Siege State

“Honoured Council,” he began, taking his cue from Val. “The Reaping had been going well, or as well as Reapings usually go. Sometime in the third week though, the camp came under attack during the night. A village-killer swarm. Spiders.” He paused, shuddering slightly as he remembered the carpet of black legs.

“This matches the accounts of the other survivors,” Director Steppenson said. “Please, go on, Master Cutter.”

“We fought them, but there were simply too many. Guardsman Kawlstone died. We were starting to get overwhelmed. Officer Elensfield saw what would happen. He sacrificed himself to buy us time to escape.”

There was a murmur from the audience at that. Guards weren’t supposed to die. The Councilmembers said nothing. They stared at Tom as one, their eyes boring into him.

“I’m ashamed to say it.” Tom paused again, casting his eyes down. “I… I ran.” he rallied himself, looking back at the Councilmembers. “At some point in my flight I came across Guardsman Clairvine. We ran through the night. When we stopped, there were ten of us. Just ten, and only one Idealist. We-”

“False,” Archbishop White declared. “Something rings false in your story.”

Tom stopped, a confused look writ on his face. His story was true. He thought over his words. Realisation dawned on him.

“My apologies, Councilmembers. There were in fact two Idealists with us. Gad Courser, as well as Clairvine.”

“My Gad! Oh, my Gad!” A panicked voice shrieked from the audience. Tom turned. It was Lady Courser, Gad and Ella’s mother. She was clinging to her husband, her eyes wild. Lord Courser looked stony. “What happened to him? Where is-”

The staff tapped the floor once again. “Lady Courser, we will have silence. We understand you want answers, but they will come. Now, remain quiet, or you will be removed.” The Speaker waited, his face impassive. It took some minutes until he was satisfied that Lady Courser had regained her composure. The staff tapped once again.

Archbishop White addressed Tom. “A miscommunication then. Continue.”

“Clairvine declared our Reaping done. We tried to return to Wayrest, but we were pushed further and further west by the swarm. We had good luck, until we were ambushed by a wood sprite, and some kind of giant mantis, back to back. Clairvine was in bad shape. That was when the orcs found us,” Tom finished.

The crowd was quiet. Expectant.

“They overwhelmed us. Captured us, and dragged us off, further into the Deep. They killed Clairvine outright. One of them, their leader, I think, carried Markhart’s hammer. They must have been ambushing survivors of the village-killer swarm.”

“For days, we moved north. I thought we were done for. One evening, I manifested and we managed to escape. We ran, we were hunted, and eventually I was found by Val here. Everyone else died.” Tom hung his head.

“What!? My Gad! He can’t have! You’re lying! You killed him! You-” Lady Courser screamed before the tapping of the staff silenced her outburst.

The Speaker watched with an inscrutable expression as two Guards moved to remove her from the chambers. Lord Courser glared at them, keeping them at bay with the force of his stare as he ushered her from the room.

After several long minutes, the staff tapped again.

“I’m sorry, Councilmembers. There is one other thing, the most important…” Tom trailed off, not sure how exactly to phrase what he had to say.

“Speak your mind, man,” Lord Hammer said.

“The leader of the orcs appeared to be… I mean, the leader - it used a skill,” Tom said.

Tom swore he could feel his hair move from the collective in-drawn breath of the room. Archbishop White beat them to the punch.

“Truth,” she declared. “The man speaks the truth.” The burgeoning disbelief and outrage of the crowd choked and died out.

“He believes he speaks the truth,” Lord Ember corrected once again.

“What are you suggesting, Lord Ember? That a man who can count himself close to one of the best minds to ever come through the Academy can’t tell an orc from another, more pedestrian creature?” Director Steppenson said.

“There are many explanations,” Lord Ember said with a scathing glance for Steppenson. “There are any number of plants with hallucinogenic properties in the Deep. There are even monsters with illusory abilities.”

“Nonsense,” said Lord Hammer. “If the timeline is correct, this man would have spent several weeks wandering around the Deep hallucinating. I don’t know of any single person that could possibly survive such a thing. It’s more likely the man’s sensibilities are shaken after his ordeal.”

