Ch: 2 Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I’m Yours

  Alone in a dead man’s cabin in the wilderness, Gary turned to the books on the table, hoping for more info. He decided to start with the scroll; tied with a jolly orange silk braided cord and addressed ‘To the one who finds my corpse’ in clear and bold letters, completely unfamiliar letters that made perfect sense.

  “Weird!” He breathed softly, while slipping the cord free.

  ‘Dear Stranger,

  Congratulations, you found my creepy cabin in the woods!

  I am, or was, Zygnos Matteus, Sorcerer first class… and your dearly departed benefactor!

  Contained in this cabin and on its grounds are my life’s work and all my worldly goods, they are yours on two conditions;

  1: Please dispose of my body with some measure of dignity, I have no living relations and care little for what happens to it now.

  2: Please carry the manuscript under this scroll to the town of Wheatford, two days west of this place. There, please find Amicus Fawn, sorcerer and adjutant administrator of the College Arcanum.

  Please present him the manuscript, and then tell him loudly; ‘Zygnos says, Suck it loser!’, preferably in a very public setting.

  While I have no way to enforce these requests, I would appreciate your assistance in this vital matter of academic honor.’

  Under the scroll, was the promised manuscript, covered in dense script on every page; even the drawings and diagrams revealed nothing but impenetrable jargon.

  He took the hefty sheaf of paper and tucked it into his newfound Pocket!, with a satisfied smile. Quickly, he produced it from the Pocket! and stuffed it back in, only to pull it from the other side a moment later.

  “Entertaining.” He mumbled to himself, leaving it in his mysterious Pockets!

  That done, he started looking for anything else of use in the weird place. The next book in the pile was a field guide to local wildlife and flora, with an emphasis on self sufficiency.

  Gary had dabbled in that section of the library by necessity, since taking up the unhoused lifestyle. Foraging the local parks and fields for edible stuff beat dumpster diving by a mile. Here in another place, he was going to get some mileage from this book. He added it to his Pocket! as well.

  Something deep within told him that his gift’s proper name was always an exclamation of joyous surprise. Rather than the word, it was the feeling of putting on your favorite old coat and finding a wad of cash in the Pockets!

  The next book in the stack was a romance novel of the steamy sort, including an artistically not quite obscene cover. Titled; ‘An Affair Of Monsters’ It seemed to be the kind of thing that would be of questionable taste in any company.

  A ribbon marked what Gary assumed was the most salacious passage in the whole book, because it was pretty wild.

  … captain Sisklikth let his tentacles squirm with glee, those semi sentient appendages knew what he liked and liked giving it to him.

  The slaves cowering in the hold had better be ready. His sperm sacks were nearly bursting with new life and eager to fill these trembling human bellies with innumerable children…

  Reading a new language and alphabet at a glance was still startling, reading monster on human literary porn was another level of jarring.

  He closed the book and it slipped into his magic leghole. ‘For later…’ He thought guiltily. The last book was small and slim, a notebook filled with that now familiar writing, but this time, in english.

  On impulse, he went to the door and read the note still on its nail. It was in English as well, clear and well drawn by a steady hand.

  ‘Weird.'' He thought and took the note down and added it and the notebook to his growing library.

  Set in the bare stone wall opposite the hearth, a wide low door led to a room carved into the cliff face. It was neatly cut and square, three walls were coated with smooth, white plaster. Clearly, someone had used it as a whiteboard; nearly every surface within reach of a small person was covered in the same flowing, neat script as the manuscript.

  Like the papers, the writing on the wall made sense as words and numbers, but they might equally have been technical drawings for a jet engine or the chemical composition of a nice apple crumble.

  The fourth wall was, again, plain native stone set with another door. In the center of the room stood a desk piled with notebooks, papers, scrolls and tomes of the same neat handwriting and incomprehensible text. Finding nothing of immediate use, he went to the next door and opened it.

  This room was a more natural cavern, damp and earthy smelling. The tinkling sound of water filled the room almost musically… no, it was music! Cool, calm and alien, it had a rhythm and melody all its own.

  The soft, rhythmic plonks of water, dripping into sunken pools made a gentle percussive element; while trickling, tinkling rivulets sang sweetly in counterpoint to the throaty gurgle of the water draining out of a rocky choked hole in the wall.

  If not for the dark and damp this would be the most perfect place he had ever been. The only man made objects were the rough wooden planking that made up a square platform over the uneven cavern floor; and a table holding an elaborate, liquid filled apparatus of glass and brass.

