As night fall approached, the snow started to come down heavy and it was accompanied by a powerful wind.
Nay leaned down, wrapped in her cloak, pressing her face against the back of Juniper’s neck. The fauglir’s pelt provided extra warmth. Juniper was strong. She pushed forward through the wind and snow, her powerful legs carrying them through the storm.
Quincy was ahead of them, positioned in the same way, protecting himself against the blizzard's force.
They were headed for a structure before them. A crooked, violet-hued crystalline finger pointing up at the sky. Besides its pellucid surface, it fit right in with the craggy ice formations and snow.
By the time they reached it, night had arrived and the green-tinged moon was visible through the flurry of snowfall.
They entered the formation through a cracked entrance. It was like being at the bottom of a tower, a silo-shaped geode that pointed at the heavens.
The walls were made of amethyst and the wind hitting the outside of the structure sent an eerie chime and whistle through the ruin.
Silver moonlight entered through cracks in the purple surface, slanting across the chasm above them.
“What is this place?” Nay said.
“The Last Spire of Amethain. Some say it fell from the sky, part of a cultivator’s floating fortress that was passing over our world. Whatever its origin, it should provide good shelter from the snow.”
Nay was leading Juniper to their prospective camp, a circle of crystalline growths that were chair high with a divot in the center to build a fire, when the fauglir growled, going tense.
Nay froze. “What is it, girl?”
There was a wet, chittering sound and an anaconda-sized white worm rose from behind the juts of amethyst. It had a circular mouth rimmed with teeth.
There was a red glow in its core, as if it was revving up with heat.
Quincy pushed Nay to the ground as the white polar worm spewed a red, magma-like secretion. It sprayed between them, the droplets sizzling as they hit the ground, melting the amethyst.
The Lodge owner rolled across the floor, closing the distance, and when he came up Gertrude slashed horizontally, severing the worm’s head. More of that magma spewed from the severed worm.
It flopped and fell over.
The secretion smoked and sizzled and burned a hole into the floor.
Quincy picked up the thing’s head and held it over the divot, pouring the magma-like secretion out of it.
A small fire blazed to life.
“Didn’t even have to break out the flint,” he said.
/////////
They sat in front of the fire created by the polar worm’s saliva.
Nay had qualms about heating up their Succulent Stew in a fire made from the weird fluid of a weird monster, so she used her Chef’s Thermometer ability to heat up the tin thermoses.
All she had to do was picture a ring of heat around the containers, she could even adjust the radius and size along with the temperature, and with a gesture of her finger it would become reality.
“What are you doing?” Quincy said. “Do you want to get Vigor Sickness again?”
“Relax,” Nay said. “I’m only using it for a moment. I won’t over exert myself.”
When the thermoses were heated she handed Quincy his thermos and a spoon.
The Succulent Stew was a beef stew made with red wine imported from San Violeta, winter squash, ice peas, carrots and potatoes. It was imbued with a Spirit Buff and a Recovery Buff, which were the perfect Buffs for resting.
They would sleep well and wake up renewed.
Nay poured some in the lid of her thermos and set it in front of Juniper. The fauglir went to slurping.
When they were done eating, the fauglirs closed their eyes but Quincy and Nay were still gazing into the fire.
“Nom said you scared him when he saw you fight,” Nay said.
“I’m not pleasant when Gertrude or Samuel are in my hands,” Quincy said.
“It wasn’t that. He said…he told me you used evil powers.”
Quincy got it. Oh, that. He grew quiet for a moment, as if he was carefully figuring out how to phrase his next words. “Good and evil are sometimes not always clear cut.”
Nay thought she knew what he meant, but she asked anyways. “What do you mean?”
“For example,” Quincy said. “Stealing is bad. We can all agree on that, right?”
Nay shrugged. “Sure.”
“But what about stealing a loaf of bread for your child who is hungry? You have no money and he must be fed. Is stealing still evil? Or is there some nuance required there?”
“Hey, if you’re talking about gray morality, you’re preaching to the choir. I think circumstances and context and specifics can paint a better picture for deciding what’s right and what’s wrong.”
“It’s good to know you have an open mind.”
“If I didn’t have an open mind, I would have lost it the first day I got here.”
Quincy chuckled. “You remind me of my sister.”
“Quella?”
He nodded. “You two have a similar sense of humor. I think you would have gotten along.”
Nay wondered if that’s why he gave her a chance all those weeks ago. Because she reminded him of his sister. She wanted to know more about her but she felt this wasn’t the right time to ask.
“Nom saw me use Marrow Abilities from my Bile of the Plaguemonger tree,” Quincy said. “It’s not the prettiest thing to see and I can see why he would mistake it for evil. But I was using those because when I choose violence against monsters, I don’t settle for degrees. I prefer overkill.”
“Degrees?”
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“I believe in avoiding violence when necessary. I don’t believe in small scale escalation of violence. On a scale of one to one hundred, it’s either zero or a hundred.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Say I’m in a situation. Naturally I opt for non-violence. That’s what I prefer. I believe non-violent solutions are the best solutions. Until it’s not. Now, say, this theoretical situation I’m in. If it becomes violent, and I choose to respond in a violent manner, but I choose to do so by, say, a three on a scale of ten. Well, if the other person responds to me with a four, or anything above a three, then I’m probably a dead man.”
