Classes of Legend

Amun.

***

"So, you're all exceedingly strong and have reached the limits of super-powered strength and constitutions, except you," Doyle confirmed his assessment, pulling my eyes away from Etan, on the approach.

"Yeah," I nodded, smirking to both him and Olga. "I think I'm as strong as Toril now."

"Strong as Toril." Doyle chortled, looking somewhere far off for a moment. "Not stronger than Toril?" he then asked, looking back at me.

"Toril has had Weight Magic since our affinities were awakened." I pointed out, then let the words hang in the air for a few puffs before I pointed my pipe at them teasingly. "How heavy do you think his clothes have been since then? His weapon?"

"Huh," Doyle huffed, slumping back in his seat. Meanwhile, Olga seemed as if she was truly pondering the question. At least until Lana and Zaraxus sat at the table.

"A paladin that holds the power of the storms has to be as strong as a tempest giant," Lana said. "That only makes sense, after all."

"Right." Olga snickered dryly. "Well, since there are no big screens to show us what's what, how about one of your speeches?"

"I wouldn't call it a speech but I get your point." I snorted, rising to address the elephant in the room and pausing from the sudden excitement shown by everyone else. Not to say I wasn't excited myself, but the anxiety of those who had fruits to eat was nearly palpable.

"I'm proud to say that you all have exceeded my standards in becoming the finest explorers in all the realms," I stated, beginning my trademark pacing. "In this, your station in the Legio Noctis is higher even than the Imperators of the various Legions. To you subordinate members of the Troupe." I lifted my head, peering at those my Troupe had gathered from the Bodhi Peninsula. "You, now and forevermore, hold the title of Abyssal Ambassadors. Titles with pay equating to twenty-two-hundred-fifty gold a week."

Geri's relatively few subordinates almost fainted, causing her to look over her shoulder in disapproval until I pressed on. "As for you lot." I looked gazed upon my Troupe. "You each have distinctive titles. Collectively, however, you are hereby known as the Abyssal Agents. A title that grants you diplomatic immunity, operational sovereignty, and a pay of twenty-five hundred gold per week. Three weeks in a month, times thirteen months in a year, equates to eighty-seven thousand seven hundred fifty gold in back pay for the Ambassadors. And for the Agents, Ninety-seven thousand five hundred gold coins."

The matriarch herself then collapsed in a bed of frozen flowers, yet she managed to turn into her wolf form to save face and rose from her flowers moments later, snarling at anyone who dared laugh.

"You've received your vehicles, enchantments, and other boons already." I continued once the laughing died down. "All that leaves are your merits. Your station." I pointed out to the many worlds scattered around my starless system. "There will come a time when your worlds will be seen as the heart of a galaxy, home to a million-billion stars. But that would only come after our many lifetimes of adventure. Our business is on the Mortal Plane. The place in which you are known as Deities.

"Deities though you are, you were not when you met the prerequisites for obtaining your classes. That was accomplished before your coming here, to Eotrom. Consequently, the Master paths that were then opened to you were subsequently sprinted through during your time on your worlds and here in the Darkroom.

"In doing so, you have obtained what even I do not have." I grinned, looking at each of them react to the fruits of their labors slowly descending on ethereal vines. "There is nothing greater I can imagine, for you chosen few, than classes as revolutionary as these; Legendary Classes. But keep in mind, this is not a gift from me. This is a gift from your past selves, paid by blood and effort for the sake of rewarding the version of you that currently exists. So cherish them, and learn of your paths during these nights of revelry.

"For, when we return to the Mortal Plane, we have work to do."

As they dispersed into their cliques and groups to eat and evolve, I returned to sit among Etan, Doyle, and the others to dictate their stories and accomplishments across the net.

Wasting no time upon sitting, I followed everyone's gaze to the black, audibly beating heart-like fruit and made note of the circuit-like veins on the skin before I began.

"I've made pacts with and blessed each member of the Troupe. I've augmented some of their bodies, upgraded their natural abilities and given them more, and tutored their minds to become the prime deities of my pantheon. They're all necromancers, albeit in differing ways. They're all Doctoral Witches. They've all learned the principles of Technical Wizardry. They're all Engineering Artificers. And they've all dove down the paths of the classes they've chosen.

