Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

Sunday listened to her words. The smell of the drink alone was enough to make his muscles release some of the tension of undeath. His mind slowed down, and whatever thoughts survived the wonderful aroma became clearer.

“It smells of… honey, and green tea, and citrus. Very spicy too,” Sunday said. His nose was working overtime, but the bouquet of smells was too much for him to separate and categorize properly.

“Take a good sip now,” Riya urged, and waited with her glass raised, never blinking, never skipping a single one of his movements. Vyn was standing to the side, watching in quiet fascination. And so were all the other undead in the room. And the humans. The whole tavern was taken by a deep sense of respectful anticipation as if there was some understanding Sunday was not privy to. Was taking his first drink as an undead that important? The patrons on the second floor had left their conversations and were leaning on the railings too, as if to absorb even a hint of what Sunday was about to experience.

The strangeness of it all wasn’t lost on him, but in this moment he didn’t care. He understood, on some level, just by smelling the strange drink in his hand. It was not simply strange alcohol. Its color had changed a bit now, with a thin rose gold sheen swimming in the ruby liquid.

Sunday finally brought the glass to his lips and drank. It was a mouthful of bliss that made him forget about all he had been through. His tastebuds rejoiced as one by one sweet, bitter, spicy, and all sorts of other flavors he would struggle to name came and went. Whoever had arranged them had created a perfect ensemble.

The tavern’s hall became more colorful too. The breathing of the patrons and the crackling embers in the hearth were music that reverberated deep inside Sunday’s soul. His thoughts were all consumed until there was nothing. In the void left behind, he found himself remembering things no one ever did. It was not people or notable events. He remembered the good mornings when he had slept just right, the first sip of coffee, the soft embrace of a bed after a long day. He remembered the tasty bites and the breaths of clean air that had been such a rarity in the city. He remembered small smiles, small laughs, and even pleasant joy. A piece of candy that had chased the hunger away, or the shining sun that had kissed his skin.

It was the small things that came to him. Things that lifted the day and made color brighter. Things that made life worth living. And things everyone forgot because they were small. Too small in the grand scheme.

It all lasted for a wonderful, blissful moment that stretched to infinity, and then it was gone. Sunday found himself staring at the wall behind Riya, but seeing it for the first time. There was a ball of emotions in his chest, unlike any before it. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve sworn he was about to cry.

His eyes found the barmaid’s own and his mouth opened, but no words came out. There were sighs all around as everyone quietly shifted and reluctantly returned to what they were doing. Had they felt what he had?

Riya gently touched the hand that was holding the glass and lowered it to the bar. Her touch felt good. Comforting. “Undeath is difficult for everyone. We lose much, but we also gain a lot. Strength, longevity, and viewpoints few consider while warm blood still flows within them.” She let go and Sunday found himself trembling. “This drink is special, and this tavern is the only place in the city that carries it. The first sip is unique and unfortunately, it can’t be recreated for many years, and even then it won’t be the same. You should enjoy the rest slowly as it remains a damn fine drink. Each sip in the future, if spaced out properly, will help you remember this moment.”

Sunday finally managed to find his tongue and he looked up from the glass and toward the barmaid. Her scars stood out to him even more now. A story upon a beautiful canvas. “What did it do?” he asked.

Riya gave him a soft smile that was everything in that moment. Sunday was sure he would remember it along with what he had experienced.

“It makes one remember the small joys. Those little things made existence bearable at the right moment at the right time. Its name is aziritija, which means small forgotten joys in some strange old tongue. It is mostly an alchemic creation, aided by spells and wonders beyond me, as are all such similar drinks. Another effect it has is that everyone around gets to experience a hint of what the one tasting it for the first time feels. Even the humans. No one knows why it happens maybe apart from its creators, but it’s a magical thing. We’re all thankful for your patronage today, and we hope you won’t find it offensive that we bathed in your light.”

There were murmurs all around as patrons lifted their glasses toward Sunday. He noticed their gazes and their smiles and returned the nods and smiled back. It was a strange feeling. He couldn’t possibly be mad. Not even a little bit.

An undead came up next to him and clapped him on the shoulder with a heavy hand. He was a large man, dressed in leather armor and bearing many scars of battle. “Death as life, brother,” he simply said in a booming voice, then moved on.

Another few did the same until eventually all the undead had similarly greeted him. They all offered some physical contact, be it a gentle touch, a tap on the shoulder, or a shake of a hand. Through it all, they all repeated the same phrase – death as life.

Riya had taken a step back for the duration of the strange procession, but once it was over, she was back. Her eyes never left him even as he drank another mouthful of the magical drink. It was still wonderfully tasty, and he felt the searing alcohol beneath the flavors this time. Unlike the first sip, however, there was no out-of-body experience.

Sunday exhaled and closed his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said. He meant it. This was much more than a regular drink.

Riya nodded, “Your friend brought you here, so you should thank him too. I guess in a way you already did because you’re the sole reason I haven’t had him thrown out yet,” she said with a wink. “It’s rare to have someone to share the experience, and yours was unique. Almost otherworldly, even for me.”

You have no idea.

Vyn was still sitting further, cradling a large tankard, giving him space. The man had taken care of him in a strange way, possibly out of worry for Sunday’s mental state. He really thought I tried to kill myself by jumping in front of a cart, huh?

“Why did they all say that… Death as life?” Sunday asked.

The barmaid didn’t seem surprised at the question. “Undeath can be confusing, and dangerous, and not just once has led to people becoming monsters. Not physically, although some representatives of our species do have such qualities. It’s a shift of perception of sorts. A gradual moral degradation. After all, we are not human, and we oftentimes lose what is considered inherently human.”

