Curselock

Chapter 93: New Ink

Black swirls of ink rotated around Leland’s crow tattoo. It moved through his skin like a worm in soil or a dolphin swimming through a swamp. Fit with bramble and thorns, the new tattoo wrapped itself into the crow’s talons like a wreath, giving the bird a proper place to stand. Still it shifted through different designs, some organic, trees and bushes, others abstract like broken slivers of dark iron.

It moved and changed, never resting for more than a few seconds before moving through his skin again. It didn’t hurt any longer, not that Leland cared. No, he was too focused on the smug expression his crow tattoo had taken on.

The small bird occasionally flapped its wings or silently cawed, obviously happy with whatever changes were ripping through its host’s body.

“You alright?” Glenny asked.

Honestly Leland didn’t know. He wanted to say no. He wanted to explain that he felt more violated than he seemed. Yet he couldn’t. He knew he should, as an unknown magical item suddenly becoming one with him was usually cause for concern. But the Lord of Curses seemed to be happy with this change, so why shouldn’t he?

Unless his Lord misled him and actively sought to end his life, Leland couldn’t bring himself to worry about the tattoo. Not when he had a hypothesis to what the tattoo actually was. That was for later, though. When the ink finished moving around and when he could actually activate the magic it held.

“I think so,” was all he said.

“It’s not hurting?”

“Not anymore.”

That, Leland hesitated to answer. He had an idea, yes, but he didn’t want to say it aloud. Not because he thought his company would make fun of him or call him mad, but rather because if he explained and turned out to be wrong, then well… the disappointment might be worse than being incorrect. Still, he couldn’t just not answer.

“When the ink was within the scroll, it was a summoning circle. A ritual, one that summoned something I did not recognize. And well, it might be the same but just on my hand.”

Floe, and her massive size, relaxed. She had rushed to Leland when he screeched in pain, but seeing that he was fine now, she backed up a bit. Humans were warm blooded after all, she’d hate to kill the boys by lowering their body temperatures just from being adjacent to them.

“In matters such as this, I have found the best course of action to be research,” she said. “I would advise you not to try and summon the tattoo’s ability. Not without more understanding.”

Leland didn’t answer, only looking from the mother bear to his hand. Glenny, however, did. “What do you mean? You think it might be dangerous? I thought summoning rituals had safeguards in place for the caster?”

“They do,” Leland muttered with a grimace.

“Correct,” Floe replied. “But Leland and I both did not recognize the symbol in the scroll. What happens if the ritual summons, say… a demon? Or a voidling? Those safeguards you spoke of are for lesser beings, those that can be summoned with household objects as opposed to the more dastardly.”

“Dastardly?” Glenny asked, looking between the bear and his friend.

Leland answered, “As in sacrificing people, magical monsters or beasts, or…” he said the next word with quiet aversion, “souls.”

Floe nodded along, hearing every single word. “Souls. Yes. Just like the ones you summon and extract.”

Would the Lord of Curses be that sadistic to use souls for something like that? Leland honestly didn’t know, not when he could consume souls for power. He knew, however, that the soul was reincarnated when he did that Would it be the same for the tattoo? Would the Curse Lord celebrate something like that?

Thinking back to the kindly old woman that appeared to him in his Dream Ceremony and first contract with the Lord of Magic, Leland didn’t think so. She seemed to care about him and his well being, surely she’d know that using a soul for such a reason would only break his heart. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, ever use the summoning tattoo if that was the case. Legacy and Lord be damned.

His mind went to his newest spell, Soul Fire. He had yet to test it, but what if it was the same? What if igniting a soul to use it as ammunition was the same as—

“Leland!”

He spun, finding Glenny only a step away and staring in worry. “Sorry. Got lost in my head.”

The rogue gave a rueful smile. “I get it. Weird powers swirling around your body. Trust me, I get it.”

“I guess I’ll figure it all out later. Maybe I can ask the Huntress for her thoughts?”

Even as he said it, Leland knew such a conversation to be a spite riddled misadventure. While the Huntress might have an understanding of odd potential powers, did he even want to ask her? She had made it clear she was looking into his Legacy specifically, and the longer he could keep her in the dark, the better. Or at least he thought.

“Why do that when you can just send your parents a letter? Don’t tell me you ran out of that fancy courier set?” Glenny asked.

