Chapter 265 – Fool
Benno Drach frowned as he walked the streets of Baghdad. There was an uneasy quiet to the city, like the stillness before the storm. He knew why, of course. There was power gathering, here. He did not know by whom, or for what reason, but he could feel it.
The pressure had been building for the last month. Slowly, at first, then faster, and faster still. The first stirrings of that power had caught his attention all the way in Athens, where he had been vacationing. Well, it had been a working vacation. As an adventurer, he set his own schedule, for the most part. So long as the bills stayed paid, he could do as he wished.
No one noticed him as he walked through the city. Oh, they saw him, and moved to avoid him as he walked, but their minds did not process his visage. Like how you don’t process the walls of the buildings you’ve walked past a hundred times before, unless there is something new to draw the eye.
[Erase Presence] was the name of the skill. It allowed him to erase himself from conscious view. He still showed up on cameras, of course, but unless he spoke directly to someone, or acted in some way to draw attention, only those of a higher Tier, or those who possessed certain skills, or a high enough WIS to counter the effect could see him. If he had gained a class like Rogue or the Assassin profession, he would have had a good chance of ending any normal enemy in the first blow, before they even knew what was happening. However, despite having plenty of tools, both in skills and equipment, that could lend themselves to that course, that was not what his Mantle was for.
Benno Drach
The Fool
Level 23 Harlequin / Master Arcanist
Titles: Silver-Tongued, Reforged Soul, Unique, Honest
Before he found the [Mask of the Fool], he had been a Wizard and Scholar. The cursed mask, however, had changed that. The Jester was apparently a ‘side-grade’ of the Bard class. Less focused on singing or other types of performance, and more upon a barbed tongue and quick wit. It also relied on INT instead of CHA for most of its abilities, which was fortunate. The class’s magic was limited to illusions and mental magics, but the [Vicious Mockery] skill allowed him to lace his jokes with magic, causing psychic damage the more cutting and hurtful they were.
His jests always hit home harder than they otherwise might have, since the Mantle would not let him lie directly, and the Honest title made his words more persuasive whenever he was telling the truth. Or, at least, a truth. If you had the mind for it, there were a great many ways to lie without lying, speaking only truths that led those hearing them to make bad assumptions. If they interpreted his words wrong, that was hardly his fault, after all. But because the Mantle and title worked together, and was amplified by his INT, his [Vicious Mockery] always stung.
Better still, the Arcanist profession allowed him to keep the spellcasting abilities he’d had as a Wizard, giving him more utility than a Jester normally would have. People did not expect a Jester to toss a [Fireball] spell around, after all, or to use spells like [Dimension Door], [Blink], and [Etherealness] to move around the battlefield, or make attacks that should have hit miss, by virtue of not fully being in the space they targeted. With the extra mobility and melee ability the Jester class offered, it made him extremely effective against lightly-armored or unsuspecting foes.
When he hit Tier 2, Jester had become Harlequin, which was an upgrade which gave him better tools for both slaying with wit, and with weapons, while Arcanist had the fairly normal upgrade to Master Arcanist. He was still not a front-line fighter, of course, since neither class nor profession were about taking people on in a fair fight, or a drawn-out one, but few would care to be on the wrong side of the weapons he was able to find from unique monsters in a dungeon the System had guided him to.
The [Harlequin’s Kiss] on his left hand was designed to stab into someone, and then unleash a torrent of monofilament wire, shredding them into bloody salsa, before withdrawing, ready to be used again. The [Harlequin’s Caress] on his right hand was a gauntlet that allowed his hand to phase through armor, flesh, and bone, and rip someone’s still-beating heart from their chest, if he chose to. Both weapons were soulbound, meaning they could not be stolen from him, or used against him, and they were Scaling, allowing them to grow in power as he did. He would never need new melee options again in his life, he was fairly sure.
As for ranged attacks? Well, he had his magic, but he also had a [Neuro Disruptor]. The thing was supposed to shred the nervous system of the target using some eldritch energy pattern that he didn’t pretend to understand. The weapon was roughly the size and shape of a high-powered heavy pistol, but half of the thing was made of some kind of blue crystal. It drew his MP to fire, and the cost was not cheap (it was actually brutally expensive at 2000 MP a shot), but anyone hit by its invisible beam would be taking four times his INT, and would suffer permanent debuffs to all physical actions until they received magical healing of Tier 2 or higher.
The Mantle did come with the downside of having the [Mask of the Fool] permanently bonded to his face, of course. The stylized jester’s mask would have drawn all kinds of attention, constantly, if not for the [Erase Presence] skill. The mask made it so he no longer needed to eat, drink, or breathe, and was immune to pretty much all environmental effects. Which was good, because he couldn’t actually eat or drink when the solid mask blocked his mouth. Later, he learned how to glamour the mask with [False Mask], which not only allowed him to wear any face he wanted (even his own), but also made it so he could eat and drink again, allowing him to use potions and recovery items once more.
