Lorin
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Chapter 47: Clubhouse
🕑 Added 2025-07-28 15:07:16 +0000 UTCI stood up and dusted off my pants. My clothes had held up remarkably well despite me exploding myself multiple times. Well, my pants and armor had in any case. One of my shirt’s arms had ripped clean off, revealing the entirety of my charred hand.
The more I got used to it, the less naked I felt when it was out in the open. I’m sure that would change as I returned to earth again. Unnaturally black arms weren’t very normal there despite Blessed becoming more and more common.
Maybe the amount had increased even more now, Sera hinted at something having happened back home. I didn’t worry about it since there was no point in it, besides, around half the people I actually cared about were here with me. The priest was the only one left, and seeing as he was part of The Order, I didn’t worry about his well being. If he was half as fierce as his sermons then he’d be a force to fear all on his own.
I tugged at the handle of the hatch, and felt it give way immediately. Large swathes of dust fell into the cracks revealing themselves as I heaved the huge slab of marble out of its socket. Once again, I lamented the fact that nothing in this place was easy. It all came with a cost of either labour or suffering. I didn’t particularly enjoy either of the two, but both had begun to grow on me. Maybe no suffering as much as fighting against the struggle, but still.
Decrepit old steps of stone led down a winding staircase. I threw one last glance at the barred up door. If the others didn’t make it then me charging back after them won’t make a difference.
I sighed.
My heroics couldn’t even guarantee their survival. I didn’t know why I felt such a strong need to help them, I shouldn’t care so much about people I just met. Sure, Nea grew on me with each day, and Samuel reflected parts of myself that I’d rather not exist at all anymore. Even John had turned out to be a pretty good guy after he stopped threatening me every time we bumped into each other.
I groaned and rubbed my eyes.
Maybe I have grown fond of them… Just a little.
I stepped into the dark and lowered the hatch into its grooves above me, watching as the light from the oratory faded away, leaving me in complete darkness. Not one of those unsettling magical ones, but a normal dark, a comforting one.
I pressed onward, thoughts still occupied. I didn’t usually get attached to people, not since I lost my family. Joanna and the priest had been the exception to that. It was odd to feel myself forming ties to other people again, after all these years chasing solitude.
The gnawing feeling of not remembering my mother’s name made itself known again. I’d gladly offer up the humanity of my other hand for the power, or other parts of my body—but my memories… I’d rather they stayed intact. Without them I wouldn’t be… me.
I shook away the thoughts again, though they still pressed down on my subconscious like an anvil, ever inescapable. Without Sera, I wouldn’t figure it out. She held the answers I most needed, and she was indisposed doing whatever it was that she was doing. I’d make sure to give her a piece of my mind when she returned.
The sound of my steps bounced against the walls in a nigh eternal series of echoes. Down below, a slight flickering yellow light cut through the monotone darkness. I sighed in relief, and hurried my steps, still using the wall to my right as support.
As I stepped into the light fully, my eyes widened.
“Fuck,” I spat and loosened my collar while biting my thumb nail.
Another door. The keys that usually clattered inside my bag had been lost in the mayhem above. I cupped my hands, “Please. Just this one time,” I prayed and gently tugged at the round handle.
I barely believed my ears as the clicking sound of the locking mechanism leaving its little nest reached me. The door opened with a loud protest, amplified by the tube shaped walls leading back to the oratory.
I snuck a glance inside while pressing my body close to the wall, ready to bolt if that should be needed. But that wasn’t the case. I stepped inside hurriedly and eased the door shut behind me, trying to be as quiet as possible.
I took a look around, there was a large round table, surrounded by lavish chairs with bright coloured seats of cushioned wool. In each of the chairs there sat a skeleton. Not even the slightest piece of humanity remained on their bones. It almost looked fake.
Dark militaristic clothes draped over their emaciated figures. In the far end, on top of what almost looked like a throne, the apparent leader had met their demise. They somehow managed to stay upright even in death, their spines still sitting upright as if in proud rebellion of death itself.
Emptied shelves and racks lined the walls, coffers had been opened in haste and left laying haphazardly on the ground. I had seen many such rooms in the city outside. This was a scene of a hasty retreat, of a desperate attempt at survival. Unlike what I saw outside though, people still remained here. Or the remnants of them did. Whoever they had been, they must have decided to sink with the ship. It made sense too, as their chest all held lustreless medallions, like those officers wear when standing on ceremony.
Runes madly swirled to help me make sense of the place.
Officer’s coat
Rank: Lost
Type: Broken
Description: The coat of a decorated officer whose name is forever lost to the annals of time. The coat is a symbol of status and offers no additional defences. Officer’s don’t often see the frontlines of war, after all.