“The fact remains that he survived three weeks in the Deep - alone. This is unquestioned - he stands before us. The Healers at St Aloe’s assured me he is sound of mind. Some shock, to be sure, but nothing that could account for such a fantastic tale,” said Gauze.

“He has no proof,” said Ember. “Just myths and legends.”

“We have his word, corroborated by Ms Carver, and verified as truth by the Archbishop herself,” Steppenson said. “What more could you want? A bloodied head in a sack?”

“That would certainly put this discussion to rest,” Lady Stone snorted.

“It’s besides the point. The whole story is ridiculous. How exactly did you survive, Master Cutter? How did you escape from these supposed orcs, with supposed skills, while you were newly manifested, when they had, according to you, killed not one, not two, but three experienced Idealists before you?” Lord Ember asked him.

“What did you manifest, Master Cutter?” Gauze asked, offhandedly, right on the back of Ember.

Tom’s fists clenched by his sides. This entire Hearing he had felt like a ball kicked between a crowd of children, and he was getting sick of it. He raised his chin.

“I manifested Suffering. Then Silence. And finally, Survival,” he declared. “If you want to know how I made it out - I almost didn’t. Wouldn’t have, if it weren’t for Ms Carver. But to get as far as I did, I suffered, and I kept quiet, and I managed to survive.”

The councilmembers looked to Archbishop White, who inclined her head. They turned their attention back to Tom, scrutinising him. He could see the gears whirring in their heads, planning their next words.

Lady Stone spoke first. “Well, I think that about settles it. He’s clearly unhinged.”

Gauze came next. “Suffering? Unconscionable. What a detestable Ideal. Send him off.”

“Let’s not be hasty now,” Lord Ember said, backpedalling suddenly. “The man might have his uses. We haven’t seen Silence in generations. The last Idealist to manifest it was certainly… useful.”

Tom stood mutely, in shock. He had manifested, survived capture by orcs, made it all the way back to Wayrest to bring them news of the dire threat brewing outside the walls, and they wanted to exile him? And Ember, of all people, was defending him?

“I will not have Suffering inside my walls because you want a cat’s paw, Ember!” Gauze didn’t quite shout, but she was close to it.

“Are you accusing me, Gauze?” Ember said calmly, though his eyes smouldered. “Silence is surpassingly rare, and useful in any number of ways. The last person to manifest it was a few hundred years ago, and we’re still using their hand-me-downs.” He gestured with one hand to where the Speaker stood with his staff.

“That doesn’t require him to be in the city! You-” Gauze began.

Archbishop White stood. Everyone fell quiet. She swept her gaze over the audience before it finally settled squarely on Tom.

“There will be no compromise here. Tom Cutter, you have manifested Suffering, which all under Goddess’ light should find anathema. You have taken steps on a path that cannot be retraced. Your name is entered unto the Book of Ideals, and struck out. Your citizenship is revoked.”

She gazed at him imperiously.

“Though your soul is stained, you are given the chance, by the grace of Goddess, to cleanse it by undertaking holy work. I declare you exiled to the Hunters. I suppose Ms Carver here can acquaint you. May Goddess have mercy on you for your transgressions,” she pronounced with finality.

Tom reeled. All his hard work, all the effort, the blood, the pain that he’d suffered getting to this point - all for nothing. His dreams of becoming an Idealist, upholding his House - shattered. His dreams of returning to Wayrest triumphant, welcomed back as a hero - ground into the dirt. His warnings, brought at great cost to himself, critical for the survival of the city - thrown in his face.

His vision snapped back into focus with unexpected swiftness. He was never one given to anger. Through all the bullying and torment he endured, he pushed it down, repressed it, and never let it out. He knew it wasn’t healthy, but in his eyes, lashing out at people was worse than swallowing his anger hot and burning himself. He wrestled it back under control, relaxing his hands by sheer strength of will. He would earn nothing but more ire by shouting into the void.

