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§062 Bostkirk II
🕑 Added 2025-08-30 20:33:00 +0000 UTCTaylor's first two days in Bostkirk were all about selling off materials and organizing his work. He agreed to make two large divine figures for the arcaic temple housed inside Dwergbank: Gunthigis for dwarves, and Gelexia for beastkin. Although every beastkin tribe had its specific patron god, Gelexia was the ur-beastkin deity who gave birth to all of them. The resident priest was impressed that Taylor even knew about her, but it was hard not to. Lately, Gelexia had been around a lot during his visits to the Old Folks' void. That was usually a sign that a god wanted a figure made. For whatever reason, they couldn't simply ask. They had to arrange or inspire events to bring about their ends.
Dwergbank didn't host the only arcaic temple in the city, but it was the most-used and best-protected one. The honorarium Taylor received of two golden aurochs for each figure was enough to fund his adventures for months, so long as he wasn't extravagant. However, that amount was only a fraction of the statues' values to a collector. Anyone with an Appraise skill could tell the figures were blessed with the rare "divine" descriptor, making them coveted items for collectors of religious icons, statuary, and art.
Taylor also agreed to make a slew of smaller figures for workshops, homes, and offices where they were likely to be prayed to daily. He could make two per day, if he wasn't doing anything else with his mana, and his fee of three small gold coins was more in line with the effort involved.
He quickly found a rhythm for his days. In the early mornings, he went to a nearby gymnasium and fought his heart out against every challenger. For once, the beastkin racial obsession with knowing who was strongest worked in Taylor's favor, and he soon assembled a cohort of daily challengers to sharpen his skills.
A cold shower was followed by breakfast at the Peony, where the staff reserved a corner table and set up a privacy screen for him. People lingered over breakfast, partially for conversation but mainly for the mail. As soon as the post arrived, patrons were quick to retrieve their letters and fill the dining room with the sound of breaking seals and hastily scrawled responses. Any cards dropped into the hotel's outgoing box within twenty minutes were handed off to a "turnaround" runner, who caught up to the carrier and posted the new batch of cards, cutting hours from the usual response rate.
By the time the turnaround runner left, the dining room was empty. First post marked the start of Bostkirk's working hours. For Taylor, that meant walking to a rented workshop space to carve and shape his statues. Each day, he placed his personal shrine in the workshop, opened the doors of the miniature temple, and said a quick prayer to his village of gods before starting work. Often, the gods pulled him into their void realm, usually so Strife could play the gods' version of chess against him. Occasionally, they answered questions about divine matters, provided the answers didn't touch directly on the mortal realm. They asked him questions, too, and just let him talk.
They were especially interested in the Other Place and his plans for it. When he told the gods his idea, they looked amused but wouldn't say why. It was probably a sign he had gotten himself into a more complicated situation than he realized, and made him want to go back to Midway and check on it.
He limited his work to the mornings and, sometimes, the early afternoon, to leave time for his magical studies. His first notable advance was an obvious one. He had an enchanted mirror that reflected mana as visible light, which he used to train beginners in sensing mana. When he propped it up nearby while working on a divine figure, he could see the mana he channeled through his carving tools, and the mana he used to shape material directly, but there was something important missing. Even small idols drank a ton of mana while he was making them, yet the mirror didn't show it.
It was, in a word, upsetting. The mirror's enchantment was rooted in the fact that silver responded so well to mana, but apparently, not all mana. It was one thing to have a few doubts. It was quite another to know a cherished idea was null and void, and throw it into a heap labeled "provably false". Taylor had a lot of pride in his magic skills, and he had long believed that all mana was the same. Differences in talent were evidence of the way people thought about magic and what they believed it could do. But, if not all mana was the same …
Arrogance. That's what it was. Arrogance. He could use all kinds of magic, so he assumed anyone who couldn't do the same just wasn't smart enough or didn't work hard enough. But it was also true that each body he'd lived in preferred some kinds of magic over others, and he'd conveniently discarded that fact in his theories. It was more pleasant to believe he was that much smarter than everybody else.
