great Spirit tomorrow, then the group could figure out when they could do the contract.

“Puts us in a bind,” Targe said. “But we still need to turn in our contract. File a report and all that. Best to do that in the morning. Heading to the Guild in the afternoon just gets you in a line.”

“What do we do until then?” Ethan asked.

“Relax. Maybe head out and buy you a few things so you’re up to snuff.”

“Good idea,” Twist said.

“Without a decent subcore, you’ll just be second-rate damage. And we have enough damage with Twist.” Targe took a long drink of his beer. “Guess you need some loot bracelets. And we should get a price on your Rank 1 ritual.”

“About that,” Ethan said, sipping his beer before continuing. “Luca told me progression slowed when you approached level 10 of a Rank. How quickly can someone go from Rank 0 level 1 to Rank 1?”

“It depends,” Targe said. “You might hit Rank 1 in a week if you stayed near Lucantele’s temple. But there’s no one out there to push you over the edge. No one to do the ritual. Use that timeline and double it up to the ascendant ranks per rank.”

“Pardon… ascendant ranks?” Ethan asked.

“Anything over 10. That’s when people stop being people and become forces of nature,” Targe said. “How about we get out of here and find some decent food? Treat our new team member to something nice?”

“Alright,” Twist said.

Chapter 8

Telbarantis

Ethan would have been happier if people stopped staring at him. After a pleasant meal at an eatery near the water, the group gazed out over the massive lake. In the center, there was a craggy island with a stone building on top. From this distance, he couldn’t make out the details of the people scattering around the island, but it appeared they were preparing for something. Likewise, those people in town were gawking at the Caller, excited for the reappearance of Telbarantis.

He’d decided on a nickname for the Great Spirit, naming it Tel for short. Standing near the edge of the water, so close to that island, Ethan could feel something stirring in his chest. His [Caller’s Core] was reaching out, trying to connect to the dormant spirit. But there was something else that came with the sensation. He knew Telbarantis wasn’t actually sleeping. The spirit worked, despite appearances.

“Time to shove off. Before the markets close,” Targe said.

“Right.” Ethan righted himself, pushing off against a rickety wooden fence. “Let’s go.”

Decorations were already being strewn around the town. Streamers of gold and blue, effigies of some massive lizard-like creature, and depictions of fields drawn on white cloth sheets. Ethan was getting a sense for what the Great Spirit’s meaning was. Just like Lucantele represented a soothing hope, Telbarantis had something to do with the land. It was tied directly to the river, perhaps even the lake.

The market stalls were still open for business, desperate to sell out of their wares. But Targe led them north, nearer the spire to a set of shops that had maintained their property better. Clean plaster walls and banners claiming many adventure-related things rested in neat rows. They stopped outside of one.

“One thing to remember. You can swap subcores anytime. Well, out of combat. So this isn’t a permanent decision,” Targe said. “We want you to take a [Healer’s Subcore]. But here’s the catch. We’re paying for it. Just remember our agreement.”

Ethan nodded, following the man into the shop. He was hit with the pleasant scent of lavender upon entering. A haze filled the air, driven by a censure burning incense in the room’s corner. Shelves crowded the floor space, filled with boxes, all of which had tags with a price. A wizened shopkeeper, half Ethan’s height with pudgy ears that swooped up and then down to his shoulders, offered a weak wave.

Targe and Twist got to searching. Ethan just perused the wares, pretending to gawk at the prices. He didn’t know what a silver coin was worth, let alone a copper one. No one had explained it to him, and he didn’t need to worry about things like food. Back in the temple, he just ate the pears. On the road, he ate whatever his companions fed him. That was important information to have, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the variety of subclasses.

There were healers, damage dealers, tanks, and an array of support classes to pick from. Ethan’s mind spun with the possibilities of attaching these cores to himself, etching away at his build to make something interesting. Anything would have been useful, but he gravitated to the support classes. If he could apply support abilities to his summon, that would be absurd. But his companions had made a selection for him, and they were already bringing it to the front.

