Bog Standard Isekai

“No, it was a bit longer than that,” said Brin. “And the nose is still wrong. It’s not a monkey nose, it’s like a really long human nose.”

For the last half-hour Hogg had been painting an image of Aberfa’s familiar in the air with hard light under Brin’s instruction. He had to admit that Hogg had an incredible amount of talent at this. He would’ve been the weak point running of his own regular memories, but luckily [Memories in Glass] preserved the sight of the creature perfectly, and now it was really starting to take shape. He stared at it more closely, trying to find a flaw.

They were walking far enough ahead of the caravan to be out of sight. The hills had become more steep and regular and the road was constantly winding around them rather than forcing travelers to go up and over. It was kind of annoying to be doubling the distance they needed to walk and he dreamed of the interstate from back home that would just plow through any random hills or mountains in their way. It was working in their favor, though, by giving Brin and Hogg a bit of privacy without needing to do more complicated illusions.

“I think that’s it,” said Brin. “That’s the familiar.”

“Are you sure? Look at the toes again,” said Hogg.

“The toes are fine. Three on each foot, like I said.”

Hogg poked at his conjuration of hard light and added another two more toes to each foot anyway. “It’s weird. Those are definitely five fingers on the hands. So why three toes?”

“Why are we so hung up on the toes?” Brin asked.

“It’s just weird, is all,” said Hogg. He shook his head. “Maybe it's deformed.”

“Some kind of goblin?” Hogg guessed. “Maybe one of those like they have in Prinnash. Can’t say more than that.”

Brin looked at the monster and bit his lip. “I really hoped that this would be a lead. Do you know anyone we could ask?”

Hogg stared off into space for a minute, then finally said, “Best not.”

“Because we don’t want her to know we have the answer. At this point, she could be in anyone’s dreams,” said Brin.

Hogg shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. She isn’t in everyone’s heads, so we have to assume she can’t be. I think she’s the type that would start screwing with your friends if she could, at the very least. No, there’s got to be some activation method.”

“I’m pretty sure she can reach me because I’m in her son’s body,” said Brin.

Hogg didn’t answer for a minute, staring off into space again.

The hills here were nice; some were tall enough to practically be big enough to call mountains, but they were all green grass-covered domes, top to bottom. The mountains or even hills Brin had experienced in his old life would be mostly sheer rock and gravel, with a few stubborn trees clinging on here and there.

“We’re giving up on this for now. No arguments,” said Hogg.

“What? That’s–”

Hogg looked him in the eyes. “For once, just trust me on this. It’s over. Don’t even think about it, if you can avoid it.”

Brin did trust Hogg. He would activate [Directed Meditation] and force himself to not think about this. That would prevent him from drawing the obvious conclusion that Hogg did know something about the goblin, something he wasn’t saying because it would give a clue about Aberfa’s location or maybe even her power–

“Aw, dammit! Sorry Hogg. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about it in time. You recognized that monster didn’t you? You know what it is.”

Hogg sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Well, what is it?”

“You sure you want to know? If I tell you she’ll read you in your dreams again and then she’ll know you know.”

“She already knows you know, and that’s just as bad,” said Brin.

“Alright. It’s a Howler Goblin. They’ve got a paralyzing screech, a confusion effect to stun and disorient. The effect is wholly magical, too. It latches on your mind and pulls you into a dream,” said Hogg.

“Sancta Solia,” said Brin.

“Sancta Solia is right. Alone this wouldn't mean much, but the fact that she was so defensive about this means it's a weak spot. She probably copied whatever ability she has to enter dreams from this fella. I think it's safe to say that her regular activation method is the same as her old familiar's. You need to hear her scream before she can invade your dreams.”

“How dangerous is this ability against someone who can use sound magic?” asked Brin.

“If she catches me off guard? A little. If she doesn’t? Not dangerous at all,” said Hogg with a grin.

“At least we got that going for us. Now how are we going to keep her from learning that we know all this?”

“I have some ideas about that,” said Hogg. “You talk in your sleep, when she’s teaching you, did you know that? But when it’s the kind of dream where she’s going through your memories to read your mind, you lay still as a stone. Tonight I’ll keep an eye on you. If you don’t start talking in your sleep after a few minutes, I’ll poke you awake and you can put your enchantments up.”

