The Star 38

By the time he'd gotten through his reasoning session with the old woman, the young man's head was beginning to ache enough to see flashes of his pulse through his eyes. But, the forceful train of thought was unraveling more shadowed mysteries of his hidden knowledge. He knew that once the wild twist of magic the guardian spirit put on him was gone, the retrieval of his past would slow.

Some present pain was worth a myriad of prevented future frustration and lost opportunities. With that thought in mind, he stood back up and walked back out away from the cottage on wobbly legs. The old woman didn't stop him either. She was lost in a private misery.

Reaching out with senses he had just became aware he possessed, he saw the astral realm colors close by. It was placid, peaceful and useful for many things because it didn't resist shaping. The time and place may not have been anywhere near the best but he didn't personally need it to see what lied within and draw a little 'awakening ceremony' for one.

The air rippled as an invisible force pushed back against his effort to draw down astral stuff but a faint impression of an eight ray star that felt somewhat alive yet 'sleeping' helped him bypass some of that pressure. A memory revealed a crystal ball filled with malleable focus weapon material. As soon as he felt he had enough, he connected with that image.

Moments later, a staff was in his hand that turned into a magic circle around him. The air within that circle took an astral tinge as he drew harder. A book appeared in his other hand that was currently filled with random eldritch gibberish but he knew he could fix that. He leached some of that chaos away to empower the creative force of his circle.

Faint sparks of multi-hued light, like tiny opal stars, danced inside the astral dome of power. The simple but sturdy clothes he wore shredded to pieces as a snaking length of unrolled silk scroll took their place. Swiftly, that image warped into a dark suit partially concealed by a cloud-like, short but wide sleeved over robe.

He called out to the old woman. "There is power enough here to re-baptize your expression, if you dare."

Though temptation lit her eyes, she said, "How could I dare? I'm all them young uns got!"

He laughed. "And I don't dare to give them this advantage unless I know their granny has the power to reign them in. There is no harm in the young being given power but only if their guidance is stronger still."

"You swear by gods old and new, you mean me and mine no harm?" she said.

The young mage replied gravely, "I swear by my very structure that I mean no harm. I merely desire to repay the kindness of a stranger who took me in and granted me a small boon of guidance when it would benefit me the most."

Lifting the hem of her thick and stiff dress a little, the old woman clopped her way over as swiftly as she safely could, seeing the apparition of starry astral light beginning to fade. Dislodging a few 'fibers of veil', he sank them in to the old woman's fetish and then into the children directly as they took their turns soaking up the excess astral stuff.

He took care to leave his influence out of the children's manifestations but had planted a small seed of disjunction power into the old woman's bird feather. In the near future, she'd be able to swipe her newly minted hummingbird fan to dispel out of control or abusive uses of power. Her 'nature journal' had touches of water and life power added to its leafy pages as well. But, that had nothing to do with the young mage. It had been in her all along but too weak to grab hold and express.

Done, he threw out a chaotically empowered disjunction from his grimoire impression before embracing pain filled darkness once more. If someone came to investigate the power disturbance, they'd be directed towards the edge of the woods where the leaking excess had been driven. It was the best he could do. Some hope and a little luck were all he and the small family needed to weather the burning gaze of the powerful and greedy for the time being.

When next he had awaken, he found himself facing a local group of baron's men. They wanted him to flesh out the story the granny had woven about fleeing fey creatures from the woods. He readily admitted to running across the path of some fey folk and claimed he had drew one's ire by drinking from a spring he shouldn't have. His memory had not been the same since, he claimed. He displayed fear of some kind of curse from a creature or befuddlement from the spring itself.

It was enough to satisfy the baron's ranger and the men who had accompanied him. But, the man said it would be best for the young man to come with him. The baron might have questions as well. The old woman tried to buy the young man some time to recover but he agreed, thanking her for the kindness but not seeing himself as unwell enough to warrant delaying their lord's peace of mind.

While Orison contemplated the return of identity, skills and comprehensions but little else, the ranger struck up a conversation. "Do you not recall where you are from?"

The young mage morosely shook his head, not in the least bit needing to fake his disappointment on that. "I am learned and seem to know some manners. I can guess at some station greater than peasantry but obviously lacking in some areas to hold fantasies of some great place. Humble wealth, modest refinement, a scion of a knight or the younger son of a baron perhaps but not more than."

The ranger didn't scowl but didn't looked pleased by that answer either. "Any evidence to back that?"