  Multiple glass bulbs and tubes held different colors of liquid at varying levels and clarity. Some bubbled, others were in viscous motion or completely still. It gave no clues to its purpose beyond being very shiny and fun to watch.

  It was this contraption that lit the chamber in a pleasant amber glow. ”Ohh man, best lava lamp ever!” He whispered, reluctant to interrupt the unearthly chorus still quietly getting down around him. If he listened carefully it almost had lyrics… not quite, almost.

  #

  In that deep, dark, musical grotto, from deep within he could feel something building as he listened to that subtle interplay of water, gravity and stone, something strong and...

  *Rrrrruuuumble*

  His guts rang out in complete disregard for the music, reminding him that his burrito was a few hours ago, maybe more than just that. Shutting each door behind him, he returned to the main room and rekindled the fire from a neat stack of firewood nearby.

  Stepping outside, he dipped the kettle from over the hearth into the spring outside and set it on a swinging iron bracket mounted to the fireplace. He left the small kettle off the fire for now, he had some work to do before darkness fell in this crazy place.

  A rack by the door held a small assortment of basic tools and a few other items, including a weirdly thick handled, large, double edged knife. Putting that weird dagger/sword thing aside; Gary took a short handled spade (it would have to be short) and went out back for a bit of light gravedigging.

  ‘New world, new skills.’ He thought, as the sun was setting. Satisfied, he tamped the last piece of sod back onto the new filled grave.

  “OK old timer, that's part one. I’ll make a marker of some kind for you another day.” He dragged the formerly comfy, now quite unpleasant chair and rug outside and left them a ways off from the house, before going back to start cooking.

  An hour or so later he had a simple meal prepared; a stew from the dried meats and vegetables and some simple hoecakes, cooked on his new gravedigging shovel.

  A quick search turned up a few bowls, spoons and some chopsticks, a nice steel wok, and a few pots. He thought about stuffing them into his new magic legs, then decided to put them back. “It's my house now.” He defiantly told the room, before sitting down on the tragically small cot, to read that little red notebook.

  If you are who I suspect you to be, this notebook is intended for your eyes only, good job getting past the porno! Give it a read when you get a chance, the porno, not the notebook. You need to read this now.

  I wrote this in english specifically to make it inaccessible to those without a language gift, since english is not spoken in this world. Yes, this world. This is another world.

  Yes.

  Again, yes.

  Another world.

  Are we done with that? Moving on.

  There are worlds, plural, many of them. Some are close to each other in physical space, separated by the etheric veil, some are distant in time and or space. Some have magic, some do not.

  Our old home is magically barren, while this one is rich with both etheric and spiritual magic. You no doubt have no idea what I am talking about here, but trust me, I'm dead and can't scam you.

  Interestingly enough, my research shows that you too are dead, on our former world at least.

  Yeah, I get it. Bummer.

  Roughly, it happens like this: Earth has no magic, it is not absent, it is actively repelled by earth's magnetic field, I go into it in detail in my manuscript and notes, all of which can be found in my workroom through the door on the rock wall. (They will not be useful until you gain a grounding in magical theory, so take them if you are not coming back here.)

  At the same time, every living soul has a touch of both spiritual and etheric magic inside it. Including those born on our earth. This creates a spiritual pressure on the soul and when the body dies the soul quickly compresses into magical radiation. Thus, ghosts and spirits do exist on our earth, but only very briefly. (again, more details in my complete works, back to it now)

  This effect is part of what divides this world and others from earth and other less, or non magical worlds.

  This world has a different composition, resulting in a reduced spiritual pressure, despite the much greater magical concentration on this side.

  When these forces are in balance, our worlds cannot interact, but tiny variations occur infrequently, Tiny holes in the etheric veil drift through reality, vanishingly rare on a cosmic scale, they concentrate near worlds like ours.

  Attracted or created by the interaction of cosmic forces no mortal can grasp. Sometimes, just sometimes a living being will attract one or more of these floating voids in reality and be sucked, or more accurately, launched through into the plane of lower spiritual pressure.

  Much like a seed popping out of a berry when squeezed, the soul spurts into its new reality, naked and bodiless. Your old body most likely tumbled down wherever you were at the time quite dead.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Sorry about that. Let's talk about your new body, that's more productive.

  Your spirit took the ambient magic, available in such abundance on its way through the veil and built itself a new home, usually with some nice improvements. As you move through this world you will discover abilities and powers innate to those of us that came from outside. They are often quite different from those of native peoples, embrace these differences, they will serve you well.

  We extra-dimensionals, (or whatever they call us when we are found) exist for one purpose, to drain magical energy from earth and worlds like it into worlds like this one. Each one of us is a stable link from our home, to our new world.

