87. Politics and Feelings

  [Designation: DREDGER]

  [Instrument Class: AUXILIARY]

  [Anchored Realm: PRETJORD (+1)]

  [Item Description:

  “Roots, our home, our Path to seek the stars,

  Tomorrow, the dreams to replenish our cup,

  Mud, the scales we wear atop our scars,

  Yesterday, the ripples that bear dredging up.”

  - Excerpt from an untitled chant, attributed to Rotgardian laborers who worked on the Waterways Redistribution Project]

  ***

  The Wayfaring quartet made slow, cautious progress through the final stretch of their spelunking journey.

  Lars Tomasen led the way by unspoken consent. It was a fortunate arrangement, at least for Serac, given Lars’s towering frame and the ample protection it provided against the elements. For the winds had only gotten stronger lower into the Roots, threatening to throw a Rakshasa off her footholds if she weren’t careful.

  The combination of strong winds and dungeon-diving brought Serac back to the prison break that had started it all—a simpler time when she couldn’t tell ‘Infernal’ from ‘Zealous’ and had been limited to exactly one spell in her gunslinging arsenal. And although she was now surrounded by powerful companions—and had no doubt become much stronger herself—she couldn’t help but miss the simplicity of having no cumbersome politics nor complicated… feelings to worry about—back when all she cared about was the climb towards her own freedom.

  For that reason and more, she was glad for the local Wayfarers to take charge, especially when it came to navigation. Lars, despite being in an unfamiliar environment himself, had the natural advantage of ripple-reading. He made full use of it now, taking frequent pauses upon his ledges to map out safe routes for the quartet to follow.

  One such pause proved longer than most, as he once again pointed to a large group of Slangespytts lying in ambush upon a rocky outcrop. Serac took to the news eagerly, immediately reaching for REVOLVER. Surely, this was the perfect opportunity for the locals to take a backseat in favor of REVOLVER and its Infernal ways—until Serac remembered that she didn’t have enough MP left to cast any of her spells!

  Welp, so much for my growing arsenal. I guess it’s time for Zacko to step up, but then he’s going to put himself at risk of more [Poison]. What could we—

  But before Serac could finish her thought, one of the locals dove right in.

  Renna (aka the Finless aka Bubblegum aka Lady Pink), who up to now had been bringing up the rear, jumped off from the highest ledge, showing nary a concern about the potential lethality of her fall. Except she didn’t quite fall—and it hadn’t quite been a jump, either. Instead, she ran down the cave wall—nearly perpendicular to it—with her webbed feet producing an oddly soothing squelching sound with every step.

  Renna ran past a stunned Serac and a glaring Lars with the apparent urgency of a morning stroll. As she neared the Slangespytts enough to alert them to her presence, she unslung the giant shovel from her back and dragged its blade alongside her feet, leaving a trail of falling rocks and tree bark in her wake. Finally, she swung the whole thing upwards (in relation to the cave wall) in a deft display of:

  [Auxiliary Technique: ELEMENTAL SURGE]

  The falling debris now rose along with DREDGER’s arc. Rocks the size of Renna’s own head scattered and flew at speed before landing atop the whole mob of Slangespytts. Some missed, but many didn’t, and each hit produced a satisfying thud before turning the victimized Poison Balls into Souldust.

  As Serac watched in amazement, she understood that this was the same technique with which Lady Pink had ‘dredged up’ a pair of drowning outrealmers and thrown them ashore. On that occasion, water had been the element subject to its ‘surge’. This time it was… rocks and tree bark?

  At any rate, this was evidence that DREDGER could activate its own brand of magic, one that took from its environment and converted it into a damage type that was neither Physical nor Zealous. By now, a quick-learning Serac could appreciate how rare that was even among Wayfarers—and she could also see why the Finless’s Auxiliary might be feared above her main Instrument.

  But as effective as Renna’s opener had been, the fight wasn’t yet over. From where Serac perched, she counted at least two Slangespytts who’d avoided the worst of the spray. She gripped REVOLVER again, with her mind racing for a way to contribute with no MP to spend. The effort was for naught, however, as another figure behind her jumped off his ledge—Zacko, masked up and imbued with a purple aura.

  A powered up [Cudgel] onto the first Poison Ball to break his own fall, followed by a [Blade] to finish it off, then a spearing [Lance] to dispatch the second. As Zacko cleaned up Renna’s leftovers, the shovel-wielder herself kicked off from the wall to gracefully land next to him. And just like that, another whole platform was cleared of its Wildspawn presence—this time by a Yaksha-Manusya tag team.

  It took Serac a moment longer to pick up her jaw from the next ledge over. She was no doubt impressed by the teamwork and sheer skill on display, but then—to her own surprise—she also felt something that resembled annoyance. And if she’d dug around some more, she might’ve even found a different word that better described exactly what she was feeling.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  But she never got the chance to do so. For in the next instant, Lars Tomasen grabbed her bodily by the waist before he too jumped off, dropping onto the platform below with Serac securely in tow.

  The fall, as it turned out, was neither lethal nor completely harmless. A good chunk of Lars’s health bar disappeared upon impact, which Serac estimated to be about 50%.

  She herself had gotten off without a scratch, though at her current HP, she could’ve tanked the fall damage if she needed to. As such, Lars’s assist was one she’d neither needed nor asked for.

  Still nursing her weirdly petulant mood, Serac ‘forgot’ to give thanks as she disembarked from Lars’s arm. Her gaze drifted toward Zacko, presently joking with Renna while the latter utterly ignored him—a post-smite debrief if Serac had ever seen one, albeit a rather one-sided one at that.

