The goddess of the eternal flow twisted her lips into a frown as she scanned the world’s most recent records. Every millionth of a second, she looked over ten different names, scrolling like clockwork through their personal details. To a mortal, or perhaps even a lesser god, it would have seemed as if she was rushing through the list and giving little care to the particulars. After all, there were hundreds of floating windows all around her, perhaps even thousands or millions for those that’d lived more eventful lives. It shouldn’t have been possible to scrutinize each whilst carrying out her usual duties.
And yet, she did just that.
Toying with the constellations in her nebulous, raven-green hair, she examined each person that passed. She read all about their lives, their struggles, and their often-failed attempts to overcome them. She looked over their strengths, their weaknesses, their vices, and their creeds. Countless factors, she examined, each with extensive care.
One might suspect that she was reading the records for pleasure, leveraging their experiences to mitigate the infinite boredom that came with her daily tedium. But while she certainly chuckled at the odd entry, it was never for amusement that she scrutinized their lives. But neither was it out of a sense of duty. Diligent as she was, she had no intention of honouring the achievements of those who’d found the end of their tales.
Nay.
She was simply seeking, searching for a soul that met all her criteria—a soul that remained dauntless no matter the task ahead, a soul that was well-versed in combat and capable of adapting to a world in which the system explicitly exerted its presence, a soul that would carry out her will. And most important of all, a soul to match the other she had already selected.
It took nearly fourteen years of searching to find an individual that met all of her requirements—a much longer time than she’d budgeted or expected. She was so sick of the chore that she’d nearly automated the task, but she pressed on, thinking it couldn’t be much longer. So and so forth the pattern repeated. She started to sweat and worry by the three millionth time she considered automation—to suspect that she might miss the deadline and put all her planning to waste. The goddess had even considered performing an intervention and murdering a qualifying individual herself, or perhaps forging a fresh soul built specifically to fulfil her needs. But eventually, her patience paid off; she found someone with all the right values and history. Even more fortunate, the person in question was one of her believers; there was no need to negotiate with another god for the right of ownership or otherwise explain her function and purpose.
“Welcome, Byrant Sorandal,” The constellations in the deity’s eyes sparkled as she gazed upon the spirit. “to the land of the departed.”
Were the mortal still alive, the divine realm likely would have warped to something that would further their comfort. But as one of the deceased, the soul had no such influence. It was simply a bundle of memories and resources, bits and pieces of data to be reclaimed by the system and allocated anew.
“So I died then?” Had the spirit any hands, it surely would have inspected them. Alas, as a glowing red sphere, a ball of piercing light, it found itself incapable.
“That is correct,” said the goddess. She paused, allowing a moment for the mortal to gather its wits.
Its light flickered, briefly growing even harsher before returning to its prior luminosity.
“There is no need to fret,” said the goddess. “While you might have forgotten, in your foolishly blind rage, that you can carry out your duties no longer in death, your strike was true. You caught Dark Lord Varamir’s gut with your blade as he buried his dagger in yours. He has only moments to live, before his bile spills into his breast and destroys his rotten heart.”
The soul spent a few moments flickering before it finally responded. “I see.”
“Do you regret your death, mortal?”
Another pause.
“No.” Had the spirit any eyes, it surely would have looked past the deity’s glimmering jade horn and met her stellar gaze. “I have no regrets.”
“None? Surely even that tiny mortal mind of yours is capable of listing a few?”
“I have none, goddess.” The spirit paused, as if to take a breath. “If my life is what it costs to strike down the lord of the darkest night, then I will gladly pay the due.” The spirit grew brighter with each word, its—his—form taking shape again, shining through the fog of death even without the goddess’ intervention. “With his death, our people will be free again, free to breach the dome and witness the sky anew. It will be the first time in generations that not just us hunters, but all of humanity will see beyond the walls. In sacrifice, I have simply completed my duty as a knight of the cloth.”
In the end, he took the shape of a muscular man. For a human, he was a giant. He was over two meters tall and wide enough to catch a dozen recruits in his strangling embrace.
“What about your warriors? The ones who shared your banner and fought beneath your command?”
“They will be fine without me. I am, was, a fighter, not a leader. How a man like me became the unit’s commander in the first place, I will never know.”
A glimmering golden flag appeared for a moment before fizzling out, vanishing into the aether, like the illusion it was.
“Will you not worry for your daughter? And lament your inability to witness her growth first hand?”
