Vigil's Balance: Three - Old Friends

I pulled out a crystalline sigil pendent, draped around my neck, and pressed it against the heavy-duty door that barred the way into my new office, situated on the third floor of the keep. Crafted from cold iron and Mortka-forged steel, the door would stand up against an artillery barrage and thanks to the complicated runic sigils engraved into the metal, it would also keep out unwanted visitors like rogue spirits or sticky-fingered fairies. Pascow had built it for me as a housewarming gift, and insisted I install it.

Especially after I let it slip that I’d been “invited” to participate in the Wyld Hunt.

And by invited, I meant threatened upon pain of death.

The door was six inches thick and weighed three hundred pounds, but it swung inward with barely a whisper.

Although much of the rest of the keep was still in disarray, I’d focused on getting this room into working order. A huge glass window gave me a perfect, unobstructed view of the lake—though like the door, the glass had been tempered and inscribe to keep out any unwelcome guests. The walls were thick granite and decorated with a variety of elaborate tapestries which had all been gifts from various well-wishers within the Citadel.

They depicted scenes of battle. Armies clashing. Mortka falling to enchanted Vigil blades. Scenes of Raguel dispensing judgement and wisdom.

On the back of each, hidden from prying eyes, were even more ward sigils custom built to prevent scrying and other types of hostile astral magics. There was a sleek mahogany desk framed in by the massive picture window, a pair of leather sitting chairs, an upholstered chaise, and a dark wood coffee table. A huge hearth burned with a low fire, which dispelled the deep chill that had settled into bones of the keep. Opposite the fireplace was a huge iron safe, with even more arcane safeguards.

In one corner of the room was a raised dais with the real prize.

A slate-gray altar with five sides, each depicting one of Raguel’s faces: Gadriel the matron of Justice, Lero the maiden of Balance, Voch the veteran of Valor, Thuriel fanatic of Wrath, and Akora the androgynous mannequin of Truth. Floating above the pedestal was a glassy black orb, about the size of a softball. The orb thrummed with subtle, arcane energy that sent shivers racing down the back of my neck.

When used by a priest, the altar acted as a way to communicate directly with Raguel—basically a glorified payphone that let them make interdimensional calls. For a Vigil like me, it served as a doorway to my own private pocket dimension.

Setting up the altar had been a nightmare, but thankfully I’d had an expert come in all the way from Ironmoor. Hunched over the desk was said expert.

He a bear of a man who looked more like a bareknuckle boxer than the priest he was. Though, to be fair, Arbitrators weren’t exactly like the preachers from the back hollers of Kentucky. They were battle clerics, equal parts shepherd and monster hunter. Fact was, were just too many Mortka and not enough Vigils to go around. Seemed like the evil fuckers were hiding behind ever bush, rock, and fence post. So the Arbitrators would handle the lesser threats, then use an altar to call in for heavy reinforcement when the shit really hit the fan.

On top of being an Arbitrator, Arturo was also a Steelborn noble and a former knight of the Templars of the Banner—the elite troops of the Kelkadian Crown. He was easily half a foot taller than me and half again as wide. He had a mop of unruly black hair, a thick beard, peppered with flecks of gray, a prodigious gut, and a litany of faded scars crisscrossing his knuckles and face. If his size and demeanor weren’t enough of a dead giveaway that he was not to be fucked with, those scars told anyone paying attention to keep their distance.

He was staring at a large canvas map spread out across the desktop, his brow furrowed in concentration. He absently drummed his fingers against the tabletop.

“I was just getting ready to come searching for you,” he said without looking up. “I didn’t expect it to take so long. Was there trouble down below, then?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” I replied, waving away his concern. “Just a final hold out who wasn’t interested in my complying with my eviction notice. Had to see him out the hard way. But, on a high note, it’s done. The Bounty finally cleared, and I got the Heart Stone.” I fished the ruby out from a leather pouch at my side and held it up, pinched between my thumb and index finger.

The declaration pulled his gaze away from the map. He straightened, eyes locking on the ruby with fervent intensity. “Thank the gods above,” he said, running a hand through his beard. “It’s high time I returned to Ironmoor. I’ve just about wrapped up all I can do here, and I wasn’t relishing the ride back. Never did much care for the winter months,” he said darkly. “Better than the wet season, but not by much.” He had a heavy fur cloak trailing down behind his cassock, which he pulled more tightly around his beef-slab shoulders.

“I assume that means we’re ready to get things rolling?” I asked.

“Aye, indeed we are. I’ve officially filed all the necessary paperwork with the Keldadian Exchequer of Oakenward Province. They approved our mining warrant and our tax forms. Also finished chatting with the Custodians—I have the shipping exemptions right here, signed in triplicate and sealed by the King himself.” He tapped a neat pile of papers beside the map. “They made me jump through a few hoops, but when I started bandying your name around, they eased up a bit. Being famous has its perks, it seems.”

