Chapter 50: Pet Project
A few weeks passed in repetition, intermittent quests with days of rest, chores, and what Hallvar could only think of as studying.
Rubert was kind enough to let the beastmaster use the crystalline cave deep beneath his home, slowly increasing their stores of magic.
Or so the old mage claimed. Hallvar couldn't directly see the numbers involved with their magical ability, only a visual representation of cost like a blue bar in a video game.
Rubert assured them that the process of meditation was working, though Hallvar was not permitted to practice daily. Something about overloading the energy nodules and bodily harm.
Regardless, Hallvar liked the weird, old librarian so they made an effort to visit as often as they could fly over. Even if meditation was off the table, Hallvar could still learn things.
They were taught a general spell to summon a small light source and how to attach it to an object. The customary object was a staff, Rubert explained, but any non-living material would suffice.
It was the magical equivalent of a flashlight – it had limited range, limited duration, but a very low cost of use. Convenient for when one dropped their keys, but not useful enough to illuminate a monster den.
As it was a general spell, a staff was not required to perform this magic. A simple light didn't need fancy equipment.
Hallvar thought it was neat, regardless.
Beastmasters didn't traditionally use magic, which was why Rubert needed to teach it to the hero in the first place. Beastmaster abilities were considered skills, even if to Hallvar's sensibility the shapeshifting stuff was basically magic.
Rubert spent a late-night visit lecturing on the difference, which had something to do with mages' independent manifestation of energy on localized foci as compared to the beastmasters' arcane realization of internalized speciation.
Right. Magic was applied to the world. Skills augmented the self. With exceptions and within reasonable parameters. Sure.
This seemed like something Stella would enjoy discussing.
It took some negotiation from Hallvar, but they eventually convinced the elf to join them on one of their treks over to Rubert's island. She didn't want to intrude on the hermit's sanctuary; Hallvar insisted that she do so anyways, because she was invited.
Stella insisted that it had to occur at night, as she would need to travel by boat and for the privacy of the necromancer, they couldn't be seen.
Hallvar briefly thought to question the secrecy but decided they didn't care. Rubert seemed to go out of his way to live alone and isolated like a hermit, despite his amicability.
And Stella knew way more about social norms here. If being seen meant Rubert would be bothered more, then sure, they could go boating in ocean waters at night with no radar.
Thankfully, [ skill: chimeric ] allowed Hallvar to alter their vision, effectively attaining nocturnal sight for a brief period of time. Rowing across a stretch of ocean water to a rocky shore by sparse moonlight wasn't optimal but it was doable.
While Hallvar meditated, the scholars had lively discussions. It was obvious they were distracted being academics after Hallvar returned to the kitchen to find the pair sitting by a still-full yet completely cold pot of tea.
They took advantage of Rubert's academic generosity by reading the beast books that the old necromancer brought to a reading room. Though the two outsiders were welcome to socialize, it was made politely clear that wandering and snooping was a terrible idea.
Eccentrics had their secrets, after all. Probably rare books or something.
---
Viktor, however, enjoyed snooping, as long as he was the one doing it.
In the weeks of consistency, the guildmaster made it a point to ask Hallvar about their new "friend" which was a massive red flag in any context.
He didn't care about Hallvar's well-being, at least not on such an intricate level. It wasn't like the guildmaster was tallying a balance book to ensure his pet hero was properly socialized and maintained good nutrition.
So it was fucking weird when the guildmaster asked more than once about Hallvar's "friend." The airquotes were palpable.
"What, are you spying on me?"
Viktor gave the idiot a long stare. "Do you mean to chide me for successfully doing my job?"
"You're not being very secretive about it," Hallvar shot back, unperturbed as they lounged in one of the guest chairs.
"My house overlooks your accommodations. I can simultaneously piss and watch you flit away as a fish hawk. If you want to be secretive, then make an effort. Any effort."
Hallvar grumbled.
However, their awareness 15 brought to mind an issue.
"… your bathroom isn't on that side of the house."
Another cutting stare from Viktor over pipe smoke gently wafting toward the open window.
Hallvar didn't visit the guildmaster's office as much as they visited Rubert. They didn't need anything from the ornery man, so there was no need to attend to practice or meditation or whatnot .