  When we die, a new person is bound to that link and the prior holder moves on to… whatever I am up to now. That is now you. This is now yours.

  The link is bound to you wherever you may travel until you join me wherever I am now.

  Primarily, your connection to our old world will deliver a constant trickle of etheric magic directly into your soul, seems like it's not that big of a deal right? Wrong!

  Etheric magic is everywhere, but it is difficult to draw in quickly, it can take days or even weeks for an etheric mage to recover from a major working.

  To make an analogy, if etheric magic is like humidity, earth is a desert, not much water to be had and it does not stick around long.

  This world is like a steam room. Everything is drenched but there is none to drink, it won't pool or gather in meaningful amounts. Most creatures gather Mana by allowing it to soak in through their skin, it fills our flesh, bone and blood until we are as saturated in magic as our environment. Using Mana drains that magic from inside us and the environmental energy begins to seep into the new area of lower saturation, simple.

  You and I however, have a steady supply on tap, generated by our connection through the veil. While our contemporaries expend themselves and then slowly draw magic in from the environment, we suck it in from outside this world and discharge it freely when we are not actively using magic. See the difference?

  Your Health, Mana and Stamina should regenerate very quickly at first, this ability will grow the more you use it, much as all your other skills and gifts will grow and expand as you develop into who you are about to become. That is etheric magic, the stuff of life and the universe, we naturally have a leg up in etheric magic.

  Spiritual magic is how intelligent beings get around the magical absorption problem, by contracting with entities capable of transforming etheric magic into spiritual magic. We do this naturally, you may remember, we take in the etheric and breathe spirit into this world.

  For natives, it is usually gods that serve this role. Important note, yes, you discharge spirit into the world, but it is undirected, a random contribution to the world. Gods are very territorial, don't attract their attention, it's just easier that way.

  Most often we get the ability to speak and read any language, downplay this unless you want to be an on demand translator for some nobleman for the rest of your very very long life.

  That's another issue, as you are no longer a naturally born human, you are now technically and more critically, LEGALLY a demihuman monster. You do not want that fact widely known. Only a vivisection, autopsy or similar invasive process will reveal this fact if you keep it to yourself.

  The combination of low spiritual pressure and high spiritual density is a result of the world’s composition, some elements are all but absent here, most notably, lead and its precursor elements seem to be almost non-existent. The physical sciences were not my area on earth and here they have little development in that field. With certainty I can say that there is no way back.

  Anything you left behind on earth is gone. You are now a magical being and would vanish like water on a hot griddle even if you did find a way back.

  I have lived in this world for two hundred and fifty three years, including my time on earth that makes me closer to three hundred. Assuming you don’t get eaten, you can expect the same kind of lifespan.

  “But, wait!” You say, ‘How does a crazy old vietnamese guy from two hundred years ago know english?’’

  Dude, (or babe, I don't know, I'm dead.) I was born in San Francisco in 1983. My research suggests you will be from around that same time, despite my relative temporal ‘distance’ from you.

  Time is super weird between worlds, even when they are close together… and our two worlds seem to be temporally locked in some way.

  My experiments aimed at going home revealed that earth no longer supports any human life… and has not been home to mankind for a terribly long time, yet we keep arriving.

  My working supposition is that the time anomaly between our worlds pulls us from a specific period in time: from the late nineteen fifties, through the mid two thousand fifties, scattering us through time in some weird ways. Get over it.

  When it comes to the rest of your gifts; they will be reflections of you, each one unique to you and impossible to predict.

  Just remember this, your purpose in this world, your special calling, you are doing it right now; by breathing fresh magic into this world at every moment of your life from now on.

  Anything else you get up to is between you and yourself. Be a famous adventuring hero, or sell real estate, or be an accountant, whatever you do, do you and it will work out.

  The house and stuff is just my way of helping the new guy get started. The cavern in the very back is quite unique so you may not want to sell this little plot of land. On that note you will find a hidden door in the wall behind the cupboard.

  I have provided an assortment of local money and clothing in various sizes and denominations.

  You are wondering why I hid them? As a very old man I have developed a warped sense of humor.

  I’m off to the next adventure, so it's up to you, but take it from an old, old man, if you want to be old like me, secrets are a good thing.

  Your other abilities could be just about anything, from combative to pacifistic. What you do with them will make the difference.

  I hope you do good things in this sad world where you can, but that too, is your choice.

  I hope you dug my grave naked. You may want to destroy this notebook when you are done with it, ya naked gravedigger.

