Barrier Guardian, Part I (Rituals with the Dead)

A towering shape breaks above the canopy of the nearby trees, blotting out what little gray sky we have. Its mount is the first thing I see: a skeletal horse the size of a damn bungalow, its ribs are like prison bars behind which I can see a beating heart, suspended in its chest cavity, flashing like a thundercloud. Its hooves smash into the swamp with concussive blasts.

Sitting astride it is an enormous humanoid figure wrapped in black leather, buckles and straps hanging off it like it's just walked out of the local BDSM convention. My eyes continue to move upward, passing over the lantern the figure holds in its right hand—an old hooded thing of black iron, swinging slowly. Strangely, it seems to drink in the light around it. Eventually, I reach its head and, despite sharing a camp with a talking skeleton and a zombie goldfish, I'm stunned by what I see.

Where its head should be sits a massive, lumpy jack‑o‑lantern, its rind mottled yellow and green. The gourd is carved into a deep frown. A black candle burns inside, flickering wildly, vomiting oily shadows that drip like smoke. Call me Ichabod Crane! The guardian is a fucking headless horseman!

Ping!

Monster Identified: Headless Harbinger

Classification: Barrier Guardian

Level: ?

My stomach drops when I see the question mark, like walking into a winter workout and realizing I left my gym shoes at home. The last question mark I had seen was when I encountered Sloth, of the Cardinal Hand, back in the Bronze Gate. She had no-diff'd a pissed off mother Storm Dragon. Thankfully, she had multiple question marks trailing her name, where this thing only has one. And god dammit, I hope that's significant.

What does the question mark even mean? Is it the System letting me know that the level difference between me and this gigantic Halloween horror is too great for me to get an accurate read on it? Or does it have some kind of ability or trait that obscures its numerical power level?

And just how powerful was this thing, anyway? It's impossible to say.

But its aura hits me like a brick.

My [Aura Sense] flares automatically, and instantly I regret every decision that led to this moment. It's like someone takes a hot fork and stirs my brain like scrambled eggs.

"NOPE," I hiss, suppressing my [Aura Sense] as much as possible before my growing headache explodes into a full-blown migraine.

Liv clutches my arm. "Joe… we have to fight that thing?"

"Yeah, I'll take the giant gators any day," I say through clenched teeth.

Walter mutters, "Ah. The Headless Harbinger. Lovely guy. Back in the day, this thing killed me at least three times. Sent my ass back to the Castle's graveyard…"

"You got better since?" I ask.

"Did I?" Walter asks, turning his skull towards Preston.

"I would say so, though your current level doesn't reflect it," says Preston. His helmet bowl glows brighter. "Its lantern creates a darkness effect, which you would do well to avoid. Once in its magical darkness, it's practically impossible to avoid its attacks."

"Cool cool cool," I say, heart hammering. "And we have to fight this thing now?"

"No," Preston says calmly. "Run."

The Harbinger turns its jack-o-lantern head, the slow motion eventually landing on our little campsite. It then lifts its lantern. The candle inside its head flares. Shadow boil and pour out from the hooded lantern. My stomach turns to ice.

Jelly Boy leaps into my arms, wobbling with fear. Even this little psycho wants nothing to do with the guardian. At least, not yet.

Liv shakes my arm and I'm ripped out of my stupor. Panic paints her face and our three undead companions are making a break for the tree line behind her. I lock onto my sister's eyes and give her a sharp nod. Then, we book it.

"Retreat!" Walter shouts, waving his black scroll like it's a white flag.

I don't need to be told twice. None of us do.

We run. We run like terrified extras in a disaster movie: slipping, sliding, screaming. The swamp claws at my boots and I snag a root poking out of the muck, tripping and splashing into the dark, stinking waters.

Grush barrels forward, clearing tree limbs and low-hanging branches like a green-skinned battering ram. Preston trudges beside him, the diver suit keeping in step with the hulking figure despite the zombie fish being rattled around the sloshing bowl of water for head.

I pull myself back to my feet and charge forward, slowing down for a moment only to look for Liv. She's still at my side, keeping pace with me. Even as branches slap at our faces and mud slurps at our feet. Jelly Boy is basically surfing on my back like a slimy backpack. Two pseudopods extend from his body, tightly wrapping around my shoulders.

Behind us, the Harbinger doesn't follow. Yet everything behind us just feels… wrong. The marsh got quieter the farther we fled, which should be comforting, but just makes me feel like we're rats moving in the shadow of a predator's raised claws.

Eventually, we reach a pair of tangled trees growing like lovers in an argument—too close to be healthy, with just enough room between their exposed roots to form a large hollow.