The mirror incident resulted in a three-way meeting between Taylor, his Accessorist, Varda, and his leading supplier of magic crafting materials, a dwarf named Hendrika. The thin, scholarly Varda was the polar opposite of the bulky Hendrika and her well-muscled arms, but the two knew each other well. And, they had both worked with Taylor. This was the first time he thought of bringing them together on a project.
"I'm in," they said in sync when Taylor explained what he was trying to do.
Varda added, "Who am I to resist, when the hidden dark lord wants to rewire reality a little?"
"Let's show those Imperial court magicians that classes aren't everything," added Hendrika. "No offense, Varda."
"None taken."
Taylor had only planned to ask for their advice and purchase a little of their time, but if they wanted to commit to the project, then he was glad to have them. He wasn't after glory, so sharing credit with useful collaborators wasn't an issue for him.
"Let's start with a list of materials used when working with specific attributes. I know the standard list you find in books … "
"… is trash," Hendrika finished for him, with Varda nodding next to her. "You're asking for sensitive trade secrets. We don't normally share."
"Not even with each other. We'll need assurances," said Varda.
"A contract would be better," Hendrika rumbled. "Not that I don't like you both, but this is delicate."
The first step of their project turned into a contract negotiation. Fortunately, Dwergbank had lawyers. The trio of researchers had the matter settled within a few days, and a copy of the contract was offered to Taylor's personal figure of Chowgami, the god of contracts (subordinate to Order), along with a large sum of money. The god took the contract into his divine hand and transubstantiated it into the heavenly realm.
Varda vaguely smiled, while the lawyer and Hendrika turned white. They had heard of the phenomenon, but never seen it personally. Usually, the offering was a formality, and the money went to an institution like Dwergbank as a deposit against future arbitration.
"Have you seen that before?" asked the lawyer.
"Only with all of my contracts, ever," said Taylor.
"It's a first for me, but I'm not surprised," Varda said, pretending to be bored. "You have to expect this kind of thing when dealing with him."
"True," agreed Hendrika. "I shouldn't have been surprised. And I agree we should avoid naming the Dark One, now that we work so closely with him. We don't want to summon Him by accident."
"Oh, come on! It's not as bad as all that!" Taylor protested.
The lawyer laughed along, then said goodbye.
"This is when He pulls out some new thing from his dark realm of impossibilities," warned Varda, once the lawyer had left the room. "Brace yourself."
"I do have something," admitted Taylor, "but it's nothing unique. I made mirrors so we can talk to each other while I'm traveling. They're perfectly normal." He had made a trio of hand mirrors like he'd made for Kasper, and passed each of them their own. "See? The military has lots of these."
"Rose entwood," assessed the dwarf, "and fully tempered silver backing. The glass is heavy. Iostra hardened, maybe."
"Enchanted," emphasized Varda, "not engraved. And therefore outside of the usual systems. Unsurveillable, by any means I know of."
"Almost normal materials," conceded Hendrika.
"But highly abnormal technique," finished Varda. "What else are you hiding in that magic bag of yours?"
"Honestly," Taylor admitted, "if this disturbs you, then I don't think you want to know."
Varda's initial contribution was to provide three small, secure chests for storing papers and materials. Their mutual contract demanded they protect each other's secrets, and the chests would incinerate their contents if they were tampered with. Taylor gave his fellow researchers small versions of his training mirrors. Hendrika's contribution was samples of several kinds of material with attribute-specific behavior. Among Hendrika's samples was a very small amount of orichalcum, just a few grains' worth, which allegedly glowed in the presence of divine magic.
As soon as Taylor was alone, he mixed the orichalcum with a small amount of tempered silver and made a new training mirror. The next time he worked on a divine figure, the mirror clearly showed mana streaming into it. Taylor had the strange sensation of being both elated and deflated at the same time. Elated because he was learning something new. Deflated because he'd been so sure for so long that he knew better. He made sure to share the results at their next research meeting.
