Nephthys examined the collar, flipping it around. It seemed to be steel, ordinary in every way. What was not ordinary was the dense, almost microscopic enchantments lining the metal. They boggled her mind, bending and twisting around each other, overlapping and nonsensical.
She had suspected the contraption would not work for her, given its function in Prelude. Ashreach was an expansion that centered on a brutal, unforgiving world, where PvP was mandatory rather than optional. Its unique mechanics followed this theme of brutality.
Thrall collars were how guilds acquired NPCs to man their stations. All NPCs, save certain quest-givers and bosses, had a percentage chance to surrender in combat. When an NPC surrendered to a player, the player had several options. They could kill the NPC outright, walk away—though the surrendered NPC would simply resume its attack once the player reached a set distance, or shackle the NPC with a thrall collar.
The collar prevented the captured NPC from harming the player, rendering their attacks impotent. The player could then escort the NPC back to their base, where it would undergo a ‘conversion’ process, which was functionally just comfortable imprisonment.
A progress bar would indicate how long it would take to convert, and the player could feed the NPC certain foods and improve the quality of the prison, called a ‘conversion chamber’, to speed up the process.
The concept was easy to understand. Fight an NPC, show them mercy by sparing them, provide them with food and a decent standard of living while imprisoned, and the NPC would eventually become loyal, with their quality of life during imprisonment either speeding or slowing their conversion.
Nephthys had never participated in this system, though not for any moral reason. It was brutal and barbaric, but it was just a game. No, her reason for avoiding the system was, as always, due to her need to be the best. No rote NPC wandering the wasteland would do. She wanted top-tier NPCs running her guild, and that meant exploiting the summon glitch.
“My lady…if I may?” Ramose said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Nephthys glanced up at him, noticing for the first time that all attention had shifted to her. Even the ravenous slaves, formerly savoring every bite of food, were staring at her with a wide range of obvious emotions. Confused, Nephthys nodded to Ramose.
“I understand my lady’s fascination with all things magical…” Ramose started, which Nephthys understood as a sign he was about to criticize her. She worked in customer service long enough to know about ‘softening a blow’. Theron had just pulled a similar maneuver moments ago.
“However, I would humbly ask that you, at the very least, warn us before doing something potentially dangerous. You will give this old deva a heart attack, my lady. Even if you decide it is safe enough to test without making any preparations, a little warning would go a long way,” he finished with a bow.
Nephthys was confused for several moments before she flipped her perspective around, trying to see the issue from his point of view. The problem became obvious immediately. Nephthys knew that the collar would not work due to constraints in Prelude. The thrall collars were meant to convert NPCs, not players. It was impossible to capture players and force their allegiance. It was just a game, after all.
However, from Ramose’s perspective, she had just placed a collar designed specifically for slavery around her neck willingly. He knew nothing of players and Prelude mechanics. From this angle, what she did looked positively reckless.
“Of course. I am sorry, Ramose. That was careless of me,” she acknowledged.
Though she suspected that Ramose was calling her out in front of everyone to undermine her position, it did not change what she had done or how it looked. The only way to combat a coworker who was seeking to undermine you was to respond with absolute sincerity.
“Thank you very much for your consideration, my lady,” Ramose said, straightening.
“These are worth studying. Will you send them to Eirene?” Nephthys asked.
“Of course, my lady. No doubt she will be overjoyed to reverse-engineer such complicated enchantments,” he replied, collecting the collars in his personal inventory as Nephthys dropped them.
She silently watched the collars disappear. In Prelude, one’s inventory space scaled directly with one’s level up to the cap, and then the scaling became exponential. She always assumed the switch to exponential scaling was due to the massively increased experience requirements at levels beyond the soft cap.
Regardless, she had already confirmed that her own inventory was the same as it was in Prelude, though it was somewhat difficult to compare one-to-one without a grid menu. Ramose’s storage space must be quite large as well, assuming his level remained as it was when she summoned him.
“Now, how about we get these poor folks off their feet, hmm?” Theron called from the gate.
————————————————————
Nephthys floated above her chair, cross-legged. She had initially sat on it, but she found herself drifting up as her focus shifted. She had, eventually, surrendered to her body’s instinctive desire to float, choosing to focus on other, more important things than keeping her backside in the chair.
In this case, the more important thing was magic.
She had made great progress on mana circulation, both within and without. Mana seemed strangely attentive to her will, almost eager to perform as she dictated. Part of that could be explained by her Djinn body being primed for internal control, but she was not sure the ease with which she could control mana externally could be waived away as a result of being a Djinn.
Regardless, mana circulation was a trivial matter for her, and she even had hypotheses on how to circulate mana in a mortal body, though she lacked a test subject. She would be eager to learn how others used magic. Indeed, she planned to eventually broach the subject with the Nemesis members. For now, she was focused on the other aspect.
The spell execution was far more difficult to parse. She had managed to discern patterns while using basic spells. This squiggle represented the flame of her candle-sized spell. This one controlled the heat. This rune seemed to dictate distance, though how was still frustratingly opaque.
“The majority have advanced beyond our agreed perimeter, my lady,” Hannibal reported, sitting in a comfortable chair off to the side. His eyes were closed as he received reports from his summoned minions.
