Mini-Chapters – Patreon Poll

(I am very sick. Well, I have a cold but it really sucks. I am on my monthly break until the 19th. In the meantime, do vote for the Patreon poll since this entire ‘chapter’ is about that.)

<While you wait for The Wandering Inn to resume, I recommend Katalepsis, an Eldritch romance web serial I am reading!>

Pre-Chapter Note: 

If you are confused about the following, here is context. This is an idea I had for the Patreon poll for side stories every other month. I was writing mini-chapters between the regular chapters because I wanted to practice them, but most became…regular chapters or the start of longer arcs.

Then I got sick, and my backlog vanished, so I thought, why not? I’ll write openings to chapters so you can see what I was cooking and vote for more. It’s more of 1st-draft writing than you’re used to. The beta-readers and editing hasn’t been done, so it may have that rough feel. I’m also leaving in thoughts and context as I wrote it on-stream.

The short of it is that if you’re a Patreon, vote on the poll to get the chapter you want finished. We may not ever do this again but it’s a fun idea and I am…sick. Coughing, phlegm—I can’t concentrate and so I hope you forgive this weirder offering. And that I get better over my break because the writing isn’t going to be good enough while I’m this sick.

—pirateaba

 

 

 

 

Pre-Chapter Note: The Eldavin mini-chapter and this one were the first I wrote. They weren’t actually the strongest. This one’s fully mini, which…you’ll see later what I mean.

 

Mini-Chapter #1 — Zevara the Bored

It was a terrible day, the worst of days. The rains fell over Liscor, and Watch Captain Zevara walked around her Watch House.

Her Watch House, down the main street that led to Shivertail Plaza, abuzz with constant patrols coming in, reports, problems—the center of Liscor. Aside from that other Watch House that was going up in the new district which would be Liscor’s central Watch Command.

It was four times as big, with a huge sub-basement area for a [Coroner], exclusive Senior Guard lounges, a massive locker setup for the new [Guards], and all kinds of enchantments. It was okay.

Nice.

Venim was a good Watch Commander. He’d already started a huge new initiative for training recruits, and Zevara respected his ability to manage the city. She had approved of him or she’d have never let him take command. But he had to have some flaws. Deep ones, going to the root of the Watch. Issues that were plaguing Liscor.

“What do you mean no reports?”

Senior Guardswoman Beilmark was reading a book. She looked up.

“I mean it’s quiet, Watch Captain.”

“It’s never quiet in Liscor. How many thefts down Market Street?”

Lism and Krshia’s district always had petty theft. Beilmark shrugged.

“Three attempts today so far.”

“Then I’ll get out on the street and—what, only three? What about organized crime? The Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings—I know they’re muscling in on other gangs’ turfs with Mister Soot dead. What are they up to?”

“Drinking at reputable establishments, celebrating the Knights of Solstice.”

“Disorderly drinking?”

“Nope. And Venim’s used his new Skill. [Day of Deterrence]. Very nice. I had my doubts, but I’ll take a day off each month.”

Zevara stared at Beilmark, then cast around.

“Alright, rookie squads, on me! Antinium? Let’s see how your groundwork is g—”

A squad of six sharp-looking Antinium stopped on their way to the door. One saluted, a Soldier with a voice.

“Do you wish to accompany our work, Watch Captain Zevara? We are prepared for inspection! I knew this day would come when I read it in the manual.”

Beilmark and Zevara eyed the Soldier. Of course, trainees knew they could have someone check their work, but they usually seemed nervous. The Antinium exchanged significant glances, and Zevara heard a Worker mutter.

“This is ninety-two days past projected timing. So unexpected and, therefore, cleverer to delay so long. But we are ready.”

“Er. Right. Patrol route, Guardsman…Secondbadge?”

Zevara tried not to obviously squint at his badge, and the Soldier snapped back.

“Yes, Watch Captain! Patrol Group Antinium 2 is preparing to march down Sokhess Street, before turning down Lasfish Avenue and reconnoitering the [Fishers]’ district! We intend to deter petty crime, investigate overflowing sewers, and cut down on arguments given this is a busy season for fishing work!”

“Er—very good. And if you run into a blocked sewer—”

“We would report it immediately to the Adventurer’s Guild in case of suspected monster nesting, or Silveran’s Cleaners as the dedicated cleaning group in the city, ma’am! However, this is unlikely given the new undead-initiatives in sewers, and reassuring residents about their safety is our primary task as mandated by Liscor’s Council!”

A Worker almost screamed back at Zevara. She searched for something to ask. Beilmark’s mouth was open in clear amusement.

“They listen to everything you say, pay attention, and actually read our rulebooks. Very good, yes?”

“Er—quite. Why don’t I watch your patrol, squad?”

“Yes, Watch Captain! On the double, you ill-flavored maggots!”

The Antinium seemed to take this as a personal challenge and stormed out the Watch House so fast Zevara didn’t have time to even grab her oiled cloak. She hurried out after them.

 

——

 

Forty minutes later, Zevara stomped back into her office wet and rather dispirited. The Antinium were…good at their jobs. No problems! They marched so fast she told them they didn’t need to show off because they’d miss something, to which they’d responded that they always marched this fast; they just doubled back and forth if they were moving too fast down the street.

No crime. No paperwork, either. She hated paperwork, but when she combed her desk, opening drawers hopefully for some ill-written report by a [Guardswoman] that she’d have to decipher and fix the problems within, she realized they were gone too.

Taken by Venim, that bastard.

“We can’t have this. These Pallassians are taking our jobs!”

Zevara sat there, drumming her claws against the desk. She stared out the window. Then she tried to put her feet up on the desk and take a nap. She’d seen the old Watch Captain do that.

…After six minutes, Zevara leapt up.

“Practice training!”

 

——

 

Sergeant Relc was teaching new recruits like Hickery and Vok how to use their spear under an awning that kept the rain from drenching them. Technically, the Gnoll girl Hickery wasn’t nearly old enough to even become a rookie [Guard] like Vok, but she had approval from Zevara and her parents to train with some other kids.

Relc had every [Junior Guard] not on patrol practicing thrusts, and Zevara, a talented swordswoman in her own regard, watched Liscor’s only [Spearmaster]…and coughed. A bit of smoke came out of her lungs, and she wheezed as Relc glanced up.

“Hey, Captain Z—Zevara. You want to show this lot what’s what?”

“Er—no, Sergeant Relc. Just checking in. Well done.”

Zevara coughed again and pretended she was getting a breath of fresh air. Relc gave her a look of un-Relc-like concern, which was actually the new Relc.

“Lungs treating you bad?”

“Don’t mind me…smoke builds up. You know how it is. I can get a tonic from Pallass these days. I used to have to wait for someone who knew how to treat Oldbloods, like Isceil.”

“Well, you take care of yourself, Captain! Gotta have someone ready for the next time Erin summons a Goblin King. Which might be tomorrow!”

Relc’s joke made everyone present tense or wince, and Zevara mustered a weak grin. She nodded a few times.

“Yes…constant vigilance. It could happen at any moment. A disaster.”

She went back inside and stood around as [Guards] eyed her and tried to look marginally more professional. Zevara coughed into one fist as Beilmark looked up from her book.

“Can I help you, Watch Captain?”

 

——

 

She had nothing to do. Zevara paced around in a circle, did eighty pushups, dusted her office, refiled all her paperwork, and checked the time.

“Twenty minutes?”

She had nothing to do, which made Beilmark pointedly suggest Zevara take some time off.

“You’re always behind on vacations for yourself, Captain. Isn’t that what you keep grousing about? Take the day off. Take the week off.”

“I could—join the Council’s meetings. There’s all the fallout from the magical attacks on Liscor! Someone needs to represent us—”

“That’s Watch Commander Venim’s job, Zevara. And that new half-Giant who’s been making waves has been taking all the Council’s time as well.”

“Ah. Right.”

So she went on break for the day and stood blankly outside the Watch House. After a few minutes, the Antinium patrol returned.

“Aha. She was waiting for our return. I knew it.”

“Very clever, but she did not get us this time. Another victory for Antinium Squad 2! Yay!”

Zevara had no idea what to do with her time off.

 

——

 

Normally, she just slept, caught up on laundry, had a drink with some [Guards], or—maintained her personal life in the limited time she had. But these ‘days off’ had increased in number distressingly since Venim. That Pallassian rat. She should have never okayed him taking over her city.

What did she do with her free time? Well…she’d visit Calruz, but he was now in the army. And happier, even if he was still a prisoner. Or—or she’d be helping the Council, but now Venim did that.

It wasn’t like Zevara was avoiding anything else. Like, say, visiting The Wandering Inn.

“Definitely not. I have plenty of people to talk to. Outside of the Watch, there’s…”

She had friends! Selys had been a kind of—acquaintance. And there was also—if you considered [Shopkeepers] you bought from regularly, she had tons of—

Lyonette was one of her few non-Watch friends, and Zevara didn’t know what to even say. She hadn’t been at the inn, except to relay messages after the Goblin King incident. When the attacks had started, she’d been keeping everyone indoors, focused on Liscor, demanding a report from Relc.

Something terrible had happened, and Zevara wasn’t part of the inn. She knew it had happened, even if everyone was seemingly alive over there. She…

Didn’t know what to say to Lyonette that wasn’t monstrously underselling what had happened. But more than that? The Watch Captain stared blankly at a puddle.

She had no idea what to do with her free time.

 

——

 

“Lyonette! Why don’t we go fishing?”

Not even Ser Dalimont and Dame Ushar, loyal servants of the throne since Lyonette’s birth, could ever remember seeing the [Princess]’ expression when Zevara walked in with a fishing outfit, complete with the hat and two fishing rods.

Zevara and Lyonette sat in a rocking boat as the rains poured down, and the two Thronebearers paddled next to them as Zevara coughed. Lyonette wore a very polite expression.

“Are you…bored, Zevara?”

“Me? No, never. I have a very healthy life outside of work. Oh, Quillfish! Watch out—”

They ducked as a Quillfish began loosing its spines at them, and Zevara cursed.

“Use the umbrella as a shield! Use the—”

 

——

 

They didn’t get to talk about the [Palace of Fates] thing. Mostly because they’d capsized. Lyonette emerged with a dead Quillfish in one hand, handed it to Calescent, and Zevara accepted a hot mug of tea. Then she sat there.

Her head turned to the television. She watched it for five minutes. Then—

 

——

 

“That’s right! Lift! One more set! You can do it!”

Zevara’s arms trembled as Magus Grimalkin and Lady Pryde screamed at her. They were very distracting. Lady Pryde had a bag on her head and no one was commenting on it.

Zevara was trying to bench-press something in excess of two hundred and—they kept adding weights! She forced the bar up further, and Grimalkin pounded his clawed hands together.

“TESTICLES. That’s what I expect from a Watch Captain!”

“Ovaries!”

Lady Pryde corrected him, and Grimalkin hesitated, then nodded.

“OVARIES. If you all had half of the Watch Captain’s, you’d be gaining muscle each day!”

He pointed an accusatory finger at a Human woman, who seemed to take this as a personal challenge. Zevara was covered in sweat, and Pryde handed her a towel, an orange slice, and some weird water.

“Exercise water, House Pryde’s blend.”

Everything smelled like sweat and adrenaline. Zevara heard shouts of encouragement as a drenched crowd of people in underclothes gathered to watch someone else push their limits. She sipped at the water and stared at it.

“It’s salty.”

“Vital components you lose in working out!”

Zevara took a weak gulp. Then she stared at herself in the mirror as Pryde slapped her on the back.

“Stick with us, Watch Captain, and within a month, you’ll be a model of fitness for the Watch!”

Zevara stared at the mirror, then, when Pryde wasn’t looking, she struck her chest a few times and managed to trigger a wheezing fit with her smoking Dragonbreath and escaped.

She—didn’t want to be one of those people.

 

——

 

Watch Captain Zevara wandered through Pallass, the City of Inventions, a tourist on holiday. She grudgingly paid for some ice cream from her city, then saw a tourist to the city, a Human, make a face as a fly landed on his ice cream cone. He tossed it into a bush along the walkway as he swore.

She tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir, littering—”

 

——

 

The local Watch had asked her to stop after the third time she’d raised her voice in public. Zevara sat with her head between her legs as Lyonette tried to be accommodating.

“Why don’t you and Colfa and I sing together, Zevara?”

“You sing?”

“I do indeed!”

Zevara brightened up. She hadn’t sung since she was a girl, but why not? Lyonette beamed until Zevara and she realized that if you sang with imperfect Oldblood Dragonbreath, sometimes you coughed a plume of smoke out. And sometimes you just coughed out flames.