“What about the orcs?” He asked through teeth barely shy of gritted.

“You spoke the truth today, and it does you credit. What to make of it will require much more discussion,” she said.

He couldn’t help himself. “But they are there! Right out there, in the Deep! They have skills! Within a year they’ll-” The staff tapped “-be swarming at walls!” he shouted into sudden silence. His mouth clicked shut, the volume of his voice in the eerie quiet driving home the fact that he had just raised his voice to the Council. The Speaker gave his staff a curious glance.

“Master Cutter is overwrought. Please restrain yourself.” He watched as Tom took calming breaths, before eventually returning to his seat. There was nothing more he could say. A faint flashing from his wisp drew his eye, but he couldn’t focus on it right now. He would have to check it later, when he had a breath to spare.

Sound returned to the chambers. Lord General Steel now took the floor, turning to address not just Tom and Val, but the entire room.

“I think we’ve heard enough here. While the claims presented are …doubtful, we cannot simply dismiss the word of two Idealists out of hand. We also cannot simply act as though we have orcs clawing at the walls, with Ideals no less.” He softly shook his head. “No, the people would riot. More evidence must be sought. Ms Carver, Master Cutter, the Council thanks you for your testimony. You are dismissed.”

Ironwood struck stone once more. “This Hearing of the Council is finished,” said the Speaker.

The Councilmembers shuffled out through the door in the rear. The audience slowly started to filter out as well.

Tom slumped in his seat, defeated. Val sat beside him, frowning slightly at her hands.

Tom didn’t know what to do. It was all too much. He sat for some long minutes, the strange kind of blankness on his mind that comes from too much information, too many shifts in perspective, all trying to cram their way in at once and getting stuck at the door.

The room slowly emptied. Val stirred, gave a small sigh, then turned to him.

“Well, we fucked that up didn’t we?” she said.

The words broke the jam in his mind and he felt cold sluice all over him.

“How..?” he started.

“How’s not important, lad,” she said, a strange, gentle look on her face, as if he might shatter into a million tiny pieces. “We’ve said our piece, and the Council will do what they’ll do. There’s no helping what’s come of it.”

“At least they sort of believed us, right?” he said in a voice that sounded distant to his ears. Val snorted softly.

“Yes. Whether or not they get off their pampered asses in time to do anything about it though.” She frowned at the door they’d left through.

“Hunters are allowed to spend one week in Wayrest every six months. Most of us don’t even spend that long. By my reckoning, we’ve been here for six days now. We need to be gone by sunrise tomorrow.”

She sighed again, scrubbing at her face. “I wish…” she said, then changed tack. “Look, the Hunter’s life isn’t as bad as you fear. Meet me at the Hunter’s Hall, tomorrow morning before dawn. You’ve got today to say your goodbyes, at least.”

She stared at him for a long moment then, seeing he was lost in himself, she said again, “The Hunter’s Hall, tomorrow morning?”

Tom gave a small nod. She laid a hand on his shoulder, softly.

“It’ll be alright, Tom. See you then.” And with that she followed the crowd out of the chambers.

Tom sat for a minute more. His thoughts swirled slowly in his mind.

I just …can’t believe it. It was all for nothing, he lamented.

As the last people filed out of the room, the same clerk that showed him in approached again. “Master Cutter..?”

Tom stood and made his way to the exit. He’d need to go home, gather his things. Say his goodbyes.

He exited the council chambers and made his way across the grand lobby. Many people from the audience were milling about, chatting quietly in groups. The Hearing would be the subject of the most gossip Wayrest had seen for decades. Tom froze as he saw his father.

Lord Cutter stalked towards him, his face angrier than he had ever seen. His mother trailed along behind him, looking like she wanted to interject, and finding herself bound by long-forged habit.

“Boy!” His father hissed at him. “You’re a disgrace! An utter embarrassment to my House!”

Spittle sprayed from his lips as he spoke. “To think! A Cutter, spreading such stories, such …tripe, in front of the Council!”

People were looking now, breaking from their conversations to watch the confrontation.