Besides, even thoughHallvar could do the mental gymnastics to find Viktor's company pleasant, their dialogue was more akin to playing checkers with razorblades taped to the pieces.
Unsubtle. Dangerous. Not particularly complicated beyond wit.
It was fun, honestly. Stupid, dangerous fun.
The training in the woods had basically taught Hallvar that the worst the guildmaster would do in retaliation was a bit of sparring and a bit of stabbing.
Could the former (current?) assassin do worse? Of course. Would he? Nah. Not to Hallvar, at least.
The skirmishes were reinstated on a particularly thorny day for Viktor.
The Court Mage visited the night prior and left an absolute mess for the guildmaster to clean. It was one thing to get bloodstains out of his bedspread, as Viktor knew someone capable and discrete, but other fluids?
Revolting behavior from the Court Mage, who knew that there wasn't a small army of launderers at Viktor's beck-and-call, like at the castle.
So a convenient (and damage resistant) target appeared as Hallvar arrived to annoy the guildmaster.
Once they began, the scuffles for dominance didn't stop, interrupting every visit even if they came in the form of a thrown object, not a skirmish.
Viktor won, of course. It was his Guild, his house, his office. But Hallvar wasn't going to concede ground to their fake dad.
Not when there was a possibility that they could win.
"You'll be grateful one day," Viktor said, in his usual condescension.
"I'm not ungrateful now!" Hallvar shot back. "Just grumpy! I can be both."
They tired of losing but… Luck was an inevitability, not a maybe.
It would happen.
---
The quests were repetitive, but Hallvar was glad for the newfound company.
Grim took to inviting the hero along on regular adventures, short journeys to the closest [ territory ] or local problems.
Escort quests for deliveries were fairly common, it seemed. A little pay to wander from one place to another and watch the surroundings.
The rolling invite was temporarily suspended after Grim forgot that the beastmaster Hallvar was the hero Hallvar. It was easy to forget, once camaraderie had been so thoroughly established.
One guard duty quest for a noble's party turned awkward as Hallvar was pulled into discussions about heroes and royal indiscretions.
Thankfully, Hallvar managed to trade places with Ikraam and guard the back entrance, the one that the kitchen staff and wait staff were using. There were a few questions during lulls in service, but the tone was much more informal.
Hallvar preferred to be treated like a person instead of a commodity; Grim apologized profusely later for the mistake.
It was fine. The kitchen staff seemed more grounded than the nobility, and Hallvar got a delicately decorated pastry for their inconvenience.
---
After the third or fourth visit to "Rubert," it was clear that Stella and the necromancer would become good friends. Best friends, perhaps.
As thick as thieves wasn't the correct phrasing – right intent, but wrong sentiment.
Rubert had made no such offers to Stella as he did Hallvar. He didn't need to teach the elf magic; she possessed it in great capacity and prowess.
She was clear that the Court Mage was her advisor. The hermit necromancer knew of the family Morozov through unnamed sources; however, Rubert had no interest in usurping the summoner's social (and likely political) interest in Stella.
The three – Rubert, Stella, and Anton – were Sages, after all. A fact Rubert silently acknowledged after prying into the elf's class designations.
A Sage was a multiple class designation, a combination of mage and researcher. As long as a Sage was assisting Stella in her research, the nuances of whom were unnecessary for Rubert's intent.
Thus their collective dynamic became professor-advisor (the Court Mage) and his student (Stella), who took up gossiping with another professor-advisor (Rubert) for her own sanity.
Rubert found this dynamic delightfully engaging.
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The hero and their collective human connections were the most fun Rubert experienced in years.
At least since the last ship destroying, which was a few decades or more ago. Maybe a century, if Rubert was generous.
Regardless, this… enjoyment of the humans and their social lives reminded the old necromancer that he could perhaps provide some generosity of his own.
To Stella, a bracelet of woven wire, silver coated and reinforced. Its age was forgotten, as Rubert only catalogued remains and magic components, not the smattering of antiques that came along with a dragon's hoard.
Wrapped at the center of the bracelet was an oblong shape, a keratinous cabochon whose durability was reinforced by magic, layers separating due to age.