“The strength of your build is mana endurance,” Targe said, holding the small wooden chest out. He clicked the lid open, revealing the metal cage within. “Standard stuff. Just to get us started. It’s going to be too expensive to get spells, otherwise.”

Ethan examined the subclass core.

[Healer’s Subcore]

Common

Healer-Style Subcore

Description:

Dedicated to bolstering the health of their allies, healers focus on reversing damage done in combat.

Latent Effects:

Spellbook Access

It was nothing special, but Ethan didn’t know what he expected. Anything would work for him, he would not be picky. Especially not after what Targe said next.

“We’ll have to buy a spell book. Something like [Cure Minor Wounds].” He opened his coin pouch, paid the man, then handed the subcore over to Ethan.

The reality of the situation set in when he saw how few coins the man really had. They’d be lucky to stay at that tavern for a few days, let alone buy anything worthwhile. He accepted the gift graciously, holding the wooden box to his chest. The pull of the subcore sent a pulse through his body, as though it wanted to join his main core.

“We’ll get some jobs,” Ethan said. “Maybe I can charge the people at the temple to summon the spirit.

“Hah! We’re fine. Don’t worry about it,” Targe said. “Twist and I always live on a razor’s edge like this. How about you shove that core into your chest and we get a spell?”

Ethan nodded, removing the metal cage from the box. “Just like this?” he asked, miming shoving it into his chest.

“With intent.”

The moment Ethan thought about taking on the new core, it pulled itself toward him. It touched his chest and vanished in a flash of pale light. He didn’t feel any different, though. He stood there, waiting for something to happen but nothing came.

“Alright,” Ethan said. “Time to get some spells?”

“One spell,” Twist corrected. “You have room for one spell.”

Ethan knew to dig through his interface when someone said something like that. He found a new, smaller core resting near his [Caller’s Core] and mentally clicked on it. A new screen showed up, allowing him to slot learned spells. But there was only a single slot in this spellbook, giving him limited options. He’d need to be happy with having the one spell.

The group was off from there, heading to an adjacent building and entering. This one burned a censer the same as the last, putting off the vague smell of flowers. Targe had to search far longer to find the book he wanted here, sifting through piles of tomes stacked on shelves. Ethan found books for every class imaginable. They started out cheap enough, only in the 10 copper range. But there were some books that were locked behind shimmering barriers with price tags in the tens of gold.

“What is the conversion rate,” Ethan asked, watching as Targe sifted through a pile of books.

“What?”

“How many copper to a silver? Silver to gold.”

“Oh. 100 copper makes a silver, same for silver to gold,” Targe said, finally raising a book in triumph. “Got it. Rank 0, level 1 [Cure Minor Wounds]. Better than nothing.”

The tome of [Cure Minor Wounds] was one of the cheapest in the stores. It was common for people to take a healer-style subcore to cure themselves in combat, but as they left the store Targe explained it better.

“Combat classes get little chance to heal themselves,” he said, directing them to some vendor’s stalls. “The mana problem aside, if you’re taking damage or moving, you can’t cast spells.”

“Movement is important,” Twist put in.

“Right, so unless you’re a backliner, you hurt yourself by taking a healing core.” Targe pushed himself to the front of a vendor’s stall, getting the short man’s attention. “Yeah, gimmie 10.”

Money was exchanged, and the man left the stall with an armful of copper-colored bracelets. He handed one to Ethan, who slipped it on and inspected the item.

[Bracelet of Looting]

[Bracelet]

Rank 0

Common

Description:

Using a charge on this bracelet allows you to loot any monster.

Charges:

50/50

Effect:

Touch a monster to loot it.

Ethan couldn’t keep his mind off how much loot he’d lost. At least that was in the past. The group headed back to the Marsh Wolf Tavern, even if the Caller wanted to stay out for a while longer. According to Targe, it was hard to learn a new spell. Best to wait it out in the comfort of a musty tavern. The room they’d rented was cramped. There was only one bed, but two bedrolls set out already. They had a decent view of the lake from the second floor, though. And a pitcher of watered wine.

“Right. Settle in on the bed with your book. Get ready for a wild ride,” Targe said.