 

——

 

Watch Captain Zevara was sitting in a corner of The Wandering Inn, drinking a goat’s milk, when an old man limped into the room. He sat at a table opposite hers and spoke.

“Apologies for being late.”

A young man with clubbed ears, scars on his fists, and a repeatedly-broken nose glanced up.

“As long as you’re paying. Are you…alright?”

“Yes, yes. Just—damaged. I won’t be in fighting condition for a while, but we can at least work on our breathing. A very vital component of everything. Did you hear what happened?”

Alber, the [Fistfighter], glanced around the inn.

“Someone said something about a Goblin King. Fierre—but I didn’t see anything.”

“Er. Close enough. I nearly died. Several times, actually. Very shameful.”

Alber nodded seriously and put his fingers together.

“I thought you said you were in good shape?”

“I thought I was, but the scale of opposition, you see—”

“You said you were the best fighter on the entire continent bar none.”

“Er—well—I didn’t expect to run into Goblin Kings. Or alternate facsimiles of myself in better condition—clearly, we need to work harder!”

“Okay. And breathing’s the best for that?”

Demsleth sagged into his chair. Alber was so—literal. Zevara was listening with one huge earhole.

“Yes. In your case, so you can intake enough oxygen. For me? My Dragonbreath needs significant work. Good enough to melt mithril with ease—you know, that’s a staple of most Dragons!”

“But it sucks compared to what it should do.”

“Er—yes—”

“Then you’ve gotta work harder.”

Demsleth put his head on the table. Zevara eyed the very Human-looking old man. No way this was the…but he was just sitting there. Her mouth was open as Demsleth groaned at his training buddy.

“I know, I know! Let’s go find somewhere to sit—ooh. What’s a ‘papadum’? What if we—”

Alber slapped his arm.

“Eat later.”

“I broke multiple limbs!”

“Eat later. Come on.”

They got up, and only after a few seconds did one of them look over his shoulder. Then nudged the other…then Demsleth cleared his throat.

“Can I, er, help you, young lady?”

Watch Captain Zevara opened her mouth.

“Um…maybe?”

 

——

 

She sat with Demsleth, who seemed very pleased to have someone to instruct.

“In and out. Very steady.”

“I keep—coughing!”

Her lungs were getting irritated from all the heavy breathing as they sat outside the inn under a magical shield. Teriarch clicked his tongue.

“And that’s why you probably avoid strenuous breathing. In and out, young lady. Like so.”

His breath actually made the rain move, and Alber’s own intake of breath was huge. They let it out in a controlled motion, and Zevara tried.

“—And this is going to help?”

“My dear, this is not just simply ‘help’, it is control. You activated your hereditary gift like one simply…waves a wand. Mastery is far, far deeper. The only Drake I’ve met recently with even a passing mastery was that Silver-rank fellow, Captain Keldrass, and he had only mastered, well, proper exhalation. Did no one ever teach you how to use your Dragonbreath?”

“I had two months of training as a girl!”

Zevara was indignant, and Teriarch blinked at her.

“No dedicated classes? No years of…you know what? I’m being charitable after this entire palace affair. Charitable. Are they that lax in Pallass? Sit up. We do this every evening, you know.”

“Really? I, uh—I’ve got more free time. You are a Dragon, aren’t you?”

Teriarch’s head snapped around.

“Who told you that? I deny it! Has someone been spreading rumors about me? Possibly! And you are?”

She introduced herself. Then they turned to Alber. He raised a hand.

“I punch people for a living. [Fistfighter]. I can fit eight hard-boiled eggs into my mouth at once.”

They sat there, and Zevara took in a deep breath, then another. She wondered if this was life. Sitting, breathing…it was better than nothing, which is what she had had, which made her feel rather embarrassed. Then Teriarch cast a spell as he took a huge breath, and a second ‘mouth’ appeared next to his face and spoke.

“So, where was I…? Ah, yes. I was speaking with the King of Pheislant yesterday, Alber, Zevara. Quite a decent chap. Very accommodating.”

Zevara almost exhaled flames, but she saw Alber nodding along, and she held her breath. Teriarch spoke breezily.

“Aha, I see that look. Decent. Decent, in a [King]? That’s an indictment, in fact. He was far too…indecisive. Timid would be too egregious, but I knew the old Kings of Pheislant, and some of them had stares that could light up a room. Literally! They had a bit of crossbreeding with the Drowned Folk and their Luminaries, though don’t tell anyone else that. Everyone likes to say they’re from the Hundred Heroes, but—heh—the Hundred Heroes got around. Direct bloodlines? Phshaw. Now, the last time I was in Pheislant, they had more of their lighthouses, but I suppose they lost them. The one I remember had a [Landbridge] spell wherever the light shone. So one moment you’re sailing in, armed to the teeth with your [Pirate] friends, the next you see a bunch of [Knights] riding at you over the waves and you’re turning, but your rudder’s embedded in soil—”

His words spilled over her like a flood, and Zevara caught Alber’s eye as she slowly turned blue and wondered how long she was supposed to hold her breath.

She supposed…

You had to start with a hobby somewhere. Though she definitely needed more hobbies than just this. She’d work on it.

 

 

Mini-Chapter #2 — Keeping Up Appearances With Seraphel

Baleros was hot. The jungle was buzzing. They had a mosquito problem, as in—the insects bit everyone. Only Seraphel’s magical circlet kept her safe, and she had a problem.

The heat. The humidity. The marching—she kept protesting she wanted to share the burden by marching with a pack, but no one would hear of it.

“Milady, you are a Princess of Calanfer! You do not walk. If you walked, the soldiers would lose heart!”

“I rather think they’d understand, Ser Thilowen. Wouldn’t it be a show of solidarity?”

The principal Thronebearer was somehow fastidious and kept his armor polished even in this mud and bug-infested hell they were marching through.

“Your mother would object, Your Highness. A [Princess] does not lower herself in any situation. She is the inspiration from which her subjects draw heart.”

So she rode until the third time a branch at head height slapped her in the face so hard her surprised scream made the entire convoy halt. It wasn’t the branch, by the way, that did it. Her tiara blocked that. It was being hit by a spider as large as her face which promptly began crawling all over her. Since it wasn’t a projectile, it just crawled with all its little babies until Rabbiteater slapped it.

—Onto her cheek. The dripping spider guts oozed down her face as Hundredlord Cortese fumbled for a handkerchief. Menrise fell off her own horse laughing.

That was when Seraphel screamed like a woman being stabbed, and her two undead bodyguards rushed forwards to try to pick the spiders off her with Beacle and Mariel, her [Handmaidens].

 

——

 

Thereafter, she walked. But Seraphel managed only a few miles before her feet cramped up, then she nearly overheated, and then she tripped and banged up her big toe on her right foot so much—

“You suck at living.”

Rabbiteater informed Seraphel as she sat in a wagon. Cortese slapped his shoulder. Badarrow punched his side. Ksmvr drank some water because he really didn’t care about this particular argument.

“Ser Solstice, I would appreciate some support!”

Seraphel tried not to sound plaintive, but Rabbiteater just rubbed at his helmet.

“I am trying. I like you. You’re brave, if stupid, and we’re all surviving here. But—how—you’re so bad at living. I want to say ‘surviving’, but walking is just living. How?”

Seraphel spluttered as Cortese and Menrise tried to explain that a [Princess] was not used to walking on rough terrain. Or walking far at all. Or being without refreshments and a silk bed for any length of time. Which just made her sound more spoiled as the two Goblins stared at her.

Badarrow and Rabbiteater exchanged a look, and Vofea, the Satyr woman, came to Seraphel’s defense.

“Ach, ye can’t blame her for having flaws, Rabbiteater! Everyone’s got weaknesses. You couldn’t survive five seconds in a royal court.”

“Could too if I stabbed everyone.”

Vofea wagged a finger at him.

“Everyone has blindspots. Like me! I forget to breathe sometimes. I get it.”

She threw an arm around Seraphel, and the [Princess] closed her eyes. Ksmvr opened his mandibles.

“We shall begin breathing lessons forthwith, Rookie Vofea.”

“Aw.”

 

——

 

“Can’t walk, can’t ride well, can’t fight…she doesn’t even eat good, Badarrow.”

Rabbiteater was complaining about Seraphel to his brother as the two Goblins walked ahead of the others. They were ostensibly Goblin Slayer and random Hobgoblin, but they made up for this incongruity in their relationship by punching each other every now and then. It sort of worked. Badarrow scratched at a bug bite.

“How can someone not eat good?”

“That’s what I said. She doesn’t eat enough food. She says she’s ‘not hungry’ after she eats tiny amounts, then she’s hungry. Weak.”

“Oh, like Snapjaw.”

“Uh. No. Exactly not like Snapjaw.”

“She very cute when she munching. I miss her.”

“Yeah, well—I wish she were here too. Only Cortese is good at fighting up close. At least Menrise is magic.”

They turned to Lady Menrise, who might be as bad at walking, eating, and everything else as Seraphel, but she was a lot more strident. She took risks. She was crazy—and she had just conjured a bubble spell that was shielding everyone for fifty paces from insects.

“Spellcaster. So nice.”

They slowed to join the group, and Rabbiteater stared at Seraphel. She was walking again, and she looked—unsteady.

“Your Highness, perhaps another turn on the wagon?”

“No, Beacle, I’m fine—I must keep up, apparently, to Ser Solstice’s standards. I have survived a siege, you know!”

“Yeah, yeah, in Noelictus. You always say that. Good job. She survived one siege.”

Badarrow nudged Rabbiteater, and Seraphel flushed. Someone interjected, fiercely.

“Three! Her Highness survived three, you big—oaf! Far worse than you can imagine, with undead and horrible soldiers of Ailendamus!”

That came from Mariel, who was distinctly braver than Beacle and more willing to shout at Ser Solstice. Cortese glowered.

“Solstice, you treat everyone by your standards, and if you weren’t so damn vital, you’d be flogged for speaking to Seraphel so! She’s a [Princess]! Does that mean nothing to your G—Izrilian mind?”

Rabbiteater gave Cortese a pointed look.

“I’m trying to get her to toughen up. How many sieges have you survived?”

“Sieges? Well—Kaaz hasn’t been to war. Battles, now, or monster fights—”

Badarrow nudged Rabbiteater and grinned.

“Weak. Never survived a single siege? That’s why he on her side.”

“Yep.”

“Solstice, I will duel you—”

Seraphel’s gasping grew louder at that moment, and she was so red-faced everyone turned. She tottered forwards, felt like she was going to faint, and pressed a hand to her midriff.

“Uh oh, she’s gonna vomit!”

Rabbiteater stepped behind Cortese, and nearly everyone stepped back as Beacle rushed forwards. But Vofea, blessed with her keen eyes of the fey, merely looped around back.

“Your Highness! Please lie down and I’ll—”

Vofea pulled something on Seraphel’s back before anyone could stop her, and Seraphel’s chest exploded at Rabbiteater.

He had never seen a body do that, and he screamed and attacked what he thought was her breasts expanding and then flying at him like a bat. He punched and then kicked at a brown, leathery…

“Corset?”

Menrise saw Beacle, Mariel, Dame Neranthei—and Strategist Veine—shielding Seraphel as Rabbiteater stopped stamping on the piece of undergarment meant to preserve a lady’s figure. The Goblin gave Seraphel a look of such bewildered astonishment even with his helmet on she had to laugh at him.

“What—what—what?”

 

——

 

Corsets. Makeup. Corrective metal in your mouth for your teeth—even an entire wooden ‘cage’ that was meant to support those really egregious ballroom dresses to maintain that round look. The world of a [Princess]’ mandatory duties in upkeeping their appearance was at war with, well, trekking in Baleros.

And it swung Rabbiteater back onto Seraphel’s side, mostly out of horror.

“Metal in your teeth?”

“Yes, it’s, ah, usually a secret. But it moves the teeth around—Calanfer’s royalty have all had it done.”

“Dead gods, I thought you all just had a Skill or excellent bloodlines. Your smile is perfect.”

Cortese himself was rather shaken by how far the royal family would go to appear picture-perfect. Indeed, Seraphel had to admit she’d erred in this morning’s clothing routine. Beacle had been so fussed—and they’d already had to leave some of her possessions behind—that she’d picked out a magical corset.

“It tightens down so much you can actually achieve an hourglass waist. It just makes breathing hard. I actually didn’t notice at first.”

Not with all the other problems like those roaches skittering over our feet at breakfast. There had been a nest. But it was a good lie, and Rabbiteater’s note of horror made Seraphel play into the idea a bit.

“You have to wear that all the time?”

“Not all the time, Ser Solstice, but surely you must admit, Seraphel takes more time with her appearance than you. Isn’t it true of women where you live?”