Orison pointed at his scroll armor in disguise as a robed suit and manifested a modest but elegant staff long enough for the ranger to see but not for the man to get edgy. "Clothes can be stolen, sir. But manners, knowledge and- let's call it expressions of competence in the field of arts- Those things are not so easily duplicated by a pretender. Wouldn't you agree?"

The ranger countered, "That depends. Are we talking about a peasant jumping station or an enemy spy?"

The young mage was genuinely stumped for a moment. "A- worrisome accusation but not unwarranted. In my current state, what can I do but cooperate to the fullest of my ability and trust the baron's wisdom?"

With a smile that held no warmth, the man responded, "Many different things but all of them would be a mistake... Don't take it personally. It's my job to be suspicious and unfriendly."

Trying an uncertain smile on for size, the young mage said, "Under other circumstances, I'd be happy to see such a man in the employ of my lord. Being the one under scrutiny with little ability to defend myself, however, leaves me more than a little uncomfortable. I suppose that means you're doing a splendid job, sir."

With conversation grown stale, Orison ignored the bumpiness of his cart ride and focused on absorbing as much information as he could. Taking in mannerisms and idle chatter that revealed more than the ranger's cohorts realized, the young mage subtly exercised the crystal ball relic to remote view local areas cautiously. A part of him chuckled inwardly that he might not be a spy but he was certainly an infiltrator.

He recognized himself as something called a climber but had no points of reference. Outside of a few vague memories of learning more about the subject, there were so many unknowns as to the hows and whys of what he knew. His trust in that knowledge was a bit shaky since some things didn't quite make sense to what he thought he should expect.

The largest inconsistency to that expectation was the understanding that every soul he sensed so far was a tier four. The otherwise lofty individuals were living like commoners and suppressed by their environment to such a degree that they lived short, mortal lives. His awakening knowledge was telling him that he was close to or at the bottom of the high dimension dividing line.

To make matters more confusing, vague understandings of 'veil' and 'The Veil' were challenging older knowledge and causing reevaluations of what he put stock in as truth. It wasn't a good thing to be experiencing while suffering from amnesia. In between so many different growths but self doubting added facets to a subtle dread within him.

He could feel his existence creeping closer to tier five but, while adjusting to his environment, the bar for crossing it kept creeping farther away at the same pace. It was a mixed blessing. The more effort it took to cross, the more reward afterward but if it became too difficult, then he would reach the end of his potential. He didn't feel like the red zone for slowing of that potential was far away. Heavily touched by outsider influence, his entire fate was formless which left chance and will to pick up the slack.

He thought to himself, "I don't know where I was at before this but it was someplace special. Dying but special. It encouraged and shared easy growth into tiers one, possibly even two, higher than a person could get to by their own effort. That encouraged growth would be stripped away once the person in question left its influence or it finished croaking.

"I have insights of what it takes to reach tier six. I have a set of relics within my soul's inner realm that are equivalent to, if not surpassing, certain aspects of an artificial world will when considered together. I have knowledge and depths of power well beyond the standard of what a tier four could ever expect to wield. If I can't reach tier five with all of that, I SHOULD just lay down and die. I'm convinced others have made it with far less qualifications...

"Perhaps the real problem IS that my qualifications are too deep. A person that attempts to take on more goals and achievements than his talent can support will burn out without accomplishing much. But, I'm not ready to start cutting parts away. It doesn't seem like that would save me anyway. I feel a spider silk thread's hope out of my personal hell. And as long as I stay focused, it might be enough."

He was interrupted from his contemplations by a cold and nausea inducing sensation at his throat. Snapping his focus back from the crystal ball's clairvoyant powers, he saw a sigil etched short sword resting its razor's edge against his neck. The faintest of lines and a single bead of blood welled where a jostle of the cart overcame the ranger's control. Instinctual panic and reflex of power answered with a repulse that sent the ranger flying out of the cart lick a sluggishly shot cannon ball.

In lightning thought mode, Orison pieced together that while he had been distracted, the ranger had been slowly testing supernatural defense. Sinking his blade through the scroll armor's defense with the patience of a preying mantis, the ranger could have done a lot more damage if that had been his goal. Either way, the young mage was now in hot water.

Thinking of the two directions he could go to get past his reaction, he chose the one that wouldn't have him swallowing anymore humble pie. "How dare you draw the blood of a noble, peasant! A competent servant is worth his weight in gold but one who does not know his place is no more than a rabid animal and needs to be put down!"

Magic and weapons at ready all around him, Orison pretended to shake the fake outrage off and said, "Sorry. I- I don't know what came over me. I don't think I rightly like the sight of my own blood much. I don't suppose many do."

