Path of the Pioneers

[Class transfer attempt initiated…]

[Trial required to access requested class…]

[Access trial?]

Two buttons appear, “accept” and “decline.” Without a second thought, my finger presses down on the confirmation button, the window disappearing immediately after I make my choice.

My vision fades to nothing, and the familiar sensation of being whisked away runs through my body. I’m being pulled forward, ripped through space increasingly quickly. My senses become dulled and dizzied by sharp movements and turns, as the force moving me becomes less straightforward and more complicated.

It comes to a halt, my vision still dark as pitch. Then, a sudden light appears, the familiar sight of my status window.

[O’ thou who wouldst be Inheritor to the Pioneer of Sorcery, we proffer a round of trials fitting of thy prize]

Strange. The window addressed me with a sudden tone-shift. I’ve never seen it do anything like this. The window fades, and the darkness in front of me begins to squeeze down, threatening to crush me in its clutches.

[Thy starting trial shalt begin]

The darkness disappears, washed away by something in ink-like streaks. I’m laying on my back, soft ground beneath me and the stars glimmering above. My eyes travel down, and I see before me dunes composed of white, almost blue sand. Here and there, twisted roots seem to come up from the ground to climb up into the air, particles of dust and sand spiraling around them as if the roots have a pull of their own.

I stand, patting some of the sand off of the back of my robes.

The area is slightly warm, despite it being night. From what I know of deserts, it should be at least freezing here. Instead, it’s just mildly comfortable.

[Thou’rt come to the barren remnants of the north, Hyperborea]

[Forgotten children linger hither, and the wastrels willst seek thine end]

[Survive in this forgotten land, child of magic]

A series of numbers that seem to be counting down appear on the window. I quickly realize that it’s a timer.

The land around me is desolate, and the only thing that gives me any sense of hope are the roots around me. The only things I have with me are my clothes and Tanascáil, whatever or whoever is in charge of this trial didn’t allow me to bring my waterskin or potions. So for the time being, those odd plant-like structures are the only clue for me to act on.

I stumble down the dune I’m standing on, careful to avoid sending all of the sand rolling down at once -- getting crushed under a pile of sand hardly seems like a fitting end. I make my way towards the closest root, which sits at the base of the valley before me. It’s a difficult thing to keep my footing in this place, but I eventually find myself standing right beside it.

The root has a subtle pull to it, but not on my physical body. Even as I stand a meter from it, I feel it trying to wick away the mana from my exposed skin. I have a bad feeling that if I touch it, it may actually manage to steal some from me if I’m not careful about it. The roots have a dark exterior, rough and ridged like tree bark. Energy is coursing through its roots, something akin to mana. The energy is flowing down, going into the earth where the root systems should be.

I carefully move my hand closer, and feel the tug on my mana growing. But it’s something I can resist, so long as I maintain an active effort. I find that it’s possible to keep the mana locked away in my body. It’s a lot like manipulating it, something I’ve become well practiced in.

I draw my dagger from its sheath, making silent apologies to Cairbre as I jab its blade slightly into the root, cutting it open to get a better look at the plant inside. Despite the bark-like exterior, the root is rather easy to cut into, like a large flower stem. Its’ woody, but soft. Something sticky and slimy oozes out from it, translucent like water -- but not exactly water.

I let some drip onto the tip of the blade, squinting as I bring it up to my face. The sap seems to be saturated in energy. But, since it seems to be derived of a plant…

I use a skill that I haven't had reason to in what feels like an eternity, [Alchemy].

Visroot Sap [Edible]

Sap from a visroot. Contains an impressive amount of magical energy. 

Potential usages:

• Mana Potion

• Spell-Empowering Potion

It’s edible, and seems to be good for potions to restore your mana, and potions to make your spells stronger. What would it do if I ate it (drank it?) though? In the worst case scenario, it might give me some energy to keep going. It might even act as a good enough substitute to water.

I cast [Barrier], expending some mana in order to test a small theory. With a deep breath, I push my face towards the root, condensing my mana squarely in my heart. I imbibe some of the sap still readily dripping from the root, and feel spark-like energy rush down my throat. It’s vaguely sweet, kind of sour, and almost fizzy. Heat travels through my limbs and sends a shiver down my spine. It makes my fingertips pulse.

One sip of the sticky sap brings my mana back up by ten points -- half the price of [Barrier]. I feel comforting arms around me and a head on my shoulder, accompanied by the voice of my beloved.

“It seems pretty useful, doesn’t it? Ten mana back in one swig. If only you had a few bottles to put the stuff in, I’d try and pack out as much as I could if I were you.”

I take some of the sap between my fingers, testing its viscosity, “I wish I could, yes. But I doubt it’s proper for me to leave this trial with my robes packed full of magical sap.” It’s sticky, but not as thick as my first impressions made me think. It wipes off easily when I brush it off with the root’s bark.

“Got any plans for food? Oh, maybe you could cook this thing up like asparagus!” She laughs, tightening her grip on me for a moment. I get caught up in that laugh, and a smile comes to my face.

“Yes, yes.. I’ll get right on it.” I wipe the sap from my dagger onto the barky exterior of the root, sheathing it once more when I’m satisfied that it’s clean enough.

If I were to trim off dry bits of bark and start a fire with it, cooking parts of the root may be possible. But, I quickly and firmly take the stance that it’s a last resort. It would probably make for a good tea, though… A shame about the water.

I painstakingly clamber up and over the dune in front of me, resigning myself to the fact that my clothes will forever have bits of sand lingering within them. It’s kind of precious to be standing at the peak of one, with its thin ridge. One slip would send me rolling back down, an inconvenience at best and a severe injury waiting to happen at worst.

From my fresh vantage point, I scan the horizon, looking around for any of the ‘wastrels’ mentioned by my status window. Any vague shape would be easy to spy atop the bright sands. The roots do a good job of obscuring some places, however. Some larger ones in the distance seem to have gathered more sizeable spirals of sand.

My eyes trail a line across every dune, waiting for anything to appear. An unfamiliar, dark shape in the distance catches my eye, and I fall to my knees. Hiding my body behind the dune I stand on, I peer over the edge and get a good look at what I saw.

Twenty meters out, give or take, a shape that resembles a human. A fight has come my way, and I cannot reject it.