“I admit, I would have liked to attend her wedding, at least. I did always want to walk her down the aisle.” The old veteran smiled, his handlebar moustache hiding his dimpled cheeks. “But my death will only make her stronger. And with it put behind her, she will fly higher than she ever could beneath my borrowed wings.”
The goddess smiled. “I cannot arrange for you to walk the aisle, Master Sorandal, if you agree to my terms, I will project your spirit upon the scene, so that you may witness it first hand.”
“You would, goddess?” Byrant’s eyes widened as he placed a trembling hand to his chest.
“Yes,” she said. “But I will require a favour.”
“I have served you all my life, my goddess.” He balled his hand into a fist as he took a knee. “I would be honoured to continue in death.”
“It will mean you end. Your true end.” She imbued the plan into his mind. He opened his eyes wide at first. But soon, he smiled and nodded.
“If that is your will, my goddess, then I will welcome it with open arms.”
“Thank you, Master Sorandal.” Smiling, the goddess snapped her fingers and gathered a ball of glimmering green light. And then, approaching the mortal, she pressed it into his core.
Her magic pulsed through the places where his mana veins ran in life, clearly highlighting his circuits before expanding into his flesh.
His form changed, shrinking to one much smaller and lither. Everything unnecessary was stripped away, leaving only a vessel with the memories, experiences, thoughts, and blessings. And just like that, she returned him to the start of the cycle, defying the very rules she wrote. But such was the nature of a goddess of chaos, one unbound from the otherwise universal restrictions that Flitzegarde imposed.
The goddess frowned as she watched him go. Her plan was well underway. She was confident, certain that all would proceed according to the script. And yet, she wished that her influence would further extend.
As it stood, success was still a dice roll away.
She needed her paladins, her chosen, and her target to all behave exactly as she predicted—as she foresaw in the eternal flow.
___
A peculiar creature with two arms, two legs, and two flippers cocked its head as it observed a naked man lying face down in a porcelain tub. Bubbles leaked from the middle-aged human’s lungs as his limbs continued to twitch. It appeared that he was somehow alive even though his limbs were twisted out of shape and his hair was completely frazzled—a surefire sign that his submarine adventure was not quite going as planned.
The crux of the problem was the electricity still coursing through the water. Sourced from a small metal object connected to a nearby wall, the box-shaped bread container was precisely his predicament.
The watcher was largely indifferent. It—she—lightly tapped her tail against the bathroom’s tiled floor and waited for him to clean up his act. She briefly narrowed her piercing blue eyes before tearing them away from the human’s body and scanning the rest of the room.
With little else to look at, her gaze eventually settled on the mirror. She still wasn’t accustomed to her new form, but at the very least, she still had all her core features. While certainly longer than she was used to, her hair sparkled in its usual arctic blue. Her serpentine pupils were sharp as ever and the giant, triangular ears that sprouted from her head remained her pride and joy. Sharing a shade with her hair and scales, the fluffy hearing aids were undeniable proof of her father’s blood. And before she’d ascended, it was only them and their colour that bridged the gap.
With her racial class’ evolution, the front half of her lower body had become centaurian. Her father was technically a moose-based cervitaur—particularly, a bulky subspecies mostly found in the northlands—but Claire had elected for something a little more equine. If not for the foldable flippers that grew from her ankles, her legs would have looked exactly like that of a horse’s. But where the second would have sprouted, she had a larger set of flippers, their tips jagged and pointy enough to serve as weapons.
Roughly halfway through its length, her body became more snake-like. Her hair faded in favour of a thick coat of scale, and her frame narrowed into a single, muscular appendage drawn by her mother’s serpentine blood. Only at the very tip was there any reminder of her cervitaurian heritage, for it was adorned with a fluffy brush as long and thick as her forearm.
Most eye-catching of all was not her curious shape but the translucent object that erupted from her otherwise flat chest. Once the tip of a battle staff, the icy shard had fused with her flesh and become a source of power.
Claire frowned as she examined her body, but not because she was dissatisfied with her appearance. If anything, she was proud of it—she only wished she was a little bit taller. At a mere two meters, she might have appeared too large for the human-sized space that was the dreamworld’s reality, but considering her father’s blood, Claire was clearly a runt. Most centaurs her age stood a full meter taller and some would grow to twice her height. Her lack of size was certainly endearing, but she would have preferred the brute strength that came with a shift in scale.