Coughing up pink and slightly foamy sputum, the ranger scowled as he took a vial out of an inner vest pocket and downed it. "An ingrained reaction that was far more illuminating than days worth of polite interrogation. There's either a baron's house missing a pampered brat in our kingdom or one from another who's probably willing to pay a ransom at the very least."

The young mage offered a conciliatory smile, "I leave such deductions to your superior investigative skills, Sir Ranger. I don't find myself anymore enlightened towards deductions I have already made towards my own identity. Though, I find myself in the awkward position of needing to reevaluate my stance on the merits and wary respect I should have towards those born to differing circumstances.

"Nobility of spirit and cunning are obviously not the sole property of those who hold titles. That much I have seen and personally experienced. Being given a dose of humility while still young enough to learn and grow from the experience will serve me well, no doubt."

As the magic of the potion took hold and placed things in their proper place, the ranger spat out a blood clot and said, "No doubt. See to it that you have no more violent epiphanies while you're in my custody and you may yet live long enough to enjoy that wisdom."

The set of fine tipped thorns ready to shoot through and eviscerate him just under the surface of his seat was enough evidence to the young mage that the ranger meant it. Not only that but the man might have had the chance to pull it off. Unless the young mage could be taken so thoroughly unaware again, however, the ranger would have a hard time pulling off his threat without additional assistance.

Eyes growing sharp, the young mage said, "A strong dose of mutual respect, wary or otherwise, would serve us both, woodsman. I have no desire to form enmity with you but neither do I fear it."

With a speed and proficiency that left the ranger and his group no real chance to react to, much less stop, Orison brandished his staff and repaired the broken back of the cart. He was beginning to understand the rules of magic in his current world. Done outside of a 'veil' infused focus, magic drained life and vitality away from the caster. But done through them, the limits were more centered on the laws invested in the symbolic expression.

Wherever he was, it was tied strongly to 'aspects' and 'archetypes'. People who embraced a role and had affinity with it would find themselves more limited but able to express greater power within those limits. Orison didn't have to embrace that philosophy but he could manipulate his understanding of it to leverage his own power.

He was a mage who had risen up through The Fool and The Magician but rejected The Hermit. He understood roles very well but didn't embrace it as he once did. There was undeniable power in aspects and archetypes but it wasn't his path. Though, no path was completely free of their influence.

Continuing to analyze his environment and ways to interact with it magically, Orison kept one eye on the physical world. The ranger had given him an ample amount of 'respect', the kind given to poisonous creatures. He was ordered to not move from the cart while the driver was the only one who stayed on it with him. The ranger and his two men kept a readied and somewhat offensive position around it.

Within the hour, he was led through a spartan and organized fort of a manor. In a study that looked more like a military man's office than a lord's, a lean and glacier eyed middle aged man gestured to the uncushioned wood seat in front of his desk. The young mage positioned himself between the seat and desk but didn't sit because the man behind the desk was standing.

As the man sat with a slight additional downturn of mouth corners, Orison quickly followed. The baron might not like it but the young mage knew a test when he saw one. He understood why disproving the chance he was potentially noble would make things easier for the baron but he wanted the thin layer of protection and courtesy such a chance provided. The baron's grudging acknowledgment was the first challenge to keep it.

"I've been informed that you assaulted one of my men. Tell me why I shouldn't rune shackle you and let you rot in a cell til we discover who you really are?" the baron led off.

Neutral faced, Orison said, "Slapping a peasant to death for poking me with a blade when I was doing nothing more than daydreaming on the dull trip to indulge my lord would not have been an overreaction. My lenience at leaving him with life and limb intact was in difference to you, baron."

The man laughed mirthlessly. "You don't even know who you are, whelp. My pleasure is YOUR life. Best start thinking of ways to keep it before both are lost to you."

"Going off the ranger's observation, I believe I'll let the potential reward or ransom safeguard your pleasure, my lord. I'll leave trading dignity and pride as a separate bargain. I'd prefer displeased and hostile respect over debased boot licking to earn a little consideration," the young mage said with a scowl.

"Then let's test your resolve... Rune shackle him and place him in a cell," the baron said.

Sighing, Orison didn't resist. Once he was left to his own devices, he tested his restraints and found that they did keep him from summoning out any manifestations but he could draw on his innate ghosting power or even blink himself out. Warding a room in his dungeon must have been more costly that the baron found need for.

Seeing that they didn't plan on providing him water, much less food, the young mage deep tranced with a life signature entering his personal space being the waking trigger. Two days later, he was dragged out and thoroughly doused with a bucket of cold water while making sure he couldn't easily drink much. Afterwards, his hair was finger combed out of his face as he was made to sit for a likeness sketch.