Chapter 208: Archery Practice

A/N: Thanks for those who pointed out the continuity error with Calen's scouting mission and the timing of his return to town. I've made three edits to chapters 206 and 207 to fix it. The changes are minor and don't affect the flow of events or the plot.

1) I added a little intro dialogue to the scene in 206 where Calen suggests Ali learn potions to have him mention the dungeon he scouted.

2) In 207, I removed Ali's brief mention that Calen was still on his scouting mission - instead he's away in town on errands.

3) In 207, when Calen suggests to the group that they might tackle the undead dungeon next, it's no longer a surprise to the whole group - he mentions that he's already shared the info with Ali.

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A note on Titles – a title is awarded for an exceptional achievement, but the rules for what warrants a Title seem convoluted and somewhat arbitrary. New titles are being discovered constantly, and for most, they appear to be unique and impossible to duplicate.

Earning a title is quite rare, at least until platinum rank, so most adventurers do not consider the implications, but being aware of the traps and pitfalls early is quite important. Not all titles are good. Most provide a permanent enhancement of some kind but beware of earning a despised or prohibited title – once you earn a title, you are forced to display one. If your only title is Mass Murderer or Grand Heist, you may find yourself unwelcome to enter almost any city in the kingdom until you earn a second title and switch the display to a more socially acceptable one.

Some of the more common and better-understood titles are listed in Appendix G, along with the typical requirements for unlocking them.

- Excerpt from The Adventurer’s Guide, Third Edition

Calen

Calen left Malika in the marketplace hunting for tanners and leatherworkers who might want to buy all the dragon scales and demonic hides he had skinned and made his way to the Pathfinders Guild.

“Half-human.”

He frowned, deliberately trying to ignore the whisper as he passed by. He knew he stood out as an anomaly in Ciradyl – one of the very few half-elves – but the whispers, surprised glances, and occasionally hostile glares set him on edge. It was worse than Myrin’s Keep.

Half-human. The elves called him that, while the humans called him ‘half-elf’. It was truly a sad commentary on both humans and elves that they universally referred to him by the race they liked the least – an outsider to both.

He sighed, pushing the depressing thoughts out of his mind as he opened the door to the Pathfinders Guild. Lyeneru treated him like a person, and so did Nendir. And in fact, most of the elves he had met in Ciradyl had been polite and civil with him. He wished he could simply ignore the occasional hateful or shocked glances.

He walked up to the front desk, manned by an elegantly dressed elf who looked up with a welcoming smile on his face – a smile that didn’t immediately vanish upon seeing him.

“Is Lyeneru available?” he asked.

“She’s out, and I don’t have information on when she will return,” the receptionist answered. “Calen Avery, right? I do have a note for you from her.” He shuffled around in a filing drawer and returned with an envelope with his name written on it in flowing elvish script.

“Thank you,” he said, grateful for the friendly face and civil manner. The letter simply had a list of recommendations for training classes and lectures for him to consider whenever he arrived at the guild – which was actually quite thoughtful. His eyes scanned the list, picking an advanced archery class with Nendir which was due to start on the forest floor in a quarter of an hour.

Calen flared his wings and began the long descent through the giant Ciradyl tree branches to the forest floor far below, taking great care to keep a respectful distance from the pillar of shifting light streaming upward from the Well of Souls.

Like Myrin’s Keep, the majority of Ciradyl’s population had low-level or mundane classes, but with the vastly larger population of the city, there were quite a remarkable number of flying people with various forms of wings, levitating constructs, or magic platforms. But even despite the traffic, the class was rather easy to find.

As he walked the final few minutes along the soft springy ground, his thoughts turned to the advanced archery class with mounting anticipation. Last time he had taken a class with Nendir he had received some clear pointers on the path toward true mastery, and Nendir had even helped him unlock his multishot advancement. Calen had been practicing every time he drew his bow, comparing his technique to his crystal-clear memory of Nendir’s efficient and elegant mastery. He had brought his old Hunter’s Bow just in case Nendir wanted a cleaner way to compare his technique improvements. His Howling Hellfire Bow was obnoxiously noisy and wreathed in hellfire most of the time he used it, making it less than ideal for receiving instruction.