Menrise challenged him, and Rabbiteater reflexively shook his head.

“Nope. They don’t do that.”

The flat gaze that Seraphel, Menrise, and even Badarrow gave him made the Goblin hesitate and fall unusually silent. However, it was Revi, the Stitch-woman who came to his aid.

“Humans. Having to shape your teeth and waists like that sounds dreadful. Stitch-folk change our bodies all the time and you don’t see us focusing on beauty as much as you lot. Don’t go assuming every species does the same.”

The [Summoner] had been unusually quiet of late, visibly depressed, but she rallied enough for a snide remark. Before Menrise could engage with her, Rabbiteater slapped his knees hurriedly and changed the subject

“So your clothing sucks. No more corsets or you’ll pass out and die. You got pants?”

Thus far, Seraphel had been re-using her travel gear, which were riding dresses and, well…that was it. Seraphel hesitated.

“P-pants? I could never!”

She glanced towards Ser Thilowen, and Rabbiteater began poking at her riding dress.

“Looks real uncomfortable. Real uncomfortable. I bet it gets tangled up in the muck and stuff. Menrise is wearing pants.”

Seraphel glanced at the pants-traitor, and Menrise raised a hand.

“A leech crawled up my leg. Sorry, but I got some right after that.”

“I—I have my circlet. It’s not something a [Princess] should wear, Rabbiteater. I appreciate the concern, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I’ve never worn trousers. I don’t think I’ve even touched them in my entire life! Which isn’t odd. Surely?”

That was the wrong thing to say. Seraphel saw even Cortese and Menrise giving her somewhat pitying looks. Vofea leaned over to Ksmvr.

“I wore pants for the first time in thousands of years when I joined up with you, Ksmvr. Should I also be ashamed?”

“No, Rookie Vofea. We are adventurers and do not subscribe to regular dress codes. For instance, Captain Ceria has a bunch of magical dresses which may be impractical, but I would still vouchsafe she wear one as the effects are worth the inconvenience.”

“True.”

“Also, I am almost always mostly naked.”

Everyone turned to Ksmvr and remembered he was only wearing a loincloth, belt, and his magical cloak. The Antinium gave Rabbiteater a challenging look.

“Pants are stupid.”

“Says someone with an armored butt that bugs can’t bite.”

“Yes.”

 

——

 

When Seraphel du Marquin, 4th Princess of Calanfer, hesitantly walked across the ground in pants and some hiking shoes, every Calanferian stared at the odd sight. The Thronebearers were hard at work having conversations about how fine this was and how the [Princess] in such clothing was out of the ordinary, but necessary.

Honestly, Seraphel thought they were overdoing it. But she did strut along, marveling at how—well—

How damn awkward the pants were and how much they chafed against her legs! It felt far too constrictive, and she wondered why anyone liked it. But she wore such a delighted beaming smile that not even Ser Thilowen had the heart to object.

“She’s so depressing, sometimes. I never thought wearing pants could make me smile. Remember Princess Aielef and learning to use a sword?”

Menrise muttered to Cortese and Rabbiteater, and they nodded and then put smiles on their faces as Seraphel hurried over.

“Good job, Pants Princess.”

Rabbiteater patted her on the shoulder, and she poked him through his armor, making him jump.

“Don’t call me that. I’m just—taking necessary steps to avoid slowing the party down.”

But she was so happy about this transgressive act. Until she had a thought.

“Does—um, Ser Rabbiteater, ah, um, Mister—Badarrow—does my younger sister wear pants?”

Despite everything, she half-expected the answer to be no. Rabbiteater and Badarrow regarded each other.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear a dress.”

Neither one was really prepared for how upset that made Seraphel. But then Rabbiteater, about to mock her, saw how her face fell. So…he stopped his snide comment and tried to listen. She was sort of like a Carn Wolf puppy, he’d decided. A Carn Wolf puppy someone had beaten with sticks half its life and hadn’t ever eaten meat.

It was really hard to actually be mean to her.

 

——

 

“So she walks around in a [Barmaid]’s outfit all the time? No Thronebearers, no…escort? How does she do her hair? Is it always like I saw, so simple? No styling whatsoever?”

“Um. She washes it. And she doesn’t wear a [Barmaid]’s outfit. More like an [Innkeeper]’s. Sometimes a skirt, but not a dress. Pants too, now and then.”

Seraphel tried to imagine some swarthy [Innkeeper]’s outfit on Lyonette, and her mind blanked.

“How’s her hair?”

“On her head. She dyed it brown for a bit.”

“No, what style?”

“…Long? Ah, but then she cut it here.”

He was the wrong person to ask about anything fashion-related, and Seraphel sagged. Rabbiteater hesitated and didn’t instantly needle her with a remark.

“Why do you care so much?”

It wasn’t the first time she’d asked him about her younger sister, and she’d had Dalimont’s reports, but Seraphel just shook her head.

“I told you what she was like in Calanfer. She’s so different. I wish I’d known this Lyonette. I wish I’d…gone with her. But I couldn’t, and it was—fine. For the best. I went to Noelictus and did a lot of changing there myself.”

He nodded.

“You miss her. I miss my brothers.”

“So you do understand. Though I don’t miss my brothers.”

The Hobgoblin tilted his head, as if this was so incomprehensible, to hate someone you called ‘brother’. But he was getting it. He had met her family, after all.

“Tell me about Noelictus, then. Are they fashionable?”

“Oh, yes, but not like this.”

She waved a hand at the verdant jungles overflowing with color. Seraphel closed her eyes, and she could still remember the grey skies, the monochrome landscape.

“Imagine…everything was drained of color. Black and white. Even the ground is like chalk; the bread is black, and everyone dresses so austerely, without a hint of other colors. Black and white, rather like [Butlers] and [Maids], you know? Not the dress, but the colors—”

“Sounds awful.”

“It is! Or so you think—the skies are always grey, and there’s so little sunlight. But after a while…even the smallest speck of color seems to fill everything up. And their capital city of Menorome glows like, like…”

Seraphel searched for words.

“…Like your [Innkeeper]’s flames. Just like that, Rabbiteater. A thousand glowing fires so that night feels like day. They embrace the darkness and dress sometimes fearsomely, like they are creatures of the night. They have this—what’s the word?—gothic style about them, from the [Hunters] to the common folk. It is beautiful, if completely at odds with Calanfer.”

“That sounds nice. I wish I’d visited.”

“—And you, Ser Solstice? What do your people dress like?”

He hesitated, and she knew he was trying to come up with a lie.

“Nothing fancy.”

“No, please tell me.”

She was walking with her only loyal Thronebearer present, Dame Neranthei, and Mariel and Beacle. No one who would betray him, of course. But Rabbiteater still didn’t know she knew his true nature. He hesitated, then shook his head roughly.

“We’re not as—pretty as your people. You’re better at dressing, like Menrise said. That’s all.”

She saw him hunch his shoulders, but refused to let it go.

“I don’t believe that. It might be unconventional to our tastes, but please tell me. Who’s to say who judges style?”

“We don’t have style. We’re too poor to have it.”

He snapped at her, and she fell silent and ducked her head. After a moment, Rabbiteater rolled his shoulders.

“…It’s not the clothing. It’s—paint.”

“Paint?”

Her head rose, and he murmured.

“That’s all we had. You mark yourself with paint when someone dies. When you kill someone in battle. When you take a wound. A mark for everything. Not all the same. Everyone wears it differently. Sometimes, it’s just there, but other times, it makes them look different. Redscar—a leader—he wore his beautifully.”

Beautifully. Seraphel had seldom heard any man, save for perhaps Lord Belchaus, described thusly. But Rabbiteater said it so naturally, and he tried to describe it, tracing markings over his arm.

“It sounds…fascinating.”

Many would have called it barbarous, but he described it like she had learned flower languages at court, a world of meanings distilled into simple shapes. The two were so engrossed in talking that they almost ran over a lone figure usually excluded from the rest of the group.

Admiral Dakelos, the hated Ailendamus [Admiral], was stumping along by himself, almost as miserable as Seraphel in his stained and muddy sea outfit. He seemed tired and unwell on the land; bug bites were all over his face and arms. Neither Goblin nor [Princess] had quite the heart to just walk away from him, so Seraphel called out.

“Admiral, what fashion does Ailendamus practice?”

He gave them a blank look.

“I have no idea, Your Highness. I don’t attend the royal court often enough, nor am I caught up with the culture on land. I’m often at sea.”

“Ah. Oh.”

—Like that, Admiral Dakelos sunk the conversation as effectively as every ship he captained. Seraphel searched for anything to say and realized she had connected with a Goblin on style. He seemed just as surprised to find a [Princess] understood Redfang markings.

After a moment, Rabbiteater ducked his head at Seraphel.

“…Sorry for making fun of you. If you’ve never even worn pants, I guess it really is hard to do the things I think are easy.”

The apology stung, but he meant it, so she inclined her head as Dakelos gave her a strange look; he hadn’t noticed the pants until now.

“Thank you, Rabbiteater. I wish I were as tough as…well, any of the other women I’ve known. Who all wore pants, come to that. Here I am, a weight on all of you. My younger sister would do better! Or Vernoue, even…”

Seraphel sagged as she felt useless once more, and Rabbiteater floundered.

“You’re tough. You survived a battle at sea.”

Dakelos nodded encouragement as Rabbiteater jabbed him with an elbow.

“No, no. They’d have been so much better.”

“Who are you talking about? Which women do you know who could survive all this? I didn’t think you had frien—”

This time, Dakelos elbowed Rabbiteater so hard his elbow crunched on the armor, and he winced. Seraphel missed that comment and spoke sadly.

“Events tore us apart. And some—well, if we’re talking about women, there was Elena, who was my helper before Beacle. And I had another [Handmaiden], not just Mariel—Thistle. You never met her. Oh—but if we mean friends, it was Cara, the Singer of Terandria. She could adapt to anything, I swear! Though she’d be as foul-mouthed as you, Ser Solstice.”

“Sounds like she’s fun.”

“She was! She’d have us marching double-time with a song and liven up everyone. Here’s me…what do I bring?”

“Two dead people?”

Rabbiteater glanced at the Skeletal Champion and Strategist Veine, who both glared at him. Seraphel sighed.

“That’s hardly…the other one was Huntress Haeight. She would have been even more well-suited to all this. She was a Hunter of Noelictus, you know.”

“I’ve seen a few of them. Very dour. They wear that dark leather armor and those odd hats, correct, Your Highness? And use crossbows?”

Dakelos grew interested in the conversation. Rabbiteater tried to remember if he’d seen them, and Seraphel nodded.

“All of them. They’re very efficient, very brave, and practical. They have no formal code of honor, and they, um, slay monsters and people very efficiently. Haeight was always talking about tripwires and bear traps and whatnot. I daresay the Thronebearers would have a conniption fighting with them.”

“That sounds great. Why didn’t you take her with us? We could get rid of Cortese for her.”

Seraphel covered her mouth and glanced over her shoulder, scandalized. Cortese was indeed not faring well in the jungle, for all his martial expertise.

“She might have done better. She’d show up covered in mud and guts and never breathe a word about it. I can just imagine her swaggering around with the two axes she wore. Like…”

Seraphel tried to imitate the cool and deadly way she imagined Haeight or another [Hunter] would walk. It was so funny that Rabbiteater had to bite his tongue to avoid laughing at her, and Dakelos inhaled his lips.

Then Seraphel sighed.

“—But I’m not one such. You saw how I couldn’t learn the sword, like Aielef. I can barely walk.”

She kicked at a stone in frustration and nearly fell over. Rabbiteater glanced at Seraphel, then sighed.

“Okay. You’ve got pants on, so that’s one step. Tighten your belt.”

“Excuse me?”

He pointed, and she uncertainly moved the belt buckle. Then Rabbiteater sighed again.

“Let’s jog.”

“What? Jog? Whatever for—”

“You keep complaining you can’t do this, can’t do that. You want to get in shape? We jog.”

“But it’s humid and buggy, and we’re exhausted from this march!”

“Yep. It’ll suck the first week, the first two weeks. Then you’ll get tougher. Like Haeight. Come on.”

So saying, he booted her in the behind, earning a shout of outrage from Mariel, and Seraphel squawked.

“Rabbiteater—!”

“If you don’t want to do it, stop complaining! Do you want to be fitter or just be weak?”

She—she didn’t know. Running in this heat when she was already unpleasantly grimy and hot? She hesitated and bit her lip. What would Ser Thilowen say? Or her mother?

Or—

“How in-shape is Lyonette?”

Rabbiteater paused, and then for the first time, he lied to Seraphel’s face.