“Then they are no longer our concern. They are not a threat by themselves, yes? And if they seek reinforcements, we will discover them well before they arrive. Unless we have the forces to secure a wider surveillance area, this is what we can do,” Nephthys responded.
“Indeed. Our current radius is the extent we can manage for now. Our scouts are still focused on seeking information. Once all are freed, we can cast a wider net,” he agreed.
Hannibal had been tracking the slavers as they abandoned the area. Nephthys was annoyed but unsurprised that they abandoned the slaves so quickly. She did not actually expect any decency from slavers, but abandoning these people firmly established that they viewed them as nothing more than disposable assets.
Despicable.
A knock on the door brought her out of the anger beginning to simmer. She opened it with a wave of telekinesis, a convenient spell that could be learned at a low level. Its power scaled with one’s stats and level, so Nephthys could use it for nearly anything. Ramose emerged through the open door, surprisingly tailed by the little elf girl.
“My lady, please forgive the intrusion. This, uh—young woman claims to have something important to discuss with you,” Ramose said, strangely awkwardly.
“What about?” Hannibal asked, staring intently from the side.
“I…do not know,” Ramose admitted, awkward again.
“This young lady, who arrived as part of an assault against Nemesis, if you will recall, claims to have something important to discuss with our guild master, and you brought her straight here without a single question?” Hannibal asked, his accusation clear.
“I—forgive me. That was…uncharacteristically impulsive of me. I am not good with children…” Ramose stammered.
“Come in,” Nephthys said, interrupting the awkward exchange before she had to suffer through more of it. “You will not protest to Hannibal’s presence, yes? We are discussing important matters.”
The young girl shook her head, stepping around Ramose to stand before Nephthys’s desk. She appeared to be one of the nuarch, dark elves. After the Skyfade rendered the surface uninhabitable, the remnants of Praxia fled to various caverns and underground spaces. These remnants would have included hiarchs, high elves of the Praxic Empire.
However, after centuries of survival underground, they evolved into a new subspecies of elves adapted to that environment. They were generally lithe and short, though not as short as dwarves, their frames adapted to maneuvering tight quarters.
They saw in the dark nearly as well as in the light, though their eyes took longer to adjust to sudden changes in illumination. Their ears were long, extending nearly a foot from their heads on average, and were adapted to hear the softest of footfalls echoing through a cavern.
“How may I help you…” Nephthys prompted.
“Tara,” the young woman clarified.
“How may I help you, Tara?” she asked.
Tara glanced at Ramose behind her, the implication obvious.
“You can return to your duties, Ramose. Thank you for escorting Miss Tara,” Nephthys said.
“Of course, thank you, my lady. My apologies for the…inconvenience,” he said, bowing as he left.
“It is no trouble, Ramose. Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses,” Nephthys said, intending to put him at ease, though he flinched noticeably at the word ‘weakness’.
“Now, what can I do for you, Tara?” Nephthys asked as Ramose closed the door behind him.
“You activated my transformation. How? Have you experienced something like it before?” Tara asked, studying Nephthys carefully and obviously.
“I have seen transformations before, but none like yours, no. If you think me familiar with whatever magic it entails, I regret to inform you that I am not,” Nephthys said, noting the look of both relief and suspicion in the girl’s face.
“How could you do that to me without familiarity with the magic?” she asked, her tone straight, despite wearing her emotions on her sleeve.
“The blueprint is scrawled across your skin, Tara. I merely encouraged your mana to trace it. What I did was not create the magic myself but nudge your own a bit. It is more like you were running zigzags, and I held you and forced you to run a straight line. The effect is great simply because the time saved by running in a straight line rather than zigzag is large, not because my actual intervention was,” Nephthys explained, crossing her arms to study Tara.
Tara’s relief was more obvious than ever, which was a bit of a relief to Nephthys as well. She was glad to see Tara’s guard so lowered. She had been rigid and standoffish when she arrived, which was never a trait Nephthys hoped to see in a teenager. Such a posture often spoke of past trauma.
“You are relieved that I do not know your technique. Is it a well-kept secret, then?” Nephthys prodded.
She resisted the urge to chuckle as Tara’s eyes widened, likely realizing that she had been broadcasting her thoughts for anyone to see.
“Relax. I do not care about your origins. Nemesis is not a guild that raids and pillages, and it is unlikely you possess anything of interest to us. I do not intend to pry into your past, though your magic is quite…unique. I am interested in a professional capacity as a fellow practitioner. That is all,” Nephthys said, hoping to put the girl at ease.
Contrary to her intention, Nephthys observed a grand change in Tara. Her jaw firmed, and determination crept into her eyes, for some reason.
“I have an offer, then. I would let you…study my lines and magic, or whatever it is you want to do,” she said.
“Oh?” Nephthys replied, her brows raising. “And what would it cost me?”
“Teach me,” Tara ordered, not even waiting for Nephthys to finish her question.
A moment of silence passed between the two. Hannibal stared at Tara with eyes narrowed, though she never looked his way.
“Teach you what?” Nephthys finally asked after many moments of processing the request.
“Teach me magic. I saw what you did while testing the collar. You cast lightning like it was no big deal. I didn’t even hear you incant! You used my lines even better than I do, and they’re on my body! Teach me to use them better, and teach me more magic. In exchange, you can study my lines,” Tara proffered.
What does ‘incant’ mean?
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