“And to think, all I had to do to cut through the red tape is die in a warzone, get reincarnated as the mouthpiece of a literal deity, and then prove myself worthy by rooting out a hundred years of corruption.”

The Padre snorted. “I’m afraid that bureaucracy is the one evil that shall never be entirely slain. As someone who grew up in court, I can tell you that better than anyone. The fact that you made any headway at all is commendable and worthy of bard’s song. And though the task was mighty, believe me, the reward was worth it. Earning a patent of nobility—even if it is honorary—is going to save you a fortune. You may not realize this, but there is a long-standing trade agreement between Kelkadia and Wildespell.

“As a result,” he continued, a sly grin stretching across his face, “the Selitrium Ore will be taxed using a flat export tariff rate instead of being labeled as an exotic good. Which means we’ll be paying twelve percent instead of thirty-five. Give it a year, and you’ll be wealthier than half of the landed nobility in Kelkadia. We’ll have our first shipment ready to roll inside a week, I expect. I already have Marcus Pekkala rounding up prospective workers, and thanks to Gustav and Sigge, we have all the gear and equipment we need to get things running at a full clip.”

This was good news. Scratch that. Great news.

Trade, tariffs, and shipping routes may have sounded more tedious than digging trenches, but they were the backbone of nations. The gears that kept the warmachine rolling forward.

As a Recon Marine I’d learned that the secret to winning a war wasn’t about taking out the front-line fighters. Nope. An individual battle would come down to a multitude of factors—training, terrain, discipline, numbers—but wars were all about resources, logistics, and supply management. When troops ran out of food, medical equipment, weapons, and bullets… That’s when they lost. And supplies cost money. The kind of money that the Selitrium mine would keep me swimming in for years or even decades to come.

I’d need all of those resources and then some because I was at war, even if the first shot hadn’t officially been fired yet. I had enemies gunning for me on every front and the Fae Queen of the Oblivion Court had painted a target firmly on my back. She was coming for my head, and I had a gut feeling that she wouldn’t stop until I lay dead in a shallow grave. Renholm had already recruited several dozen unaffiliated Fae Folk and established an alliance with the Court of Petals—arguably the weakest of all the major Fae Houses—but those relationships were tenuous at best.

Queen Ionia was not well-loved by those outside Oblivion Court, but our allies would bail the second they felt the winds shift. The Fae cared about self-preservation above all else. Right now, they were on our team out of pure hatred, but I planned to strengthen those bounds by bribing the shit out of them. Like Renholm, the Fae folk were also greedy as hell, and it turned out they had a healthy appetite for Selitrium. It was exceedingly rare and a vital competent in the manufacturing of enchanted items because of its unique ability to purify magical components and infuse fabrication elements with Arcana.

Plus, it was one of the few metals that didn’t incorporate cold iron.

The Fae valued Selitrium above all other metals, and I just happened to be sitting on one of the biggest active veins in Kelkadia. The Citadel was also clamoring to get their hands on more of the stuff, and they were willing to pay top dollar for any ore I was willing to part with. That put me in a unique position, and I’d leveraged that advantage to start buying some extra loyalty.

“Are you still concerned about the bandits operating between Halgem and Belmonk?” I asked. There were other routes that connect Ironmoor to the Citadel, but that was by far the fastest and easiest. Precisely the reason the bandits had set up shop there in the first place.

“Not anymore,” Arturo grunted. “I’ll admit, those boys have grown quite bold over the past few months, but the caravan guards I’ve recruited should be more than up to the task. Especially since word has gotten out that the mine is now owned by a Vigil. In truth, we could probably hire a single shepherd boy to guard the wagons and the ore would arrive untouched.

“No one wants to bring the down the wrath of a Vigil upon their heads. Especially not one with your…” he paused and cast a thoughtful look at me before finishing. “Your growing reputation. Divines above, but I can’t get a drink in peace without hearing some overzealous bard caterwauling about that Lake Kraken you killed in Sarugia. Or the Eldritch Horror of Willowbend. Or the Hexblight of Ironmoor—though, curiously, no one ever seems to mention my name in that story, even though I distinctly remember helping you slay the beast.”

“What can I tell you, Padre?” I replied with a shrug. “The world isn’t fair. Still, I’m glad to hear my poor life choices are paying off so well.”

“Yes, well they won’t pay off forever if you keep pulling reckless stunts. Mark my words, eventually your luck is going to run out and then the bards will be singing a lament called the Inkarnate’s Folly. There won’t be a dry eye in the tavern, I’m sure, but you won’t be around to appreciate it because you’ll be dead.”

“I appreciate the concern,” I replied, “but I’ve already died once—I have no intention of kicking the bucket early a second time around.”