This must be the spot, he thought, seeing a small gathering of elves in a clearing. Two of the elves stood a little apart from the others dressed in expensive leather armor and conversing together, while the others stood around as if deferring to them. Several of the elves were higher level than he could even identify – which, given how much Explorer had progressed, surprised him.

He raised his eyes and fixed his posture just like Lyeneru had suggested, and made his way over to join them, deliberately ignoring his rising anxiety. Toward the outer edge of the group, a hand waved at him, accompanied by a friendly smile. Coria. He immediately recognized Nendir’s daughter from his lessons last time and he smiled and waved back.

“Are you lost, half-human?” The contempt dripping from the words spoken in heavily accented common ripped his attention away from Coria’s friendly greeting.

He turned to find the two expensively dressed elves glaring at him, the taller one looking at him like he had something distasteful in his mouth, the rings on his hand making metallic clinking noises as it came to rest on the hilt of an ornate shortsword clipped to his belt. In the periphery, he saw several of the other elves shifting or looking away awkwardly.

Despite the occasional looks of hostility he had received on his way here, he was ill-prepared for quite that level of direct hatred and contempt, and he stumbled to a halt, eliciting harsh laughter from the elf’s companion.

“I…” he gathered himself. “I’m here for the archery class.” He had no reason to be embarrassed or afraid, he had been invited after all.

“Go away, your kind is not welcome here,” the elf said, earrings of the highborn elven nobility sparkling in the dappled forest light as he turned his back on Calen.

Calen was not exactly familiar with the trappings of noble rank, but this elf was displaying a substantial number of expensive earrings and jeweled piercings, signifying that he was being picked on by someone of significant social status. Someone who wore his rank like a robe and clearly expected deference, even boot-licking, from those he considered his inferiors.

Sighing inwardly, he simply waited, choosing not to reply. He was rather used to awkwardness, and so he simply allowed the silence to draw out until the elf rounded on him again, anger flushing his face.

“I told you to leave! Do you not know who I am?”

“No, I have no idea who you are,” he answered, keeping his emotions level. Unfortunately, this elf was one of the ones he was unable to identify, and it was looking increasingly likely that he would have to abandon the lesson if he wanted to avoid provoking a fight.

The anger on the elf’s face turned darker, and more furious, and he was about to say something when Nendir suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the group. Calen had not known the master archer had a stealth skill, but that was hardly unusual.

“I invited him, Malanior. Stand down.”

The elf wheeled, turning angrily to Nendir. “But he’s a half-human!” Spoken in Elvish, it was stated as if the mere fact of his birth was more than enough to disqualify him.

“He is a Pathfinder,” Nendir responded, also in Elvish. “If you have a problem with Calen, go take it up with his mentor.”

“Very well. I will have his mentor expelled from the Guild,” Malanior said.

“Oh, I very much doubt that,” Nendir said, chuckling musically. It was the first time Calen saw uncertainty flicker across the haughty elf’s face. It also didn’t escape his notice that a couple of the quiet elf students cast surreptitious glances filled with curiosity in his direction. Coria hid a sudden grin beneath a rather obviously faked cough.

“Enough time has been wasted,” Nendir said. “I’d like to see all of you shoot.” His brusque attitude clearly dismissed the previous conversation as he began his class in exactly the same fashion as the last one. “One at a time,” he said, pointing to a row of magical targets that had most certainly not been present when Calen had first arrived. He was suitably impressed that Nendir had been able to place them without him even noticing.

One at a time, each elf stepped forward drawing powerful enchanted longbows or recurve bows and shooting several times each under the intense scrutiny of the master archer. Each student got a few personalized pointers and Calen took careful note of each issue and the remedy, grateful that Ali had taught him Elvish. Without exception they were all extremely gifted – even Malanior was way better than he was, but he wasn’t the best – that honor still went to the low-leveled Coria. It surprised him that she was still so low with such good technique, but she had only gained a single level since his last visit.

