3.3 – Training in Creation

We left the cottage and proceeded to yet another modest dwelling. As we walked, Drisnil broke the silence.

“Now, I want you to try creating a mouse on the shoulder of the man we are going to meet.” She paused for a moment before continuing, “He quite likes mice, and will be pleasantly surprised by the unexpected appearance.”

We reached the front door and entered without knocking. An older man sat at a plain wooden table, diligently reviewing some paperwork. Drisnil approached him, with Juliana following closely behind.

“Greetings, Murray. I take it the current peace planning is progressing well?”

Murray glanced up, deep lines of worry etched across his face. “It is quite the monumental task you have assigned me, Drisnil. I believe it is possible, but please anticipate a few complications that may require your direct involvement.”

I used the distraction of their conversation to focus intently on Murray’s shoulder, visualizing a small mouse perching there. The world seemed to warp and shift. The room fell utterly silent; an instant later, a tiny rodent sat upon his shoulder, staring directly back at us.

It remained completely still for a heartbeat before darting rapidly down his jacket. Murray vaulted out of his chair and shrieked, “Mouse!”

Drisnil snickered, and frankly, I found it highly amusing as well. The creature scurried across the floorboards toward the entrance, slipping through a narrow crack and vanishing.

Murray stood atop his desk, scanning the floor frantically. “Is it gone?”

“Yes, that wonderful creation has sought freedom outside,” Juliana responded serenely.

“Good. I absolutely loathe those vermin. Frankly, I fail to see the humor in this, Drisnil.”

“Oh, Murray, there are far more terrifying things in this world than a simple mouse. You really ought to focus your concerns on those,” Drisnil sneered.

Murray hastily collected his composure and climbed down to his seat. “Yes, my apologies. I will try to work on my phobia.”

“Good.” Drisnil smiled with sickly sweetness.

Murray winced slightly before returning to his ledgers.

“Now that our business here is concluded, follow me, Juliana.”

Juliana shot the assassin an irritated glare as she trailed us back into the crisp, late-morning air.

“Next, I want you to try manifesting another person into being, Geoff. Ideally, someone willing to collaborate with us, and someone exceptionally powerful.”

*That’s not a wise idea,* I thought, pushing the words to the surface. “It could invite further complications.” The sentence came out in my voice, not hers, a jarring shift in tone.

“You merely need to be more deliberate about it. Perhaps this time, pick someone a bit more... normal.”

Juliana, picking up on the blatant slight, growled in response. “I am certainly far more normal than your wretched, evil self.”

Drisnil let out a soft chuckle. “Who claimed that lacking normality was a negative trait?”

Out of the periphery of my vision, I caught Juliana smiling faintly before she forcefully dragged her expression back into a scowl.

Drisnil marched toward the cottage we had occupied overnight—the very same home I had inhabited over a century ago. “We require absolute privacy for this. Your capability to conjure life must remain a strict secret.”

We stepped inside, and Drisnil stood idle in the main room, with Juliana settling in right behind her. Drisnil took a seat at the table, and the druid quickly followed suit.

“Now, I want you to manifest a person—someone who will prove highly useful to our cause.”

I seized the helm after a brief pause. “Ah, does that not seem exceptionally dangerous?”

I handed the reins back to the assassin.

“Thus far, you have only manifested beings out of sheer distress. What I desire now is for you to conjure someone while remaining perfectly relaxed, executing a carefully structured plan. Although I cannot complain about you creating me, I certainly would not classify my existence as perfectly aligned with your ultimate goals.”

Drisnil was incredibly observant, it seemed, and ruthlessly blunt. “Fine. I will attempt to bring forth someone I know will remain safe.”

Internally, I pondered the mechanics: what if I conceptualized someone who already existed? Would that spawn a living clone? Would the magic simply fail, or would it physically teleport them here? I glanced at Juliana. A duplicate of her would certainly present a challenge, but nowhere near as monumental a threat as another Drisnil.

I focused on an empty patch of floorboards and began to concentrate intently on the image of Juliana, picturing every intricate detail that comprised her being. The fabric of reality began to warp. In a flash of displaced air, another Juliana materialized directly in front of us, her eyes wide open. A split second later, she collapsed heavily onto the ground, her gaze fixed and entirely vacant.

“Is a single version of me not sufficient for you, Geoff?” Juliana asked, arching an eyebrow.

I could physically feel Drisnil smirking. “Clever.” Drisnil looked from the clone to me, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. “Testing the limits. Of course. You had to know if you could simply create a new body for your lost Illara, didn’t you?”