Ethan kicked off his new shoes and hopped in the bed, not one to wait after such an invitation. The frame groaned under him, but it held firm. For now. He opened the book and began reading. Only after a few moments did he realize he wasn’t actually reading. His eyes flew across the pages, but he wasn’t reading the words on the pages. The book sucked him in, causing the room around him to swirl with gold streaks of light. Trying to shout and push the book away, the Caller squirmed in the bed. Then he snapped back, blinking away his confusion.

It was night outside. Twist was laying in his bedroll, mask and gear still on, while Targe paced on the far side of the room. “You good?” he asked.

A system message flew up before he responded.

[Ethan Stout] learned a new spell!

[Cure Minor Wounds] has been added to your [Known Spell] list.

Without hesitation, Ethan went into his [Healer’s Subcore] screen and found his new spell. With a mental command, he sent it to occupy the only free slot in his spellbook. His mind expanded as he realized he could now cast the spell innately. The book had vanished.

“The book gets consumed,” Targe said, noting the confusion on Ethan’s face. “Try the spell out.”

Ethan focused on his companion, taking a breath. Motes of golden light flowed from his body, filling the air with their gentle glow. About 5 seconds later, Targe flashed with golden light. The big man clapped his hands together, causing Twist to jolt in his bedroll.

“Excellent!” Targe said. “Easy as that.”

The spell had taken 30 mana to cost, although he didn’t know how much it restored. So long as it cured enough health, it would have been worthwhile to cast. But that was his job as a support healer, to patch people up the best he could. Otherwise, he could rely on his [Mana Regen] attribute to outpace the rate at which they took damage. Now he was a support summoner. Whatever that meant.

“So, subcores,” Targe started. Pale moonlight was filtering in through the window.

“Wait, what time is it?” Ethan asked, interrupting the man.

“Tenth bell. You’ve been out for a while,” he said with a chuckle.

“Tenth bell—like ten at night? Damn, I was out for a while,” Ethan said.

“As I said. Anyway, subcores. They level just like your main core with one problem. They’re never as strong as a main core, and they can never level past the level of your main core. Unlike your main, you can take these out whenever you want. It’s not uncommon for an adventurer to have several subs on them. Just in case.”

“Makes sense,” Ethan said. “Can I just spam my healing spell to level my subcore?”

“Not really. Just like you can’t level a combat core by smacking your fist against the wall,” Targe said. “Well, while we’re on the topic… both Twist and I have fairly bad cores. I have a [Fighter’s Core] and he has a [Rogue’s Core]. Common rank cores. I got lucky with a [Blademaster’s Subcore], but our old rogue friend has been stuck with a [Tracker’s Subcore] since the start.”

“Makes me feel bad to have a [Caller’s Core],” Ethan said, slumping on the bed. “Am I your meal-ticket?”

Targe threw his shoulders back with no shame. “Yep.”

The pair got into the watered wine and began sharing stories about their life before they met. Targe was interested in the way things worked back on Earth. Some people spent their lives studying outworlders, but it was all an oddity. Something that they could compare their world to, although the Fighter said something surprising.

“I’ve heard of outworlders from worlds with magic,” he said, pouring two more mugs of wine. “So, no. Earth isn’t the only place people come from.”

“But why do we come here?” Ethan asked.

“Come on. Finish your glass and we’ll get some sleep,” Targe said with a shrug. “No sense worrying about it.”

“You just poured a new glass! Can’t leave me hanging like that.”

Targe smiled, and didn’t offer an answer. Once the wine was finished, Ethan took a bedroll before his companion could object. He had no desire to be treated like something special, even if that’s exactly what he was. It felt senseless to elevate himself, literally in this case, when the pair of adventurers had done all the work so far. Sleep came easily after the exhaustion of the day. Between arriving in Oudsted, meeting with the functionary at the Adventurer’s Guild, and learning a new spell he was tired.

“What?” Ethan asked.

The Caller sat at one of the many tables downstairs, groggy from the late night and alcohol. He was busy shoveling greasy eggs into his mouth when a messenger arrived. The moment the man with too many frills strode over, every patron was staring.