With a plan in place they stood by and let the caravan catch up. Brin spent the day doing more normal things, chatting with his friends in the morning and then pulling a wagon for the second half of the day. When night fell, they tried Hogg’s plan. Sure enough, Aberfa tried to weasel into his memories immediately. Hogg woke him up, and Brin used the enchanted blanket and the other wards and drifted off to sleep again. It was the first real, restful sleep he’d had in what felt like ages.

The next night Aberfa tried again, and they shut her down again. The night after was more of the same, and again the night after that. Finally, after five nights, Aberfa pulled him into a dream again.

Her aspect was cold and distant and she brought him back to Hammon’s Bog without prelude. “Defeat Rodrige. I expect after all this time you’ll be able to win without trouble.”

He didn’t win without trouble. Without being able to use the Language to empower his spells, Rodrige was able to send a chisel straight through his flimsy glass shield on the first attempt.

“How dare you!” Aberfa raged at his defeat. “How dare you waste my tutelage! I, Aberfa of Arcaena, have deemed to instruct you personally, and this is all you can muster? You worm!”

He felt his skin erupt into itching blisters, and a flaming whip appeared in Aberfa’s hand. She struck hard, shedding skin and burning the muscle tissue underneath.

He pulled on the dream to wake himself up, but she immediately stopped. She went cold again and flattened her features. “Try again.”

Try again he did, and again and again, but he didn’t defeat Rodrige that night. The next night he tried again, though this time Aberfa didn’t look quite so defensive or cold. The third night she was chatting normally with him again, instructing him in the Wyrd, refining the emotions and intent he should be wielding.

The trouble with Rodrige, paradoxically, was that he didn’t have a strong argument. To him, this was just a fun afternoon. He didn’t care too much about winning or losing, he didn’t think anyone would think less of him if he lost, didn’t have any personal stakes on the outcome, wanted a fair contest, and trusted that Brin felt the same. That was honestly impossible to argue with, and gave Brin nothing to latch onto. That meant the Wyrd would be at a stalemate and the contest was magic against magic. Without the Language, Brin was at a severe disadvantage.

When he won a week later, it was through sheer perseverance rather than any keen insight into the Wyrd.

Next up was Myra. Aberfa let the dream move forward, taking Lumina’s place and calling Myra forward. Then she froze the dream and stepped up to examine the girl.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

She plucked at her dress, and walked around her in a circle eyeing her up and down. At last, she nodded in satisfaction.

“I don’t hate this one.”

“Oh no, don’t say that! That’s the worst thing you could possibly say!” Brin moaned.

“What? Can’t I like someone? She’s smart and determined, has a respectable Class. Just a smidge of fate, a dollop of Wyrd, but nothing pretentious. Yes, this could do.”

“Stop! You approving of her is shutting that door forever,” said Brin.

“And you would rather keep it open? Interesting,” she crooked an eyebrow, clearly having fun.

“We’re just friends,” said Brin.

“Of course,” she said condescendingly. “Very well, then. Fight her. And if you take it too far…? Well, I might look the other way.”

Brin swallowed the anger and disgust. Despite what she said, he wasn’t going to let her affect his love life one way or another. If he decided to hate everyone she liked, then that was still letting her make the decision.

He concentrated on the fight, and on the Wyrd.

As soon as time started moving again, he sent a probing dagger of glass at her face which she flicked away with a look of shock. He might’ve moved a bit quicker than he ever had, and she was probably surprised at such a vicious strike right off the bat.

Through the Wyrd, he felt a lot more, and Aberfa generously paused the fight to let him process it.

He felt much of he had with Gill and Rodrige. Myra wanted to show her power and prove that Lumina hadn’t wasted her time teaching her. But she also wanted Brin to win. She understood that this was his last day with his mother and she wanted him to look strong and brave for her so that he wouldn’t have any regrets. She’d fight well enough to make it a good show and paint him in the best possible light and then lose.