"In this, they are all sorcerers, warlocks, witches, and artificers; along with their other classes. Masterful paths that have been traversed during their training. While all were blessed and in some ways, cursed. The Undying Fiends are different. Not only are they undying, but they'll develop fiendish traits later on down the line. Horns. Tails. Abilities only devils have. As they are now, however, the only fiendish trait present in them is the corruption of their abilities."

"Rickley Ravenbrook, for example, was plagued with the shadow of death due to living in a hole filled with asbestos. She had cancer, yet sought to increase her chances of success rather than seek out a witch. Thus the reaper that'd been clouding her moved from her feet to her head. Her money was then stolen and she became maddened for revenge toward the one who stole her riches. Her pact with the Owl gave her the revenge she longed for, though still, she died. Partially.

"Upon her rebirth, she was given a body capable of producing music without the need for an instrument. Not to mention commune through mana and connect with our technology. Her power of music, however, was corrupted to affect the living and dead in differing ways. She was a Warlock, an Undying Fiend, the Soul Singer. But after graduating from the Bardic School of Passing, she became a [Bardic Warlock, the Soul Celebrity].

"And yet, I blessed her so have Sorcerous Twilight; although, her Twilight is more like Twilight-Poison, as that's how she died. And that, she blended with her mastery of the Roguish ways of Fiendish Fencing to become a [Sorcerous Rogue. The Twilit Fencer]."

"A fencing as in a peddler of stolen goods, or the fighting style?" Doyle asked.

"Yes." I nodded without as much as looking his way. "As the Eldest Grave Keeper, it's Rickley's job to ensure the dead rests peacefully. To bury them and build the things in which they're buried. To converse with them and create the enchantments needed for others to do so. To give them the means to see beyond their graves and for mortals to see beyond the veil. To be an Artificer, the Eldritch Civil Engineer.

"To that end, she learned how to study the dead of mortals and aberrants alike, performing autopsies, and other aspects of Pathology, merged with the Eldritch aspects of Witchcraft. Thus she is an [Artificing Witch, the Eldritch Mortician]. More than that, though, she is Eotrom's Goddess of Architecture, Funerals, Cities, and Graves."

"Wilson Koorb, on the other hand, was an amateur artificer- an accomplished alchemist and a hedge wizard to boot. He developed stronger and longer-lasting potions for the market. All while being unevolved."

"T- that's amazing!." Olga gasped. Not from the achievement, but from the slop of Wilson's 'fruit' dripping into his mouth.

It both looked and smelled like tar. Even before the thin membrane of the berry was pinched above his outstretched tongue and held there for minutes.

"Yes, but what wasn't amazing was him wanting more. He blatantly asked the Owl for perpetual youth and immortality in exchange for realizing his magnum opus. He knew his habit of testing potions on himself would end badly in the long run. Thus he sought to flee from the deathly shadow above him.

"The Owl, however, declined his wish. He flew away, and through Wilson's subconscious, proposed a pact. His wish, in exchange for his undying service to me as the first warlock created by my sorcery. An Undying Fiend.

"As we agreed, Wilson's alchemical prowess was blessed and enhanced to permit him the realization of his magnum opus- mutable potions, or those with permanent effects. This became so for the ones active within him at the time of his rebirth and was so for the ones he created thereafter; although the process is certainly not easy.

"The mutations born by the brews are everlasting until one drinks the 'antidote.' Wilson Koorb, however, is cursed. Thus he was given an adamantine skeleton that prevents him from mutating anything other than his flesh.

"The final aspect of his curse was to be reversed in age from seventy-two to five years old. Then, he spent his second childhood learning how to use his Bio-alchemy to create mutated, magical, and enhanced undead and fought them in ways that combined his mutable artificing with his connection to the Shadow Realm and his training to become a Mage Slayer. Now, he wields negative mana, or antimagic as a [Fighting Artificer, the Mutable Mage Slayer].