“You’ll join Duke Leonard at the docks in an hour. He doesn’t have time for a formal meeting. Just be there.”

Without further explanation, the man spun on the spot and sprinted from the tavern. The constant buzz of chatter returned the instant the man was gone. Targe offered Ethan a sympathetic look.

“At least you can talk to the spirit,” he said.

“I’m not even sure how it works. Luca just showed up when I asked him to,” Ethan said, suddenly finding his food less appetizing.

“Do the same thing,” Twist offered.

“I wonder if they’ll let us come along,” Targe said, scraping the stubble on his chin.

“Doubt,” Twist said.

Ethan picked at his food for the rest of the meal. He could feel the minutes melting away, and experienced a crisis near the hour mark. But when he inspected his robes, he saw that the tears and stains were mostly gone.

“My robes should be filthy,” he said, inspecting his shoes. “These too.”

“Magic stuff cleans and repairs itself,” Targe said. “Depending on the level of the item.”

“Neat.”

Ethan left the tavern with his two companions. Even if they couldn’t come across the lake with him, they could escort him to the docks. When they arrived, they found a length of dock crowded with people. Town guards stood, holding back the tide of people. Only Targe was able to push them aside, creating a path for them to approach the line. The Caller held out  his medallion and the guard nodded with approval, forming a gap.

“Not them, Bells,” he said.

“They’re in my party. Let them pass,” Ethan said, trying to throw some weight around.

The guards shared looks for a moment. But one of them shrugged and waved the group past.

“Bells?” Twist asked, giggling.

“It’s a fine adventuring name. Look how many bells this man has on,” Targe said, swelling with excitement. Ethan could see the Fighter had no hope of crossing the lake. Now he seemed more like an excited child, ready to see something fun.

“This way, Caller,” a ducal functionary said.

Those serving the duke were easy to distinguish from the other functionaries. They wore frills and finely crafted clothes that put the regular adventuring folk to shame. The clothes were too high above Ethan’s fashion sense, rendering all of the duke’s staff as fluffed poodles, rather than people holding stations of power. Settling into a long rowing boat, Ethan spotted a procession on the island.

Flags, holding the sigil of the duke, mingled with images of that big lizard. There must have been several hundred people on the island, forming a crowd near the shoreline. Ethan’s concerns were eased when they drew closer, noting that they weren’t excited to see him. They wanted to see the Great Spirit.

But the closer the rowboat drew to the island, the more Ethan felt the pull of something. The Great Spirit wanted to greet him there on the lake, bursting forth from whatever realm he had remained in for all this time. But the Caller refused the summons, pushing that feeling down. The spirit seemed to understand, even just through intent. The water seemed to swell, then calm as though breathing.

“Get ready for a lot of nonsense,” Targe said as the group dismounted the boat.

The shoreline was rocky, ending only twenty paces up from where a well-trimmed lawn rested. Ethan learned his shoes were indeed waterproof, but that did little to stop liquid from soaking inside from the top. With sloshing shoes, he ascended the steep bank, noting they hadn’t dropped the group off near the dock. But they found their way up the rise all the same, pushing through the crowds of people.

Ethan pegged those that wore blue robes as the keepers of the temple. Those with frills and collars belonged to the duke’s party. And the one with the largest fluffs of them all must have been Duke Leonard. He wore an outfit of tights, frilly half-pants, and a frilly long-sleeved shirt to match. Added to the absurd appearance was a spear the length of two men. The Caller noted some spear envy between Targe and the duke.

“Caller Bells,” Duke Leonard said, beckoning Ethan toward the dock. “What a fitting name. Would you care to do the honors?”

“If it means I can get out of here,” Ethan muttered, approaching the dock.

Twist grabbed him by the arm. “Add a little more. Summon Lucantele.”

Ethan nodded, surprised at the Rogue’s awesome idea. Before approaching the duke’s party, a line of frilled goons by the dock, he channeled [Summon Lucantele]. The moment the silver squirrel burst from the circle, they let out a shout of delight. The Caller felt the pull of Telbarantis nearby. Somewhere out in the depths of the lake. A soothing song he couldn’t ignore.