When it was finally his turn, he retrieved his Hunter’s Bow and stepped forward to the mark. As he nocked an arrow, he heard Malanior snicker behind him.

“He can’t even afford a real bow.” The faux whisper was pitched loud enough for him to hear easily, and the fact that it was spoken in Common just made it abundantly clear that he was being intentionally taunted.

Calen tuned him out, but he couldn’t quite quell the annoyance and frustration of having someone so blatantly hate him. He released his arrow, and smoothly nocked a second one, focusing on getting his technique perfect. Fortunately, he had been practicing so often under pressure that it had become muscle memory, and he was able to execute his technique without the inner turmoil of his emotions interfering. It was certainly much easier than shooting effectively with the Mark of Prey curse and a room full of demons.

“Good. You’ve been practicing,” Nendir said.

“Thank you, teacher,” Calen said, deliberately answering him in Elvish, using a term of respect reserved for a master teacher or mentor.

Nendir’s face showed a small smile as he smoothly swapped to Elvish without comment. “When you release your bowstring, hold your fingers a little more like this. You’re catching the string and losing a little power. Also, when you focus on your target, think about relaxing the muscles in your jaw. Coria does it well, you can use her as a reference while you try getting the hang of it.”

She gave him a quick smile which turned to a frown when Malanior scowled at her, but she still turned and demonstrated her technique for him to watch. It took a few tries for him to begin to get the hang of it, and she gave him a few tips, her voice soft and pitched to not carry far.

Nendir stopped by several times to guide his progress further, dispensing advice equally to everyone. Calen made a point of memorizing the feedback he offered Coria because he would likely need exactly that information as he improved.

“Ok, enough target practice for today. Everyone, follow me,” Nendir said, calling a halt to the shooting as he led them all through the forest and out of the city itself.

“There are a lot of boars in this area,” Nendir said, finally stopping several miles outside of the elven city. “We’re going to hunt. For those of you who have not done this before, the goal is to bring down a boar before you run, allowing me to observe you shooting under pressure. You two have done this before, go round up a couple of boars and bring them back while I explain to the rest of them. Calen, you’ll be up first.”

Malanior and his companion nodded, disappearing into the woods.

“The boars are around level forty, so you should be able to kill one before they reach you,” Nendir said, but his eyes briefly flickered to Calen’s Hunter’s Bow before continuing. “Don’t get yourself killed though, there is no shame in running if you have to.”

Calen nodded and stepped up to the spot facing the trail, holding his bow ready. He focused on controlling his breathing and relaxing his muscles, trying to imagine he was about to fight a boss with his friends, instead of being watched and critiqued by a master.

There was a dull rumbling, and the ground began to shake beneath his feet, the sound quickly growing louder and louder until the very trees were shaking. Two lithe elven forms broke from the trees, sprinting fast, and a few moments later the boars crashed onto the trail following with loud squeals and grunts as they charged. But instead of just a couple, the boars kept pouring from the forest in waves, until a horde of massive Bristletusks were bearing down on him with the momentum of a sharp-tusked avalanche.

“Watch out!” Malanior yelled, and then right as he got close, he locked eyes with Calen, smirked, and both he and his companion vanished, leaving Calen to face the entire horde by himself.

Calen took a deep breath to settle his racing heart and summoned a gold coin to his hand.

Lyeneru

Lyeneru flew rapidly through the trees keeping her fire mana in check so that she wouldn’t inadvertently set anything alight as she passed, as she scanned the ground, searching for Nendir and his archery class.

Her meeting with the troll Tol and Nathaniel Sunstrider had been troubling. The Telim Gor delegation Tol’zerath had sent to Aman Rak had not been heard from since they had departed, and all scrying attempts had failed. It was as if the entire city of Aman Rak had vanished off the face of the continent, and she shuddered to think of what kind of force could wipe out the powerful troll nation without leaving so much as a warning.