"Whether he was thankful or simply devoted to his craft made no difference to his path. He continued worshiping the ArcaTech* by becoming a devoted engineer and toiling in his labs day in and day out to create marvels for the undead and devils alike- for himself. Thus he is now a [Clerical Warlock, the Eldritch Engineer].

"That, however, was not the blessing I gave him. And in truth, his sorcery wasn't a blessing at all. But rather, permission from a sovereign of death to become a Nox-Lich, a sorcerer who can enjoy the pleasures of life. He'll stop aging sometime between now and twenty-two years old, and will not need a fresh intake of souls to remain whole like other liches. This also gives him ties to the Shadow Realm. But he cannot combine it with his necromancy like I can.

"Regardless, his necromancy combined with his studies of witchcraft and modern medicine to become a Surgeon, turned him into a [Sorcerous Witch, the Nox-Lich Doctor]. And now, he is Eotrom's God of Alchemy, Disasters, Mutations, and Antimagic."

A sudden cracking sound pulled us away from Wilson finally munching on the tar of his berry and over to a particularly gruesome fruit, if it could have even been called one. It looked like a spiky orange, bone white and so hard it had to be crushed underfoot to reveal the banana-like interior. But the slim green man licked it up greedily and even crunched on the thick shell once he was done.

"Although I spotted him long before, we found Leary at the end of a dwarven axe while I was toying with my abilities. He begged for his life when he awoke to see me and Etan. He said he'd do anything to live. So, with the Shadow of Death looming over him, the Owl Made a pact with him.

"That pact saw him live on the brink of death as an Undying Fiend while his body was enhanced and augmented and evolved into a Goblin Paragon, developing his spirit to create a sorcerous affinity out of the bone manipulation innate to all goblins. corrupting and amplifying the bone manipulation innate to all goblinoids to work on himself and become his sorcery. Now, he is a [Sorcerous Warlock, Undying Bone Emperor].

"He is entirely lacking the useless and negative traits of his kind. Instead, those traits have been reworked to give him increased physical and mental capabilities. The latter he put into studying all things bones in terms of engineering, artificing, medicine, and witchcraft; then later merged his learnings with the fields of Osseous Artificing with Orthopedic Surgery to become an Artificing Witch, Orthopedic Surgical Engineer.

"A truly fearsome ability," Zaraxus mentioned. "The destruction he wrought to the Kingdom of Oim shall remain etched into the land for eons. Horizons of bone, molded into bridges and railways; battlefields and bergs."

"As is only right." I nodded to him. "For the charge for his boons is his undying loyalty. Faith, in both himself and in me. Specifically my wicked side. Being the barbarian he was both born and reborn into, this saw him become a scourge whenever he lost himself to his rage. In Eotrom, however, his zeal served to strengthen him as he mastered his fighting skills, turning him into a Fiend for Battle.

"In merging those classes focused zealously on my wickedness, he became a [Barbaric Fighter, a Supervillain]; as well as Eotrom's God of Bone, Battle, Villainy, and Goblin Paragons.

"Like them, the others are varied and far more complicated," I said, looking over the lighter members of the Troupe, with their strange mix of fruits. Namely, the mountain of steaming squash descending on the larger pack of howling wolves.

"Freki was a barbarian who killed his mother for torturing him as a child. She deemed him as weak and made him torture people and kill animals in addition to his 'punishments.' In getting his revenge, he killed Skoll, who didn't want to see his soul be tainted. In turn, Skoll's celestial soul was then freed to corrupt Freki's body. He would've stayed in his man-beast form with Skoll's personality had I not cursed him. With his curse, though, their souls merged, enabling him to shift between the three forms. And while his personality remains, his memories have been replaced with Skoll's.

"With Skoll's memories comes Skoll's ravenousness, thus the first thing Freki did was to hire about fifty farmers to provide him with food. He spread his curse to them, turning them into werewolves, then educated and trained them to meet his standard, paving the way for him to become a [Barbaric Warlock, Patriarch of the Meteor Wolf Pack].

"More than that, though, he studied and toiled to become an artificer with a specialization in agriculture. Then devoted himself to fulfilling the role of the Legions' Grand Quartermaster, turning him into an [Artificing Paladin, the Agricultural Philanthropist].