“She’s in great shape. She can run a mile—two miles in six minutes. And she can lift a Gnoll over her head. She does it every day.”

“Dead gods. Truly?”

“Absolutely. Come on.”

He began jogging, and she stumbled after him; he realized she didn’t even know how to run. Exasperated, he slowed, but then he got her jogging—she was huffing and puffing within seconds, and he feared this would be a terrible task. But to his surprise, Dakelos joined them as well, running almost as badly as Seraphel.

“I have no landfeet—would you mind if I joined you? It’d keep me from running into the regular [Soldiers] who don’t care for me.”

That was how the trio of them began jogging at the fore of the group as [Soldiers] and citizens of Calanfer stared at the [Princess] huffing and gasping, Ser Solstice jogging next to her, exhorting her to keep going.

Red-faced, sweaty, dirty, and bug-bitten because she couldn’t keep the tiara from bouncing off her head and had to take it off—Seraphel du Marquin had never been more miserable and complained nonstop to Beacle when they could finally rest.

But when the [Handmaiden] announced she’d tell Ser Solstice off from doing this mad fool’s errand again, Seraphel objected.

“I can’t do that, Beacle! Imagine how it would make me look! Besides—it’s not worse than having to sit through an entire 4-hour long speech in public.”

It hurt, and it was unpleasant and unfun, but so long as she had Ser Solstice and Dakelos—or Menrise, running like a fish out of water with her—Seraphel enjoyed it. All of it, in this perverse and twisted way that made Beacle exchange a look with the ghostly Strategist Veine.

Only Seraphel’s personal servants had realized the truth of this mad, cracked-in-the-head [Princess]. Even Seraphel was in denial, but the truth was—if there was any person who enjoyed all Baleros was throwing at them, even the bugs and spiders to the face, it was Seraphel.

She was so insane, in fact, that Rabbiteater hadn’t realized that slight smile when she was gasping for air was genuine. When he did realize it was genuine, it weirded him out so much he lay in his bedroll all night long thinking about it.

 

 

 

 

Pre-Chapter Note: Even if you don’t follow the Singer of Terandria book series, the characters are still in the world. This failed chapter was an attempt to bring Haeight into the main story. I say ‘failed’ because I think it’s too exposition-y. It recaps a lot of what the Singer series without egregious spoilers for readers, but I don’t like it. Skip if you don’t want even hints of spoilers for the series…there’s a better one below. If it wasn’t clear, I wrote a bunch of these, especially when sick.

 

Mini-Chapter #3 — Haeight

A question arose in the gloomy Kingdom of Shade, Noelictus. If you had never been there, the chalk-white trees and the dark loam of the soil, the three hours of daylight sometimes, and the ever-rising undead made the kingdom…eerie to anyone who visited.

It was said to be one of the iconic Terandrian kingdoms, like Erribathe or the Eternal Throne of Calanfer; somewhere that touched the imagination and left visitors amazed. Or unsettled, if they ran into a zombie mouse gnawing on a toe in their sleep.

Thick walls, silent, even gloomy folk. Noelictan people were quiet and used to putting down the undead, who could rise within minutes of a corpse falling to the earth. Even children had the ability to kill minor undead birds or other animals; they’d stop working in the fields with people harvesting, planting food, and playing music, and a child would put a foot on an undead chicken’s neck and bash in the zombie’s brains until it was dead.

Horrific. No way to live, some said. Why, Noelictus didn’t even have [Knights]! It had [Hunters], who wore dark armor and used crossbows and traps, not the glorious men and women in metal.

[Hunters] put down the dead, monsters, and were famous abroad. Noelictus, because of all the death magic, provided massive amounts of food across Terandria; their black Ashwheat bread was a common sight in many markets. If Noelictus was allowed to exist, it was because it was a valuable resource of food and [Hunters]—and because no Terandrian kingdom who lived that long was helpless.

They said that if you tested Noelictus, marched an army across its borders, the very dead would rise to protect their homes. An old legend, like how Erribathe was said to be the origin of half-Elves and myths and how Calanfer’s famous Queen Marquin and their warrior prowess…really were exaggerations of the truth at best.

—However, even the Kingdom of Glass and Glory, Ailendamus, had fought the Dawn Concordat rather than siege Noelictus. It had nearly come to that last year, before the huge and televised Dawn Concordat war. Because television hadn’t been invented yet, it was far less fresh in commonfolk’s memories, but ask any [Strategist] at the time and they would tell you about the events around Ovela, a [Baron] Digneral of Ailendamus, war, and mysterious occurrences. [Hunters], a failed coup, ghosts…all rumors since few people knew the truth.

Why, some said even the Singer of Terandria had been involved, but that was hard to give credence to. If there was any truth to bear out of those events, it was this:

Ailendamus had made war with Noelictus, not officially or fully, but their clash had resulted in the powerful Kingdom of Glass and Glory electing to choose the Dawn Concordat as a better foe. Noelictus had been in turmoil the last two years, dealing with some issue brought to light, but the gloomy kingdom endured. The [Hunters] hunted. People had died, such as Baron Digneral, one of Ailendamus’ foremost [Lords] of war—but so had Noelictan heroes. Both kingdoms were wary of each other; [Hunters] had opportunistically attacked Ailendamus near the end of the Dawn Concordat war, but skirmishes were all that resulted.

Noelictus was far more peaceful than when the Singer of Terandria had gotten her start there in the capital city of Menorome, that glowing city of candles, entertainment, and night-life eternal. In fact, it was so peaceful, Veteran Hunters from the capital’s Hunter’s Guild were being sent to other regions to help slay undead, an unprecedented turn of events.

Which provoked the question for the Guildmaster of the Hunter’s Guild of Havens, Guildmistress Goshawe.

Who…was Hunter Haeight?

 

——

 

The region of Havens in Noelictus was one of the wealthiest in the kingdom, next to Fiskren or, more recently, Ovela, for prominence. Part of this was due to it having three of the major rivers that let trade flourish running through its borders.

It was not a good place to live right now, though. Recent events—relatively recent, nearly two years ago, mind you—had led to the, uh, deposition of Earl Seelthru for treason against the crown. A tragic, terrible event that had thrown the region of Havens into chaos.

He had not been overly mourned. However, his absence had deprived the land of his levels and management, and moreover, it had been discovered his corruption had left many areas untended-to. Undead emerging from crypts or places that should have been managed added to the crisis that had led undead to emerging across Noelictus—

Well, the Guild of Havens had always been weaker than Fiskren’s, let alone the capital’s. [Hunters] did good work, but they were around Level 15 on average, not nearly up to Menorome’s level.

Menorome had Regular Hunters who were Level 22 on average. They also trained Veteran Hunters, who might have a reputation for laziness, and their indulgences and Hunter’s Cards that meant they had huge allocations of gold and too much largesse from the Crown—but they were all Level 30+.

Goshawe had trained in Menorome to become Guildmaster, and while it had convinced her the Hunter’s Guild was corrupt, especially the upper ranks, she could not deny her [Hunters] were below even Regular Hunter standards there. So…it was a bittersweet thing to get reinforcements from Menorome.

Good, because it meant Veteran Hunters were actually pulling their weight. Embarrassing, because they needed it. Then insulting, because after the Guild of Havens called for aid dealing with a horde of Swamplurk Ghouls hiding along the rivers, how many Veteran Hunters did Menorome send?

Three.

Three for a storm of Ghouls. Water-elemental Ghouls no less. They didn’t leap at travellers or run as fast as horses—already horrible to deal with for civilians or even low-level [Hunters]. These ones hid in the water, waiting for you to come by, then jumped out, dragged you in, and began clawing you to death while you couldn’t breathe or move in the muddy water.

Also, they fouled any drinking water, would climb into unsecured wells, and spat water. The spitting water wasn’t even that big a threat; it was just disconcerting.

Guildmistress Goshawe was Level 31, a very respectable level for a [Guildmistress of Hunters], even if her class was bog-standard, and despite that, she had nearly lost some Hunters in a thirty-hunter expedition to the rivers. She’d personally had to dive into the water to rescue two Novice Hunters who’d been pulled under; only her enchanted armor and her two enchanted knives had prevented fatalities.

“Damn Ghouls! As if it’s not bad enough we have to face those oversized Tomb Packs! There’s nearly a hundred and fifty zombies on the road; I need eight squads to contain them!”

Eight squads of six [Hunters]. So forty-eight [Hunters] to take on three times that number of zombies. They might not move the fastest, but if they encircled you—and some could move at a lumbering jog—you were dead.

Tomb Packs were a nickname for the undead that came out of the tombs of Noelictus. It was…well, you didn’t talk about it with foreigners, and the Crown had allocated resources into putting them down, but what a tragedy. What a disaster everyone was cleaning up, and even local citizens had contributed to the effort.

The Guild of Havens couldn’t juggle them, regular undead, and the Waterlurk Ghouls, so the Guildmistress had put out a call for help from Menorome. She didn’t expect much; they usually sent one or two Dedicated Hunters or a squad at best. So when they said they were sending Veteran Hunters, her heart had leapt! Truly, the age of corruption and sloth was at an en—

“Three?”

Three. That was what her report said, and several of the ‘veteran hunters’ of the Guild of Havens were scandalized.

“I thought Menorome’s Guild was purging its corruption, Guildmistress! You did say we had up to a hundred Waterlurk Ghouls, didn’t you?”

“I’m sure I did.”

“If it’s the Deathhunt—the Royal Deathhunt, then three would be more than enough.”

“It’s not. Two are newly-minted Veteran Hunters, and one is a Veteran Hunter who’s only been one for a year! Hunter Haeight is leading this group, and she’s twenty-one years old!”

Every veteran in the Guild of Havens had a decade on her at least. They bristled at this, and the Guildmistress realized she might be poisoning opinions against these three. She tried to control her own ire.

“We—will greet any support with open arms, of course. The Veteran Hunters are well-armed. Doubtless, they’ll share their equipment with us.”

“If we had more funds, we could arm ourselves better. Let’s just hope they can pull their weight.”

The others grumbled, and Goshawe reminded them to be on their best behavior, but the mood and rumors leaked to the lower-level Hunters, so by the time Veteran Hunter Haeight arrived, the Guild of Havens was regarding their visitors like worthless layabouts from the capital, just like all the rumors.

The truth…also hurt in ways Goshawe didn’t expect.

 

——

 

Hunter Haeight was a tall woman with white hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was very well-muscled and had visible scars on her exposed skin. Her skin was pale like most Noelictans, and she had intense, piercing eyes. She spoke in a low voice, and she seemed a third again as old as Goshawe expected.

“Hunter Haeight, Guildmistress Goshawe. Er, Veteran Hunter Haeight. With me are two new Veteran Hunters, Filtresk and Ceinra. Where do you need us most? Filtresk and I are close-quarter Hunters, and Ceinra is a traps-specialist.”

Well, at least they’d sent the worst group possible to hunt Waterlurk Ghouls. Goshawe was appalled, privately. A traps-specialist against Ghouls who hated going out of the water and two [Hunters] who had to get close to kill ambushing monsters? She did her best.

“We, ah, have a number of Ghoul nests marked along the river, Hunter Haeight. I can provide several squads of support after we deal with a Tomb Pack.”

That made the three Veteran Hunters stir.

“How large?”

“A hundred and fifty zombies. It’s well in hand. I’m mustering eight squads to take them down.”

“A hundred and fifty?”

Ceinra muttered. She was missing a finger on one gloved hand, but was spooling and unspooling glittering wire. Some of the other Havens veterans were eying it. Was that mithril wire? Haeight had mithril axes, and Filtresk’s sword was also enchanted. All of them were geared far above anyone but Goshawe’s equipment, and they were so young.

Early twenties. Filtresk might have been twenty-five, that was all. Goshawe was trying not to be offended—and failing—but Haeight surprised her. She glanced at Ceinra and Filtresk.

“A Tomb Pack might have nastier undead. Like a Lurker Gaunt zombie mixed in. One of us should take on the Tomb Pack; the other two start work on the Ghoul packs. With your permission, Guildmistress?”

She gave orders with clear practice before turning to Goshawe guiltily. The Guildmistress offered a strained smile.

“Of course. I am sure the Hunters of Havens will appreciate your supervision, Hunter Haeight.”

And if you prove you’re not all hot air, we might like you. Hunter Haeight gave Goshawe a blank look, then blinked.

“Oh—I meant to take on the Tomb Pack, Guildmistress. One of us will do; that will allow your squads to take on the other threats, correct?”

“What? You three intend to take on a hundred and fifty zombies alone? There could be Ghouls or worse!”

Haeight tilted her head. She was, again, confused.

“No, Guildmistress? Only one of us. I’ll do it.”