Force, guile or treachery? She could not stop chewing it over. Impossible, except for what I’ve seen…

Her eyes latched onto a cloud of dust, and she accelerated, her wings thrumming with power as she flew. Down in a clearing below she finally spotted them. Nendir shone like a beacon of mana amid the trees despite his casual effort to conceal it. Down on the trail stood Calen, his magic and power grown remarkably since his last visit. But out ahead of him two elves sprinted his way and suddenly the trail filled with Bristletusk Boars. The two elves vanished with puffs of mana and stamina, cloaking their presence from those with less powerful perception skills as they sidestepped the oncoming crash of monsters.

They just trained the boars onto him deliberately. She frowned, glancing at Nendir. The master archer’s bow suddenly vanished, replaced with one she had only ever seen him wield a handful of times.

At that moment, she realized that nothing about this scene was planned. Instantly, her bow was in her hands, string drawn to her cheek, surging with power, but she paused at the same time Nendir did.

A gold coin? The ancient Dal’mohran gold coin glinted as it flipped end over end, rising beside Calen until it was level with his head, and then it vanished in a puff of extraordinary mana – a phenomenon she had witnessed several times on their Death Knight hunt. In the intervening moments, while the coin flipped through the air, Calen had retrieved and downed a mana potion.

He’s not running.

A mote of bright light rose circling above his head, and she frowned, puzzled. What is he thinking? But the glow in the mote of light intensified, pulsing and sharing power with the nearby frozen spectators.

That’s not the same underpowered skill. As she thought that, Calen’s plain wooden bow vanished, replaced by a dark, wicked-looking giant recurve bow, brimming with the magic of powerful enchantments. The bow flickered and an ugly black flame erupted, wreathing it with fire. Calen’s mana ignited, glowing with incandescent brilliance, like a miniature sun facing down the onrushing horde.

Four arrows flew, followed instantaneously by four more, and then another volley as the bow screamed – a demonic howl that ripped through the forest and tore at her ears even from this distance. As the first volley hit, the arrows exploded in a rippling cascade of detonations of intense white light wreathed with the black flame of hellfire.

She would have expected the barrage to end after a volley or two, but Calen didn’t let up for a full thirty seconds before his brilliant glowing magic faded and his smoldering bow lowered. Nothing moved but the slowly clearing cloud of dust, and a lone stricken tree collapsing across the path, its trunk ripped to splinters by the devastating explosions and hellfire.

Nendir’s legendary bow vanished, replaced by the one he usually used in public.

Her eyebrows leaped. He’s stronger. Calen seemed nothing like the nervous boy who had first asked to accompany her on her hunt. She identified him as she flew the remainder of the distance.

Archer [Rift Warden] – Half-Elf – level 63 (Light).

[Advanced Identify: Protégé]
Name: Calen Avery
Class: Archer of Light
Race: Half-Elf
Level: 63
Affinity: Light
Titles: Rift Warden
Patron Deity: The Wanderer
Affiliations: Pathfinders Guild, Myrin’s Keep Adventurers Guild

Sixty-three. It seemed her protégé had seen a lot of combat. More than was likely smart or safe – certainly vastly beyond the official recommendations of the Pathfinders Guild. Just like me, she thought, and then her eyes halted, arrested by the sight of his title.

Rift Warden. It was abundantly clear they needed to have a conversation. But first, there was an important matter to take care of. She landed in the clearing behind the elves, cushioning the impact with her knees and ankles, dispelling her wings, and arriving in time to hear the tail end of Nendir chastising the two elves who’d dumped the horde of monsters on Calen.

“But he’s a half-human, nobody cares,” came the voice of the unrepentant Malanior.