Once they'd been bright and shiny, a harsh red; now the scale sliver was old, degraded into a grey-purple. It still held a magical aura, just like the vials of assorted dragon scales Rubert insisted the hero evaluate at their first meeting.
While there was no such thing as "draconic" magic within the system, most magical beasts could identify auras from the body – or bodily components – of more dangerous beings. The sensible ones would keep their distance or treat the bearer with a higher standard of respect.
It would protect Stella, to some degree. The Court Mage was guaranteed to notice it, if Ser Morozov was worth his reputation.
At his big age, Rubert was allowed to play a few petty games of his own.
As for Hallvar's gift…
There was no need for a physical object, not for the beastshaper.
"One shall enlighten you of our intentions," Rubert announced in his peculiar, disjointed manner over a cup of tea.
Hallvar had been upstairs for maybe ten minutes, only just now settling in to catch up on whatever academic debate the elf and the librarian were holding. The declaration caught them by surprise, brows furrowing in confused curiosity.
Stella was equally curious, though she was familiar with Rubert's speaking style and knew to be patient. The information would be provided however Rubert saw fit, and nothing more would be offered.
It was pointless to try and pry something from the jaws of a dragon, after all.
After sitting in his comfortable chair at the kitchen table, the necromancer addressed Hallvar directly.
"This world understands fate as the plan of the system. Many heroes believe that fate is of a–"
Rubert muttered something in another language, repeating the same word in the same tone, becoming more irritated as he went.
"Aiyah, the system prevents these words. Fate is of a big person playing board game of surrounding."
The necromancer understood the difficulties of his own speech, centuries of dialects and linguistic quirks merging into one discussion, but the system's interference was foul play, as far as he considered it.
"It is big, untouchable educator. A person, nary a system. Many people, in some cultures."
"A fate?" Hallvar asked. They were faced with the same issue, repeating the word much to Stella's chargrin.
They couldn't say the word god, nor deity, divine. Or any synonym. It was a nonexistent concept here.
"Yes," Rubert answered, rubbing his temple. "Soon we find the point of before."
He took a sip of his tea as if to calm from the linguistic system ban, continuing with the relevant information.
"I speak to heroes as much as I am able without inciting panic. I find their information of interest. In my study, the fate of heroes holds roots in first, their Unique Skill, and forthwith, the luck of their past."
There were no interruptions, both humans puzzling over Rubert's sentiments.
"The luck of Hallvar is tangible," the necromancer commented with an amused nod. "Yet, I refer to experience dictating desire. The death as an ignorant fool may create an educated scholar; your fellow hero with no money seeks money in this life."
Stella was concerned how the isolated hermit knew of that information, as Sivanos made their request to a small crowd in a closed royal judgement.
Hallvar did not notice.
"Of this thought, Hallvar's body-real change is affected by their high luck. The changing of shapes is a myth, exceptionally rare as a subclass. To this point: I believe I know where your fate-luck path ends."
With a dismissive gesture, Rubert continued. "Others may enforce or predict your path, though it be determined by Hallvar and Hallvar alone, yes? I did such, without your permission – I believe introducing magic to your being aligns your path with my foresight."
That was a confession, though Rubert seemed well-intentioned as ever.
Hallvar didn't know what to think of it, maintaining the equally confused and curious look on their face. Was this manipulation or was Rubert helping? Were they functionally different, in this circumstance?
"What path?" Stella had the presence of mind to ask.
"I will not say," Rubert answered politely, implying that it wasn't even a prohibition of the system, merely a refusal by Rubert himself.
"Yet, there is help to be given. In moments of requirement, the system presents system quests to a person. The path I know will send system quests, of which one is magic."
Rubert stood, gesturing to follow him out of the kitchen. "And of which another is approval, given by blessings or by marks."
Stella and Hallvar looked at each other quizzically, as only close companions could, silently asking a series of questions with no clear answer. Mainly – what was happening? Was it dangerous? Should they follow?
"I prefer marks. It is clear that I do so." Rubert talked over his shoulder, leading the pair to the laboratory room, filled with specimens and equipment.