That didn’t mean she wanted to throw the fight. She didn’t and she wouldn’t. She wanted Brin to actually win and win fairly. But she did want him to win, and to the Wyrd that was everything.

His glass seemed to come to his fingertips at barely a thought, and he launched his projectiles with power that felt like it could never run dry. The fight was epic and bombastic; she grew forests of threads and he cut them down with mechanical precision. She was quick and ruthless, and used every trick she knew, including some he hadn’t even seen the first time around, but fate would not be denied.

The fight ended with Myra’s surrender and smiles all around. Even Aberfa was pleased.

"Very nice! I wonder what she'd be capable of if she really meant to kill you. Perhaps I could arrange it? No, probably not."

"Please don't," Brin said with a shiver.

"I notice she's doing all this with [Manipulate Thread], and not [Thread Mastery]. Her training was interrupted, I think. Will she go to Snathain, do you think?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

Aberfa looked to the side with a devious smile as if she were part of a prank. "Never you mind. It's not for me to say."

Despite everything Brin tried, he couldn't get her to say more than that, though he made a note to ask Myra about it.

The lessons went on. Day by day, week by week, and then month by month. The caravan didn’t move in a hurry and there was no press for time. They moved from village to village, often spending a day or three in each one. The [Merchants] would sell, the [Bards] would sing, and the rest of them would take the day off, or train like Davi and Brin.

He had all the time in the world for Aberfa’s lessons. He had all the time in the world to wear her down and find out where, or even what, she was.

She didn’t give so much as a sniff. Aberfa carefully avoided any more questions about her life or Arcaena, but she spoke eagerly about nearly any other subject. They fought against a wide range of monsters from undead to Giant Spiders, and even another kukubaru, and every time she had a wealth of knowledge about their wants and desires and how such things could be manipulated.

She knew the names of monsters that weren’t in any of the bestiaries he’d ever seen, and about a hundred different kinds of undead. Vampires, wights, and liches, including their strengths and weaknesses and their method of growth and advancement in the pseudo-System that monsters got.

It dawned on him over the course of weeks of lessons, that in a strange way Aberfa and he were on the same path. They’d both started over fresh, starting from level one with an adult mind in a new body. Unlike him, she was advancing as a monster after spending her entire life studying them. She knew the tricks and shortcuts, the optimal path to power, and he had no doubt she was using it for herself. He wished he knew what kind of monster she was, but no matter how many times he carefully prodded, she never gave so much as a hint.

They did more normal lessons as well. She spoke about law and rhetoric. She spent a night going over philosophy and another night for religion where she spent most of the time teaching about the Fundamentals, Inanu, Babaus, and Nocta, rather than the lesser gods like Solia that everyone else seemed to focus on.

She practiced the Prinnashian with him, and gave him an introduction to the language or Arcaena. When she asked about the chanting that he’d heard [Witches] use sometimes, she admitted that it was archaic Arcaenean, and that any language could be used since its purpose was just to vocalize the [Witch’s] argument and intent.

She taught him herbcraft, how to diagnose and cure the nastiest [Witch]-diseases, as well as the uses for all of the best monster cores.

Last, she taught him about Classes. She gave him the names and methods for unlocking a dozen different strange and terrible Classes. [Blood Mage]. [Shadow Heart]. [Void Starer]. She wasn’t shy about giving her advice on his friends' advancement either.

She immediately decided that [Marauder] was the best Class for Zilly. “I swear, it doesn’t eliminate any of the paths for gaining experience that [Rogue] has, and even adds a few. It’s an evolution from [Rogue] that favors melee combat and disfavors stealth and stealing. What could be wrong with that?”

What could be wrong with it was the unlocking method. Zilly had to break into someone’s home, kill everyone inside, and steal everything she wanted.

Normally he’d deny the possibility in a heartbeat, but… weren’t they already planning on doing something like that to the [Witch] in the safehouse Aberfa had told him about? It was a moral dilemma he didn’t know how to tackle, so he said nothing to Zilly about it. She would either earn the Class or she wouldn’t, but he didn’t want to put ideas into her head.