“Nendir. My apologies for interrupting your class,” Lyeneru interjected, more than a little annoyed to see Malanior had not shed his narrow-minded prejudice. A failing that could easily have cost several lives – something Nendir had clearly recognized. If it had just been Calen, he could easily have whisked him out of the way in time with his wings, or his regular bow could have likely killed all the boars quickly. But his own daughter had been standing behind Calen, making him pull out a bow that would likely have leveled the entire forest for miles around.

“Lyeneru,” he said, offering only the slight bow of respect among equals that she had had to insist on so many times. Genuflection and deep bowing did not sit well with her at the best of times, especially from someone who had earned her respect and life debt more times than she could remember. She cared nothing that he lacked a noble lineage.

“Lyeneru!” Malanior interrupted. “Excellent timing. Nendir refuses to listen to reason. Perhaps you can have this half-breed removed from the Pathfinders Guild, so we do not have to lower the pride and quality of our organization.”

Lyeneru raised her eyebrow at his impassioned outburst. Is he really this stupid? While noble lineage certainly didn’t convey automatic respect or even intelligence, she was grateful that this idiot wasn’t representative of his kind.

“Nendir, I warned you about being too tolerant. Now you’re going to have to deal with this mess properly.” She kept her voice from getting harsh, out of respect for him, but she had warned Nendir many times about Malanior’s arrogance, among other similar issues over the years. He always had a softness for granting people too many second chances and seeing them in the best possible light.

“It seems that you were right,” Nendir agreed with a grimace.

Malanior glanced back and forth between the two of them with surprise flickering across his features. He was about to speak when he was interrupted by a voice from the side.

“Stop being so dense, Malanior.” Coria’s soft voice and harsh words cut his response. “Everyone has been talking about Lyeneru inducting a new member to the guild after so many years, and how they’re a half-human. Can you not see that Calen is her protégé?”

Calen

Calen had to admit he enjoyed the sight of Malanior going pale and stammering, his arrogant confidence shattered. It was good to have the support of Lyeneru, Nendir, and even Coria, but what had just happened had carried a significant level of peril and he had no idea what Nendir was going to do to discipline Malanior – if he could even do anything to a noble.

“So, how is Calen doing?” Lyeneru asked, addressing Nendir and more or less ignoring him.

“He listens well and obviously practices hard. His technique isn’t quite as good as Coria’s yet, but he’s progressing quickly. He struggles with confidence and standing up for himself, but as you no doubt saw, he has no difficulty facing a threat head-on.”

Calen stood awkwardly beside them, listening as they discussed him. Lyeneru had not yet acknowledged him.

“He learned Elvish, which I respect as a good choice, but I’m not so sure I like his choice of bow,” Nendir said.

“The bow seems strong,” Lyeneru said. Turning to Calen finally, she asked, “May I see it?”

Calen silently handed the bow to her, watching her eyes widen almost imperceptibly. Before she handed it to Nendir, who examined it before handing it back.

“I don’t approve of hellfire, but it is a very good bow,” Nendir answered. “May I ask why you didn’t use it earlier?”

“It’s very noisy,” Calen answered. Likely it would have annoyed the entire class, not just Malanior. “Also, I wanted feedback on my technique, not the power the bow gives me.”

Calen didn’t miss the flicker of approval in the master archer’s eyes.

“Where did you get it?” Lyeneru asked.

“I won it from a demon hunter elemental in a fire dungeon under Myrin’s Keep.” Before coming to train in Ciradyl, they had cleared the entire dungeon several times – with the obvious exception of the Corrupted Fire Drake at the end – collecting several bows and an enormous collection of hides and essences.

“Stamina leech, and experience growth. I wish I had a similar bow when I was at your level. It’s too bad it’s a dungeon drop rather than a crafter-made item, I think a lot of Pathfinders could use something like that,” Lyeneru said.

Calen retrieved a second identical bow from his ring. “Aliandra made this one,” he said, handing it to her. “You would know better who could make good use of it.” He deliberately omitted referring to the fact that Ali was a dungeon in public, knowing that Lyeneru would understand how it had been done, and how she could get more if she needed. The surprise on her face was much more obvious this time.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your class, Nendir,” Lyeneru said.