"Marks?" Hallvar asked, thinking of grades and tests.
"Marks," the necromancer repeated, tapping the back of his hand where old ink tattoos were embedded.
Oh. Wait, did that mean that all those tattoos were someone's approval? Or were they just tattoos? Hallvar assumed they were magical from the get-go, but now they had more and less-clear questions.
"What is the phrase?" Rubert asked, looking along his shelves for a particular ingredient. "It is… in good standing, no– good faith, that I may provide approval."
The necromancer glanced at Hallvar through a shelf unit, the stare feeling equally like a professor's judgement as it did that cold, feral, reptillian gaze.
Ugh, weird. How did Rubert do that?
"I provide approval because of potential, not results. In the time I know you, Hallvar, you have interesting system choices, good luck, and well-fortuned archetype – peasant drawn into fate by star-binding forces with hidden potential. But you are slow to accomplish."
Rubert did something on the laboratory desk, hands momentarily stationary before he swiftly disposed of a lancet and produced a vial of dark liquid.
Hallvar was too wrapped up in being called a peasant; with her awareness 18, Stella easily established that Rubert drew what was supposed to be blood but absolutely wasn't.
"You will find success," the necromancer reassured Hallvar, going about his cryptic alchemy with no signs of slowing. "Hallvar is a hard worker. That is good. Fortunate. But you have yet to show me success."
"I feel like I should be insulted," the hero said slowly.
Rubert laughed. "There, that is wisdom. But you should choose now. Blessing is invisible. Mark is visible, which means its protection is seen. Do you want my honoring your potential to be known or not-known?"
This felt like a really personal decision that Hallvar didn't quite understand.
"Wait, so you want to give me something… because you think it will help me follow a specific path, that you can't tell me about? And that thing is either a blessing or a tattoo?"
"Mark," Rubert corrected. "That is system name. Yes, it is like a tattoo without needles."
Hallvar looked over at Stella, who was a bit wide-eyed in concerned contemplation. "Thoughts?"
The elf snapped her attention to Hallvar. "What do you mean thoughts? Are you going to refuse a blessing from–"
The realization hit her and she sighed. "Do you not know who this is?"
"... Rubert?"
The named man was silently watching this exchange, eyes bright with the glee of mild trickery.
"Does–" Another sigh. "Would it matter to you if Rubert was a renowned, if not legendary… 'mage?' Does that change your perception of the offered approval?"
Hallvar was genuinely doing their best to keep track of this conversation, but now Stella was being cryptic too. The word games and translation errors from Rubert were hard enough to follow without the elf playing too.
"Isn't Viktor famous? And Anton? I kind of got their approval, unless approval is like a formal word that I'm not understanding."
Uh oh, that was a wrong answer. Stella gazed at Hallvar in that critical manner.
"I'm not worried," The hero said, shooting their – girlfriend? partner? – a big, goofy grin. "Rubert already said that he would only be interested in my skeleton post-mortem and otherwise doesn't want to interfere with my progress. Not negatively, at least."
Stella weighed about fifty different responses of varying levels of concern before merely shaking her head. "Pick whether you want the blessing or the mark."
It was a hard decision to make, though mostly because of Hallvar's own stupidity. They mulled over it for a while; the necromancer continued his mysterious work without comment.
Finally, Hallvar spoke. "Are you famous?"
Stella snorted audibly.
Rubert tilted his head, which looked peculiar with the man's curved horns, but didn't turn around.
He did, however, answer. "Yes. As to the victor go the spoils, so is fame or infamy dictated by the opposition."
Hallvar grumbled, trying to gauge information. "I—I don't want to be rude or start a pissing match, but… are you more famous than the guildmaster?"
Rubert – better known as Rodu the Wisen, formerly Rodu the Red, a many centuries old dragon who was known across the world, who had legends and stories written about him in almost every recent language – laughed.
"Yes. I am."
This just indicated how small Hallvar's worldview was at the moment, which wasn't doing anything nice to their self-esteem. They didn't like not knowing, but the eccentric librarian didn't seem keen on just telling them either.
Fuck it.
"Mark," Hallvar decided. "But I want you to answer a question, an actual answer not a deflection."