For Davi, Aberfa was adamant that the best option was [Skald]. “A [Bard] with an emphasis on preserving history and culture, recording precise and accurate accounts of the things they’ve seen, recounting battles, and motivating troops on the battlefield. It encompasses him perfectly.”

“I agree,” said Brin, skipping a rock from the sea shore during one of their lessons. They often came here for the relaxing atmosphere. Arcaena had sandy beaches, too, but Aberfa liked the smooth rocks. “I’m just surprised you didn’t say something crazy like [Bard of Blood] or [Deathsinger] or [Lamenter].”

“One of those isn’t even a real Class,” Aberfa answered.

When Brin brought up the choice to Davi that day, the [Bard] had confessed that he was already aiming at it. Apparently, he needed to tell the tale of Hammon’s Bog to earn the Class, and Jeffrey was having him hold off for some reason.

Aberfa refused to give any advice on Sion, claiming that the dealings of [Merchants] was beneath her. She also didn’t give Brin any clues as to what he could do with [Illusionist].

“I already know what Class is for you. Trust me, you’ll thank me when the time comes. I swear this by the Wyrd.”

It wasn’t an idle oath. The earth shook and the sea churned at her words, and he felt the Wyrd close the gap between them just a little bit more.

Hogg listened to each of his lessons with rapt interest, pouring over the notes that Brin wrote and often asking questions.

“You’ve got to play the motherhood angle again. The last time she let something slip is when you accepted her role as your mother. If I’m understanding the rules of the Wyrd right, the mother-son relationship constrains her just as much as it does you. You’ll feel compelled to obey her, but she’ll find it harder to keep her secrets. If you could just find… anything. A place she’s been other than Travin’s Bog. A doorknob that she’s touched, a rock that she’s kicked, anything, then we would have a lead.”

He did his best, but every step closer to Aberfa was a step away from himself. He felt the Wyrd pulling him towards her day by day, binding their destinies. Maybe even their fates? Myra said it was possible, but she claimed she didn’t have any fate-related Skills yet so she couldn’t know.

The only thing that kept him sane was the fact that he woke up every morning with the caravans.They didn’t run into more bandits or monsters, but that didn’t mean his days were empty. Marksi woke him nearly every morning by licking his face and biting his shirt with those flat teeth to pull him to breakfast. Zilly and he sparred, and while she could never seem to keep from taking things too far, they both managed to avoid major injuries. He laughed and joked with Myra and Sion, and the latter could always be goaded into telling long and funny stories that never seemed to go anywhere.

He practiced his Language with Myra. There were plenty of words that Myra had comprehended to a deeper level than he had, where she could guide him along the insights that she’d had. He could do the same for her on the words he comprehended better, and he could also use [Memories in Glass] to remember words that otherwise both he and Myra would’ve forgotten.

When the caravan visited towns he’d follow Davi around while he entertained the people, or Sion as he sold his wares. More often, he followed Zilly around so he could bail her out as she picked fights with the town’s teenagers or got up to some other kind of ridiculous mischief.

Most of his physical training was pulling the wagons, but he got some weight-lifting in when they stopped at towns, and his Will shot up like a rocket during his time with Aberfa.

Strength +7 Dexterity +1 Vitality +16 Magic +2 Mental Control +1 Will +21

On days where he didn’t feel like pulling a wagon, he mostly spent practicing music, usually with Davi. He figured out how to play songs from home, and learned new songs from his new home. He experimented with [Call Sound through Glass] by making his half-lute sound like different instruments, something which Davi was happy to cover for. He didn’t have a lot of privacy to practice his visual illusions, but here and there he found the time to practice going through the spells Hogg had given him.

Call Sound through Glass 35 -> 37 Call Light through Glass 29 -> 34

He’d neglected his glasswork. He made enough hand mirrors and bottles to sell to keep a steady income, but hadn’t really challenged himself. He didn’t think a single glass Skill went up. His training Skill, on the other hand, had seen quite a bit of action.

Athletic Training 20 -> 33

Two and a half months had passed since the caravan had left Oud’s Bog, and Brin was no closer to finding Aberfa. But Blackcliff was near, and Arcaena’s safehouse was even closer. One way or another, his time with Aberfa would soon be done.