  Yours Eternally

  Z M

  Gary dropped the notebook back into his Pocket! and went in search of the cache of clothes. He was hoping for at least a little downstairs coverage and some shoes.

  The cupboard pulled away easily, revealing a closet hung with organized clothing in neutral colors and underwear for both, either or any gender. Sandals were lined along the floor in sizes from tiny to large to… possibly a final joke from the strange old man.

  A pair of rope and leather sandals fit nicely, while short pants and boxers were a welcome addition. Gary kept a short kimono-like robe, probably impressive and voluminous on the old man, it fit him very well as a casual shirt. If asian wizards had magical bowling leagues, his outfit would blend right in, aside from being a rather beefy six foot two and clearly not asian or a wizard.

  The money was there as promised, a small bag filled with coins of a wide variety. Mostly bronze, copper and gold, but a few odd items as well. The strangest being a silver chain holding a number of animal shaped metal charms. A paper label on a string read in english;

  Think of this like an atm card, each token is for an account with a different bank. Towns large enough to be worth the name should have one or two banks , any real city should have all of them. You are not fabulously wealthy, but should do very well. Plan for the long haul.

  Exhausted beyond sanity, Gary set the clothes aside and pulled the blankets from the tiny, tiny cot. Fortunately, they were long and wide enough to make a more than respectable bedroll, with extra left over to make a fine pillow. The whole setup looked to be a nice piece of traveler’s kit, complete with waxed linen ties and an oilcloth cover.

  Closer examination of the bare cot frame revealed it to be as cunningly crafted as the bedroll. In just a few moments he expanded it into a standard size cot, noting it had room to expand enough to accommodate two. “Sassy old fart!” He mumbled quietly as he lay down.

  Secure behind a door and under a roof of his own for the first time since that awful night so very very long ago, his thoughts drifted to those days.

  #

  The afternoon sun slanted through the dusty air of the workshop, good clean sawdust, not neglect kept the light dancing off endless tiny motes. With delicate care, he turned the last fraction on the last tuning peg and it was done.

  That final, sweet high E was the last note from a project… and the first note from his first instrument. Hand crafted by an apprentice, but filled with a journeyman’s hopes for the future; his first real solo build was finally done.

  Grandpa took it from him carefully and turned it over and over again, practiced eyes and hands searching out every flaw and imperfection. The old man eased onto a stool and strummed a few clear, ringing chords before handing it back.

  “Good work, but not quite yet, kiddo. You did a great job with the joinery and woodwork, but a guitar is more than just wood. Keep working at it, pay more attention to the metal craft side, get wood and metal in harmony and you will really be on to something.”

  His father took it from him and began to play something sweet and quick, spanish guitar riffs tinkling out like crystal windchimes.

  Over the music he spoke. “This is a fine instrument son, it's almost there, almost. Maybe next year.”

  He handed it over to his mother whose small hands sprinkled notes through the room while she smiled broadly at him. “It's so responsive.” She sighed, her Sau Paulo Brazilian accent, a smooth burr in the quiet room. “I will accept this; father, husband, I vote yes.”

  He knew his first solo guitar would not measure up to his father's standards, let alone grandpa’s, but even partial approval felt good. Mom’s vote was pure theater, she was a player, not a luthier.

  He had watched this ritual between his father and grandfather many times, whenever dad thought he had made something special, he would present it in the same way. Seldom gaining grandpa’s unqualified praise.

  Grandpa did the same, offering his instruments for review by the entire family. They were always marvelous, but he and grandpa both knew, there was always something missing. They lacked that spark to touch off an inferno in a person's soul.

  Dad always grinned like they were joking, when Gary talked about the feeling, while grandpa always took him seriously.

  “This again, dad? You, mom and aunt Joan never gave up on that shtick!” Dad never could understand what he felt, but then neither did he.

  He took his guitar back and slipped it into its case, a simple affair of black with steel fittings, an unremarkable case for an (he admitted privately) ordinary instrument. Nothing about it was flashy or ornate, just the clean lines and crisp sound of a well crafted guitar.

  He could almost hear his parents' music, as he drifted into exhausted sleep.

  #

  Morning came creeping in slowly, something about sturdy stone walls and a heavy door made for peaceful sleep. Gary reached down to move his leg and remembered with a smile.

  “I got legs! And I know how to use them!” He sang in off key happiness. He bounced in place while re-igniting the smoldering fire for breakfast. Once porridge got under way, he sat down on the cot to think.

  “New world. New me, new problems.” He grumbled while scanning even more interface messages.