“And yet you’ve gotten yourself firmly mired in the politics of the Fae Courts,” the priest grumbled while raising his meaty hands, forestalling my protest. “I can think of no quicker way to end up dead, but that’s the last I’ll speak on it. You’ve already heard my thoughts on the matter at length. You’re a grown man and you were picked by Raguel for a reason. Your choices are your own, and I won’t brow beat you further, especially not when I’ve made so many bad choices myself—”

Before he could finish, there was a frantic thumping on the window overlooking the lake. Renholm was hovering outside, his eyes wide in alarm and excitement.

“The riders approach,” he hissed, his voice muffled by the reinforced pane of glass. “Make haste, the time of our departure is nigh.”

“Well shit,” I muttered, pocketing the red ruby I’d looted off the corpse of the Ratking. “Looks like you’re gonna be stuck here a little longer, Padre. Grab your battle rattle and get ready to rock and roll, this shit could get ugly.”

“It always does when you’re involved,” he said. throwing on his heavy scale mail over his priestly cassock. He snatched up his colossal war staff then turned toward me. “What do you need from me?” he asked, now all business.

“Get the servants and builders inside. After that? Help Cal buy me a little time. I just need a few minutes in the vault.” I hooked a thumb toward the altar.

“Consider it done.” He turned on a heel and stormed out of the room, his heavy footfalls pounding against the floor and rattling the walls as he passed. The guy was a big ol’ sonofbitch and he moved like a freight train.

I put him from mind and rushed over to the altar, slapping my palm against the floating orb. A lance of Essence rush into my arm as the faint scent of ozone washed over the room, perceptible only by my heightened senses. The whole world trembled and turned on its side and my study dissolved, replaced by the entry hall of my Soul Vault—a circular chamber of crystal, gold, and glass. A series of fluted columns rose heavenward, connecting to a domed ceiling that looked out into the vastness of the universe.

Pinpricks of light winked at me, reminding me of how small I was in the grand scheme of things, while distant galaxies churned a hundred million miles away.

In the center of the room was a reflection pool crafted of pure white marble; inside the stone basin was electric blue water, along with a pair of ever-circling koi, who moved in graceful arcs and perfect symmetry. They were the Ying and Yang of my soul, representing the duality of spirit and body. I focused intently on the avatar of myself, slowly rotating above. The figure was a perfect replica, a mirror reflection of myself, right down to the smallest details. He wore my scars like badges of pride, had the same muscled physique, the same metallic golden hair, and the same blistering red eyes.

A stat screen appeared as my gaze brushed over the figure.

<<<>>>

Boyd Knight

Race: Vigil Bound

Level: Adept, Gold Rank

Current Essence: 62,532

Next Ascended Rank: 65,000

Attribute Points: 0

Ward Points: +1 / 115

Characteristics

Brawn: 28

Verve: 25

Finesse: 23

Arcana: 32

Insight: 21

Vigil Wards

Ward of Justice: Soul Bound Weapons (Boon)†, Armor Evocation, Weapon Mastery: Blunt, Festering Wounds

Ward of Valor: Diamond Body (Boon), Combat Sense, Purity of Form, Spiked Shell, Unmoving Bulwark

Ward of Wrath: Arcane Insight (Boon), Kinetic Blast, Warded Shield, Unbound Blaze

Ward of Balance: Language of the Heavens (Boon), Sidhe Pact, Totem Transformation, Fae Tether

Ward of Truth: Threads of Fate (Boon), Master Mentalist

Expand Ward List

<<<>>>

I quickly glanced at my experience total then almost wished I hadn’t. Damn. Less than 5,000 Essence away from Ascending to Master and leaving the Acolyte Ranks behind for good. I’d been steadily grinding out kills by completing bounties while also remodeling Starlake Keep, and it was painful to be so close to the threshold of a major milestone.

When Vigils advanced from one rank to another, they gained +1 Free Attribute Point and +10 Ward Points to spend however the hell they wanted. And when they jumped from one class to another, they got a bonus of +3 Attribute Points and +20 Ward Points. Attribute Points were used to increase our base stats—Brawn, Verve, Finesse, Arcana, and Insight—which made us stronger, faster, more agile, and more capable of accessing and molding Arcana, which fueled spells. I could really use a bump like that, but there was just no more time.

Renholm, Cal, and Arturo would stall for as long as possible, but I couldn’t putter around in here, endlessly tweaking my stats. All I had time for now was a quick skill respec, and I already had everything set up and planned out.

Going over which skills I wanted to keep and swap each time was a tedious process, but the Ascendant System that governed my avatar and skill selection was uniquely flexible and adaptable. I’d created a handful of “Skill Exemption Lists”—so that way I wouldn’t have to reclaim all my points every time I swapped out abilities—as well as several “Custom Skill Sets” that I could quick select without having to do a whole lot of mental math. I focused on the Threads of Fate Ability, initiating the boon given to me by Akora, Aspect of Truth.