Passing the duke without making eye contact, Ethan stood at the end of a wooden dock. He watched the water swirl below, fish darting to get out of his path. Invoking the effect on his staff, he slammed the end on the dock. The bell rang, and Luca grew to twice his normal size.

“Telbarantis!” Ethan shouted. “Heed my call!”

A moment of nothingness, until Ethan sent his intent into the lake. Distant water stirred, creating eddies over calm water. Man-high waves formed, crashing out from the depths. Then the surface of the lake burst to life, sending a jet of water hundreds of feet into the air. Telbarantis’ titanic form burst forth.

Chapter 9

Bargain

The dock shook as knee-high waves washed over Ethan. He steadied himself, hand on the railing. But he could not tear his eyes away from the form of Telbarantis. Scales like sapphires glimmered in the sun. Endless rows of the jagged things, larger than a horse, ran the length of the Great Spirit’s body. It had a mouth full of teeth like an alligator, spikes running down the length of its massive back, and a pair of glowing yellow eyes.

The crowd reacted with a mixture of emotions as the Great Spirit leveled its gaze. Some fled from the spot, others fell to the ground, pressing their foreheads against the dock. But Duke Leonard held firm, staring up at the creature with a smile on his face. Twist was nearby in a blink, holding Ethan steady. Targe wasn’t far behind. They both radiated a sense of resolute defiance.

“Caller,” Telbarantis said, the mountainous reptile settling into the water so only the top of his massive head was visible. “It’s been too long since a Caller was here.”

“Howdy,” Ethan said, offering a stupid wave.

Unlike Luca, Tel was much more imposing. It seemed more material than the silver squirrel, and influenced its environment to a greater degree.

“What are you two saying?” Targe asked.

Ethan turned, regarding his new companions. “You can’t understand us?”

“No, you’re just jabbering,” Targe said.

Ethan cleared his throat, holding his arms out for dramatic effect. It was best to look bigger than you were when dealing with enormous animals. Right? “Thank you for showing your form today. It seems like we have the town in a flurry of motion. They’re tripping over themselves to see you.”

The Great Spirit tilted its head, eyes focusing on the crowd behind. “So it seems. Tell me, Caller. Why have you summoned me? Not that I don’t appreciate swimming in my ancestral waters.”

“Of course,” Ethan said, bowing his head. The crowd was talking amongst themselves now. “I wish to form a pact. To call on you in battle.”

“Mmm the old pacts. I miss those, you know?” Tel shifted in the water, raising himself up on his forelegs. Ethan decided the creature was a ‘he’, if only to organize his thoughts. “In the old times, I would give a quest. Some feat of strength.”

“My quest says you need to be healed.”

“Hmmm. Healed? No, I don’t think so. Well? Maybe. Nothing I can’t handle. Nothing the temple can’t handle. But maybe?”

“I would be excited to help you out, Telbarantis,” Ethan said, bowing.

The Great Spirit was far kinder than his appearance let on. Those massive teeth would have driven most people from the spot, but as they spoke Ethan only felt a calm sense of personal growth.

“There is a dungeon. Northwest of my lake. While dungeons are as much a part of nature as I, there is something… wrong. A veil surrounds it, refusing to bow to my will. If a Caller were to find the dungeon’s core, I could exert my will and determine the issue.”

“What Rank is the dungeon?”

“Rank 1. Adventurers have run it. They don’t like it. Corruption seethes through the place,” Tel said. “There. That is your quest, Caller Bells. Cure the source of corruption on the [Goblin Dungeon].”

Ethan bowed even lower this time. “I think I can manage it. With my party.”

“Good. Oh, could you pass on a message for me?” Telbarantis asked.

“Of course. I don’t think they can understand you.” Ethan turned, looking at those gathered. They were in various states of shock. All but the duke.

“I am the Great Spirit of fertility. Fertility of the land. Please instruct those that maintain my temple to stop asking for babies. I don’t like babies.”

Ethan tried not to laugh. “Of course.”

“How is Lucantele?” Tel asked, whipping his massive head through the air. He was looking toward Luca’s temple.