Nay understood. “Once the violence switch gets flipped you commit all the way, to minimize the danger against yourself.”
“Half measures can get you killed. If you’re going to choose violence, then make sure the other guy, or monster, doesn’t have a chance to counter-attack. That’s why I used my Death and Decay abilities in that situation. We were outnumbered and I didn’t want Nom or I to come out the losers.”
“What’s a tree?” Nay said.
“Pardon?”
“You called it your Bile of the Plaguemonger tree,” Nay said. “The tree I use for cooking is called The Tongue of the Hierophant.”
Quincy realized she didn’t know the fundamentals of Marrow Eater magic. “Sometimes I forget that you’re not from here.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. No one taught you the basics.”
“It’s true.”
“So, all Marrow Eaters have the capacity to unlock three different skill trees. You open a skill tree by consuming specific Delicacies. The type of Delicacy establishes the type of skill tree it will be. All of my skill trees have to do with combat. Bile of the Plaguemonger are attacks, or amplifications of attacks, that use sickness, decay and disease to deliver damage and death to an opponent.”
“What are your two other skill trees?”
“Razor Tusk of the Elynine and Fang of Lillith. One’s melee combat skills, the other is ranged respectively. Or think of it as, one for Gertude, my axe. The other’s for Samuel, my crossbow.”
“The Rangers, Martygan and Lain, I saw them change into animals.”
Quincy nodded. “All of the Gloom Rangers have mobility skill trees. Those are so they can change into forms that can carry them through the wilds swiftly. And to blend in.”
He continued explaining.
“In organizations like the Rangers, or even certain military, the members are provided with pre-planned Delicacy and Marrow meals, all prepared according to the roles they are to become. So, say, someone is to become a Bow Sniper in the Crescentia Defense Force, then there’s a multi-course meal for that.”
Nay listened to this flabbergasted. “So, someone can walk in as a blank slate and then eat a meal and come out with specialized skill trees designed to create a particular role?”
“It’s usually more than one meal. These are multi-course feasts that lasts several days. And granted, this is only for big and well-funded organizations that can afford such a thing. Remember, Delicacies and Marrow usually come from monsters. These things are not cheap. There’s one particular family in San Violeta that has a Monster Farm and they can control whatever type of Marrow Eater they want to become.”
Nay almost fell off her seat when she heard that. “A Monster Farm?!”
“Sure. It’s where they breed monsters for their Delicacies and Marrows.”
“What the fuck.”
“They’re not common but they do exist. We’re talking about a family with unlimited resources. They’re the richest of the rich.”
“Still, that is sick. How do they even capture the monsters? And multiple ones to breed?”
“Like I said, they’re powerful people.”
The more Nay learned about this world the more amazed and terrified she was of it.
“I think you’re going to want to unlock a combat skill tree soon,” Quincy said.
“What makes you say that?”
“Trouble seems to have a way of finding you.”
Nay thought about her time here. He wasn’t wrong. From the moment she found herself in this world, she’s been fighting for her life in one way or another.
Hell, that’s how she got here. She tried to think back to a time before she got attacked in the alleyway in Los Angeles when there was never a struggle. It was true everyone had their own battles and obstacles in life, but trouble had always had a way of finding her.
From when her father died, to hustling to survive when she was a teenager by working in kitchens and restaurants while attending school, to having to transfer various schools because of drama, to what happened with Chef Jean, it seemed like she had moved to Los Angeles to try and escape trouble.
But trouble found her there, too.
“Do you know if Epicurists usually diversify into a combat skill tree? Or do all their trees have to do with cooking?”
“You know, I’m not sure. The ones I’ve known or have run across have always been strictly kitchen types. There’s a standard and uniformness to how they’re trained. But, you’re not strictly an Epicurist, remember? The Culinary Guild knows nothing about you. You’re living in a harsh land where you’ve been forced to defend yourself more than once. I think it would benefit you greatly to unlock a combat skill tree. Just purely in terms of survival.”
Nay knew he was right.
“Also, we’re caught in the crossfire of whatever is happening in Stitchdale and the Nether Realm. So we need to prepare for the worst. There’s a storm brewing. And Samuel and Gertrude are going to need companions.”
“Are you talking about Thorn?”
“I am.”
“Here I was thinking that I’d get to do nothing but run a kitchen and cook food.”
“Those are peace time activities.”
“You think we’re going to be at war?”
“I don’t know about war," Quincy said. "But I think we’ll be fighting again. And like I said, we won't be using half-measures."
"I wish I could just cook. It's what I care about the most."
"I wish you could just cook, too," he said. "But there are times we have to defend the things we care about. Like cooking. Or...The Lodge. Reading, fellowshipping, drinking, gardening, farming. All the great peace time activities." His eyes sparkled in the light of the fire. “Those are all things worth fighting for.”