"While the rest of his Pack became the Fruitful Four, the False Shepherds, and the Harvest Wardens who led them- Barbaric Warlocks just like him- so too did they become Sorcerous Celestials of Summer and Autumn like him. Using their innate powers and their vast harvests, they went about witchcraft in several ways. In Freki's case, he used his abilities to care for the animals on his ranch worlds and became a Sorcerous Witch, Celestial Veterinarian; as well as Eotrom's God of Agriculture, Barbarians, Freight, and Logistics.

"Geri is much the same as her brother, and yet different. She was physically robust, yet weak and sickly. Thus her father saw fit to throw her into the wilds to make her stronger and less sickly. In a way, it worked. She stole livestock from nearby ranches and brought them to nearby wolves. They took the kill. They ate and she watched until they would offer her some. And through that, she gained their trust.

"She's a natural ranger. But then, she killed her father the moment she had a chance. She killed Hati and received the same curse as her brother. Yet, where Freki embraced his other half and had the claws and fangs to prove it, Geri sought to earn the trust of her inner beast as she did before.

As far as I'm aware, the only difference that made was in her less-bestial appearance, but time will tell. Now that she's awoken as Eotrom's Goddess of Reconnaissance, Rescue, Communications, and Rangers, however, I'm forced to think differently.

"Like the other pack, she and all of her members are [Ranging Warlocks of the Winter Wolf Conclave]. The Matriarch and other ranked members. Yet her smaller, more specialized crew has more legendary classes as well. All of them are [Sorcerous Witches], Space, Aerospace- or in Geri's case, [Celestial First Responders]. From there, they diverge.

"Katheryn, Lemeia, and Lula are [Bardic Artificers]," I said, pointing to the human, strifling, and dark gnome. Then to the dwarf, human, and halfling. "Penny and Rhonda are [Clerical Artificers] while Norsh is a [Barbaric Artificer]. As for Geri, she's a mash-up of the Celestial Aerospace Engineer and the Celestial Spell Striker. An [Artificing Wizard, Aerospace Spell Bomber].

"Etan." I looked to the sole being of my kind I could relate to. "You are next. Because, for all the merits found in the classes of you and your subordinates, the ones you get are more complex. Not to say yours isn't complex." I needlessly assured him. "You had a class before our meeting and reached the end of it on your world. More so, you designed your blessing to work off of your monastic way- your Astral Ki, giving rise to your Nebulous Sorcery. Thus, with them merged, you are a [Sorcerous Monk, Nebulous Lama]."

"Yet, like Leary, our pact saw you evolve into a paragon of our kind, given the condition that I help you free our people and that you train my Legions. With that, you graduated from the Bardic School of Training and became a [Bardic Warlock, the Abyssal Regent] - the Prime Disciplinarian and the Primary Training Instructor for all the Legions. The Eternal Champion's Champion."

"And so too am I an [Artificing Witch]," he told me, the slightest look of disbelief written across his face. "[Dreamscape Psychiatrist]."

"So too are you a God." I reminded him. "Eotrom's God of Education, Training, Memories, and Nebulae. A power that has been transferred to your subordinates. They are all paragons, like you. And they all have Nebulous blood that synergized with the monastic teachings you gave them. They all are [Monastic Sorcerers, Nebulous Gurus]. Except one. Tacnan Gemeye." I looked at the humble deep gnome. "He's a [Bardic Monk of the Educational Philosophy].

"The others are… more varied. Rimoire." I pointed to the nebulous goblin. "Is a [Rogue Artificer, Nebulous Cypher]. Glok." I shifted to the nebulous hobgoblin. "Is a [Wizardly Artificer, Spell Printer]. Turr." I gestured to the nebulous bearbug paragon. "Is a [Ranging Artificer, Societal Uplifter]. Ginku." I nodded to the nebulous ogre paragon. "Is a [Barbaric Witch, Field Therapist].

"And then…" I shifted my gaze, bringing my eyes and everyone else's to the cluster of bronze-colored fruits dangling before the mob of finely dressed women. "We have the special cases. Starting with the Orcinus Mafia."