Grush wedges himself into the curve, grunting loudly over his shoulder. Preston dips in, only turning his fishbowl back towards us to exclaim, "Grush says it's clear and dry! A good enough place as any to bunker down!" Walter slides in and I quickly follow suit, stepping onto the soft bank and relieved by the drier feeling beneath my feet as I shuffle my way into the hollow of the trees. Liv is last and, by the time she joins us, it's a snug fit with each of us sitting shoulder-to-shoulder.

I collapse (as much as I can, at least), still heaving. My legs are jelly and my nerves are noodles. Liv slumps beside me, head tilted back against bark, eyes wide with the "what-the-actual-hell-just-happened" look.

"Anyone else pee a little?" I ask the group.

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Grush rumbles. Which I choose to take as affirmation.

That gets a laugh out of me.

Everyone else remains dead silent.

The next laugh dies in my throat and I clear it awkwardly. "Right."

We just sit there, the sounds of the night echoing from inside our makeshift sanctuary. I feel Jelly Boy plop into my lap, and pull my cloak tighter around us. Eventually, I'm able to doze off again.

It's a fitful, restless sort of sleep. Better than nothing, I guess.

When I wake, my back hurts, my mouth is dry and tastes like swamp water, and an exposed root is aggressively poking me in the ribs.

Two hollow nooks stare at me. Walter.

"Up and at 'em, sunshine," he says in a cheerful tone that drips with false sincerity. "Time to get moving. We've got a schedule to keep after all!"

I groan and sit up, wiping a hand across my face. "A schedule?"

Walter pulls a scroll out of thin air, unfurling it and looking it over. "Preston and I worked it out. We have some particular training opportunities we want to run you and your sister through. But first we needed to make sure there was enough time on the front end of our day."

"Er… Enough time? For what?"

"Your ritual Spell. Come on, Joe. I know it's early, but don't be dense." He lets go of one end of the scroll and it snaps closed, disappearing in a tiny flash of pixelated light.

"Oh! Right!" I give a sharp nod, still bleary-eyed but now awake enough to recall the past twelve hours. I realize we're the only two in the hollow. "Guess I'm the only one who slept in," I say. I scramble out onto a leaf and moss covered forest floor. A light, gray colored sky provides enough light through the trees to see the others standing about.

Liv is crouched next to Jelly Boy. Both of them are nibbling on Adventurer Cookies. That's when I realize my bladder is full. I'll need to relieve myself and then definitely need to chomp down on a cookie of my own. The System-generated snack eliminates the need for food, water and bodily functions. At least for a while. I stretch my arms over my head and excuse myself.

Once I'm back, half-devoured Adventurer's Cookie hanging from my lips, Preston and Walter greet me. They get right to business.

We find a dry patch of ground large enough for at least two of us to sit down across from each other. It's a little rise covered in brittle grass and cracked stone, just high enough to keep the swamp's fetid fingers from grabbing our ankles. Walter calls it "an excellent location for minor arcane nonsense," which is the most apt description I've ever heard.

He's volunteered to go through the ritual first.

The others gather around to watch. Liv out of pure curiosity (and perhaps a little concern). Preston watches in an almost academic observation. Jelly Boy seems like he's there because there's nothing else to do. He's re-equipped his scaled wizard's hat and is happily bouncing in place. Grush is right behind him, though he's facing in the wrong direction—staring into space, slack jawed.

I mentally prepare the ritual. As soon as I select the Spell, its as though a step-by-step manual is uploaded to my brain. I visualize a spell circle, outlined by runic shapes I couldn't begin to understand. A few moments later, I look up at the skeleton accountant and extend my hands, palms up.

"Ready?" I ask Walter.

He gives a skeletal shrug. "Worst case scenario, I end up back at the Castle. Let's do this."

Walter rests his skeletal phalanges on top of my palms and I initiate the spell:

[Pact of the Novice Scribe].

Mana thrums through the air like plucked strings on an invisible instrument of channeled power. I feel the Spell connect us. For a moment, Walter's body flickers. His aura blooms into view—black and gray with shimmering streaks of green, like oil on wet paper. It begins to flow towards me in a lazy river, connecting just below my sternum. The river of aura flexes, pulses and then finally bursts apart, dispersing into motes of green and black fireflies that dissolve into dust.

I hold my breath. Just for a moment. Just until I'm greeted by the confirming pulse of the System.

Ping!

Ritual complete! [Pact of the Novice Scribe]: Successful.

