Cataclysm Rising has been signed by Aethon Books!

Posting Schedule will remain the same for the foreseeable future.

Bardulf examined his new Copper License with a mix of pride and wonder, and turned over the off-bronze card with quiet reverence while staring at the text etched upon it.

‘Bardulf, Tier One Adventurer’.

“{You seem enthralled by that license,}” Achilles said from beside him, and drew Bardulf’s attention once more.

The tall Terran, a revelation Bardulf was still trying to resolve in his mind, was holding a Copper License of his own in his right hand, and seemed as much amused by it as he was pleased to have received it. There was an air of idle disinterest in the way that Achilles held it, as if the License were nice but not overly important.

Given what he’d done to earn it, the juxtaposition seemed strange to Bardulf.

“{It represents success, Achilles.}” He pointed out. “{Or do you prefer Leonidas? You never specified.}”

The revelation about the man’s ‘true’ name had been amusing, given it was a reference to yet another Terran Hero, though Achilles—as Bardulf still thought of him—seemed more exasperated than pleased with such an honorable choice of names. His distaste for his own identity seemed like an affectation of pre-Incursion Terran society that only a native could fully understand.

“{Ace works fine in place of both,}” his new friend said with a sigh. “{Though Ceruviel insists on calling me Achilles, no matter what I say.}”

The fact that Ceruviel Latherian was the Terran’s mentor was yet another shocking revelation that was somewhat more palatable than, say, the fact he was Level Eight and had managed to wipe the proverbial floor with multiple high Tier One combatants. That was a bewildering reality that Bardulf knew their entire incumbent License Class was still struggling to resolve.

“{I suppose she likes how it sounds?}” he half-asked, half-offered as opinion.

“{Such would make sense,}” Achilles said with a sigh that seemed as once-again-exasperated as it was almost fond. “{The Dusk-Lord has a flair for theater, I have found.}”

Once again the man used the archaic, overly formal version of Haelfennyr that had first marked him as a curiosity to Bardulf—and once again, he seemed entirely ignorant of how strange it sounded when coming from the lips of a non-Haelfenn. Achilles spoke like a poet-prince from the annals of Alteran history, complete with grandiose inflection and regal surety.

Where many people used subconsciously up-pitching intonation at the end of their sentences, in some unaware manner of question that demonstrated some kernel of doubt in their own perceptions; Achilles was wholly without such affectation. The man was, in Bardulf’s estimation, possessed of a completely unassailable sense of self. Whatever he’d been through, and it had to be something; it had made him very confident in himself, and stripped away any kernels of doubt over his own authority.

“{What are your plans after this?}” Bardulf asked while stealing a glance at the Dusk-Lord in question, and seeing her conversing quietly with several of the higher-ranking Guild Officials, one of whom appeared to be the Head Dungeon Scout.

Bardulf might have been able to eavesdrop on some of what they were saying, but knew better than to try; Ceruviel Latherian was famous, or perhaps infamous for her temper and low tolerance for fools, and Bardulf had no desire to anger the Duchess of Twilight.

“{I have an appointment to which Ceruviel demands we attend forthwith, and then I intend on traversing to my apartments, whereupon I shall ensconce myself within the warm embrace of my bedsheets.}” Achilles chuckled when he said it, and shook his head while brushing back some of his jet black hair. “{Whilst weariness has not yet claimed my physical self, I am no less mentally exhausted from the tribulations of the day.}”

Once again the odd dialect was laid bare, and once again Bardulf automatically translated the older and more archaic diction into a more modern understanding of Haelfennyr.

When he did, a sudden impulse seized hold of him.

“{Do you have any room in your party, for when you go delving?}”

Achilles raised his eyebrows at the question, and Bardulf momentarily worried he’d overstepped—right up until the Terran laughed warmly, as if Bardulf had made a joke. “{Surely you jest, noble Bardulf! Of course I have a station for you among my retinue. What other soul might deserve the honor more?}” Achilles clapped him on the shoulder firmly. “{Your magnanimity was a welcome change in a land riven by madness, and I would not forsake it so readily!}”

Bardulf smiled when the Terran’s meaning became clear, and inclined his head in thanks. “{It’ll be my pleasure to fight alongside you, ah, Ace. I don’t suppose you’ve given any thought to who else might join us?}”

“{To say it truly, that depends greatly upon the wiles of my enigmatic mentor. The Duchess Latherian is a mercurial Madame, and I would wager she has yet to reveal whatsoever manner of scheme she has concocted for my retinue, wherefore I dare not act absent proper knowledge.}”

Bardulf turned to the Duchess of Twilight again, and nodded thoughtfully. It made sense that Ceruviel would have plans for Achilles’ party, given she was notorious for never taking students. If she had put such an investment in the Terran, it stood to reason—at least in Bardulf’s mind—that the silver-haired military commander would have a plan in place.

