Asherons Call: November Rollout Up!

Ardry sat cross-legged on the hard stone floor, backlit by the purple glow of the portal behind him. His leather armor was thoroughly riddled with cuts and puncture wounds and sodden with his own blood. He scrawled a hurried note in his journal.

Passed through second portal and second school. Acolytes training with bows. Got good chance to practice the "Technique of Wind and Smoke" that Adso passed on to me. Acolytes still managed to perforate me. Must ask him for further practice in those techniques, if he will indulge me. Otherwise I may return to this school and engage in another mutual practice session with some killers in training.

He closed the journal and slid it back into the large pouch at his side. His wounded hand left another sticky patch of half-dried blood on the journal cover. He'd at least been prudent enough to purchase a journal bound in dark, rich leather, so that the dozens of blood stains on the cover merely served as interesting texture rather than the grisly monuments of his regular punishment at the hands of creatures who objected to his scouting missions.

Ardry stood up slowly, wincing at the pain in his joints and muscles. He'd done his best to patch up the multiple wounds he had absorbed from the sword-wielding acolytes he'd first encountered, but the rain of arrows he'd endured in the second school had left deeper, more painful wounds that still throbbed long after the health potions and healing kits had done their work. A patch of blood-drenched leather fell from his cuirass, and he stared at it, numb.

"Next time I'll just ask Uncle Aliester if there are any more masks he'd like me to pick up," he muttered. "Could have gone on more mask-collection duty, but no, I had to try and curry favor with Jina, just because I thought that would get me a meeting with her. Even chasing snakes and ghosts in swampy holes is better than being an archery target..."

His gaze wandered around the room, and he saw again the shrine and the bloodied medallion he'd left lying on top of it. Somehow that sight brought him back to himself. Realizing how foolish he had been to speak out loud in this complex, he paused to focus himself. He used some of the new breathing techniques he'd been taught, pushed the pain out of his mind, and steeled himself to walk through the next portal.

When the familiar lurching of portal travel ended, he found himself in a situation he'd run into twice before: he was tense and silent in an empty room while acolytes trained in the next room. He listened to the shouting and battle cries. He looked around again to make sure he was alone, then quickly opened his journal.

Sitting by training room in third school. This one, ominously, called "School of Breath". Cannot understand what they are shouting. Not sure if it is sound distortion or if they are speaking a language I can't understand. Doesn't sound at all like the commands that Masters of Storms and Wind were shouting at their acolytes. Will have to expose myself to risk if I want to get better perspective.

Again he packed away the journal and dropped to a stealthy crouch. He slowly crept around the corner and tried to minimize his profile, to blend against the stone wall. The rooms in this complex were not well lit, and the dancing shadows that were cast by the acolytes in the training room helped greatly in his effort to remain inconspicuous. As he crept closer, he at least became sure that the acolytes were not speaking any language that he recognized. He also saw that they were not training with swords or bows. No, these Acolytes of Breath were learning combat techniques that Ardry found much more menacing. He began to back up from his half-hidden position to retreat to the safety of the other room, when he heard a faint noise behind him. He sighed softly to himself. He knew what that sound was.

The acolytes were not as accomplished in the arts of stealth, yet, as some of their more completely trained brethren that Ardry had encountered. He'd heard the approach of the patrolling acolyte behind him, a second before the acolyte noticed him. In another situation, with the techniques he'd learned recently, he might have been able to parlay that kind of advantage into a quick and unnoticed kill. Not so here, not when he was stuck between one acolyte on patrol and a room full of acolytes training to be better killers.

A brisk, clipped word from the patrolling acolyte caught the attention of the ones in the training room. As one, their dark eyes, not yet covered by the black mask worn by their masters, went to their brother in the corridor, and then to the sneaking spy that their brother had caught. As one, eight acolytes shifted to fighting stance, and the air in the subterranean room hissed as they exhaled at once.

Ardry groaned out loud. "I should have stayed in Ayan and accepted Ulgrim's challenge. That's what I should have done."