New Spell: [Lesser Summoning: Interplanar Ally]

[Lesser Summoning: Interplanar Ally] (Conjuration Spell – Level 2)

Casting Time: 1 minute

Stamina Cost: 550 Points

Range: 60 Feet

Duration: 2 Minutes (Requires Concentration) or until Summoned Facsimile sustains sufficient damage

Description: It helps to have friends! The User calls forth a facsimile of an ally from another plane to a space that they are able to see within the Spell's range. This corporeal form will have weakened attributes and abilities relative to the ally in which it represents, but will generally resemble the ally summoned. The User is not able to control which interplanar ally the Spell creates a facsimile of. Instead, it will be randomly selected. The Summoned Facsimile will act as an ally to the User and other persons the User is friendly towards, and hostile towards all persons the User considers an enemy. The Summoned Facsimile is capable of acting on its own, but will respond to mental and verbal commands from the User.

Oooh.

I grin. "Hell yeah. That's a good one."

And then I collapse onto my butt because my Stamina bar just nose-dived and is now a blinking, empty bar in the bottom corner of my HUD. It seems that the more Stamina I gain, the more hard it hits when I empty it in a matter of moments.

"I'm... gonna need a minute," I wheeze.

Walter flicks a potion bottle at me. I catch it one-handed. It's a tincture shaped like a little skull.

Stamina Potion (Excellent Quality)

I down it. It's syrupy but carbonated; reminding me of a lot of the gas station energy drinks back home on Earth.

Stamina partially restored!

Stamina Recovery Temporarily Increased by 100%!

The potion instantly replenishes half of my Stamina and I'm pleasantly surprised to see that it's natural recovery has doubled. The bar is climbing at an astonishing speed. Won't be long before I get to do this all over again!

I consider my new Spell. It's definitely a powerful Spell, though I'll need to test just how strong these Summoned Facsimiles are. The Spell also has a couple of downsides. First, its cost is insanely high. Until I level up further, a single casting of this Spell will wipe me out. The second downside is that it requires concentration and, even then, only lasts for one minute. Not to mention, it takes an entire minute to cast.

As I recover, I glance over to see Liv in action. Preston has put her to work, training while we wait for me to complete my rituals.

Grush is going full Rocky Balboa on Jelly Boy, slamming his fists into the blue ball of goo. Jelly Boy is absolutely loving it. The slime's wobbling in the air like a punching bag made of giggling jello. Each hit sends a ripple through his body that makes him jiggle with delight.

Liv is standing nearby, and is absolutely focused. Her eyes are narrowed, locked onto Jelly Boy, and she has both hands extended. Threads of healing light pour from her fingers in steady pulses, stitching together the damage as fast as Grush delivers it.

The slime lets out a high-pitched burble that, if I didn't know better, I'd say sounds like maniacal laughter.

"Should I be concerned?" I ask no one in particular.

"Not as long as you stay on that slime's good side," says Walter, who's also recovering from his mana taking a big hit during my ritual.

It's not long before I'm sitting across from Preston. Afraid that his suit won't be capable of channeling the Spell properly, he has me touch the glass surface of his helmet instead. The zombie goldfish presses himself against the bowl.

I activate the Spell.

[Pact of the Novice Scribe]

The Spell works, Preston's aura streaming out of the helmet and into me before dissolving into nothingness.

Ping!

Ritual complete!

[Pact of the Novice Scribe]: Successful.

New Spell: [Clean]

[Clean] (Transmutation Cantrip)

Casting Time: Instant

Stamina Cost: 5 Points

Range: 20 Feet

Duration: Instant

Description: With a flex of their body's muscles, the User instantly cleans any person and/or object(s) within the Spell's range. The User may select to do so in a scentless manner or apply a pleasant fragrance of their choosing.

I blink.

"Uh… I…" Pause. "Seriously?"

Preston circle his bowl. "Yes?!... What power did my magic bestow upon you, young Joseph?"

"CLEAN!" I groan, muscles absolutely depleted, and collapse onto my back. "I can apply magical febreeze!... Great!"

Liv, who had paused her training to observe my ritual, chimes in. "How is a cleaning cantrip learned from a Cleric?"

Preston bobs his fish body solemnly. "Cleanliness is next to godliness, Lord Dinescu used to always say."

I sigh, rubbing my temples. Still, I can't lie—it'll be nice not smelling like hot swamp armpit soup the rest of this Quest. And I've been covered in gore enough times to appreciate the low-cost functional Spell.

Once my Stamina recovers, we prepare to move. Walter and Preston have plans for our training. And I have some ideas of my own.

The first of which is to test out my new Spells.

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