“No problem. I think class is over for the day. You should talk with Calen about leveling too fast, and about that title of his,” Nendir said, and then turned to the rest of the students. “Class is dismissed. Malanior, come with me, we need to talk.”

“You do not have the authority to punish me,” Malanior declared.

“And your father does not have the power to stop me from dragging you out into the forest and putting an arrow through your heart. Now come.” Nendir’s voice snapped with sudden steel, and Malanior’s face blanched as he scrambled to follow the master archer striding off into the woods.

In moments, Calen found himself standing alone in the clearing with Lyeneru, worrying about Nendir’s parting words.

“Rift Warden,” Lyeneru said, pausing for a long moment. “I think you had better tell me the story of how you earned that title.”

“It’s a little embarrassing,” Calen admitted. “The demon slayer elemental was guarding a rift to an abyssal realm. After we killed it, we all wanted to explore, so we went through the rift.” It sure sounded irresponsible now that he was telling the story to Lyeneru Silverleaf, the legendary pathfinder, and his mentor. “There we encountered a dungeon called the Lair of the Demon God, with a threat level beyond my skills to assess. It lured us in and then attacked us with mind magic, a three-mark Pit Lord named Maalgaroth, and several thousand demons in a dungeon-break that pursued us through the rift and all the way back to Ali’s library.”

“A named Pit Lord? Are you certain? How are you still alive?”

“Yes. Just being in its presence was enough to corrupt us. Fortunately, the rift is too small to allow something that large to cross into our realm, the only monsters that followed were the smaller demons.”

“How did you stop them from wiping out the town?”

“We made a stand at the library doors because it was a good bottleneck, and Ali summoned a double raid boss with multiple poison domain magics and tons of healing.” He quickly shared the details of all the monsters, the bosses, the dungeon assessment, and the corruption of the Pit Lord.

Lyeneru remained silent for several minutes, digesting the information he had just shared.

“Well, that’s terrifying,” she said. “It’s not enough that we’ve lost an entire troll delegation, and now we have to worry about demon incursions from another realm.”

“What do you mean you lost a troll delegation?” The statement had set the cold certainty of premonition settling in his gut. The troll nations were just south of the vanished towns he had been sent to scout.

“Tol’zerath – the chief of the Telim Gor kingdom – had a divination about the rival kingdom of Aman Rak falling to a horde of undead and a cloud of miasma the likes of which nobody has seen in an age. Now their delegation to Aman Rak cannot be contacted. The guild is panicking because Aman Rak, Meere Kada, and Telim Gor are just about the last line of defense before Ciradyl, but to make matters worse, Aman Rak is the only location of a non-hostile shrine that supports class evolution. Losing it would be a disaster.”

“Um…” Her description of the divination was a rather uncanny match for what he had seen in the south. “I was sent to scout the southern forests at the edge of the kingdom of New Daria. Several villages and a merchant caravan have vanished. When I arrived, I discovered a vast rogue dungeon that hadn’t been there several weeks before, death affinity, filled with skeletal wyverns, wights, and ghouls. There were clouds of miasma several miles tall…”

“A dungeon? Are you certain?”

He simply shared the dungeon identification with her.

“Shit. We need to get to Aman Rak immediately. If a dungeon takes over the kingdom, everything to the south is in danger, including Ciradyl.”

“Should we tell the Pathfinders?”

“That’s the problem, every team is out fighting. There has been a surge of undead sightings.”

“I can get my friends,” he said. “We’re not a fully-fledged Pathfinder team, but they’re a good team.”

“Get them. Meet me at the guild as soon as you can. I need to warn the council without delay.”

And with that she shot off with a thunderclap, trailing fire behind her blazing wings. Calen stared after her for a second, rattled by her reaction. Then, he gathered himself and shot into the air. No time to waste.

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