“You disgust me, and you dishonour our House!” Lord Cutter yelled, his face inches from Tom’s. “I disown you. You are no longer a Cutter. Speak your name and our House in the same breath ever again and I will kill you for it. You are nothing.”

And he ripped the pin, the tiny silver sword, from Tom’s breast. He dropped it to the ground, spun on his heel and stormed from the lobby. His mother bobbed along after him like a lost balloon, sparing only a single, fearful glance back at Tom before following her husband out.

Tom stood, his face red as a smacked arse, tears burning in his eyes and his lip wobbling, as a hundred of Wayrest’s nobles watched him like some curiosity in a menagerie. Already, he could see polite hands raised to cover the filthy whispers shared amongst peers. Sidelong glances, somehow more hurtful than open staring, as if he were some lewd thing they could not look at directly.

He couldn’t handle it. He fled.

Tom burst from the building and onto the street. In the distance, he could see his family’s carriage trundling away down the cobbles. Yet another sting to his father’s pride; they had even rented a horse for the occasion.

He walked down the street a ways before finding a bench in a small park. The first thing he did was pull his wisp to him. The ball of pink light, limned in black and striated with brown, bobbed merrily over.

Status, he commanded, in need of a distraction.

Ideal One (Classic):Suffering.

Skill One (Classic):Agony (Active):

Mana cost: Low.

Cooldown: Short.

Range: Moderate duration.

Damage: Low.

Damage over time: Moderate.

Inflict pain on target. Damage is typeless.

Skill Two

Debuffs and poisons are negated, and instead give an equal and opposite buff. Buffs last for as long as any debuffs would have. Immune to disease and damage-over-time effects.

Ideal Two (Classic):Silence.

Skill One (Classic): Hush (Active).

Mana cost: Moderate.

Cooldown: Moderate.

Range: Medium.

Duration: Moderate.

Apply Silence debuff to target. Puts caster to sleep if self-targeted.

Skill Two (Classic):Echo (Passive).

Any physical attack made by the caster creates an echo, which deals trivial damage. Any attack that damages the caster creates a retaliatory echo, which deals trivial damage. Both effects are limited to aura range.

Ideal Three (Classic):Survival (Classic).

Skill One (Classic): Survival of the Fittest (Ritual (Familiar)).

Mana cost: Extreme.

Cooldown: Extreme.

Requirements: Fifty life essence, five hunger essence, five sleep essence, five cold essence, five blood essence and one wild essence. Five aspect essence.

When summoned: Familiar can make extreme or heavy damage physical attacks. Familiar’s physical attacks have a minor damage bleed over time effect. Familiar has a roar that deals moderate magic damage. Moderate cooldown on roar.

When subsumed: Caster gains increased toughness, strength, and their physical attacks gain a trivial bleed over time effect. Extreme buff to caster’s sense of smell.

Skill Two (Classic): Grit (Passive).

Caster’s toughness increases the lower their health is.

Huh, he thought numbly. New skill, Echo.

His emotions had rarely run so high as during the Hearing. It must have triggered his new skill manifestation.

By this point, he had manifested two skills under each of his Ideals - halfway to filling them up completely. At that stage, his skills would jump from Classic to Complete. Once all his Ideals were at Complete, he would manifest his pinnacle skill too.

The new skill was nice, but ultimately didn’t change much. It would make survival in the Deep, his new life as a Hunter, easier, no doubt, but he still had some hurdles to leap before he even got the privilege of exile.

The worst of it all was that Tom still had to go home. At least briefly. He had next to no material possessions, but he couldn’t venture back into the Deep with nothing. He may as well die now.

He also promised himself he would see Ella. She deserved to know what had happened to Gad.

Lastly, he would need to head to Market Square, and buy anything he lacked for his new life.

Not a long list, but a heavy one.

It all still hadn’t quite sunk in yet. He felt numb, almost like he’d just taken healing after some massive injury, and his mind kept turning and checking, wheels spinning uselessly, trying to catch up with itself.

There was only one thing for it. He stood, and made for home.