For anyone without a class, magic attributes were measured at church or government offices, using an item that looked like a crystal ball, but shone different colors when touched. The devices were so secret and expensive that most people were never tested unless they applied for government jobs, joined the military, or attended an elite school. Of those who received this special treatment, most were tested only once or twice in their lifetimes.
The statistics Taylor had from the library were based mainly on old data, collected from a narrow cohort of people, using a secret technology that the government controlled. The whole business sounded suspicious and unreliable.
His only other business with Dwergbank was to patent the flying disk and authorize anyone to manufacture them in exchange for a small percentage of sales. Letting the bank act as his lawyer in the matter wasn't the cheapest option, but it was convenient. Taylor didn't have so many business interests that he needed dedicated people to watch over them, and registering the bank as his lawyer of record gave him representation all over the Empire. Not that he planned to use it.
The same afternoon that he patented the toy, Taylor passed out fifty of them at parks and open spaces where dogkin gathered daily to play catch. He only had to toss one a few times, and he never got to hold it again. The disruption was immediate and extreme. Within days, all kinds of beastkin could be seen in the parks during midday, leaping after the wooden objects and urging the other races to join in. Each disk was engraved with the name "Glider" and the patent number, and it only took a week for them to start multiplying. No one seemed to remember the masked human boy who gave away his toys. Taylor got a good laugh from watching people enjoy the simple "invention", and he would be happy with whatever small amount of coin he ended up with from the venture.
On the days he talked to Kasper, Taylor took the mirror with him to the park and let him watch the beastkin play. It was hard to see on such a small surface, but Kasper was enthused and babbled incessantly about how many people he'd introduced to the Glider. The enthusiasts were calling themselves "disc-kin," even if they weren't beastkin.
One afternoon, after delivering his latest statues, he took his lunch in a park creatively named Riverside, as it lay along the shores of Sunglaze River, with a boxed meal he'd picked up at a nearby storefront. Gliders flew back and forth while happy children ran after them. The lunch wasn't very good, and the box sat next to him, barely touched. It was half a soggy sandwich and something that looked like oatmeal, but wasn't.
"I wouldn't eat it, either," said a girl's voice. "Even from here, it doesn't look appetizing."
"I don't like wasting food," he answered, "but in this case, I'm making an exception."
Taylor turned his head to discover a girl his own age, with glossy black hair arranged in dramatic waves over a white silk dress with tiny crystals sewn into the fabric to wink at passersby. Her eyes were bright orange over glossy lips that smiled at him victoriously. Her shoes were soft-soled silk, the same color as her dress. The shoes of a princess.
Behind her, at a respectful distance, stood a tauran soldier with black fur and a spread of white horns. Behind him stood the same pair of maids he'd escaped from on the day of the carriage accident. Behind the maids was a tent, with a mobile kitchen set up nearby. Behind the portable stovetop, a pair of white-aproned cooks worked diligently.
The princess curtsied, which was not a common habit in Estfold province or the Empire. "I am Lindastra, First Princess of Dimmik."
Taylor was not adequately dressed for meeting princesses, but at least he was very clean. If she didn't mind his clothes, then it was a point in her favor. Maybe this one would be bearable. He rose and gave her his outlander bow, with one foot back, an elaborate two-arm movement, and a deep bend at the waist without taking his eyes from her. It was his interplanetary default when he didn't know what was appropriate.
"I am Taylor, no title or family. To what do I owe this unexpected honor?"
"We have unfinished business, you and I. Will you join me for lunch?" She glanced uncertainly at the cooks. "My chefs say they are making something new. I can almost guarantee it's better than the lunch you have, but I can't promise more than that."