“If I had to guess, I think his power is fading,” Ethan said. It was just a suspicion. “Another reason I need your help. To clear out the orcs. Maybe you could just go stomp on them in the mountains.”

“I cannot,” Tel said. “Even this display bends what is possible for a Great Spirit. I can splash and growl. But that is the extent of my will without a powerful Caller to guide me.”

“I have a good path forward now.” Ethan stood for long moments before speaking again. Since he had the spirit there, it was worth asking. “Do you think it's a good idea to build myself as a support summoner?”

“In the old times, a Caller would specialize each Great Spirit they formed a pact with. Treat each spirit summon as a different build.” Tel tilted his head, narrowing a single eye on Ethan. “My Symbol is great at defending. Lucantele is an excellent support Symbol.”

Ethan bowed again. That was incredible information, giving him hope to be more versatile than just a support summoner. And it made sense. When his bond strengthened with a Symbol, he got access to new abilities. As long as he built himself to regen a ton of mana, he was golden.

“Thank you again, Tel. Can I call you Tel?”

“Sure.”

“Make a dramatic exit, please.”

Something of a smile spread across the reptile's face. “Certainly.”

One massive swish of Telbarantis’ tail sent a tsunami across the lake’s surface. The crowd screamed in horror. The Great Spirit dipped under the water, then burst into the air. Judging the length of Tel’s body was impossible. Perhaps longer than Oudsted was wide. He burst into a cloud of blue motes that rained down on the crowd. Wherever they landed, plants grew. After a tense moment, those gathered burst into cheers.

“Nice one,” Twist said, patting Ethan on the shoulder.

“Almost crapped my pants,” Targe said with a chuckle.

“A fine display,” Leonard said, marching over. Every second step he took was punctuated by the sound of his spear hitting the deck. He bore a wide smile, even as the water from Tel’s display came raining down. “Very fine indeed.”

A man in a blue robe came rushing over. Compared to the others wearing similar robes, his was finer by a long way. His shaved head glistened in the sun as he fell to the ground, pressing his forehead to the dock and muttering.

“On your feet, High Priest Egbert,” Leonard said.

Ethan turned to Targe, mouthing ‘Egbert’. The Fighter tried, and failed, not to laugh. But the priest gathered himself, standing to reveal tears streaming down his face.

“I never thought we’d see the Great Spirit. Never in my lifetime, or that of my followers. For that, you have my thanks, Caller.”

“Does the thanks come with a cash reward?” Ethan asked, grimacing.

“It is a service provided by Callers,” Leonard said, bringing a strange sense of calm to the dock. “For free.”

“Damn.”

“Did our patron have a message? We haven’t spoken to him in hundreds of years, surely he had a message,” Egbert said.

“Yeah, he said stop praying for babies. He hates babies. He’s the Great Spirit of Fertility of the Land. Not of… you know… your junk.”

Egbert bowed again, but Leonard smacked him in the ass with the haft of his spear. The priest went rod-straight.

“Duke Leonard, do you know about the [Goblin Dungeon] northwest of the lake?” Ethan asked.

“I do.”

“I need to get in there. Telbarantis said once I get to the core, he can do something about the corruption.”

Leonard shot Ethan a stern look. He looked around the crowd as though he wanted no one to hear about the corrupted dungeon. “Come. Bring your party.”

With a swish of an overly ornate cloak, the duke was off down the dock. When a procession of functionaries attempted to follow him, he shouted at them to stay back. Targe and Twist were not the target of the man’s ire, and they followed close in step. Several hundred paces away from the crowds, and the duke was ready to talk.

“I thought you were faking it,” Leonard said. “Talking to the spirit. I had the corrupted dungeon sealed the moment I got word of it.”

“Whoops.”

“Did Telbarantis seem confident he could fix it?”

“Not really.”

“It is within the spirit’s domain,” Twist said. The duke swung his gaze to the Rogue.

“Strange place for a dark elf,” Leonard said. He then slid his eyes over to Targe. “Stranger still for a traitor of the crown.”