Drisnil, as per usual, had completely deduced my motivations; we had spent eight decades sharing a mind, after all. She walked over to the unconscious clone sprawled on the timber floor, leaning down to check the entity's palm. The flesh was warm, but she was not drawing breath.

“Geoff, could you please attempt inhabiting this vessel for me?” Drisnil requested.

I slipped out of the assassin's consciousness and pushed into the clone. The physical shell felt entirely hollow, yet I somehow managed to anchor myself and take the helm. An overwhelming, desperate demand for oxygen hit my lungs; I gasped frantically for air, bolting upright on the floorboards. My vision rapidly focused, locking onto Drisnil’s trademark predatory smile.

“Excellent. It appears you finally possess a body of your own,” Drisnil observed, raking her eyes up and down my new form.

I let out a heavy sigh. “And yet, it is still not a male physique.”

“Indeed. You seem noticeably partial to manifesting women.”

Juliana strolled over and gently placed her hand against my face, tracing her fingers down my cheek while staring deeply into my eyes. Her unsettling, unhinged smile broadened significantly. “I have always desired a sister.”

“Ah, I would consider myself much more of a brother,” I corrected.

Juliana took a step back. “I sincerely apologize, but I already have a brother.”

I cautiously pushed myself upright. The anatomy felt familiar, but I hadn't possessed an independent physical form to myself for decades; maintaining balance proved incredibly difficult. I felt my trembling legs threatening to buckle under my own weight, so I desperately gripped the heavy table to steady myself.

Juliana wrapped a supportive arm around my shoulders. “Take it easy, Geoff. Why don't you have a seat?”

I lowered myself gingerly into the wooden chair, and she promptly took the seat right beside me.

Drisnil sat directly across from us. “Now that you have successfully conjured a literal meat puppet, how about you try manifesting a genuine person? Someone who might actually aid in rescuing your deceased wife.” The assassin paused to take a deliberate breath. “Preferably, someone we can easily control.”

I scoured my memories for characters from previous tabletop campaigns, and one specific figure immediately stood out: Sgith, a devout Solvarn cleric played by a friend back on Earth. She had miraculously survived an entire, brutally punishing campaign. While every other participant had lost their respective characters to the meat grinder, she had endured. Her vast combat experience would prove immensely beneficial, and her unyielding sense of justice would naturally compel her to assist us.

Once again, I focused intently on an empty patch of the room. I visualized Sgith, meticulously picturing everything that comprised her identity and her harrowing experiences. I deliberately imagined her manifesting even more powerful than before—scaled up to maximum level, despite originating from an earlier edition of the tabletop ruleset.

The fabric of reality warped once more. The room shuddered violently, and suddenly, Sgith stood before us. She was clad in gleaming, pure white heavy armour; her irises and hair were bleached entirely bone-white as a lingering consequence of a near-death encounter from her lore. The seasoned cleric swept her gaze over the three of us, her piercing eyes quickly locking onto the dark elf assassin.

“Why her, Geoff? Of all the entities you could have possibly manifested, it simply had to be her,” Drisnil complained bitterly.

Sgith immediately chanted an incantation. Instantly, Drisnil was paralyzed, magically frozen in place. I physically felt the divine binding attempting to take hold of my new body as well, but I somehow managed to resist the lockdown effect.

Sgith drew a heavy, glowing white mace from her hip. “In Solvarn’s holy name, give me one good reason why I should not smite you wicked creatures right where you stand.”

“Sgith, please stand down! We mean you absolutely no harm. I summoned you here because I desperately need your help,” I pleaded, my voice edged with panic.

“And why should I ever trust the word of someone consorting with her?” Sgith demanded, pointing the head of her mace squarely at the paralyzed assassin.

“Geoff here breathed you into existence. Please show your divine creator some modicum of respect!” Juliana admonished fiercely.

“Geoff? I somehow harbor a distinct feeling that I know him from somewhere...” Sgith trailed off, her brow furrowing in deep confusion.

I abandoned my cloned shell and phased into Sgith. Her mind was a chaotic muddle of the memories I had just poured into her. To make her real, I had given her our campaign’s history, and in that story, Drisnil had betrayed her party—manipulating them to slaughter the guardians of a holy relic before stealing it for herself. The cleric’s righteous fury was a product of my own creation.

The cleric's righteous fury began to violently boil over. I snatched control of her motor functions just in time, snapping her gaze over toward my newly abandoned, vacant-eyed clone slumped in the chair.

I used my temporary control of the cleric to drop the paralysis incantation binding the assassin. Drisnil immediately rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck, stepping menacingly toward us.

“You realize, Geoff, that you possess a highly limited window before your new flesh puppet over there expires completely. And now you have willingly introduced this massive, holy headache into our workspace.”