I clicked my tongue. Figures. They just sent in their young to do the dirty work. Just like back home. Charming.
I chuckled a little, and said in as deep a voice as possible, “War. War never changes.”
I circled the table and walked to the skeleton leader. It wore a coat that didn’t quite match the grandeur of the chair. It was much less ornate, and didn’t have a bunch of medals, only a beautiful round embroidery of a snake eating its tail, surrounded by red petals.
I whistled to myself and dusted off its shoulder. That was the last push needed to send the skeleton falling to the table with a resounding rattle. The coat crinkled into a pile as the flimsy support disappeared from under it.
I coughed and waved away the cloud of dust assaulting my face and read the runes.
Flesh of the Damned
Rank: Whisper
Type: Unbound Armour
Description: The overcoat of a nameless captain, rumoured to have been in charged of the underworld’s dreaded shock infantry. It boasts a complex embroidery, created by the most skilled of craftsmen in recognition of the officer’s value to the cause.
Embroidery: Comfort, Low grade defence
Comfort: The coat adapts to the conditions to make the wearer as comfortable as possible. Able to repair itself by borrowing the user’s magic.
Low grade defence: Stab and cut resistant. Minor padding to lessen blunt impacts.
I didn’t hesitate and pricked my finger with the dagger, smearing a small line of blood onto the dark coat. The dark of it faded and became smoke, seeping into my body. I checked my list of accolades with a satisfied smirk, and summoned the coat. It manifested, draping itself over my shoulders, unbuttoned. Just how I liked it. I hummed a short tune and felt the effect of comfort activate. The stuffy air suddenly felt cool and invigorating. I took a deep breath and smiled. Nice.
A worktable stood next to the wall behind the leader’s chair. I sat down on the worn stool and inspected the tools hanging on hooks jutting out of the wall. Pliers, hammers, brushes. No tubes though. I sighed and pulled out my wand, laying it across the table and inspecting the broken barrel.
It was a real shame that the cost of using the old weave didn’t only rob me of my memories, it just had to go and break my weapon too. I grabbed a plier from the wall, no runes formed in the air. A normal tool, huh.
I half figured all the artisans in this place were of some renown, especially if even the old cobbler could leave behind accolades of such power.
The metal handles of the tool were rough and had seen plenty of use. Despite the worn nature of them all, the workstation had been kept remarkably clean. It was a real mystery why the things hadn’t even become lost, or broken. Or whatever the fuck that meant.
I used the plier to try and bend the bent barrel of my wand back in place, I groaned and slipped more than once before I saw the barrel finally bend to my will. I let out a jubilant exhale, and let myself be consumed by the mundane task.
I’d never been much for tinkering and such, but fixing things always seemed to put me in a good mood.
Crack.
“Fuck!” I exclaimed, and stared wide eyed at the large piece of tubing that came loose. I let go of the pliers, and let it slam against the table as I leaned back and rubbed my eyes.
Not ideal.
It was just my luck too. Trying to fix something only to end up with it more broken. If only they kept a forge or a fire in this damn place then bending the metal wouldn’t be such a foolish notion.
I was just about to give up and stand up when it hit me. If the old weave had the power to bend reality to its will, then metal should be a piece of cake. Only, I didn’t want to lose more of my memories or break something else, like my armour.
I leaned forward over the table, resting on my elbows and knitting my eyebrows in thought. I channeled magic through my charred hand at let the electric buzz of the weave brush against my fingertips.
Last time I swore I would give whatever it took. This time lets alter the deal a little to limit the losses.
I drummed my finger against my lower lip, then clenched my jaw and steeled myself.
“I swear that if… uh…” I let my words trail off. Last time I swore that I would give the veil—which I unknowingly addressed as a you—whatever it took. That didn’t really strike me as shaping the weave like Sera told me.
There had to be another way. I was just too stupid or blind to see it. Pledging to whatever it was that helped me last time wasn’t even close to shaping the weave. It was another thing altogether. I pressed my palm into my face and groaned.
“What the fuck am I doing…”
I had no direction, I was stuck in a hidden room without knowing what happened to the others, and still not a word from Sera. At least things couldn’t get worse.
I got up and paced around the room. Reading whatever runes I came across. The other officers were much the same as the first. All wore ceremonial coats with no other use than looking fancy. I suppose they wanted to go out looking their best. I couldn’t relate to that at all. If I knew death was coming then I sure as shit would fight until I dropped. A heroic end, a cool one. Not at all like the one I was close to seeing before pledging to Sera. I couldn’t imagine a worse ending than that.
“Fuck it,” I sighed and went back to the worktable, channeling magic through my fingers.
Sera told me to shape the weave, so that’s what I would do. Old weave, new weave. Everything. Come what may.