It was as a sigh escaped her lips that the human finally stirred. He rose from his bathtub and gasped for air, only to hit his head on the faucet and land right back in the water.
The world distorted the moment he sank beneath the surface. The tub suddenly turned blue and grew to ten times its previous size while the walls were turned to wooden fences. They were outside, in a yard, where the man was face down once again, drowning to his heart's content.
The next shift produced a similar image, albeit with the homely backdrop replaced by a beach. A group of yellow-beaked gulls landed by his unconscious frame and pecked at his skin, attacking it as they would a piece of stale bread.
It was only then that the man’s ghost appeared. A phantom version of him, maybe around ten or twelve years old, armed with a bowl cut that only exposed one of his eyes. The spirit opened its mouth and spoke at length, but as usual, she found his words inaudible.
Swimming. Important.
A summary was carved into the back of her mind instead, the letters flashing through her mind in a language that wasn’t the standard tongue.
Learn?
Another sentence was summed up into a single word, a question that Claire answered with a confident nod.
Swimming would certainly come as second nature. Her mother was a lamia—a member of a semi-aquatic race. Like all members of the species, Claire could easily hold her breath for hours at a time. It was a far cry from the eternity that a more specialised variant could spend beneath the waves, but in either case, the art of undersea travel was carved directly into her blood.
Centaurs and cervitaurs were just as proficient. Though winged individuals often shied away—their feathers introduced a weakness to the element—the species’ powerful legs allowed them to cross large bodies of water with ease. Even the most distant shores were well within reach of the determined.
Claire’s blood left her with all the makings of a marine athlete extraordinaire, but reality was not quite as kind. For no reason that she could understand, the lyrkress had no aptitude for water.
The Swimming skill had eluded her for as long as she could remember. She had tried picking it up in the bath, in a number of lakes, and even in the ocean, all to no avail. All sorts of tutors had tried to remedy the issue, but not even Amereth—the shark lady and Ryllian native that served as the manor’s chef—was able to provide any meaningful guidance. According to her, floating towards the surface was meant to come naturally, but Claire would unconditionally sink straight to the bottom of any body of water she entered. Still, she was willing to give learning the skill another shot. Or at least she was before she recalled their previous encounter.
Claire balled her hands into fists and lightly jabbed the air. She repeated the motion a few extra times before cocking her head and staring right at him. At first, her message fell on deaf ears. He spent a few seconds scratching his head before lighting up and snapping his fingers.
Practice?
She lowered her fists and nodded. The last time they met, the ghost had placed her in front of a glowing box featuring an illusion that responded when his body toyed with a peculiar device. She still didn’t understand exactly what he’d done, but interacting with the oddly shaped wand had bestowed her the Artifact Manipulation skill and improved her Unarmed Combat Mastery. The boons were certainly agreeable, but she was more interested in whatever it was the man had planned to teach her; it’d seemed like he planned to follow up the lesson with something a little more intensive.
Though he’d seemed fairly set on the idea during their previous encounter, he took a few seconds to debate it, his hand on his chin, before shrugging, smiling, and nodding.
He raised his hands and changed the world with a clap, immediately removing all semblance of water. They returned to the usual dark room. Exactly as she recalled, it was full of things she’d never seen, strange rectangles and cuboids made of an odd, shimmering material.
The man’s body was half sprawled on the sofa with his unshaven face resting in one hand and a boxy, button-laden artifact in the other. He toyed with it, manipulating the lights and colours that filled the otherwise dark enclosure. The clicking sound that came with the device’s manipulation was almost rhythmic, repeating itself in a steady, fixed pattern.
A phantom copy of his magical tool appeared in her hands, just as it had during their previous session. All of a sudden, the glowing box was filled with words. The letters themselves were familiar, but the terms they formed refused to register. She looked at the phantom and pointed to them with her head tilted, but they faded before she was able to grab his attention. It was a bit of an irritating outcome, but she dismissed it with a faint frown. It couldn’t be helped. In the phantom’s world, she was mute and immaterial, incapable of making herself known without an unbecoming display. New chapters come out on novelping(.)com first.
The scene that she had been expecting finally came after a series of bright black screens—a detailed environment and an oddly imperceptible character appeared in the space in front of her. She could tell that drawing was the same one she manipulated during their previous encounter. And yet, it wasn’t. Something about its form had changed. Its body had grown taller and longer and more power filled its limbs.