But that was neither here nor there. The problem was the power gathering in the city. It was more than just some ritual. He could feel the power tugging at him. No, not at him, he realized, with help from his [Arcanist’s Lore] skill. At his Mantle. That’s what it was. Someone was calling all the Mantles together.
That someone knew how to do that was concerning on its own. But how they were doing it was less of a concern than why. The Mantles did not like being manipulated in this way. It was like an itch under his skin, urging him to go and find the source of the pull, and end it. But if someone had the knowledge to call the Mantles, then they would know that. Which meant that it was an excellent way to try and trap them, offering bait that the Mantle would not let them ignore.
The problem was that Mantles were powerful. Not just in and of themselves, but several of them had the power to influence large groups. The Black Knight and the Hero, for instance, were supposed to bolster their followers, allowing them to fight enemies far stronger than they were. And it was said that the Baba Yaga could induct others into her service, as Yagishna, giving them a portion of the Mantle’s power, in return for growing the power of Baba Yaga. But what would happen if those Mantles were all working together, under the same will?
Worse, what happened if those Mantles then affected the more solitary Mantles? The Slayer could rise to meet the challenge of any foe they faced in single combat. If the Slayer was corrupted or made a subordinate, then that would be a grave threat.
Benno was less worried about himself. The Fool, by its nature, stood apart. He could not lie, even to himself, which meant that the subtle controls that a Dominator or Enchantress might use were lost upon him. And the ability [Fool’s Freedom] was one of the few that gave one total immunity to shackles of any kind, be they physical or magical. Not even a [Slave Collar] or [Puppet Brand] could bind the Fool. It was the role of the Fool to stand apart, and mock those who thought too highly of themselves, after all.
He was not wholly unaffected by the call, of course. His feet still worked their way to the center, where the power was being gathered. He knew the site when he saw it. Nasb al-Shaheed, the Martyr’s Memorial. Dedicated to those who died in different wars and conflicts Iraq had with its neighbors. A power site, thanks to its cultural significance. That would amplify the power of the call, perhaps enough to reach anywhere on Earth.
As he got closer, he saw that the circular plaza was not empty. A crowd had gathered, all chanting and cheering for the one leading the assembly. They looked like your average, every-day people. Except they were gathering in greater and greater numbers. At least five hundred were there, now, and the crowd was still growing.
The speaker, whoever he was, was using magic to amplify his voice. But it was more than just increasing the sound. As a Jester, he could sense the magic forming undertones, weaving their way into the man’s speech. If someone listened for too long, without some sort of protection, he had a feeling that they would be swept up in his words, perhaps even wholly converted.
He did not speak Arabic naturally, but the Fool was not limited by such things. The [Fool’s Tongue] gave him the ability to read, write, speak, and understand all languages. More importantly, whenever he spoke, whoever heard his words heard them in his own native tongue. However, even if he didn’t hear the words in his native German, he would have known that the speech was one of religious zeal. More than that, it was a call to arms.
Movement caught his eye. Not the movement of someone in the crowd that was heading towards the memorial. Not really. It was a movement in the magic. He looked, and saw two figures. They were using some basic concealment magic to not draw attention, but [Fool’s Eye] cut through the concealment. Not letting him ignore it, but more like causing it to exist as a semitransparent overlay on what was really there. Because a Jester needed to see the trick, even if they were breaking it.
The first was a tall, well-built man clad in black plate armor, with his helm closed, preventing anyone from seeing his face. The armor was clearly well-made, and was ornate in the way where everything looks as though it were not decorated, but a part of a larger whole, a set made to fit him precisely, rather than just getting ‘close enough’ as armor (especially plate armor) could be. Over one shoulder, he had a massive two-handed greatsword strapped to his back, a bearded axe hanging from a loop on his belt, and a spear in hand.
The second was dressed in pure white. A white gown that clung to her curves like a second skin, with thigh-high heeled boots on her feet. A silver-white tiara sat upon her head, contrasting with her hair, which looked to shift from golden blonde to red-gold, to crimson, to brown, to black, and back again. Never settling on a single color, but never visibly changing, either, and it was only due to his Mantle that he noticed the changes at all.
The woman in white held a staff in one hand. It was made of white wood, with golden inlays that moved like living things across its surface. Twelve blades of white metal sprang from the head of the staff, converging around a crystal orb, which glowed with an inner light. The twelve blades were each marked with a sign of the horoscope in gold, and they glowed with silver radiance.
They were heading towards the commotion, drawn towards it. Mantle-bearers, like him. Each of them had some defenses against mental influence, but he did not know how long that would last. He stayed close to them, following their path through the crowd as they moved. This was going to be a problem, that much he knew for sure. Which meant that he needed to be ready for all of the problems.