  The sight of it only ‘annoyed’ her some more, until she noticed Zacko’s HP bar ticking down at an alarming rate. With an audible gasp, she recalled the earlier sequence that ended the fight: [Cudgel] into [Blade] into [Lance]. Three contacts, and therefore three stacks of [Poison].

  “Zacko!” she yelled out, her less-than-charitable mood dissipated in an instant. “You got yourself [Poisoned] again, and it’s eating you up fast!”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Zacko said with a wink, before turning his lopsided smile onto Renna. “Bubblegum here will fix me up in no time with one of her Pearls. Won’t you, Bubblegum?”

  “No,” came the reply, reluctant but matter-of-fact. “I came equipped with only one [Pearl of Immersion], and you already used it.”

  At this, Zacko became stock-still, in both posture and facial expression. Serac knew this to be his way of keeping calmer than he felt.

  “Well shit,” the Manusya kept his voice low and spoke with performative nonchalance, fooling neither Serac’s eyes nor her ears. “That ain’t good. Serac, you wouldn’t happen to be a potion master yourself, would you?”

  “No!” Serac exclaimed, considerably more expressive than her [Poisoned] friend. She then frantically patted herself from chest to waist and around her belt, as if she could somehow conjure up a potion of her own. “What do we do? Can’t you… I dunno, give yourself [Synthesis]? It’s a [Boon], right? Maybe if you ask nicely, Pathsight will—”

  “Quiet, both of you! I can’t concentrate with your senseless yapping.”

  The sharp rebuke came from Renna. While the outrealmers panicked and postured uselessly, the local frog woman had already sat down on the platform. She’d laid DREDGER flat beside her while she herself crossed her legs and closed her eyes.

  She’s meditating, Serac recognized immediately. Which means she’s about to install a Waystation for our benefit. Wait a second… that’s it! I still have a charge left over from Naraka; I could’ve set one down to cure Zacko’s [Poison]. Why didn’t I think of it sooner?

  With that, a far more disturbing thought occurred to her. She could put her own mental lapse down to her moment of panic, but… there was someone here who could’ve and should’ve reminded her. Trippy had remained silent throughout the ordeal, and Serac had an inkling as to why.

  It’s because he straight up just doesn’t like Zacko. Doesn’t like his personality, and doesn’t like what he ‘represents’. That’s why he’d happily let him succumb to [Poison], and bonus points if the death could send him far, far away from me!

  Cumbersome politics and complicated feelings, indeed. Yes, the times really did use to be much simpler—back when the voice in her head would support rather than actively undermine her.

  An unpleasant bit of self-reflection notwithstanding, Serac remembered to be grateful to Lady Pink for volunteering her Waystation [Privilege]. And once again, she failed to square this generous gesture with the Finless that everyone so feared and despised.

  I don’t care what anyone says; Renna isn’t a ‘bad’ soul. I know it in my heart, and judging from the way he’s chumming it up with her, Zacko knows it too.

  This last part came out a little pettier and more mean-spirited than Serac knew herself capable of. She shook her head to dispel the unsavory thought, then watched as a pure-white lotus flower bloomed upon windswept rocks.

  Renna stood as soon as the Waystation was up, too soon to have reconstituted herself.

  “Right,” she said, scanning the rest of the group with her round, amphibian eyes. “Let’s do this in pairs. You two”—she nodded twice to indicate Zacko and Lars—“obviously need it more urgently. Quickly now; we still need to get a move on.”

  Zacko didn’t need to be told twice. Neither did Lars, to be fair, but he did hesitate for a second, with his silent glare flicking momentarily to seek Serac’s gaze. Nothing was said aloud, but the implication was clear: keep an eye on her.

  Serac was both surprised and a little touched that Lars would entrust her with this task—even though she personally didn’t see the need for it. In any case, as the two boys with their self-inflicted wounds settled in to meditate, she was left alone with Renna.

  The frog woman remained standing, and now adopted a kind of faraway look as she stared straight ahead into the cave’s windy center. It was abundantly clear that she had zero interest in reciprocating Serac’s attention on her. The detachment was so immediate and so total that it compelled Serac to bite back on her question—which, she reflected, wasn’t like her at all.

  Politics and feelings. Gah, I hate this! Screw it, I’m diving in.

  Never one to let feelings fester if she could help it, Serac decided to open herself up—even if her counterpart should remain closed to her. And what better way to convey her friendly spirit than to call back a nickname between friends?

  “Renna, is this a good time? There are, like, so many things I’ve been dying to ask you.”

  Rigid silence. Not even so much as a flicker of the eyes. Serac stifled a sigh, having already anticipated the need for multiple attempts.

  “Renna? I’m not interrupting anything, am I? It’s just that you’re literally the first soul I ran into after my first ever ascension. Not that I’m superstitious or anything, but I still feel like that counts for something. Just wanna get to know you a bit better, that’s all.”

  Still nothing. Tough nut to crack, but Serac wasn’t yet ready to give up. At least one more try…

  “Renna, I—”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  It took Serac—mouth still agape mid-speech—a Ksana or two to understand what the frog woman meant.

  “Stop calling you… Renna? You hate it that much, huh. Um… may I ask why?”

  Serac’s artistic pride smarted from having her latest work so soundly rejected. It was only natural for her to seek some feedback—ways to improve and to avoid future disasters. After a moment’s consideration, Renate obliged, reluctant but matter-of-fact.

  “There’s only one person in the world who gets to call me Renna. And you’re not her.”

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