Action: Activate the Boon Threads of Fate to Reclaim some or all of your spent Ward Points. This action can be performed once every twelve hours. You currently have the ‘General Loadout – 1’ List marked as an exemption [Sidhe Pact (5), Combat Sense (4), Master Mentalist (4), Totem Transformation (2), Armor Evocation (6), Fae Tether (4), Weapon Mastery: Blunt (10); Total = 35 Ward Points]. Proceed reclamation with current exemptions in place? Yes/No

I braced myself and accepted, letting a flash of soul-flaying torment wash through my body as the rest of my abilities were reset, purging them from my soul and returning a total of eighty Ward Points to my character sheet. Although the pain was still intense, it no longer left me curled up on the floor, clutching my chest, and shaking uncontrollably. Increasing my Brawn Stat didn’t do much to mitigate the pain but increasing both my Verve and Arcana score sure did. I had a working theory about why. Verve boosted my body’s ability to handle damage and heal rapidly, while Arcana did the same for my spirit.

Working together, the two stats had a synergistic effect that robbed the System of some of its bite. Though only some.

I shook my head, clearing away the last, faint traces of discomfort, and pulled up my list of pre-saved “Custom Skill Sets.”

Preset 1:Jack of all Trades

Preset 2:The Machine Gunner

Preset 3:Abram McTankface

Preset 4:Slick Talker Sherlock

Preset 5:Death from Above

Preset 6:Redneck Engineer

Each set was custom built for specific purposes and maximized the available Ward Points I had to play with when paired with my ‘General Loadout’ exemptions. The Machine Gunner build focused on ranged weaponry and overwhelming suppressive firepower, Slick Talker Sherlock was my Rogue style build, while Death from Above was all about hard-hitting Wrath-based spells. Since I didn’t have a lot of time left and I didn’t know what kind of shitstorm I was walking into, I picked the most well round option, Jack of all Trades.

[Rend (3), Festering Wound (15), Pierce Veil (10), Cunning Glamor (12), Spectral Roots (4), Warded Shield (5), Kinetic Blast (5), Electro Arc (12), Life Siphon (4), Honeyed Words (10); Total = 80 Ward Points].

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t as good as any of the specialty builds, but it had a little bit of everything. A nice blend of Melee skills, some crowd control and DPS options like Spectral Roots and Festering Wound, some ranged, arcane firepower, and a few social abilities like Cunning Glamor and Honeyed Words—which would help me talk my way into damn near anywhere without a fight.

I’d recently added Pierce Veil to the list on Arturo’s recommendation. It came as no surprise whatsoever that the Fae were master illusionists and well-known for using their glamors for playing mind-fuck games. Many of them could Conjure false sights. False sounds. Could summon cunning veils that would render threats invisible. Pierce Veil allowed me to dispel any low-level fae bullshit they might throw at me.

With my skills all set, I rushed past my library and took a quick pit stop in my armory. I had all of my armor sets stocked and thanks to Armor Evocation I could swap between them at will, but I couldn’t do the same for my Soul Bound weapons. I could only have one skin in place at any given time, and I needed to be in the Vault to switch them out. I left my Raven’s Beak Axe skin in place but opted to change up my firearm selection. The Benelli tactical shottie was great in a pinch and had some formidable stopping power, but it was one of the slower weapons I had at my disposal, and it was dogshit past 100 meters—even with my enhanced Finesse.

I needed something with a little better range, and since I was going into hostile territory, I wanted to be able to lay down some serious firepower if push came to shove. Over the past few weeks, I’d spent some time puttering around the Soul Forge, carefully crafting a M16 M4 tactical rifle under the watchful gaze of Pascow. It didn’t have the raw stopping power of the shottie or the sheer volume of the 240, but it was light, maneuverable, and a perfect middle ground option for up-close-and-personal fighting or ranged shooting.

I swapped the weapon skins and added on my Eldritch Wither Heart Arcanum Token to the rifle for good measure.

<<<>>>

Eldritch Wither Heart Seed

Token Type: Weapon Inset, Infernal

Class: Sage

The heart seed of an Eldritch Wither Vine brims with powerful Fae Magics and lies dormant, waiting for the ideal conditions to take root and spawn once more. In the right hands—or the wrong ones—its potent power may be harnessed, bound, and forged into a devastating weapon.

Effect 1: Equip to a Soul Forged Weapon Skin to add Vampiric Leech to all attacks, allowing you to harm enemies and absorb a portion of their health with every successful hit.

Effect 2: Plant the Wither Heart Seed into fertile ground and reawaken the power of the Eldritch Wither Vine.

<<<>>>

Skills set and gear equipped, I stepped out from the Vault and hauled ass toward my office door. It was time to go meet the Queen of Dark Tidings and show her why fucking around with a Vigil was a good way to wind up dead.