“Haeight, you’re confusing the Guild of Havens. Some of us remember what being a Regular Hunter is like.”

Ceinra sounded darkly amused, and Haeight blinked, then flushed again. Goshawe was at a loss for words.

Either she’s mad, talking herself up, or she has enough enchanted quarrels to take out the horde without danger, and I can’t tell which would make me more furious. But then Ceinra murmured.

“Why not take a few squads with you, Haeight? To observe. I’ll start on the river with Filtresk.”

Haeight hesitated, but then touched her hat as Hunters across Noelictus did. Embarrassed, hesitant, she nodded to Guildmistress Goshawe.

“If that would expedite things. Anyone you choose to observe and back me up, Guildmistress…”

This was so unusual that when Goshawe searched around, she picked three squads and added herself to the roster. She knew Veteran Hunters were high-level, but she’d only been to Menorome last year to be certified for Guildmistress; the last one had stepped down after Marquis Seelthru’s corruption had been unveiled. She knew to give them priority and to report any high-level undead only to them, but she had to see this.

 

——

 

Hunter Haeight walked towards a horde of a hundred and fifty zombies shambling down the dirt roads of Havens. No one was in sight; anyone who saw them would flee for the hills, and the sheer number of zombies made Goshawe sweat. She wanted to provide covering fire and set up traps—she’d been trained as a good [Hunter], no matter what people said about the Guild of Havens because of Seelthru.

However, Haeight had refused to build a fortification or put down bear traps or wires or even find a choke-point. She walked forwards, drawing her axes, and it only occurred to the Havens hunters that her plan was to walk into the horde when she was a hundred paces away.

“She’s mad! We have to get ready to cover—”

Whatever fears they had that a Veteran Hunter would get herself killed on their watch, the Havens’ Guild lost them as Haeight met the zombies. She raised her axe as the first one came forwards, arms raised, staggering at her, mouth open, and brought it down.

Her axe went through the skull, into the neck, and it died. Haeight wrenched the axe free and brought it down on another zombie. Chop, chop—they fell down, dead from the neat blows into their brains, and Goshawe had to admit, Haeight was good.

But there were so many—they swarmed her, proving why no [Hunter] should do what Haeight was doing. They were around her, and they’d drag down anyone and bury them under their weight, ripping, biting—

“Crossbows! Wait, w—”

Haeight’s axes began to move faster. She swung them down as the first wing of zombies moved around her, like a closing fist of dead flesh, and Goshawe blinked.

A Skill?

Chop-chop-chop-chop-chop—her mithril axes went up and came down, cleaving through brains like a [Butcher] going through meat. So fast they were collapsing before they could even get close. She backpedaled, walking backwards as they tried to close.

“Dead gods, that is a good Skill! But once it wears out, she’ll have to back off!”

A veteran of Havens observed jealously. They all waited for Haeight’s Skill to wear off, but the rhythmic chopping of the axes didn’t slow. First thirty seconds, then a minute…

“Wait a second. Is that not a Skill?”

She just…kept going. Arms swinging like a Golem’s, killing zombies more efficiently than Goshawe had ever dreamed. The white-haired woman pivoted as the zombies finally closed around her almost all the way, then began swinging horizontally.

Neck-cuts. She lopped zombie heads off or hacked into their chests and swung them into each other with sheer, brute strength. Like that, she knocked them down, kept them crawling up over each other, stumbling—and Goshawe was revisiting her estimation of Haeight’s level.

“That’s no Level 30 [Hunter]. Dead gods—but she’s not going to keep them off her forever.”

It was impossible. A hundred and fifty zombies didn’t go down like that. Haeight had killed maybe thirty, but it was almost like the Guild of Havens was rooting for the zombies, now. As if they were cheering the undead on to prove this Veteran Hunter wasn’t capable of doing eight squads’ worth of work. Normalcy…because if she was a Veteran Hunter, what were they?

Goshawe had heard rumors the Guildmistress of Menorome was a monster of combat and that some [Hunters] currently serving were capable of incredible feats, but even so, they weren’t Named-ranks. Even if some were probably Level 40…Goshawe realized she’d never really been among the Veteran Hunters in Menorome. They’d treated her well, trained her into her role, but there had always been this air of—relief.

As if she’d missed something important. Now, her eyes fixed on Haeight as the undead circle narrowed, such that the Veteran Hunter was unable to swing her axes fully.

“Ready—aim—don’t hit her—”

She saw Haeight surrounded, and then, the Veteran Hunter’s axes lowered. She stopped a second, sweat rolling down her forehead, and Goshawe swore—her eyes began to glow. The pale irises shone, and Goshawe saw Haeight twitch. The zombies faltered, and when she lifted her head, Guildmistress Goshawe got goosebumps.

A madwoman raised her axes. Truly mad. Her mouth was covered by a mask, but the eyes that the Hunters of Havens could see had suddenly gone wild. Glowing with a wild light. Secrets and truths, flickering as her axes rose—and then she leapt into the zombies, screaming.

Into them, swinging so hard she began cleaving limbs off like some adventurer out of stories. Clearing bodies around her with each swing. The scream was ragged, and the Hunters of Havens almost aimed at her.

“Dead gods—”

She swept through the bunched-up zombies, and her axes were…glowing. They left a trail in the air, like wisps of mist. They cut even more sharply, and the Veteran Hunter stalked the zombies now as they tried to get at her in a confused mess. She drove her blades into the horde, picking out clusters and hacking through them.

[Frenzy: An Agonizing Revelation].

Guildmistress Goshawe could not know Haeight’s Skill, but she saw it quite clearly, and she thought to herself:

Oh, they’re just as mad as I heard, all of them. Madwomen and men serving the Crown. Dead gods, if they fought Ailendamus, no wonder the Kingdom of Glass and Glory never took our lands.

 

——

 

The frenzy lasted for ten minutes. Ten minutes was long enough for Haeight to take the entire Tomb Pack apart, and she was still hacking at crawling corpses when it finished and she stumbled.

Then she passed a hand over her face, gore-smeared, and cast around with a sigh. Then, and only then, did she seem like a normal woman again, clearly wondering how she was going to hack up all these bodies and burn them before nightfall.

Well, that was when the Guild of Havens approached, very respectfully, to offer Haeight help. They hacked up the zombies, putting down a few still twitching, as Goshawe spoke.

“Ah, Hunter Haeight. You have a way with blades I’ve scarcely seen. Are—are your companions as good as you?”

Haeight gave her a blank look, as if thinking this was flattery, before touching her hat.

“Ceinra and Filtresk? They’re not as high-level as I am, but they can do the job. No Swamplurkers will ambush them, and they’ll call in backup if they run into something worse.”

“I see, I see. Are you—a senior Veteran Hunter?”

“Me? No, I only became one last year. All my seniors are better than me.”

Haeight offered Goshawe a ghost of a smile, and Goshawe licked her lips.

“I was in Menorome when I reached Guildmistress last year. I think I remember you—“

That was a lie, she hadn’t associated with the Veteran Hunters, but they hung around the 2nd Floor at least.

“—Would I know your seniors?”

“Ah, Loshern, Pictirm, Visc were the three who I remember strongest when I was younger.”

Loshern? Wasn’t he the heaviest [Hunter] in the Guild? Was he better than Haeight? Goshawe began complimenting her axe work outright, but to her dismay, Haeight flushed.

“I had to resort to my Skill in the middle of them. Mithril axes—my gear does a lot of work. I’ve seen true mastery of arms, Guildmistress, and I’m far from it. I once saw a blademaster nearly bisect a Mothbear Ghoul in a single blow.”

Goshawe almost laughed at that.

“Cut a Mothbear in twain? From nose to tail? That’s…even a Gold-ranker with an enchanted blade couldn’t do that.”

But then another veteran of Havens blinked.

“I heard that story, but I thought it was a legend. Didn’t Huntsong, that famous group, do that?”

“No, sir. We didn’t. I led that team, and it was a half-Elf at the time—”

“Wait, you lead Huntsong?”

Then Haeight was the most popular and famous [Hunter] of all, and she was so flustered that Guildmistress Goshawe began to believe that the guild of Menorome hadn’t insulted her after all. In fact—by the time they got back from this hunt, Ceinra had reported in she’d crushed two Swamplurker groups, and Filtresk had killed one.

 

——

 

The Veteran Hunters were monsters. Risk-taking monsters who did solo what entire teams would balk at doing unprepared. Then again, seeing Haeight solo that zombie pack, Goshawe understood why they were so confident.

The Swamplurker packs were being erased so fast the Guild of Havens was scrambling to keep up—out of sheer embarrassment, if nothing else! They’d go with the Veteran Hunters to help with disposal of corpses or observe, and they reported Ceinra and Filtresk were less showy than Haeight, but no less efficient.

“Filtresk just blows them out of the water with Lightning Bolts, then he cuts them down on the riverbank. Ceinra? She hooks them on her wires and drags them in, Guildmistress! Huntress Haeight went in the waters twice after them! Even she said that was a bad idea, but she insisted on trying it.”

“Why?”

“To—to practice?”

Insane. But then Guildmistress Goshawe received an odd information request from Menorome. They were in contact all the time with [Message] spells, of course, but this wasn’t from the Guild.

Rather…it was from Ovela, routed through their Guildmaster and backed by the Earl’s seal, ratified by Menorome’s Guild. Goshawe blinked at the odd query. It simply asked whether Hunter Haeight had been using her Skills in pursuit of the undead she was suppressing.

Goshawe wrote back to report, yes, of course she had, detailing the one she’d seen. The response took a while to come back, and it simply read:

 

Inform Hunter Haeight she has a long way to go in order to make good on her promise.

 

When Goshawe showed Haeight the message, the huntress sighed, studied her boots, and appeared crestfallen.

“As I said, the zombie swarm should have been taken out without Skills. But we have limited healing potions due to the Eir Gel shortage, and I hate infected bites.”

She gave Guildmistress Goshawe an embarrassed look, and the Guildmistress just sat there, unable to reply.

 

——

 

The Veteran Hunters killed every single Waterlurk Ghoul marked in the region of Havens in a week. Then they killed every undead pack they could find. Then, they headed into bordering regions and murdered all the undead there that the regular Guilds needed help with.

At this point, Guildmistress Goshawe was in communication with the other Guildmasters, purely out of amazement for the situation. She had the time; the Guild of Havens was doubling up on training out of embarrassment for how they’d performed, and half the younger members had put in an application for Menorome’s Guild.

The other Guildmasters in the local regions knew more about the Veteran Hunters than Goshawe and were highly amused by her amazement, but even they weren’t…Veteran Hunters. They just knew the score about the tombs and had more experience with this kind of thing.

“I used to detest the lot of them, even if I knew their role. These days, they’re becoming the old legends they need to be. I saw one of the Veteran Hunters crushing a massive Tomb Pack. Two Draugr; I was about to evacuate every village in front of them when they came storming in. Blew the entire pack to pieces and then did much the same as Hunter Haeight.”

“Hunter Haeight. There’s a name I’ve heard before.”

Because the Guild of Havens sat smack in the middle of Noelictus, they could have multiple Guildmasters meet up, so three were having a drink in Goshawe’s office. She was pouring around a dark whiskey and glanced up.

“Is something noteworthy about her?”

“More than any Veteran Hunter? Perhaps. I’ve heard she’s a rising star in Menorome. She came from Fiskren, you know. The word is, she was Duchess Greina’s childhood friend.”

“The Duchess? Our Gold-rank adventurer?”

The Guildmaster of Lostrell tapped the side of his nose.

“The very same. She made Dedicated Hunter within two years of enlisting, then Veteran Hunter within a year of joining Menorome’s Guild! You know she formed Huntsong?”

“I know the stories, but they grow with each telling, surely.”

“Mm. Well, I heard that she also knows the Singer of Terandria. The Singer got her start in Menorome, you know. Huntress Haeight knows the Duchess Greina, the Singer—and the royal family herself, if I have my rumors straight. If there were a Hunter to get to know—it’s her.”

There were limits to how much of a wonderchild you could be. Goshawe expressed polite incredulity—then decided to take a quick ride to Hunter Haeight to check in on her work.

 

——

 

“Cara? I, uh—I do know her. Though I don’t have any tickets to her concerts. She tours too often, and I think she’s planning on leaving Terandria.”

Goshawe had an album-crystal of The Singer of Terandria in her office, hand-signed by Cara herself. Haeight grew highly embarrassed when the Hunters heard this and gave Goshawe an agonized look.

“It was over a year ago. She started in the Synphasia—it’s next to the Hunter’s Guild, so I met her. Er—when she was a Conscript Hunter.”

“She was a Conscript Hunter?”

