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Type: Conflict(other), Social

It was the very next night when they gained a section of wall between us and the gate. Such things had happened rarely, and all un-needed soldiers from both sides rapidly swarmed in to pinch the enemy off before it could become an actual problem.

“Ping! Here, carry my spare spear!” said one of our replacement soldiers.

“Honored sir, I am quite able to...”

“Just catch up, Ping!”

Cripes.

Whatever he had, it put Fleet of Foot to shame. I engaged my ability, and made sure not to accidentally hit anyone with the spear.

Deliberately hitting people with a spear at that speed...

.....

[You have scored an ORANGE critical for x4 damage.]

It was easier to flip my hold, and pull the spear entirely through. The woman I’d hit collapsed, and whimpered herself unconscious. So, normal human Might and Health.

“Did you just get blood all over my spear?”

“So sorry, honored sir. I have indeed.”

“You are a terrible spear-bearer!” he said.

I was too busy parrying with my shield to worry about the verbal riposte. I even missed when the storm sorceress got to the top of the ladder.

Nobody missed when she stepped onto the rampart, throwing back her head in ecstasy, the lightning dancing suddenly about her eyes, her mouth, her hands. And then she pointed, and the lightning danced among us.

[You have succeeded an Agility/Ranged Defense/Dodge/Dodge Directed Energy Attack skill check.]

“Bwaa!” I called, almost engaging Duck For Cover by reflex.

“Uwhuu.” the spearman said. “Clear a path! Clear a path to the witch!”

“Forces of wind, breath of the clouds, hear my call, answer my request! It is I, Mi-hao the Storm Caller, your friend and supplicant! Sweep these fools off the wall with your motion! Gust!”

“Ping, down!” he called, following his own advice.

This one was an [Agility/Acrobatics/Balance/Resist Shove] check. I was practicing all kinds of skills. Four soldiers, I think two of each side, were pushed entirely over the edge, to fall upon or among our attackers.

“Damn it! Let me at the witch!” the spearman called, jabbing an axeman in the elbow.

“Cursed darkness, font of unluck, hear my petition, fulfill my desire! It is I, Mi-hao the Shadow Priestess, your companion and bosom ally! Wrap yourself about the limbs of my enemies, confuse their strikes with your darkness! Curse of the Shadow Tendrils!”

Curse? “Drown Curse!” I cast. I mean, that Water mana wasn’t going to do me any good if I got slaughtered in the melee.

[You have scored a RED critical on Lore/Water Magic/Counterspell/Drown Curse.] The tendrils of my magic flowed along the surface of hers, and I... well, not felt... and kind of yes, touched...

Her tendrils vanished in a cascade of raindrops, pelting everyone for no damage.

“Shaman.” she hissed. “Kiss the Storm!”

A bolt of lightning blasted forth from her mouth, passing through where I had been standing. My hair felt light and airy, and the shorter hairs on my arms were poking from my skin like acupuncture needles.

I assisted the spearman in pushing a ladder sideways, where it fell upon one of its fellows. There was a lot of crashing, but there was no time to gather satisfaction from it.

“Shroud of Depression!” Mi-hao shrieked.

“Knife of Hatred!” I called, uselessly. My emotional combat ability wasn’t called that. After the battle, I would realize I’d purchased it as Aura Strike. Something called an Ability Reboot needed to be performed to change the name, some manner of System operation taking two hours.

In the short term, I fell to my knees in crippling sadness. Nothing I was doing was working. I was just going to die here, on this wall, trying my hardest for people who hated me and wanted me dead. And why should they not, when I wanted me dead, as well?

“Mass Slumber!” she cast.

[You have succeeded...]

“Slumber!” I cast back. The winds that buffeted everyone in that area were purely imaginary. It was like a rainbow, fractured and re-imagined by a soap bubble.

It wasn’t enough; about a third of the soldiers on my side slumped, only saved from having their throats slit by their fellows. Not by me; I was worthless. I should just reach fingers down my throat and choke to death on my own vomit.

I was reaching to do so when I remembered there simply was no food in there. How hopeless was I, unable to even kill myself properly?