“Such as?”

“Love, compassion, desire to help others, appreciation of life and all it has to offer. That sort of thing,” she leaned closer to him and her voice became a whisper. “Even those born into undeath need a reminder of what’s important. Sometimes even more so.” Her eyes bore into his as if she was trying to tell him something.

Sunday returned her gaze once again, remaining silent and unreadable. They shared a silent smile as she moved to serve a new customer who had patiently waited their turn. Before Sunday knew it Vyn was back next to him.

“How was that, eh? Are you going to throw yourself under any more horses?” he asked. Sunday sensed genuine concern beneath the joking manner in which the man spoke. It caught him a bit off-guard. He found it hard to trust someone he had just met, but it seemed that there were no ulterior motives beneath the goofy smile.

“Well, you already used me to get back in Riya’s good graces, so I might as well end it all,” he joked.

Vyn took a moment before he grinned and his face lit up. He clapped Sunday on the shoulder. “That’s my guy. If you can joke about it, then you’re good. So how was it?”

“Magical.”

“I felt a bit rub off. As if all my worries were forgotten for a moment. I can’t say I’m impatient to taste undeath, but I’m sure looking forward to your guys’ booze.”

“What would happen if you drank it now?”

“Oh, I would die. And it would be painful. Very painful. Like, my insides would rot. And worst of all, I’d probably not rise for my second shot at life.”

They shared a silent moment, cradling their drinks before Riya returned.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

Vyn instantly jumped on the opportunity. “Are you sure you can’t lower—,”

“Two rooms,” Sunday interrupted taking out a few silver pieces. “I’ll be paying his share too. Let’s start with two days.”

Riya raised an eyebrow at that but after a moment of deliberation took the coins offered to her. She held them in her hand as she turned to Sunday. “Only if you find some proper clothes. The Wayward Rat has a reputation to uphold.”

“With such a name, I’ve no doubts.”

Riya chuckled. “I’ll have someone show you to the free rooms once you’re done here. And no fighting!” The last bit seemed aimed mostly at Vyn who looked back innocently. Sunday found it hard to imagine anyone would start a fight after seeing how everyone had come together. And Vyn didn’t seem like the rowdy type.

Death as life, huh? Sunday thought to himself. He hadn’t focused on the fact that he was technically dead. He was here, he had thoughts, and he was experiencing things. That was being alive enough to him.

He took one last drink from the precious liquid and stood up. Vyn seemed to have no intention of turning up so early, but Sunday had had enough. Getting drunk could wait. After bidding his goodbyes he was led up the stairs and to a decently sized room by one of the waitresses. It was a bedroom with a separate smaller space attached, which, to his great pleasure held a steaming bathtub. There wasn’t any sign of running water around, but there were two basins made of something similar to granite. One hot, and one cold. He wasn’t sure how the heat was transmitted but he decided it had something to do with the stone.

The first thing he did was soak in the warm water and relax, scrubbing himself with a piece of damp cloth. He considered exchanging one of the spells he had on his person with one of the Repel Dirt stones, but he was afraid he would damage something. The spells inside of his soul space felt almost a part of him now. At least Phantasmal Fall and Omen of Duality did. The Smash Ball was throwing itself around harmlessly, and he felt that taking it out would only lead to damaging the room he had paid for. He didn’t want to do that, especially now that he had a proper space for himself. No swamp, no plots. Finally, a time to relax.

There was a lot to learn before experimenting further now that he was a mage. Spells didn’t seem as common outside of the depths of the swamp.

With a thought, golden light bathed the small bathroom, and the page unfurled before him.

“Names,” he said. He had a hunch something had changed after his actions in the swamp. It had been a few days now.

Names and Titles

Sunday – a name given to you by a thieving caretaker. It’s unoriginal and dim, but it’s all you have. Perhaps your deeds will make it shine one day. It is known by a select few.

Savage Healer – there’s a story of a stranger who fell from the sky in the vast wetlands resting beneath the Spine of Thorad. A violent healer and savior. His palms fell heavy like a King’s decree and only those suffering his slap would know if it was to bring salvation or punishment.

I wasn’t that violent. Well, maybe a bit. I guess I did go overboard with the chief. More importantly, was the Spine of Thorad the mountain range he had seen looming in the distance from time to time? Exiting the swamp had been quite the descent.

Next, he willed the page to show him his so-called talents. All seemed the same, apart from one new line. Sunday’s eyes widened.

A Fable’s Strength (Fame) – Words float in the wind like autumn leaves and take root in people’s minds. From mouth to mouth they spread like an everchanging disease, and even lies turn into truths as belief shapes them. Stories or rumors of your deeds can grant you a small portion of power, as long as there’s someone to believe them.

*Savage Healer - Your hand falls heavier. Sometimes a slap can bring wellness to its targets.

Wellness? Not that synergy was not good, but were his slaps going to heal now while hurting more? No matter, he was sure he would figure it out with time. It didn’t sound that bad all things considered…

Putting the strangeness of it all to the side for now he pulled out the map. He scoured the revealed areas of the swamp and followed the thin line he and the chief had made through it and up to the plains. There was a gap where Chaos Step had once again activated, but it didn’t seem that large in the grand scheme of things.

I was right. It just activated to throw me in front of the cart. Why though? Was it so I could reach this city, or was there something special about Emiel or Vyn? Are they hiding a secret spell, a power that is mine to grasp, or a poor orphan they plan to sacrifice to the gods…?

He sighed. He would figure it out eventually. Trouble would have to find him. For now, he would relax, and then spend the night figuring out Jishu’s notes and the Black Breath. Getting stronger was something he looked forward to quite a lot.

It felt good to have a proper room.