Now, at this point, you’d normally get the entire story out of Haeight, but she had the powers of a madwoman and a deep-sea clam—in that she shut her lips and refused to actually spill the rest of the amazing beans. However, it was proof that the rumors were true.

Goshawe embarrassed herself a bit by asking Haeight for lore on Cara, but Haeight’s stay was coming to an end anyways. In fact, before her two Veteran Hunters were fully done with their culling of undead, Goshawe received orders from Menorome.

 

Hunter Haeight is to report back to the capital at once to attend the crown. 

 

No elaboration, no followup—Haeight grimaced when she got the news. Instead of being delighted, she muttered.

“Kadane. I could finish killing any more undead groups before I go, Guildmistress?”

Goshawe was so astounded she just stared at Haeight before assuring her all was beyond well. So Haeight set out, and Goshawe and the Guild of Havens asked the same question that was going through several groups in Noelictus:

Who was Huntress Haeight? There were higher-level [Hunters], more senior ones, but she seemed touched by the hand of fate in some way. What was her story? Perhaps more crucially, if this was all she’d done thus far—what might she do in the future?

It was a question a lot of people were asking, including Haeight herself. As the Veteran Hunter rode back for more guard duty with Princess Kadane, who wanted her ‘favorite’ [Hunter] to escort her while she was bored and restless, Haeight sat in her saddle and sighed.

She’d been slaying undead for the last two weeks in the region of Havens, and for the first time in her long and short career as a Hunter of Noelictus, she hated to admit it…

…But she was so bored.

 

——

 

 

 

Pre-Chapter Note: I’ve had this one in the back of my head for a while. This is where I started writing intros to bigger chapters I haven’t had time for. Seeing how I like them. Turns out I like all of them. At least, the ones which come out easy. Some I’ve been avoiding. I’ll put them on the poll nayways.

 

Mini-Chapter #4 — Lilliam

Manus, the City of War, had a lot of jobs in it. You could, in fact, argue that of all the Walled Cities, Manus was one of the most economically sound for anyone seeking employment. Not just because you could sign up and be given good training, equipment, and prospects as a [Soldier]. That was certainly true, and Manus’ [Soldiers] were arguably some of the most well-compensated in the world.

…But there were so many jobs related to the act of soldiering that if you wanted work, why, Manus was often the place to go.

Consider the facts. Which city gave you more opportunities for employment?

 

Pallass? You had two more species competing with you in a city that favored engineering and alchemy. It was certainly cosmopolitan, but that meant the influx of people could create a permanent labor force and thus a certain level of unemployment.

Oteslia? Same issue, in a sense. Their gardening focus meant that often, while you could get lots of jobs related to plants or animals, it was space that was at a premium. In fact, Oteslia often gave bonuses to anyone willing to work outside the city grazing animals or tending farms there.

Salazsar? The mines for you. It was just the mines, and even then, each company was rather cutthroat in fighting to pay you less and to increase their margins while acquiring the best talent. Lots of service jobs were available to work for the upper crust, but there were limits to how much even they wanted to mine.

Zeres? All the [Sailors] in the world meant all the nautical jobs in the world, but if you couldn’t tie a line, or the wrong weather was upon the City of Waves, finding work could be like locating a needle in a storm. Plus, again—the more connected a Walled City was, the more people competing for your work.

Fissival? Hah. Hahahaha! Heh…you and your 3rd Grade Passport—if you even had one, you foreigner—could line up and get jobs appropriate for your status. Now, if someone wanted low-skill labor, they’d surely find it, but, heh. No. Shoo. This was why Fissival had daily rations.

 

Now, think of Manus. The City of War bordered the Hivelands. It had the largest standing army; it trained officers in its academies and often sent its soldiers out to other cities. [Soldiers] needed everything. Armor, training, equipment of all sorts, healers, cooks, why, any number of [Teachers] could be found heading to Manus to educate officers in the academy.

Plus, Manus wanted you. They weren’t in a crossroads of trade, so, like Fissival, they were hungrier for workers. There was a saying in Manus: the City of War would take care of you from cradle to grave. And that was sometimes literally true.

Anyone who wanted work and could do an honest job would get training in a profession, whether it be mining or saddling horses in service of Manus. The City of War liked training and organizing everything. But they reserved their special treatment for—who else?—their [Soldiers].

Now, as any [Veteran] could tell you, reaching retirement was no sure thing. In Liscor, you generally didn’t quit their army unless you wanted to. There were discharges for wounds like losing your tail, but even if they let you quit, Relc and Menolit were considered aberrations. In the past, they’d offered veterans a way to retire by joining the Watch or other civilian jobs, but after the Antinium Hive? It was soldier for life. If you wanted to stay, they’d keep you around as long as you could walk and talk; in a [Strategist] or [Advisor] role if nothing else.

After forty years of service, Liscor would pay you a full pension for the rest of your life, but getting that pension…well, there were less than twenty pensioners in all of Liscor as of 24 A.F. Others got some money, but hardly enough to justify the time they’d spent if they quit early. Most Drake cities were like that.

Manus practiced much the same system, but theirs was far more advanced than ‘get to forty years’. Instead, they had a points system that measured both time and how ‘hot’ each engagement a [Soldier] was involved in was.

For instance, were you a [Vanguard] who was fighting front-rank up against other Walled Cities? You earned points a lot faster than, say, a [Backline Archer], who’d get to run off the moment a battle turned south, or someone who always did garrison duty.

If you were brave, loyal, and of course levelled, you’d reach pensioner status faster. Some could even hit it within a decade, though that meant you’d literally fought the King of Destruction or been going from punching Antinium in the mandibles to taking on the Goblin King’s armies.

Regardless, once the pension kicked in, it was there as long as you lived in a Manus-affiliated city. You could retire then, but it kept increasing with each ‘rank’. And the benefits?

No veteran in Manus had to worry about their family if they perished. Their children would enter school, which wasn’t as expansive as Oteslia’s, but helped prep them until they were ten, and any [Soldier] who fell in battle would know their family would be provided for. It was, of course, a self-serving system that Manus had created.

Treat the [Soldiers] like family and they’ll fight for us like family. They spent a huge amount of their income on these programs, incentivizing talent to come and stay.

In fact, if you were a Marked Commission (it was on your papers), you got all kinds of perks. Manus wanted you to be fighting for them if you were above Level 30, had a useful class, or were just considered a net asset. High Command would issue you luxuries, perks, and training in hopes you levelled up and became an asset on par with a Named-rank. Not just training, more vacations, or whatever you were imagining…

When they said the City of War took care of you—not many people knew exactly how deep that saying went.

 

——

 

There were six Family Aid centers in Manus spread out across the star-shaped city. One on each point of the star, and a final one in the center. Another thing no other Walled City had; this was a place where you could walk in and, well, get help.

It wasn’t an easy job, and even a new hire got more training than most of Manus’ jobs. The Drake working at the desk had a name-badge that said ‘Millton’. He was a [Bard].

Millton had ambitions to take his performances on the road, once he learned enough songs; he played in a tavern at night, and he wasn’t, uh—uh—popular. But if he learned enough, he’d get his feet under him. Maybe even make it to the Players of Celum or the Singer of Terandria and become a worldwide phenomenon.

…He needed money since being a Level 9 [Bard] wasn’t cutting it, and to his surprise, the jobs office had assigned him here. He’d thought it would be a terrible job that only a [Carer] or some stupid class would want, but to his surprise, the head [Manager]—this Drake called Wiltris—had explained that a Family Aid center did more than just taking care of kids.

Anyone who had a spouse in the army could walk in and get help—within various levels of reason. Did they have a busted pipe in their home? Family Aid would jump on that. Rat infestation? They’d take care of it. But even more than that—was their kid throwing fits? Getting bullied? They had [Healers] or people to talk to.

Even, Millton had realized, lessons for bored wives or husbands. He’d spent his first two weeks on the job giving music lessons and realized that a lot of people came in and used these Family Aid centers for, well, everything. It meant he’d stuck around for his third week on the job, and he was still a rookie, but if he only got those kinds of requests, he’d enjoy it.

…He hated when they came to him with the complex stuff, though. Millton had to sometimes adjudicate when a couple was fighting, or at least hear someone vent, and he didn’t want to do that. Of course, he referred them off to someone else as fast as he could, but the Drake wasn’t that good at his job, hence Wiltris hovering around his desk a lot.

Today, though, it was busy. Weekend—lots of families who needed help. Wiltris had taken a booth of his own, and Millton was bored.

“We don’t have any Song Crystals we can sell you, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Even for an anniversary gift? My girlfriend’s celebrating five years in the [Outriders]. C’mon, I thought you were supposed to help!”

The annoyed Drake was giving Millton a hard time. He had a card proving his girlfriend was in the army, but they weren’t a married couple, and Millton had a chart that quite clearly told him that buying a Song Crystal on discount was not what this guy was going to get.

“Sorry, sir. We have a list of things you could get her?”

He had a pamphlet, but the Drake scowled.

“Pass. Thanks for nothing.”

Millton smiled until the Drake huffed out of the center, and then he muttered.

“Ass.”

“Millton! You’re here to help, not make their days worse!”

Wiltris called from his booth as both finished their current people in line, and Millton groaned. He tried to put a smile on his face as he thought of tonight’s performance. He was going to do a riff on one of the Singer’s songs; he’d been practicing all week and put in a lot of Drake lyrics that made sense.

It was this song dedicated to the King of Avel, ‘The World’s Smallest Violin’, which was really fun, but Millton had rechristened it to ‘The Continent’s Tiniest Lute’ because he used a lute, and he had put in more topical references like the Antinium and whatnot.

He was so distracted he didn’t notice the next person walk in, a hood over her head, then stride up past everyone in line. She glanced around, but Wiltris was busy, so she slid into the booth.

“Hey, miss! There’s a line—”

When the Drake woman slid a laminated card over the table, Millton hesitated. She spoke, clearly agitated, as she tried to tug the hood off her neck-spines.

“I’m married to a Marked Commission. I’m pulling rank. I need some help. He—I don’t know you. Is Shaunii here?”

He tried to remember who that was, and Millton smiled fakely.

“Uh…oh, Shaunii! She’s out sick. She caught something bad when she was up north, visiting a cousin.”

“Damn. Well—you can help? You have to help.”

“Absolutely, Miss…”

Millton checked the card, and his eyebrows rose. He stole a glance at his cheat-sheet, which was on a placard facing him, and blinked.

Adamantium-grade? The five little stars, each one bright and shiny purple, told him that if there was a way to oblige this woman, he was supposed to do it. He checked her name against a list he had and saw she was on it.

“Lilliam. My husband’s been in a—in one of his moods all month. No, ever since the Trial of Blades! It’s gotten worse, and the [Counsellors] aren’t working, and I need help.”

Who…? Millton was scrambling for his notes on marital relations, groaning as he held it up under the table. He was trying to smile at her, remember his training, and figure out who she meant all at the same time.

“I’m sure any problems can be talked out, Miss Lilliam. If our [Counsellors] didn’t work, well, sometimes it’s like dating. Er—I know you’re married, but we can book you with another! How about later this week? And I could offer you a complimentary pass to any inn or tavern of your choice! In fact, I do a performance myself, and this would get you 90% off any—”

He was sensing an opportunity here to both shill his performance and resolve this—and Lilliam’s eyes flashed.

“What? I don’t need another counsellor! I told Shaunii, they’re not working. Complementary pass? You can shove it up your tail! I need help!”

“Please, miss, lower your voice.”

The booths had a minor silencing spell on them, but Millton was getting huffy. He glowered as he fiddled with his notes, dropped one, and Lilliam spoke.

“I need a calming tonic or—or—”

“Why don’t you sit down and talk out the matter with your partner, insert name h—Miss Lilliam? Have you discussed the issue with th—”

“I need help!”

She struck the little glass window between them so hard Millton dropped his papers. He fumbled them and was about to snap back when he realized he’d missed Rule #1 of his job training.

Which was: meet the client’s eyes and check their mental state. Which he’d taken as ‘smile at them’, and it proved why Millton really wasn’t the right Drake for this job. Especially not this job, because he hadn’t realized that under the hood Lilliam was wearing…

Millton’s eyes bugged out. He was a Drake with standard yellow scales, a bit spotty, but she had wine-red scales and was stunning. She was forty-some years old, but her clothing was a fashionable pink-silk dress of some kind, adorned with flowers. Imported from Drath via Zeres? She had a simple yellow shawl over her head, which didn’t work with the dress, but that was because she was trying to hide the black eye on her face.

“I, uh—I—”

He was scrambling for his papers and, by chance, picked up that list with her name on it again. Then Millton finally saw the name attached to hers and connected the dots.