I rapidly relinquished control of Sgith’s mind.

“Get out of my head, you vile demon!” Sgith shrieked in horror.

I quickly phased out of her divine form and threw myself back into my clone. Once again, I gasped violently for air as my dormant heart kickstarted back into a frantic rhythm.

“Is this some twisted layer of hell?” Sgith bellowed, her heavy mace raised high in a combat stance.

“I assure you, it is not. Lord Geoff is no demon; he is a god,” Juliana declared serenely.

“I refuse to consort with delusional, evil cultists.”

“Cast your alignment detection upon me. I shall not resist.” Juliana sat calmly at the table, wearing a look of absolute, smug satisfaction.

Sgith chanted another divine miracle, focusing her piercing gaze entirely on the druid. A soft, revealing aura enveloped Juliana. As the magical inspection concluded, the cleric slowly lowered her mace back to her side.

“It appears you are not inherently evil, which is highly unusual for one of your specific lineage.”

“Indeed. I absolutely despise Vorlith for the atrocities she has inflicted upon my people. I firmly believe that without her corrupting influence, the Nhalyri could be truly liberated and finally partake in open civilization.”

Drisnil let out a mocking, cynical laugh.

“You are pathetically overly optimistic, Juliana. The Nhalyri are entirely content with the brutal nature of their culture.”

Both Sgith and Juliana directed synchronized, deep scowls toward the assassin.

Sgith finally holstered her weapon at her hip and cautiously lowered herself into an empty chair. “So, Geoff. For what exact purpose did you drag me into existence?”

“I desperately need your assistance defeating Vorlith within her own abyssal domain. She is currently torturing my deceased wife’s soul.”

Sgith’s stoic expression remained completely unchanged. “And why, exactly, should I risk my life to aid you in this suicidal endeavour?”

“Well, striking down an evil goddess aligns perfectly with Solvarn’s holy tenets. Furthermore, I genuinely cannot accomplish this impossible task without your expertise.”

The cleric stared at me in silence for a long moment, her features tightly pinched in deep contemplation. “If your sole objective is to rescue your spouse's soul, have you not simply attempted high-tier resurrection magic?”

“No? I do not inherently possess access to that specific school of magic.”

Sgith stared at me with pure, unfiltered disbelief. “You possess the sheer cosmic power to manifest fully formed people out of thin air, yet you claim you cannot resurrect a single mortal from the grave?”

“I have not actually attempted it. I had no idea if it was even within the realm of possibility, but I shall try it right now.”

I concentrated intently on an empty patch of the room, vividly picturing Illara standing there. I focused all my willpower on my fondest memories of her during her mid-twenties.

The ambient air pressure in the room shifted dramatically. In a flash, Illara’s physical form materialized on the floorboards. I forced my unfamiliar legs to sprint forward, desperate to pull her into a tight embrace. Her glassy eyes were locked forward, staring vacantly without blinking. I frantically checked her chest for the rhythmic rise of breath, but she lay completely motionless.

I abandoned the clone and phased directly into Illara’s newly formed vessel. The shell felt profoundly hollow and cold. I gasped violently as oxygen flooded her unused lungs, and I could physically feel the heavy, dead weight of my previous clone slumped across me. Hot tears immediately began to well up behind her eyes; possessing her intimate physical form felt deeply, inherently wrong, as though I had violated some sacred, unspoken boundary.

Disgusted with myself, I rapidly ejected my spirit and fled back into the druidic clone.

Sgith approached quietly, resting a comforting, gauntleted hand upon my shaking shoulder. “Illara looks beautiful. I can discern from the holy vestments she wears that she, too, was a devout follower of Solvarn. She must have been a truly remarkable woman. Do you mind if I attempt a divine casting upon her remains?”

I slowly shuffled backward, offering a weak, trembling nod.

The cleric began chanting a powerful resurrection miracle. Her face quickly strained with immense magical exertion as a brilliant, blinding aura completely enveloped Illara’s lifeless body. The holy radiance pulsed intensely for a full minute before Sgith abruptly collapsed onto the floorboards, every ounce of color draining rapidly from her face.

“I am so deeply sorry, Geoff. It appears Illara’s soul is entirely beyond my divine reach.”

“Thank you for trying, Sgith. I truly appreciate the effort.”

Sgith climbed unsteadily to her feet, leaning heavily on Juliana as the druid guided her to a wooden bench. “I shall assist you in defeating Vorlith. However, in return for risking my life, I require your aid in spreading the righteous teachings of Solvarn across this land.”

I managed a faint, bittersweet smile. “Certainly. I know Illara would highly appreciate that as well. We have a deal.”