Chương 21: Actions Beget Outcomes

As it turned out, the latest failed check hadn't been all bad news. Item acquired. [Rampart's Map of Stormvast]: Horst Rampart was an Imperial Cartographer from the Grandroot Dynasty, said to have covered more square inch of Stormvast than anyone else in history. His spells were so powerful that their effects endure to this day, nearly 300 years since they'd first been cast. Open the [Map] to seek yourself within the larger picture. Gain a broad sense of where to go next. Weight: 0. 5 lbs. Encumbrance: 2.

7/210 lbs New feat unlocked. [Nezha's Blessing (Lv. 1)]: Live fast, die free. Enjoy yourself to the fullest along the way. Because what's life if not the only chance your soul will ever get to have fun? In recognition of your whimsy, you've gained a permanent [1]-point upgrade to Dexterity. DEX: 15 -> 16 (modifier: +2 -> +3) Agility: 1. 30 -> 1. 32 That was now five [Blessings] out of presumably six.

For all their apparent contempt for Jordan, the gods seemed perfectly happy to chuck some additional attribute points his way. Fuxi was the only holdout, which was fair enough; nothing Jordan had faced thus far could really be characterized as a brainteaser. Jordan shelved any thoughts about Feats for now, to instead focus on curing the Afflictions. Yet, try as he and Canyon might, they failed to trigger another ability check for the rest of the ride.

After the excitement of the botched sleight of arm (and the subsequent near miss), a kind of guarded distance spread between the pair. Jordan couldn't quite explain it himself, but it felt important that he take a step back and let things breathe a little. Canyon seemed to be in agreement, adopting a primness that hearkened back to when they'd first met. And as her demeanor cooled, so too did the ambient temperature.

"Take heart, Jordan Yu," she pronounced as the sun came down and the carriage slowed toward the next campsite, "Even with no more delays, I expect we'll still need two more days to reach the city. That's plenty of time for us to try new experiments… or for opportunities to arise organically along the way."

"Heart taken, Canyon of Amber Lake," Jordan answered with a wry smile, though he wondered if his good-natured sarcasm translated to the Common Speech.

"Worst comes to worst, I'll let the Imperial Army whip me into shape. Oh, I'm sure the military lifestyle would be just the cure for me and my negativity." Canyon looked at him askance through her rectangle, but declined to comment. Day 2 of camping in the Featherift wilderness. By then, enough time had passed for Jordan to receive the green light for the free use of his right arm. So, he chose to be proactive about how he spent the evening. He began by helping Foxhill set up the tent.

In truth, he was more hindrance than help, what with much of the work being taken care of by spells. But the Pathfinder was gracious (or amused) enough to at least let Jordan unload the equipment from the back compartment. The task somewhat strained Jordan's newly healed bones, but nowhere near enough to test his [Strength]. Next came dinner, which was always an adventure in itself. An organic opportunity did arise, courtesy once again of Foxhill's [Energy Arrow].

Tonight's victim was a marmot: a rotund little fellow familiar to Jordan from viral YouTube shorts. Buddy was kind of adorable and very much dead, which made it all the more ideal for…

"Hey man, can I take a crack at field-dressing this thing? You teach me, and I'll do my best to learn." This request did test Foxhill's patience, as Jordan predicted it might. He half-expected/hoped it might trigger another speech check. But a meaningful glance from Canyon made Foxhill change his tune with a resigned sigh. Just two days into the trio's time together, it was clear who wore the pants in this temporary party. So, under Foxhill's snide guidance, Jordan skinned and butchered his first ever marmot.

The smell wasn't nearly as bad as the erstwhile Grandelope, nor were the visuals. But the fact he was cutting into this Pokemon looking ass rodent did give him pause. Just enough to trigger… Turn your heart to steel, that you may turn the adorable into the edible. Strength DC 6 Roll: 7 Final: 9 Result: success Jordan breathed a sigh of relief. Only the one success so far, but it was a weight off his shoulders. Just to roll anything other than 3 already felt like a massive victory. That's right. No need to panic.

Get out of my rut, one action at a time. With relief came hunger, flooding Jordan's mouth before the butchered meat even hit the pot. The trio dug in soon enough, to then become one quiet and satisfied family. As Foxhill picked his teeth, and as Canyon fell into her nightly meditation, Jordan's mind wandered to the music from last night. They'd agreed as a party not to repeat their (wonderful) mistake, which meant that fiddling or singing were out of the question.

But that still left room for humming as well as some 'theoretical' freestyling. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Adorable. Edible. Maybe not the most terrible rhyme ever … It was in this spirit of individual artistic exploration that Canyon suddenly got up and went to the cabin. A few moments later, she returned with a full calligraphy set, complete with a bamboo folding table.

Paying no heed to her gawking companions, the woman began to write. Back straight as a board, head slightly downcast, eyelashes jutting out from a porcelain window. Her brush swept across the page swiftly and with conviction, even as her hand appeared to barely move.

"Don't you Chroniclers have spells to help you write?" Jordan blurted absent-mindedly.

"Like, say, [Manipulate Ink]?"