Hands were on daggers and swords before Ethan could do anything. Only when he shouted, “Hey!” did the group relax. “Leo has secrets. Targe has secrets. Twist has them too. We all got secrets, alright?”

“Just so,” Duke Leonard said.

“You need a corrupted dungeon purged. I can do it,” Ethan said. The tension still hung in the air. “How well can you scrub their records clean?”

“Very well,” Leonard said. “Absolutely, I should think. A ducal pardon for Sven, and a letter of recommendation for Deraeda.”

So those were Targe and Twist’s real names. Ethan didn’t know what those guys had done before, and he didn’t care. This was a chance for them to actually start again. A clean slate. The Caller suddenly wanted to talk to Telbarantis again. To get some advice on what he should do without all the nonsense of mortal drama.

“I scrub your dungeon, and you scrub my dudes clean. Alright? No one has to know you’ve got some sickly dungeon in your lands, and these two fine adventurers prove they’re worthy of your pardon. How does that sound?”

A smile spread across Duke Leonard’s face. “That’s a fine display, Ethan. Before I rose to power, I was an adventurer. I met men and women from all backgrounds. Convicted murderers, thieves, and so on. Starting a new life as an adventurer… I’m not fool enough to think everyone is clean. But you? Asking for pardons for these men? You could request a pile of gold.”

“That would place me firmly in the category of bad people you’re talking about,” Ethan said. Despite his best efforts, his grip was tight on his staff. [Summon Lucantele] was at the forefront of his mind after having dismissed him, whatever good that would do him. “A new category, maybe. Extorters.”

Leonard let out a great laugh, tilting his head back and cackling into the misty sky. “I’ll take your offer, Caller Bells. With great pride that the Caller that roams Wexenhal has a pair of brass ones big enough to make Telbarantis blush. I’ll speak with the Guild. Your first mission will be to clear the corrupted dungeon.”

“Thank you, Duke Leonard,” Ethan said, bowing his hand.

A powerful hand clapped over his shoulder, almost forcing him to crumple on the spot. “Thank you. For a bit of entertainment in these dull times.”

Without further explanation, the duke spun on the spot and walked away. Twist and Targe still had their weapons ready, even if the Fighter lacked his spear. They watched as Leonard surmounted the rise, joining with the crowds once more.

“Alright. I might have actually crapped my pants that time,” Targe said.

Twist relaxed, turning his single eye to Ethan. “Why not sell us up the river? Why make a deal with the duke when you could have abandoned us for riches?”

It was the longest string of words the dark elf had uttered to the caller.

“Because you saved me, Twist,” Ethan said. “Because neither of you freaked out when you learned I was both a Caller and an outworlder. Hell, maybe I just like you!”

Targe snatched Ethan up, pulling him into a great bearhug. Even after Ethan tapped on the man’s shoulder, he didn’t relent. Twist came over and awkwardly joined them.

“Group hug,” the dark elf said.

Just as Ethan predicted, the people of Telbarantis’ temple weren’t interested in him. As the group approached their rowboat, no one lamented their passage. Rowing across the lake was a silent affair, done so by a team of surly looking men that cursed as much as they said anything of value. They dismounted at the dock in Oudsted, passing people who talked about the Great Spirit’s arrival. They could see the massive lizard from anywhere in the town, especially when he jumped out of the water.

“So, dark elves are bad?” Ethan asked once they were back in their room at the Marsh Wolf Tavern.

“Dark elves aren’t bad,” Twist assured him.

“They’re horrible creatures,” Targe said. “Wexenhal is at war with them. They’re typically of a mind to kill anyone on the surface without regard. Twist is an exception.”

Twist folded his arms, letting out a grunt of disapproval.

“What makes you a traitor?”

“Desertion,” Twist said. “He fled the army to be an adventurer after meeting me. The evil dark elf.”

So both of their sordid pasts were sore points. Ethan didn’t have any skeletons in his closet, but his world didn’t have magic. It was unfair to judge someone in a place like this, he thought. Someone’s past should define the person they wanted to be in the future, and their crimes seemed positively stupid. Targe broke a contract and Twist was a race that people didn’t like.