 

Lilliam Flexspine — Zeter Flexspine, Named-rank Adventurer. ‘The Swordsman of Six’.

 

His jaw dropped as he realized she was married to one of Manus’ Named-rank adventurers. Millton’s expression went agog with fascination, interest—and at this moment, Wiltris almost threw him out of his chair.

“Millton! Take over my booth! You idiot—Miss Lilliam, I am entirely sorry.”

“But I—”

The [Bard] protested, then backed up at the glare he got from Wiltris and the senior members of the center, who had noticed Lilliam—and the black eye—about as fast as he had, despite him being the Drake in the booth. He was practically kicked off to manage Wiltris’ booth and sulked the rest of the day, especially because he was upbraided four times by different personnel for failing to do…everything in this case.

Also, everyone thought his copy of Cara’s song was hackneyed and trying too hard. Plus, it just didn’t work on a lute.

 

——

 

Lilliam Flexspine was not happy, especially because the first Drake who’d been here was an idiot. But the second one, Wiltris, seemed to at least ‘get’ the issue.

“I’m so sorry about that, Miss Lilliam—”

“Forget it. My husband—I need help with him. You do know who he is, don’t you?”

“Zeter Sixswords? We have your record right here, miss.”

Wiltris had a rather full file he was paging through, and Lilliam hoped he got it. His careful expression said he did.

“It’s Flexspine. That’s my mother’s name. He wants to change it—again. He only gets like—I’m sorry. Shaunii usually takes my case, but I was told she’s sick?”

At least Millton or whomever that was hadn’t lied. Wiltris nodded, wincing.

“Something nasty from a remote village. But this might be a good moment for me to jump in. I’m the [Manager] of District 6.”

“Oh. Oh! Pardon me, I thought I recognized…”

District 6 was the center of Manus, and as such, it had some of the most important clients. But Wiltris was usually managing behind the scenes. Lilliam knew a lot of the older staff. The Drake gave her an encouraging look.

“[Take a Relaxed Breath], Lilliam. Tell me what the issue is, please.”

She took a breath, and some of the tension drained out of her. Some—but not all. She felt like a fish in a pot that had been boiling a long time.

“—The same thing I’ve been writing in my reports for the last six, no, seven years? He’s not happy. I can’t solve it, and I don’t need more coupons or more—more—distractions. The Trial of Blades made it so much worse. He’s been out drinking every night he’s not on duty, or chopping up every training dummy we have. This is when he wanted to take our son out of school to give him more sword-training, and I said he needed to stay in class. I need a tonic that I can give him that will either knock him out or make him stop this, and if you give me more lower-tier tonics, I’m done. I’ve told Shaunii this, and you’re not listening.”

Her diatribe came out in a rush as always, but she meant it this time. Wiltris was taking notes as fast as his quill could move, and he was concerned.

Of course he was. She was the wife of a Named-rank adventurer, one of Manus’ greatest war-assets. Normally, when things were good, it meant all the perks you wanted. Any restaurant let you in at the door, no reservations, you were the cream of Manus’ society, you could get those stupid vouchers for entertainment—

—But what happened when the Named-rank adventurer got mad? It was a question people seldom thought to ask when they admired famous Named-rankers like Lehra Ruinstrider or Deniusth the Violinist. Lilliam knew more about adventuring than most Gold-ranks because she’d been married for over sixteen years to Zeter. They had two children, one boy and one girl, and she didn’t ever wonder why so few Named-Ranks had long-term relationships. Their personality defects aside—and they were all mad—it wasn’t safe.

“He…struck you?”

Wiltris was trying to get the facts, and Lilliam took a breath.

“No—or I’d have called the Watch.”

“Oh, so he didn’t?”

“He charged past me, and one of his swords hit me so hard I woke up on the ground! The stupid floating—”

Even the [Manager] blinked at her, and Lilliam almost punched the glass again. It sounded stupid. It sounded like a joke, but it wasn’t.

The Swordsman of Six had six enchanted blades that hovered behind him at all times. He could pick one up and use it while the other five attacked for him. It made him a terror on the battlefield, and each blade was, well, a magic blade. Zeter was huge, having trained his muscles with an already formidable physique.

He could move at a blur, despite that not being his domain, and his swords would float after him. If a floating sword hit you at the speed of someone practically running—what do you think happened? Zeter’s swords didn’t budge; they were meant to skewer Wyverns in combat. She’d seen him take chunks out of the wall by accident multiple times. Lilliam explained this as she pointed at her eye, and Wiltris began to understand.

“See this ring? This is a Ring of Barkskin, and that’s the only reason I don’t have a fractured skull. What would have happened if he’d hit one of the children?”

“You have artifact support for them, though—”

“Of course I do! But normally—he watches what he hits with his swords or turns them off! He’s not being cautious!”

“But he didn’t hit you, he just stormed out after your argument.”

Lilliam was breathing hard, trying to get Wiltris to understand. No…he probably did, but she was trying to get him to take this as seriously.

“He didn’t notice I was on the ground. And if he hit me, I wouldn’t be here. I’m starting to worry that might happen. He’s punched a fist through a wall twice this month. So unless you give me support, right now, I’m done.”

That was how it worked, right? She gave Wiltris a bleak look as he scrambled to take notes, underlining everything, and wished all this concern he was instantly projecting was for her.

But it wasn’t. Not really.

It was because Zeter was their weapon of war, and Manus didn’t want him to lose an edge. So…they were going to help her and do everything in their power to keep her from divorcing him or walking out. But she was on the edge this time.

It hadn’t always been like this. She hadn’t known, when he was a promising Gold-ranker, what the downsides would be. Lilliam’s father, a former Gold-ranker himself, had seen the possible dangers and tried to warn her off, Ancestors bless him. She and her mother had thought he’d been just against Zeter out of jealousy or prejudice or something. Hah!

Lilliam was just one of those casualties without blood Manus produced sometimes.

The City of War needed excellent soldiers. Zeter, at age 27, had been a Gold-rank adventurer backed by the City of War, known as ‘Threeblades Zeter’. She’d lived in one of Manus’ allied cities and had been 24.

Imagine a talented Drake who was not only capable of using magical weapons to their fullest extent, but was loyal, patriotic, and could follow orders. Zeter was perfect! He had only one problem: he was such an obsessive warrior-adventurer, he was terrible with, well, dating, and he wanted to find someone.

Cue Manus setting him up with every eligible Drake, Gnoll, and Human they could find. They’d made life so much fun that Lilliam had fallen head over heels for him twenty-two years ago, moved to Manus with everyone’s blessing but one—settled down, and had two children within seven years.

A perfect story. It had lasted for about nine years until the cracks began getting too large to ignore.

Now? It was today. Lilliam sat there as Wiltris got up, assuring her he was on the case, he just needed to make some urgent calls. She smiled bleakly. She hoped he could help. After all, this was Zeter’s city, his story, his call to arms in this new era. She was just his wife.

 

——

 

“We can’t…give you higher grade calming tonics, Lilliam.”

“Okay, then I’m gone.”

She made to get up, and Wiltris nearly leapt up as several observers in the more private room watched. This conversation was being recorded and forwarded to members of High Command. Not the highest-priority, but it was their Named-rank adventurer. It matched other reports they’d been getting, so they’d see it.

Both Lilliam and Wiltris knew this was being observed and recorded, of course. She was dabbing some healing potion on her eye—a huge expense given the deficit—and glancing at the one-way illusory wall every now and then.

She was part of the Manus war-machine. She wrote reports weekly about Zeter’s condition. He didn’t know about them. Her voice was cool and dangerous as she spoke—someone made a note in a file. Lilliam was on the edge as Wiltris tried to explain the issue to her.

“Let me explain, Lilliam. We can’t give him tonics. It will dull his edge in training and on-duty. So if we can rectify this…how about sleeping medication?”

Her face screwed up.

“What, am I supposed to just put him to sleep the moment he gets back from duty? He’s not an idiot, he’ll catch on.”

“I’ll give you a few that will put even a Named-rank out for emergency use. We’ll have someone talk to him—”

“Not [Counsellors] or [Thought Healers]. They don’t work. It just makes him angrier. You know that mental-resistance Skill he got when he hit Level 45? That’s why no one can calm him down. He also needs to stop taking our kids out of school. They’re becoming outcasts, and he doesn’t get why.”

“Is it…because he’s giving them too many favors?”

She shrugged, pulling out a puffer stick and smoking. Wiltris opened his mouth—those were illegal, especially if they were Dreamleaf like the scent suggested. He closed his mouth after a moment, and she spoke.

“Partly. But partly, it’s how he’s training our son, Zillis. He’s trying to make him into an adventurer. With magical swords. Every one of his peers thinks Zillis is going to be a hero and either cozying up to him or envious. He’s not a [Warrior]. But Zeter sees that in him. Not our daughter.”

“He’s…nine years old?”

“Yes.”

A Named-ranker giving his son an enchanted sword and finding a low-level monster to slay. Lilliam went on.

“Our daughter, Hethka—H-e-t-h-k-a, for all of you listening, not with a ‘c’—is fifteen. She’s trying to impress him in boot camp training, and he buys her gifts.”

“Ah. Not soldiering gifts…?”

“No. Imagine how her fellow trainees feel.”

“And you, Lilliam? How’s he treating you?”

She gave Wiltris a long stare.

“Well, he comes back after hunting monsters or going to fight with the army filthy, hurt, and I patch him up, worry about his insane stories about raiding Antinium across the border—”

“Lilliam, please! Those are state secrets—”

Wiltris was nervous, glancing at the one-way illusion, and Lilliam’s voice rose.

“I know Manus’ secrets. I’m the one who finds a mandible buried in his back afterwards! I care for him, I do. He’s all laughter, delight, presents for the children, we go out on the city, and it’s grand—for a day, two days.”

She sat back as her face grew pained, and Wiltris prompted her as several observers glanced at each other.

“…And then?”

“Then I wake up in the middle of the night and he’s staring at the ceiling. Or thrashing in his sleep, fighting something. Or I find him walking around the mansion, sword in hand, because he heard an owl. It’s getting worse. The Trial of Blades—he’s been tearing up everything, cursing that [Blademistress], Zeladona.”

“He wants a rematch?”

“No. I think she scared him to death. Her, the Slayer, and the Named-ranks he sliced up. He keeps talking about how adventurers never forget or forgive. He thinks they’re coming after him for helping wound them. Especially the woman whose arm he cut off.”

Named-rank adventurers were powerful, but if they feared anything—it’d be another Named-rank. Especially someone whose arm you’d sliced off. The Champions of the Coast hadn’t come to Manus seeking a grudge match, but it clearly weighed on Zeter.

“Maybe a [Thought Healer]. He can at least talk it out, Lilliam!”

“If you think it works, go ahead. He’s seen one off-and-on ever since we were thirty, and he’ll just get mad and give up on going after a few sessions. But I want something to keep him calm.”

“You’ve got an emergency Scroll of [Teleport], Lilliam. I truly understand your fears given your incident today, but you’re warded, and if there was any trouble domestically, the Watch would be—”

She slapped the desk and shouted.

“If he ever tried to kill us, we’d be dead before I could even activate the scroll if I was holding it in my hands! Give me a tonic! I don’t care if it makes him stupid as a pillbug the next day!”

At this point, the Drake glanced at the illusory wall, and a voice filled the room, making both Drakes inside jump.

“Issue her two tonics, Manager Wiltris. Miss Lilliam, please proceed with any other concerns.”

She visibly calmed as someone spoke and nodded. Her tail uncurled slightly, and she replied.

“I…he wants to change our name again. That’s normal, but he’s pushy about it. I don’t care about that, but he’s started talking about having more children. No.”

“Maybe some de-arousal pills…?”

“That’s not the problem. He wants more children. I don’t, and I’ve explained to him all the good reasons, except the ones where I don’t want more children with him. So…do something about it.”

She shrugged at the wall, and the voice came again.

“An officer will have a word with him, Miss Lilliam. Anything else?”

She sat there, tired. Sagging in the air with invisible strings holding her up.

“I don’t know. Get me something that brightens my day without turning me into a smiling loon, please? He’s off his vacation next week; I’ll live.”

It sounded so reasonable that the people watching upgraded the severity of her case. Because things weren’t well. Lilliam had stormed into the center in a panic, but she had that expression that was like the eye of a storm. More of this and she’d snap, and there were so many forms the snap could take. All of them bad for Zeter’s continuing stability.

They passed the report onto High Command as Wiltris arranged a visit to a [Counsellor] for Lilliam and began writing notes for her children’s teachers. Within the hour, an order came down from High Command and a plan was executed.