"For someone who never casts them," Canyon responded without looking up, "you seem to know quite a bit about spells, Westerner. And you're right, I do have such a spell. I just choose not to use it."

"And why's that?" Jordan asked with a knowing smirk.

"Skimping on mana? Or is it for the love of the game?" This 'peculiar combination of words' did compel the calligrapher to pause her work. She shot Jordan another sidelong glance.

"I've never heard that expression before, but… I suppose it is something like that. I relish the weight of ink upon brush, the feel of brush against paper, the play of mind into words. It's an enjoyable experience, one I'd rather not deprive myself of for the sake of expediency."

"And it's beautiful work," Jordan murmured, 100% sincere.

"Truly. I never knew Engl—er, the Common Speech could look like that." Indeed, the words on the page were unlike anything from Jordan's Earthling knowledge. Granted, the orientation was left-to-right horizontal like the typical Western script, and the individual letters definitely matched up with the English alphabet. Yet the way said letters flowed into each other… the contiguity of cursive made bolder and livelier by the mutable strokes of Eastern calligraphy…

"Will you teach me?" This time, Canyon put down her brush and faced Jordan head-on.

"You know, forget it, I shouldn't bother you," Jordan added sheepishly.

"It's just that… my mom tried to teach me calligraphy when I was little, and now that I'm older, I regret not taking it seriously. I know talk is cheap, but—""If talk is cheap, then elevate its value with action." Canyon set aside the page she'd been working on. She then stood and gestured toward the seat she'd just vacated.

"Sit, pupil. Let us see how much of your mother's teachings have withstood the test of time and neglect." Boy, Jordan's mom was really getting worked over here in Stormvast, and not just by gods. Somehow, he thought she might actually enjoy that if she knew about it—a thought that made him smirk even wider as he sat in the pupil's seat. He quickly wiped the smirk clean, lest the teacher think him insolent. The calligraphy was… difficult, and Jordan hadn't expected any different.

Where Canyon's writing had been delicate yet crisp, his was a barely legible string of smudges and wobbly strokes. As for what of Mom's teachings had survived, surprisingly enough, it was the posture and how to hold the brush. Maybe not so surprising, if you consider that had been about the extent of Little Jordan's progress. It was getting late. Canyon was a stern yet patient teacher, and she ended the lesson with a simple, freewheeling exercise. Compose and write two lines of poetry, topic of your choosing.

Despite the low stakes, Jordan took to the task with solemn intent. To 'fail' here felt tantamount to failing his mother. If he were never to see her again, the least he could do was do her proud in front of his new friends. But he wasn't much of a classical poet, perhaps even less so than a calligrapher. Could he spin up his own interpretation of the task? A bespoke solution to coax out the desired outcome? Write what you know, how you know to do it.

Wisdom DC 6 Roll: 11 Final: 17 Result: success Two successes down. One more to cure one stack of [Doom Spiral] and be rid of [the Curse of Threes]. First, though, to honor Canyon's assignment… Mom was never a cook, her sammich barely edible Fazed Dad none though, ate it with a smile, straight adorable The teacher peered over her pupil's shoulder, brow drawn together in a slight frown. After a second or two, she gave a barely perceptible nod of approval.

"Your words only get more and more peculiar, but at least I can make them out this time. What is this'sammich'? Is it good?"

"There's such a wide range to that answer I wouldn't know where to begin." Jordan's smirk was back out in full force.

"Just don't try my mom's, and you'll be fine."

"Noted." Canyon said it so earnestly, as if avoiding Mama Jordan's sandwich was a situation that could ever come up in her life. That was how Jordan broke out in uproarious laughter, perhaps even loud enough to draw out the nearby critters. That night, he slept well and uninterrupted—no doubt his best sleep in Vesselia so far. Refreshed, energized, and fully healed from a [Long Rest], Jordan spent Day 3… cooped up in the cabin again, occasionally bugging Canyon about whatever topic struck his fancy.

Not to pry, just to chat. With [Rampart's Map] as reference, he learned a bit more about Stormvast the nation, its nine provinces and the things each was known for. Nothing he couldn't get from Fuxi, perhaps, but why bother a faceless god when the alternative was much realer (and prettier)? Regardless, he stowed away the information for when he might need it—perhaps if/when he was ever ready to move on from Featherift and see the wider world. The evening was much the same as the last.

Uneventful yet fulfilling in all the right ways. More food, more banter, and more calligraphy. But nothing that challenged Jordan enough to proc an ability check. And as the carriage rolled into Day 4, Jordan grew more than a little wistful. If everything went according to plan, the party would reach their destination by the end of the day—three whole days ahead of schedule for a certain draftee.

The three party members would then go their separate ways: Jordan to join the Army, Foxhill back to his hustle in the grasslands, and Canyon to… wherever the stories of the land guided her. Jordan found himself almost wishing for a tiny mishap. A broken wheel? A Grandelope ambush, hopefully in smaller numbers than last time? Not a serious thought, of course. He just wanted an excuse to spend more time in the company of his friends—his first ever party in Stormvast. Little did it occur to him, then.

That oft-parroted adage, famous perhaps for just how hard it landed when it did come true. Be careful what you wish for.