“{Fear not, though!}” Achilles proclaimed, and drew back Bardulf’s attention. “{I shall not forget my oath to you, kind Bardulf. Yours shall be the place at my side, and together we shall write our legend among the horrors of a Monster Lair most foul!}”

That was a little harder to parse, but Bardulf understood it after a moment’s thought. Achilles was trying to say that they would make themselves famous in a difficult dungeon. It made sense for the man to be so ambitious, though Bardulf himself felt the need to advise some caution.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

“{After your declaration of Intent toward Synthra, I’d caution you to watch your back on who you select to join us, Ace.}” Bardulf said carefully. “{I understand your confidence, given everything I’ve learned, but that was a bold pronouncement—and Sinalthria’s consent only helped paint an even bigger target on your back, given the implications.}”

To his surprise, Achilles simply waved a hand dismissively at the warning.

“{Synthra is a maiden of cunning and furore, to be sure, but I shall not struggle to conquer her. What concern is there for me, when I know already that parity shall make her mine?}” Achilles smiled at him reassuringly, and patted his own chest indicatively. “{My acquisition of her submission, and subsequent claiming of my spoils, shall be both swift and decisive, worry not.}”

Bardulf almost wanted to open his mouth and ask where in the Hells the man drew the confidence to so easily declare he’d make a Sorceress—let alone a Draconic!—his woman, but thought better of it. There was a suspicion in Bardulf’s mind that perhaps Achilles wasn’t entirely sure of what it was he was actually saying, but the risk that he’d be undermining his new friend’s determination was not worth the possible misunderstanding.

Ceruviel would clear things up, he was sure. It wasn’t his place to do so.

“{I see,}” Bardulf said instead while idly turning the license over in his fingers, “{and what about gear and equipment? Your armor and sword, as fascinating as bonded items are, seem damaged. I noticed it when we first met, too. Are you going to have them repaired?}”

“{I interrogated elder Ceruviel about just such a matter, in fact.}” Achilles said with a nod toward the Duchess, “{and she insisted that such repairs would be forthcoming in time with my own elevation of might. Thus, I shall not worry over much about such trifles as temporal mutability.}”

So the Duchess had told him his level-ups would fix the armor? That seemed relatively consistent with the nature of bound items, especially when it came to Psi-attuned ones.

“{That’s good,}” Bardulf said with a nod. “{At least there’s a plan.}”

There was a whole mystery of nature around such things that he personally couldn’t understand, of course. His Shadow Affinity, Rogue Archetype, Folk Hero Ambition, and Assassin Aspect were synergistic with Psi; but lacked the more esoteric truths of the Affinity.

Of course, then there was also Achilles’ unknown secrets to consider; a topic which had repeatedly given Bardulf pause when he’d taken the time to dwell on it to any great extent.

His [Primal Intuition] had never been wrong about someone, and yet with Achilles, it was almost as if there were two elements to the man that Bardulf couldn’t quite put his finger on. For the vast majority of their time together, the man was everything his sixth sense said was necessary in an ally. He was stoic, brave, courageous, good-natured, ruthless when needed, and demonstrably skilled in the combat arts.

Yet there were times, especially during his match with Synthra, when Bardulf’s [Primal Intuition] changed. It was a phenomenon that he had never experienced, and that alone was enough to make him stay silent on the matter. The feeling he got from Achilles never altered fundamentally, and his instincts still identified him as a worthy ally, but there was a new element often introduced into his intuition that threw Bardulf each time it came to him.

His animalistic senses as a Lycanus often warned him of things like inclement weather, predatory enemies, and the feeling of being watched or followed. With Achilles, those same instincts had said one thing in various ways during his battles, and especially when he’d fought Synthra: Run. Flee. Seek shelter. Weather the coming storm.