Those soldiers on the far side, they were doing their jobs. Not like I was. Useless, useless me.

“Stop the witch, she’s escaping!” someone called.

I hugged my kneecaps. It wasn’t as if I could do anything else. Oh, there was moisture falling onto the rampart from my face. I suppose I could do that much.

I wasn’t even worth the effort of attacking with a weapon. That was the only possible reason none of the enemy soldiers had skewered me, or maybe hacked my fat head off. It wasn’t as if...

“The wall is ours!” someone cheered.

Oh, good. Then maybe they’d kill me so I wouldn’t have to feel so honestly.

“Ping, give me my spear. Ping, my spear!”

“Go ahead, take it.” I said. “I’m not doing any good with it.”

“You did better than I did.” complained a swordsman near me.

“Hey, no! No knives! We want the prisoners, damn you.” someone called.

“Ping, Ping. Get up, you’re blocking traffic.”

“At least I can do something right.” I responded.

He reached down, hefted me by my shoulder. “Come on, you can be just as useless over here.” he said. Inspire, it’s a Charisma skill.

I snuffled as we walked, but there was nothing to make snot FROM. Not that quickly, anyway. From behind me, I could hear soldiers talking as they inventoried who would live, looted those who wouldn’t. It sounded like they were having fun, or at least not directly exposed to the futility and hopelessness of the uncaring world.

It was so indifferent I couldn’t even tap it properly; it tapped as Madness faith, which I couldn’t even store another point of. I didn’t even bother to release it safely, letting it skitter away and down the inside surface of the wall.

Well, if it became sentient, it could enjoy the darkness... actually, I didn’t know anything about spirits of Madness. I mean, as a type of divine faith, I’m sure such spirits existed... didn’t they?

I couldn’t summon up enough interest to care. I’d probably just suck at fighting them, anyway.

I remained useless for the next fifteen minutes or so, and then ... like magic ... I suddenly snapped back to normal, just missing ten points of Sanity.

Ugh. Without about half the food issued to the squad, that was going to take a week and a half to regain. A few twenty-four hour shifts, and my remaining Sanity was going away.

I swallowed a fourth of a mouth of saliva, about all the reward I expected. Depression or no, I couldn’t exactly point to an injury and say how hard I had been fighting.

Sergeant Ken-Rin came over from talking with the spearman.

“Ping.” he said.

“Honored sergeant?” I said. Was I in trouble for failing to resist a spell that targeted my morale?

“Pack up your things, you’re being re-assigned to the main gate.”

The main gate? That was where the sacrificium, or whatever such a place was called, was housed!

“May I ask why, honored sergeant?”

He spread his hands to indicate helplessness. “Ping, you have magical ability.”

“Nothing beyond level one!” I protested.

“Ah-ah. Good. Then you will be sent back to us. I’ll have the paperwork ready by the time you’re packed.”

I forgot he worked nights. The sergeant could see quite well with the light of a single candle. Well enough to write, in any case.

There were looks as I passed through the bloodied areas of the ramparts, but nobody said anything. It was one tower between my assignment and the Dusk Gate, and then three towers to the central or main gatehouse. At each, I had to present my papers, and answer a variety of questions.

Once at the main gate, it turned out that the three women responsible for evaluating my abilities were on day shift; I was shown to a level patch of floor and told to sit. Instead, I lay down on my side, the bundle of my belongings serving as a pillow.

Next time, I reminded myself, I needed to pack my mattress toward the back of the pack. Or at least something softer than my dishes and cutlery.

One of my judges woke me with a soft kick to the cheek.

“Mrzglr?” I asked, rubbing it.

“Ugh. Another child of low station. And a male, at that.” she said. “Matron Su-ya?”

She seemed young for the title of matron, but I wasn’t the one evaluating her. “Shaman and Dreamwalker, both level one.” she said. “Nothing interesting or useful.”

“Water Adept, also level one.” a man said. Like the woman who had woken me, he didn’t bother to hide his disdain.

a feminine mind asked.

I responded.

Kicking woman tilted her head, as though listening to a distant whisper.

She sighed. “It will take time, but he’s got a variety of wells to draw from, if none of them particularly deep.”

.....