“So, do you actually only have one eye?”

“Yes,” Twist said. But he didn’t remove the mask.

“And your names? Real names?”

“Sven Brecht,” Targe said.

“Deraeda Khiesrist,” Twist said.

“Cool. I like the fake ones better.”

“Whatever you say, Bells.”

When the group went out for lunch, they were pleasantly surprised. Barkers for the local restaurants were eager to have Caller Bells show up in their place. Each offered free meals for the Caller and his party, so the group picked the fanciest place in town. Resting atop a hill near the duke’s spire, the Crystal Goblet was an establishment built on pomp. Everything about it, from the whitewashed exterior, to the chandelier-laden interior, screamed opulence. Only when the group sat down, served by white-coated waiters, did they realize the error of rich people.

“Is this the entire meal?” Twist asked, tilting his mask slightly upward to slip the smallest piece of meat in his mouth.

“Gonna need two or three courses,” Targe said, frowning down at his plate.

Even the wine came in tiny cups that could never sate Ethan’s thirst. But they kept their laughter down, and made the best of the unfulfilling meal. As they learned, there was more than one course. The first was a plate of grilled meat, roughly the size of a thumbnail. Next was a bed of steamed vegetables, although the Caller couldn’t identify any of them. Finally, an entire roasted bird arrived, complete with a dipping sauce that tasted tangy.

“Thank the Great Spirits,” Targe said, clapping his hands together. “More wine, please!”

There was a custom in the fancy restaurant, though. Something that none of the men were aware of, even after the tenth dish was brought out. The waiter noticed how lethargic the group was getting and informed them they were supposed to say when to stop. Ethan was certain the owner of the place was getting annoyed, so when they were done eating he marched to the center of the dining hall, summoning Lucantele.

The silver squirrel was a crowd-pleaser, and everyone clapped with excitement. There was a strange disconnect there, but Ethan didn’t mind. He wasn’t summoning the Great Spirit himself, just a Symbol of that spirit’s power. But as he gazed on the dancing creature, he realized what a parody of the real thing it was. Luca was in his temple, withering away by the day while Ethan ate fancy food and played with the spirit’s image. While the mockery of it all wasn’t lost on him, he was doing his best.

Out on the streets of Oudsted, in the mid-afternoon, the group walked around. They were offered more free food, but no one had the heart to stuff themselves further. Instead, they discussed plans for the future. Because there was a problem in clearing Telbarantis’ dungeon.

“You can enter a dungeon that’s one rank above and below your rank,” Targe said, waving off another barker. “But I’d rather have you at Rank 1 before we try.”

“Which means we need monsters to kill,” Ethan said.

“Forests to the northeast,” Twist said.

“Right. We can escort you to the forests and train up. It’s maybe a day away. Think the duke will have a problem with that?”

“Not sure he has any say in the matter,” Ethan said. “If I’m not up to the challenge, we can’t clear the dungeon. Maybe we can get him to fund my rank-up costs.”

“We can get all that stuff out in the wild,” Targe said with a dismissive wave.

The group worked their way to the eastern side of town, exiting the gates and finding themselves in the slums. This section was even worse than that at the southern gate, revealing the squalor that these people lived in. Targe cleared things up, stating that this wasn’t the best town in the duchy. Compared to the other holds, they were far away from civilization. But their purpose of visiting the east wasn’t to see how destitute people were. They found their way to the edge of town, spotting rolling hills with dense forests to the northeast.

“Full of peak Rank 0 monsters,” Twist said.

“It has a few names. The Forest of Oudsted. Corpse Rise.”

“Yay, a name that encourages confidence,” Ethan said.

“A name is just a name. I say we get going now. Leave word with the Guild and head off. Once we get you to Rank 1, we’ll be ready to hit the corrupted dungeon,” Targe said.

Ethan was happy with that. His instinct was to rush into the dungeon to get his full membership in the Guild, but caution had been his ally all this time. With his new subcore to test, and a bond with Lucantele to forge, he looked forward to leaving the safety of Oudsted. Back into the wilds where there was experience to grind. He would miss sleeping indoors, though.