She knew that she was supposed to be able to discern its identity. It was familiar enough that her senses were screaming, that her mind bubbled with familiarity. But she couldn’t quite pinpoint its identity. It was just out of reach, hovering beyond the tips of her fingers no matter how she tried to grasp at its fluffy white tail.
Practice.
The phantom’s words etched themselves into her mind before she could untangle the illusory mess.
Log Entry 1771
Detect Vector Magic has reached level 14.
Abiding by the boy’s command, Claire reached for the non-existent device in front of her. She knew it didn’t exist, that it lacked the very concept of form, but her hands settled around it regardless; her fingers were naturally drawn to the raised surfaces scattered across its face while her thumb was glued to the tiny wand that erupted from its butterfly-shaped body. It almost felt like the device was made for her hands, especially now that they’d grown with the rest of her form and acquired a more reasonable size.
The phantom’s body began to move its fingers as soon as hers settled into position. It led with simple commands, switching to a series of more complicated movements only after its spirit confirmed that she could readily keep up. Faster and faster, their digits danced. Unlike the previous session, where they made a variety of differing inputs, they spent the night repeating the very same sequence over and over again. It was long and arduous, perhaps even needlessly complex. The person in the box was throwing a fuzzy, monkey-like creature into the air, beating it half to death with the same punches, kicks, and sweeps, before stomping it into the ground and landing on top of it. Over and over and over again, until the artifact that imprisoned the fighters suddenly lost its light.
A very confused Claire glanced at the spirit, who slowly shook his head as he pointed at a much smaller device featuring a set of glowing red numbers. The midnight lights engraved themselves into her retinas, lasting for exactly three seconds before vanishing into the darkness. The phantom too had vanished, leaving her to fall through the darkness all by her lonesome.
Bells started going off in her head as the abyss was suddenly flooded with light. When she next blinked, she found the endless darkness by a crumbling ceiling featuring a thick net of roots. A ball of fluff was standing on top of her chest, actively pawing at her face. The soft, squishy pads were oddly comforting, so much so that she would likely have drifted back to dreamland, if not for the screeching that assaulted her ears.
“Claire! Wake up! Come on, hurry! You’re going to get turned!”
Pushing the fuzzy limb away with her tail, Claire twisted her face away from the fox and placed it in her arms.
“Five more minutes.”
Log Entry 1772
Basic Vector Resistance has reached level 4.
“You don’t have five minutes! The turn’s already started!” Sylvia leapt over the lyrkress’ tail and started pushing down on her ears. “Wait a second! You’re just messing with me again, aren't you!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Resisting the magical bells, as well as the accompanying urge to flip upside down, Claire sat up and stretched her shoulders, only to find the ceiling in her way. They were in an underground den, one that she’d expanded to be just large enough to fit her newfound form.
Despite the lack of a fox-shaped pillow, the snake-moose’s waist was surprisingly pain free. It was no doubt thanks to the bubble that the bard had spun up just the previous night. The magical mass of air had padded her hips and kept them from bending at too odd of an angle.
“I knew it! You don’t even look sleepy! You were totally just faking it to mess with me!”
Claire drooped her eyelids, slouched, and feigned a faraway gaze before repeating the line. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sylvia cocked her head. The tri-coloured fox—she was a mix of oranges, blacks, and whites—rubbed her eyes, scratched her belly, and blinked three times. “Uhm, is it just me, or do you suddenly look just as tired as you did last night?”
Like Claire, the tiny vulpine was a halfbreed; her mother was a fae fox while her father was supposedly an elf. None of his traits showed in her fuzzy form, but the features she’d adopted, upon turning into a fairy, were distinctly elven.
“It’s not just you.”
“Weird. That’s gotta be some sort of skill or something, right?”
“Not in the slightest.” Claire reset her expression again as she activated Llystletein Authority. Quickly navigating through the accompanying menu, she summoned a stream of cold water and washed off her face.
She briefly considered rising off the cloak she’d worn the previous day as well—the torn-up cloth was sitting in one of the den’s far corners—but riddled with holes, it was far beyond saving. The replacement differed only in colour. Having picked up the gear that she’d left behind, prior to departing from Darkwood Hollow, Claire was wearing another freshly cut dress made from one of the robotic dog-man’s cloaks. It was a little bit larger than the outfit it replaced, but not by much. A quick test had revealed that her knees would get tangled in the cloth if she tried to run too quickly, so she kept it at around knee height.
“So uhmmm… I guess you’re probably done killing borroks now, right?”