Taylor grinned behind his mask. This one was more like a border lord's daughter, which made sense. Dimmik was a vassal state in the far south of the Empire and had more problems with monsters than peaceful Estfold. Sensibilities would vary accordingly. It was also governed by hereditary nobility, which explained her title and manners.
"If you can bear with my peculiarities, I'd be happy to join you."
They dined on a salad made mainly of flowers, a cold soup that filled their mouths with herb and citrus flavors, a risotto-like dish, followed by delicate slices of roasted jungle serpent served with a sweet, thick sauce. The meal was followed by tea and an assortment of tiny flans. Lindastra didn't fuss at all when he periodically turned on his Riverstone, which hid him entirely from view.
Surprisingly, they were able to talk like normal people. She told him about her circumstances, including the blocked quest and its impending deadline. She didn't press him for an immediate solution, but instead used the occasion to get to know him. He told her a little of his situation and his journey to see more of the Empire.
"I had no idea that rescue grinding was a thing," he said over tea. "Though it makes sense when you think about it. How many rescues do you need?"
"You get a singleton, and then you get them in sets. I'm still on my first batch of ten. After that, it's thirty, and then a hundred. A hundred rescues require serious dedication and a very committed husband with a royal guard. I think it's been," she thought, "a century and a half since anyone completed it? Most princesses keep the quest, but use it as an early warning system. If you get into a situation that flags the quest, sometimes you can escape by just declining it."
"But, what if having the quest is what's causing the situations to arise?"
"Ah! The crisis causation conundrum," Lindastra nodded wisely. "So much ink has been spilled over it, but we might never know for sure."
"Where are you headed, after Bostkir?"
"Are you thinking of traveling together? We could grind together, that way! A designated rescuer should speed up progress."
"Sorry, princess, but I haven't had my Selection yet. And I have my own tasks to tend to." She buried her disappointment well, but Taylor still felt bad for crushing her so quickly. "I was thinking about my boon and what to ask for. Since we're here, we could have a little fun with it. Are you going anywhere in particular, or traveling a loop?"
"As soon as I finish my set, I'm boarding a train for Celosia. Not that I don't enjoy the random encounters," she smiled winningly at Taylor in his Riverstone illusion, "but the train is so much more comfortable. I start school at the academy there in the fall."
"Celosia Academy? That's perfect!"
"Taylor, I only have a day left on this quest. I don't want to seem entitled, but it took a lot of time to find you and decide on an approach. I'll lose the quest if we don't close it today or tomorrow."
"That won't be a problem." He pulled a sheet of good paper and his best ink from his satchel and began to write. "I have a sister in Celosia. Her name is Cecilia d'Mourne, and she is currently staying with the Vawdrey family. She's older than you, but she's also starting school in the next term."
He offered the paper with Cecilia's information to Lindastra. "My Lady, I beg you grant me this boon. Accept a quest to meet my sister and, within two weeks of the start of term, share a meal with her. The meal must include Dimmik karposh. I have no idea what that is, but she's craving it."
Quest activity rippled through the princess, and she took several seconds to read the words that only she could see. Then, she reread them. When she took the paper from his hands, the quest was hers.
"Six out of ten complete," she said wonderingly, "a moderate package, and a new sidequest. A separate sidequest. How did you do that? I don't mean to offend, but only leadership classes and maestros are supposed to have that power. You don't have a class, or a title, or anything."
He dropped his Riverstone illusion so they could see each other, face-to-mask. In his best mysterious voice, he said, "I have myself."
He rose and bowed to her. "This has been a tremendous bit of fun, Princess Lindastra, and I thank you. Perhaps we'll meet again, in Celosia." Taylor escaped before she could ask any more questions he shouldn't answer.
Lindastra had obviously gone to some expense to locate and learn about him without making her interest known. She had the pleasure of surprising him, and he had fun surprising her in return. His sister might make a friend and, maybe one day, someone would tell him what karposh was. He felt very pleased about the situation, and it left him grinning well into the next day.
If only the paladin hadn't shown up …