  Your gift, Interface has fully acclimatized your new body to local magical energies, Health, Mana and Stamina can now be displayed in graphical format.

  Your gift, Artisan has fully integrated, ability to extract resources and items from physical interactions is fully functional.

  Focusing in on the message, he received no more information. Instead he dismissed them and settled in to contemplate his new state, prodding and poking at his interface for a long time.

  After a while he gave up, deciding instead to make a marker for Zygnos. That rack by the door held little obvious help; it was more garden shed than craftsman’s tools. A well used ax, the shovel, a hoe and a rake were rounded out by a hammer and a bag of nails. Not even a saw.

  There was that weird, thick handled dagger; it had felt odd when he touched it, unlike the other tools. He picked it up and looked closely for a moment and was rewarded with that now familiar tingle in his eye.

  Contract Item; Wanderer’s Legacy, unique spear. Iron Rank. Magical; Etheric, No Elemental Affinity.

  Spear point can be concealed, can be extended/transformed into various cane, staff, spear or sword configurations for a very low Mana cost, when Contracted with a qualified sorcerer. You meet the qualifications, would you like to Contract this non sentient item to your soul? This is largely irrevocable. Yes/No?

  He balked at the ‘Contract with your soul’ thing. On instinct he focused in on ‘Contract’ and ‘soul’ for a moment and the message zoomed in to a deeper layer of text.

  Contracting with souls, path to divine power, damnation or both?

  Contracting with a compatible and sufficiently complex magical construct or item is a common alternative to spirit entity or worship contracts.

  The scarcity of magical items or constructs of sufficient complexity and the difficulties of compatibility are the main barriers to this path. Primary benefits include, but are not limited to:

  Free agency; while deities, demons, spirits, fae, outsiders, old ones and many others offer growth through spiritual contracts, Non Sentient items have no agenda. They make no demands on the wielder. They do however, grow with the wielder in an organic way. Additional functions and attributes will develop unpredictably.

  “That was informative and weird… and I'm talking to myself again.” Throwing caution to the winds he flicked to the Yes/No screen and selected Yes with his eye and Will. Not much happened, the spear/knife shook a little, got a bit warmer in his hand and he got hungry, really hungry.

  Contract successful; where would you like to bind this item?

  Might:normal

  Resilience:normal/null

  Agility;normal

  Will:normal

  Mind:normal

  Animus:normal

  Please select one.

  Interface waited patiently while he mulled it over; he was not much of a gamer, but agility seemed like a clear choice for a spear that thought it was a knife. He selected it with just a little trepidation.

  Item; Wanderer’s Legacy, has been Contracted to your Agility attribute, this is an optimal choice. This is your final confirmation. Bind to Agility Yes/No?

  That little “optimal choice” tipped him over the edge and he flicked Yes.

  Once again, it vibrated softly, got a little cooler and the awkward, too thick grip suddenly felt absolutely correct and the best all around choice.

  That was when he recognized that feeling, the one gramps and he had been chasing their whole lives, but only glimpsed a few times. That thing was alive and vital in his hands in a way that no simple object had ever been.

  He had felt it most often when handling the instruments of truly masterful players, that tiny peek behind the curtain that left him and gramps so hungry for more.

  Your Agility is now ranked at Plus. Contract or Bind all attributes to advance to Iron Rank.

  This thing was a masterwork in its field, unfortunately, it was an area in which he had no training. In the interest of not breaking anything, he stepped outside with his new weapon and gave it a mental tickle.

  Once again instinct bore fruit, as the knife almost instantly became a seven foot shaft of gleaming grayish wood and a foot and a half of leaf shaped bronze blade.

  “OK, outside was a good choice.” He congratulated himself smugly, before suggesting that his spear should be shorter. It was, the shaft shortened and got slightly thicker and the blunt bronze tip on the safe end got larger to balance the weapon. “Nice!”

  Following success with another experiment, he thought about a sword and so it was, almost three feet of slender, but still leaf shaped bronze blade jutted from two slim guards shaped slightly like human legs. The wooden shaft had shrunk to a comfortable ridged grip and a heavy pommel suggesting a vaguely humanoid upper torso and head had emerged, making the blade the figure’s…

  “A dicksword?” Gary grinned sourly at being the butt of yet another of the old man’s jokes.

  “Ok, Zygnos… You got me there.” He grumbled, noticing that his insides were really going at it. With a thought he turned the spear into a smooth wooden cudgel and tucked it into his magic Pockets! before he went back in and chugged the rest of his cold barley porridge, he was too ravenous to care.

  #