A faint smile crossed Claire’s lips as she glanced at her log and confirmed a certain quest’s completion. “It seems like I am.”
“What’d you do up there anyway? I swear there was a whole flood of monsters that ran out ahead of you.”
“Nothing special. I just killed a few things.” Claire paused for a second to observe the fox’s sparkling, curious eyes, before feigning a reluctant sigh and recounting her journey. She told her of the way she’d climbed the mountain, bested the borroks, and even earned her first ascension, before tricking the giant lava whale into blowing his gasket. She did leave out a few key details, such as the way she broke down mid-climb and the possibility that, somewhere deep down, she might’ve shared her father’s penchant for murder. After all, noble ladies were creatures of pride, and even disowned, Claire was no different.
Sylvia listened intently, nodding along with the curiosity in her eyes ever-growing, even though she clearly knew more than she’d let on. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that she’d been waiting by the mountain’s magical exit, but Claire told her story regardless. She’d always wanted to be able to brag about her accomplishments, just like the many knights and veterans that filled the manor’s halls.
“And then I escaped by following everything else,” said Claire, wrapping up.
“Wow!” said Sylvia. “You did all that in just a few days?”
Claire nodded.
“That’s crazy!” said the fox. “So uhmmm… where are you gonna go next, now that you’ve finished your quest?”
“I’m not really sure yet,” said the lyrkress. “Alfred said he’d give me another if I visited him again, after I finished the last one.”
“Mmmnnnn, okay. In that case, I can take you to another hexstone, since that’s basically the only way to see him,” she said. “Oh wait, I’ve got an idea! We should go to the citadel.”
“The citadel?” Claire paused for a second to recall the location in question. Alfred had mentioned it as the place where Llystletein’s invaders, the other trial-goers like her, had made their home base. “Why?”
“There’s a hexstone there, and my dad’s probably around too.”
“Your father?”
“Mhm! He’s really nice and helps out torches like you all the time. He’s even picked up an instructor-type class, just so he can give people a bit of an extra boost. I bet he’ll be able to set you up with a party in no time too.”
Claire frowned. “He has an instructor class?”
The archetype was widespread outside of Cadria, but the snake-moose’s countrymen considered its choice a folly. Its sole purpose was to aid in passing on one’s abilities, but enough effort was sure to produce the same result. The amount of time spent was important, of course, but few regarded it as being of too high of a value. After all, one could easily earn more by ascending. Each race differed in the rate at which its lifespan scaled. Lamias, for example, had longevity naturally built into their systems, but it was practically unheard of for someone with three ascensions to die of old age. Violence was far more common.
“Yup! He teaches a whole bunch of stuff. It’s probably worth checking out, at least.”
“Okay. Let’s do that then. I need to visit him anywa—” Claire stopped mid sentence as an unfamiliar sensation pulsed through her body, a faint trembling that started from her core and bubbled through the rest of her frame. Accompanying the strange feeling was a curious sound, a deep, resonant rumble that started from just above her hips. “What was that?” She blinked as she looked down at her torso.
“I’m pretty sure it was your stomach,” said Sylvia.
“My stomach doesn’t make strange noises.” Claire pressed the tip of her tail against her midsection and felt around for abnormalities—not that she knew how it was supposed to feel.
“Huh?” Sylvia blinked. Thrice. “Of course it does, silly, what are you saying? Stomachs growl. That’s just what happens when you’re hungry.”
“I don’t get hungry.”
“Everyone gets hungry! Food is like, literally one of the basic needs!”
“I’m half lamia. Lamias don’t feel hunger.”
“That doesn’t really make any sense. How do you know when you’re supposed to eat if you don’t get hungry? You could randomly start passing out and you’d have no idea why!”
“We start to lose our strength if we don’t eat. If we wait long enough, our health regeneration will slow,” said Claire.
“Why does it sound like you’re used to starving yourself by accident?”
“I’m not. For lamias, infrequent big meals are normal.”
“That doesn’t exactly sound healthy. They do realise they’ll die if they don’t eat enough, right?”
“That only happens after health regeneration drops below zero. Most people will notice by then.”
“It goes below zero!?” cried the fox. “I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to do that unless you’re poisoned or necrotic or something!”
Claire shrugged as she activated Llystletein Authority again and summoned a basket of bread. If her stomach was really the problem, then she only needed to fill it.