The feeling he received was like he were watching the beginnings of an earthquake from its epicenter, a typhoon in the eye of the storm, or a wildfire from the initial spark. It was bewildering and confusing, given both Achilles’ level and his clear Psi Affinity, and yet Bardulf could describe it no other way.

He’d felt some echo of that feeling the first time he’d been in the presence of a True Dragon, but what he felt from Achilles was somehow more pure than that—more ancient, and yet more nascent at the same time.

It was incredibly confusing and until he knew more, Bardulf would keep it to himself.

“{It appears that the tempestuous Duchess is done lollygagging with her sycophants,}” Achilles said in a dry tone that Bardulf interpreted as humor. “{Which means she and I are to depart. It was a genuine pleasure meeting you, Bardulf. I shall come to collect you, here, at the Guild House on the eve of my departure for the wilds.}”

“{I look forward to it!}” Bardulf said with genuine excitement. Whatever mad, crazy, and odd instincts he gleaned from Achilles; he knew that there would be glory in the towering Terran’s wake. That instinct had never faded, and if anything, had only grown more prominent after the match against Synthra. “{If you can’t find me here, I live in the Residential Quarter, on Courage Avenue. In the way of Dawnhaven, we are number 32 in the Avenue.}”

“{I shall send a runner with haste, then, should I be unable to spy you here within the Guild House.}” Achilles promised with a firm nod, and a companionable smile. “{Until next we meet, friend Bardulf.}”

“{Until then, Ace.}” Bardulf said, and then looked down at Achilles’ right hand, which was extended into a fist.

“{One is expected to bump fists upon farewells with a friend,}” Achilles explained with a grin, to which Bardulf laughed and bumped his fist firmly.

“{What a strange custom you—}”

“{Yes yes, Terrans are bewildering,}” the voice of the Duchess of Twilight cut across Bardulf, and caused his jaw to snap closed immediately. “{Now if you two are done lollygagging—}” Bardulf suppressed a chuckle at Ceruviel’s mirroring of Achilles’ words “{—and carrying on, Achilles and I are cutting it close for an appointment.}”

“{It was your insistence that brought us here, Ceruviel.}” Achilles said blithely, and with a shocking lack of fear for his evident disrespect. “{Your impatience is of your own making.}”

“{Be that as it may, I have the advantage of being both a Duchess and Dusk-Lord, my dear Squire, and thereby have the freedom to blame you for my impatience regardless.}” Bardulf grinned to himself at the Duchess’ ruthless turnabout, and saw Achilles sigh in a resigned way and shake his head.

“{Until next time, Ace.}” Bardulf said again with finality. “{And you, Dusk-Lord. It was my honor to meet you in person.}”

Ceruviel turned to him when he spoke, and eyed him critically. Her lavender gaze glowed when she did, and Bardulf found himself having to fight to maintain eye contact with the tall Haelfenn woman. She was as intimidating as she was beautiful, and the passive aura of power emanating from her was enough that his instincts were screaming at him to show respect.

Reassuringly though, they also told him he was safe in her presence.

It was about what he’d have expected from the Dusk-Lord of Dawnhaven.

“{Hm…}” Ceruviel said with a critical once-over. “{You, at least, show promise. Tell your father he’s done well with you, Bardulf. It’s good to see that Marthulf at least managed to raise a son with potential.}”

Bardulf first felt shock at the fact she knew his father—which, given her veterancy among the guild, probably shouldn’t have been so surprising—before he felt himself swell with pride at her words, and nodded with genuine enthusiasm.

“{I will, your grace!}”

Ceruviel nodded back, and then turned and marched for the Dawnhaven exit.

Bardulf glanced at Achilles, saw the tall Terran shrug at him with a wry smile, and then turn and—with a final wave—follow after Ceruviel in the same commanding, martially disciplined stride as he’d used prior. For all that the man spoke strange, lacked in levels, and was clearly somewhat bemused by everything happening around him; Bardulf knew that only a fool would think Leonidas Achilles lacked agency in that student-teacher relationship, no matter what Ceruviel’s domineering attitude inferred.

His new friend didn’t walk like a leashed hound, nor a whipped acolyte.

He walked like a man with purpose, intent, and a plan all his own.

In short, he walked like a King.

Bardulf Rough Concept Art