“No, I’ve still got plenty. But they are back in the inn in Frostford.”

Glenny snorted at that. “That was a lot of ‘ins.’”

Leland laughed at that, the gnawing pit in his stomach finally fading. Then the realization came over him. “Did I really suggest that I should talk to the Huntress over my parents?” He shivered.

“Might want to heal yourself, man, you’re losing it.”

Both boys laughed at that. A few minutes later, a violet halo of dark energies formed around Leland’s head. A moment later a pure and natural energy formed at the tip of his finger and suddenly his burnfelt a lot better.

“You might want to practice with that flail, Leland,” Glenny offered, holding out the unignited weapon.

Leland took it haphazardly, the short link of chain jostling. He gave it a cursory swing before frowning.

“Just think ‘ignite’ or something.”

Following the instruction, Leland did just that. Instantly the weapon blazed to life and he felt his internal mana dip a bit. It wasn’t enough to make him worry, nor enough to force someone like Jude or Glenny to have to rely on alternative enchantments to activate. The weapon, while flashy and chaotic, would serve him well enough.

That was, if he could actually find a use case for him, a mage, to strike someone with a melee weapon. Defending himself was one thing, a shield could do that, but a flail? Could he even swing it fast enough to hit a proper warrior or duelist?

“I feel dumb,” he said to the open air, receiving a chuckle from Floe.

Glenny gave him a sarcastic smile. “Now, watch me. Flails, while not a weapon I’ve used very much – or at all really – have some special properties. Flails are weapons meant to strike around guards, shields, and or parries. Wide sweeping strikes after a short wind up.”

Leland gave him a blank stare. After a few more minutes of instruction, the two were mock dueling. It was slow and tedious, mainly because Leland had abysmal strength. Like two thinly tree branches, he raised and lowered his arms above his head, getting used to the weapon.

Eventually mock dueling turned into quarter speed repetitive motions which then evolved into half speed sparring. Glenny defended with odd conjured weapon structures, none of which resembled daggers or swords. Simple shapes, squares, rectangles, anything that resembled his glorified weapon of choice.

As much as this was practice for Leland, Glenny found himself straining to maintain his powers. The low speeds mixed with the, for lack of a better word, weak attacks, proved a good regime for the young rogue. He didn’t need to focus on his footwork, faints, or powerful strikes and could instead entirely work with his conjured weapons.

As they continued, Leland grew more confident and threw wilder and different strikes. It wasn’t just what Glenny originally taught him anymore, now he changed up the pace of their sparring with moves that just felt right. At least, they did until Glenny parried the ball and chain, throwing it out of Leland’s hands.

“Ah,” the Legacy of Curses muttered.

Floe laughed across the arena.

Glenny let go of a crimson pitchfork looking weapon, letting it fade from reality. “Overzealous. I like it.”

Leland couldn’t help but smile at the fun he was having. Tiring fun, yes, brutish fun, yes, not his cup of tea fun, yes, but fun nonetheless. He took his time picking up his flail, allowing Glenny time to conjure a new weapon.

The rogue, throughout all of the sparring, had focused on molding his weapons like Floe hinted at. He wasn’t sure if she knew of his power or if her wording was nothing more than a figure of speech, but regardless, his Sightless King power responded well to the molding.

But as he tried to form his newest creation, something just wasn’t right.

“Molding… molding… Clay? Pottery?” he mumbled under his breath.

Pottery, ceramics in particular, were brittle. They broke under slight force, no doubt being useless in a real battle. He pushed at his power with that in mind, the crimson construct fracturing under the slight pressure. He frowned, finding the weapons aspect exactly as he imagined.

He needed something more, something stronger, something as malleable as clay, something like… like…

Almost face palming, Glenny grit his teeth. Metal, white hot metal. Metal fresh from a forge, ready to cool and harden after being formed to shape and tempered.

Envisioning a weapon in his mind’s eye, Glenny focused on his power forging the power in his hands. He mentally hammered, chiseled, sharpened, and polished his handiwork, setting it into reality. The familiar crimson power took to his wishes, forming a simplistic replica of the flail Leland held.

Oddly enough, the red spiked ball was bursting with heat – like it had just been taken out of a forge.

“Wow!” Leland whispered before clearing his throat. “That’s cool and all, Glenny, but I’m not sparring against you if you are going to use that. I’ve already been burned once today.”

Glenny laughed.