“Oh, I know!” Sylvia’s tail straightened as her ears perked up. “It’s probably because your body changed after you ascended and snake-mooses get hungry like normal people.”
“Maybe. But I’m still not sure if that was really my stomach. I’m not really sure where it is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean!?”
“Centaurs don’t have stomachs up here.” Claire pointed at her humanoid half’s midsection. “They’re supposed to be in the horsier part.”
“That’s weird,” said Sylvia. “Wait, where are your lungs?”
“I think I saw them here yesterday.” She pointed at her chest. “When I accidentally ripped open my ribcage.”
“That’s weird. The horsier part you have up front looks like it’s probably big enough to hold your important bits. Is it just packed with muscle instead? That seems a little weird…” Sylvia pressed her paws against the half-lamia’s underside as she continued. “Maybe you just have more than one pair of lungs.” This chapter was copied from novelping(.)com without permission.
“I might. I’m not sure.”
“Oh!” The fox lit up as she moved further along the half-moose’s tail. “How do you use the bathroom?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” Claire lightly swatted her away with the fluffy tip of her tail. She almost felt like she should have swiped a little harder, but she’d already grown accustomed to the silly fox’s shenanigans.
“Mmmnnn…” Sylvia narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Are you sure you aren’t just saying that ‘cause you haven’t tried yet?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The lyrkress briefly lifted a piece of bread to her lips, but she put it back down before she opened her mouth. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Oh, uhm… right, sorry.” The furball stuck out her tongue and awkwardly scratched the back of her head. “So what are our plans today? Do you just want to visit the nearest hexstone?” Sylvia grabbed a loaf of bread from the basket and shoved it into her mouth. It was almost the same size as her—she was awfully small for a fox—but somehow, it vanished between her jaws without at all affecting the size of her body.
“Are there any near the citadel?” asked Claire.
“Yup! I think there’s one right in the middle of town,” said Sylvia.
“Then let’s make that our destination,” said Claire. “But first, I want to stop by the tailor’s.”
“Oh yeah! Grant was supposed to do that thing for you. How’d you manage to convince him anyway?”
“You’ll see when we visit your father.”
“Ummm… somehow I have a really bad feeling about this.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll just be a harmless prank.”
“You can’t just tell me not to worry! You’re just making me even more worried!”
“I don’t see how that’s my fault.” Having finished the last piece of bread that had come with her plate, Claire transformed her legs and slithered towards the cave’s entrance. “Hurry up. Let’s go.”
“Oh, fine,” said Sylvia with a sigh. “But I’m not saving you from my mom if whatever you do makes her go crazy!”
Climbing out of her makeshift home, the fox hopped in front of her companion and led her to Grant’s abode.
* * *
Claire
Health: 5577/5577
Mana: 7199/7199
Faith: 1/1
Health Regen: 28(55)/minute
Mana Regen: 212/minute
Faith Regen: 5/hour
Ability Scores - 4 Points Available
- Agility: 665
- Conjuring: 718
- Dexterity: 504
- Spirit: 484
- Strength: 586
- Vitality: 551
Racial Class: Frostblight Lyrkress - Level 50.84
- Ice Manipulation - Level 1.31
- Lyrkrian Shapeshifting - Level 2.73
- Paralyzing Gaze - Level 6.51
- Thermodynamic Regulation - Level 2.50
Primary Class: Llystletein Bloodthief - Level 53.39
- Assassinate - Level 11.36
- Bloodthief - Level 9.74
- Dagger Mastery - Level 11.26
- Envenom - Level 14.37
- Phantom Blade - Level 5.79
Secondary Class: Llystletein Vector Mage - Level 41.66
- Basic Vector Manipulation - Level 14.17
- Basic Vector Resistance - Level 4.07
- Detect Vector Magic - Level 14.19
Unclassed Skills
- Artifact Manipulation - Level 2.00
- Axe Mastery - Level 1.04
- Catgirl Fetish V. 0.17 - Level 1.00
- Club Mastery - Level 11.33
- Dancing - Level 25.34
- Digging - Level 11.92
- English - Level 25
- Llystletein Authority II - Level 4.24
- Makeshift Weapon Mastery - Level 17.85
- Marish - Level 19.05
- Poison Resistance - Level 15.12
- Spear Mastery - Level 5.46
- Sword Mastery - Level 6.45
- Thrown Weapon Mastery - Level 7.23
- Tracking - Level 9.61
- Unarmed Combat Mastery - Level 13.43