The hero was not in a position for negotiating, not when they were being given a free benefit. But that was the beauty of ignorance.
Amused, Rubert agreed. "I will try. You would be clever to wait until after the mark is given."
Hallvar had a question in mind – why did they get the threat-sense sometimes when looking at Rubert, if Rubert did not intend to harm them? But they thought delaying the question might be smart, if it was directly suggested.
"Now what?"
Rubert held up the concoction made while they were talking.
"I put it on shoulder blade, that is visible in any form, beast or human. I do not know how it will appear on your skin as a human. A mark can be tattoo or scar or otherwise."
"How did you know I would pick—"
"Because you put your heart matters on your face, though you think you want to be unseen."
Hallvar tried not to be miffed at that very correct read of their character. They glanced at Stella, who was suppressing a laugh.
The process was quick but painful. Rubert painted a mystery symbol on Hallvar's shoulder blade with a foul-looking poultice, which began to sting and burn almost immediately.
According to Stella, the mixture combusted, leaving trailing ashes over a bruise-like mark with the faint texture of a burn. It was a similar grey-purple to Rubert's own horns.
The system provided a notification.
new augmentation - dragon's mark: acknowledgement of rodu the wisen
Hallvar's eyes flickered across the invisible text as they read, trying to understand why it was different than expected.
"What of your question?" Rubert queried unperturbed, cleaning tools as he listened.
The hero only had one thought.
"Who the fuck is Rodu?"
---
The boat ride back to shore was long and educational, thanks to Stella.
As irritated as Hallvar was, they did understand that being asked for secrecy by a fucking dragon was both intimidating and binding.
Stella wanted to tell her partner everything and make the confusion end, but it was endlessly frustrating – and mildly terrifying – to know there was a building-sized beast in human form watching and judging her actions.
Rodu, née Rubert, refused to answer questions outside of acknowledging that he was indeed the named dragon. His excuse was that it was a late hour, too late for such conversations.
Details of a draconic nature were well-kept secrets that did require more than approval of one's potential to learn. Regardless of his affinity for the hero and the elf, what the mage Rubert could provide was leagues different than what the dragon Rodu possessed.
While Stella didn't have all the answers either, Hallvar did learn a good bit from her knowledge. [ scholar skill: rote reading ] was available to Sages, it seemed.
First and foremost, humans did not come in varieties that possessed horns and scales. Perhaps Hallvar was a strangely altered human, affected by a partial beast nature, but as a species, humans did not have horns or scales.
Because of this, Stella knew immediately that Rubert had to be a dragon.
There were many magical beasts in this world, but only a few were considered sentient in the same vein as humanity.
Unicorns were magical, elusive, capable of speech, generally avoidant of predators which included humans. Amnasín had a special relationship with unicorns, being a safe harbor so to speak for the beasts.
If any beast could shapechange, Stella would have expected it to be the unicorns. However, they were not known to take human form, but neither were dragons.
This was proven false by Rodu; a discovery that was itself a well-kept secret, as surely Hallvar and Stella (and Viktor by proxy) were not the only humans in history who interacted with a disguised dragon.
There were many things to learn of dragons – that there were thirteen known dragons, some of which hadn't been seen for decades – but Stella reorganized her lecture midway through as Hallvar rowed them back to the capital.
Rodu the Red was a massive dragon, the largest and oldest known one to date, but instead of aging and being found as a corpse, the red dragon simply… rotted.
It was hard to track, given that sightings of the dragon Rodu generally happened to those about to die, but there had long been rumors that Rodu could use magic beyond a firey breath.
Now, this was wonder tale territory. A story of a great beast that never died and guarded a secret island where his riches allegedly lay.
The necromancer part made sense now.
As did the confused but politely genial greeting Hallvar received by Rubert at their first meeting.
Stella said that once a decade or so, a foolhardy team of adventurers would decide to storm the castle – the island – and none were heard from again. The same fate befell any army that tried to retake the gulf from Rodu's protection.
If Rodu was expecting an uninvited human presence to be adventurers out for blood, the sight of Hallvar, a beastmaster, concerned for the well-being of their tiny akergryph must have been…
Well, to quote Rubert: interesting.