The gears of the City of War moved—around Zeter. Lilliam was to be monitored, but almost forgotten in the execution of said plans by all but one member of High Command who paid attention to her file. They reviewed Zeter’s case notes the next day as well to see what was done with him.

 

——

 

Zeter was practicing with one of Manus’ elite divisions, doing a workout devised by Grimalkin to keep even Level 30+ warriors in tip-top shape. Running, stretching, swordplay under weapon experts to refine their already impressive Skills—he was the best, of course, but even Zeter was sweating profusely and swearing under his breath halfway through the day.

It was grueling, but he was a [Soldier] and Adventurer both. However, someone stopped him midway through the day.

“Zeter! Command wants a word!”

He snapped to his feet from doing pushups, saluted reflexively, then strode over. When he saw who was waiting for him, he blinked.

“General Beirhall? Sir!”

An expression of delight spread across his face as the [General] nodded to him. The [General] was the first commander that Zeter had served under when he was rising up the ranks that recommended him to their special adventuring program.

“Zeter, I’m taking you out of training for a walk. Humor me.”

Zeter peered at his trainer, who gave him a nod, and fell in as the Drake [General] walked around the walls of Manus. They could gaze up at the star-shaped walls looming over them as Zeter spoke.

“Congratulations on making High Command, sir. We were all toasting you when we heard.”

“I got the letter you sent me. Thank you, Zeter. Though I wish it wasn’t on the heels of General Milka dying. Then Aldonss…we’ve lost too many good leaders lately.”

“Yes.”

Zeter’s spines rose, and he clenched his fists as he walked. Two of High Command dead within a year. His swords floated behind him as they strode along, and General Beirhall glanced at Zeter, then cleared his throat.

“I hear you’ve been brawling with some of the other [Soldiers]. Disorderly conduct—adventurer stuff, I said, but I came out to have a word. Everything alright?”

Zeter flushed.

“I, uh—they’re just scraps, sir. No one got hurt—aside from the broken bone, and that was an accident.”

“Mm. You’re a [Soldier] of Manus and a Named-rank, Zeter. I’d slap you across the neck-spines and dress you down if you were still a [Captain] in my army.”

Zeter’s head drooped, but Beirhall spoke with a kindly half-smile.

“—Since you’re not, and you’re a Named-rank, tone it down, eh? Those poor idiots think they can punch out a Named-rank, and they don’t know you.”

That reassured the Swordsman of Six, and he grimaced.

“I was never cut out to be a [Captain]. Fighting’s easier. What’s it, uh, like in High Command? Is Luciva as intense as they say? Lulv?”

“Lulv is, but the Dragonspeaker’s just sharp. They all are, Zeter. I walked in, and I felt like I was a junior [Tactician] in the academy again; everyone had read their reports and had fifteen notes apiece.”

Beirhall entertained Zeter with some anecdotes from High Command as the adventurer grinned and nodded before pausing again.

“And how’s Lilliam? The kids?”

“Oh, she’s fine. Worrying about both of them, but Zillis is a weed, and Hethka’s in basic training. She wants to be a [Soldier]. I can’t see it, not for her. I’ve been trying to get Zillis his [Warrior] class.”

“Hm. How old is he?”

“Nine.”

Beirhall frowned, and Zeter hurried on.

“He can do it! He’s got good instincts, and he’s sharp. Both of them are. I can toss them almost anything, and they’ll field it. Fast hands, good eyes—”

“I can see Lilliam’s worry, though.”

“Mothers worry. Mine still worries about me.”

Zeter flashed a grin, then glanced around and bit his tongue.

“I’ve been thinking about another kid. Maybe two. We’re not getting any younger, and even with potions, Lilliam wouldn’t have time to—you know?”

“It’s a bit of an imposition, raising a new child when you have one that’s nine and the other’s fifteen.”

“True…but they’re like—a legacy. A—I mean, I want to have people who can carry the swords if I ever go down in combat. You know, [General]?”

Beirhall was nodding along, but slowly. He glanced at Zeter.

“That’s the kind of talk I hear from [Soldiers] who think they’re not going to last the campaign. Be straight with me, [Soldier]. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing…”

The look the [General] gave Zeter dragged the confession out of the Named-rank slowly. They had to circuit the walls four times as he began, halted, and then spoke like someone drawing a sword out of a wound.

“I—I’ve been trying to match that [Blademistress], Zeladona. I can’t, [General].”

“No one in Izril could, Zeter.”

“But it’s my job. If she comes back, or someone of her caliber does, I’m the Named-rank who goes to fight her. I—it’s not cowardice, it’s me worrying I’m not coming back. The Slayer too. The New Lands? All these wars are heating up, and I just feel like there’s a hand on my shoulder. The reaper of the battlefield. The King of Destruction’s armies and Khelt and Seamwalkers—”

He was embarrassed to admit any of this, but it poured out. Beirhall stroked his chin, then glanced at the empty air. Zeter couldn’t see anything there, so it just looked like Beirhall was thinking, not reading any prompts that might be hovering there so only he could read them with his enchanted spectacles.

“Zeter, no one’s perfect. Named-rank? I knew you as a [Soldier], and you might be bigger and have five more blades, but you’re the same inside. We all get scared, but we do our duty and trust, trust that High Command isn’t going to throw our lives away. What, do you think we’d send you at a monster like Zeladona without backup?”

“No, General, of course—”

Zeter flushed, seeming slightly relieved, and Beirhall tapped his chest.

“I’m in High Command, Zeter. I went to your wedding! I’m not showing up on Lilliam’s doorstep and telling her I got you killed. Trust you’re going with the army on anything dangerous. Remember that. Now, it sounds like that clash with her is bothering you, so I’m giving you an order straight out: I want you to talk to someone about it. A [Thought Healer], your weapon instructors, someone. Got it?”

“Yessir, of course. It’s not a detriment—”

“None of that now. You think I haven’t needed to talk to someone? Lulv? Every [Soldier]’s stared death in the eye, and there’s no shame admitting it.”

Beirhall gave Zeter a firm grasp of the shoulder, looking him in the eye, and the Swordsman of Six again relaxed and seemed relieved. He assured Beirhall he would get some help, and Beirhall suggested they meet up like this regularly.

“As for kids—maybe give Lilliam a break on that one for now. Wait until an anniversary, eh? That’s the time to bring it up.”

He winked, and Zeter recalled Beirhall had grandchildren and gave him a salute.

“Of course, General. Makes sense. I nearly fumbled my first date with her, you know. I had to get all the coaching to even make sure I got the dinner date right.”

“We’re all fumble-footed in romance, Zeter. Not like we can plot a battle the same way as a romantic night out, eh?”

They laughed, and Zeter returned to practice, much-relieved. Beirhall waved him off, then sighed, pulled off his glasses, and spoke.

“Okay. How was that?”

He listened to the speaking stone in his earhole and grimaced.

“—Well, I’d better have more lines. And if you’re doing something about Lilliam, get that poor woman something nice. Zeter’s like a blade himself. Honest, straightforward—and he’ll cleave through your stomach on his way to the target. Ancestors damn it.”

That was his only thought about Lilliam before he shook his head and hurried off for more work. But it more or less seemed like Zeter was handled, with more supervision needed.

Lilliam, though…

 

——

 

Three nights later, Lilliam called the Watch at 2 AM. The report filed later by a [Lieutenant of the Watch] on-scene claimed no violence, only a disturbance of the peace…and property.

Zeter had apparently seen what he claimed might have been an assassin-type Silent Antinium and cleaved a hole through two walls and chased the intruder through the gardens of his mansion. No one had been hurt…but Lilliam insisted the Watch remain until dawn.

The addendum at the bottom also noted that Zeter had been informed Manus’ agents were investigating the claims, but that he had not been told it was likely a housecat that liked to beg for treats in the area.

Zeter was given a lower-level assignment to slay monsters that had been upgraded to a Gold-rank threat which would take him out of the city for a week.

Lilliam received a summons to meet with someone in Manus’ keep. A member of High Command. When she nervously stepped into the meeting room, she froze up, and the person sitting there tried to offer her a friendly smile.

“Dragonspeaker! Th-this is such an honor! Am I in the right room…?”

She half-turned, but Dragonspeaker Luciva, the head of Manus, merely stood and pulled out a chair. It wasn’t a formal interrogation or officer’s meeting; just a pair of more plush chairs. They’d had to drag them up from somewhere else for the occasion.

“Of course. I wanted to speak with you after last night. Would you like refreshments? Don’t stand on formality with me. We have met at any number of functions.”

“Yes, but—this is so unexpected. I, um, I’ll take a tea? Something soothing.”

Lilliam had not slept, clearly, and her eyes were bloodshot. Luciva shifted in her seat as Lilliam took a cup of tea and drank. She paused.

Luciva had no real ability to do smalltalk. After so long of leading Manus, she sort of—forgot it was something people liked to do. That wasted time, and her time was precious, so her attempt at smalltalk was this:

“Zeter’s left the city on one of his missions. What do you do on your time off?”

Lilliam stopped blowing on her tea and blinked.

“Me? Oh—I go on walks, attend circles with some of my friends, book clubs, I keep in shape, go shopping, ah—you know, just try to keep my two children from driving each other up the walls.”

“Ah, I see. Book clubs. We had a program like that in the keep a decade back, but they fell out of fashion.”

Luciva had no insight into anything else, from shopping to socialization outside of work. She paused and decided, evidently, that she had definitely done the preamble. She steepled her claws together and gave the nervous woman a direct gaze.

“I’ve reviewed your files, Lilliam. Be frank with me, please. How are you feeling with Zeter? Don’t think I don’t know what it’s like. I grew up in the same kind of household; my father was a [Brigadier-General]. And I’ve been in Zeter’s shoes, I have no doubt, with my spouse running to the Family Aid center. Well—as long as it lasted.”

She gave Lilliam a considerate smile, and the Drake fidgeted.

“I knew that, I think. It’s…fine, Dragonspeaker? I’d hate to trouble you with this. I know Zeter’s vital, so I’m just—making it work. Really. Last night scared me, but it wasn’t the first wall he’s destroyed, and it won’t be the last. Ancestors, the [Builders] who do the walls were already at the house this morning. I know all of them by name.”

Luciva chewed on some hardtack they served her. Lilliam made the mistake of trying to do the same and blinked—Luciva had a thing for trail rations. The Dragonspeaker murmured.

“That’s not a happy life. You’re sure the—eye incident was accidental? Because if he is violent, tell me, and we will ensure you’re protected and safe. My word on it.”

She put the hardtack down and stared at Lilliam, and the Drake woman hesitated. Luciva was one of the few people in the world who could make a promise to deal with a Named-rank adventurer, but Lilliam shook her head.

“It wasn’t intentional. I think he really didn’t notice. The fact that he didn’t is bad enough—! The worst it’s ever been has been him shaking me and forgetting I’m not him.”

“That’s still beyond the pale. Do you want—”

“Dragonspeaker, please. If you dress him down, he’ll just get upset and make it worse. If he thought you were shouting at him because I said something…”

Lilliam was agitated, and Luciva sat back, voice mild.

“I wouldn’t do that. We can be—adept, Lilliam. General Beirhall’s talking with Zeter.”

“I know. It’s helping a bit. Hopefully, he comes back from his adventures and calms down from the Zeladona thing. I think…whatever happened with the Goblin King triggered it again. He said he sensed Zeladona, but I think he was hallucinating.”

More drumming of claws. Luciva didn’t discount Zeter’s instincts, but she did know he had more troubles than his sterling reputation suggested.

“Do you have anyone to talk to besides the Family Aid center, Lilliam? Friends? Other significant others of adventurers?”

Lilliam shot Luciva a bleak smile.

“There’s only one married Named-rank in the city besides Zeter.”

“Adventurer Heidan and…”

Luciva paused, embarrassed, because she didn’t know, and Lilliam filled in the gap.

“Raana. She’s too young to talk to. She’s half my age and still starry-eyed. Plus, Heidan’s a [Mage]. It’s not the same, Dragonspeaker.”

“I see.”

Heidan the Fireball was a [Mage]. He had a particular spell he liked to use. Luciva tried again.

“Gold-rank adventurers…? What about our married [Generals], like Beirhall?”

“Not many people marry adventurers. And it’s a bit more military with Beirhall’s family? I love Wilna and all her cubs and hatchling grandchildren, but she’s all stiff upper lip, and I think Beirhall’s not—Zeter.”

Right. Luciva was frowning. She felt for Lilliam, she really did. She’d grown up and seen, well, what happened when someone in a relationship had levels that far exceeded that of the other. It could work, but all it took was the higher-level partner using that strength or authority on the other, and…even if Zeter wasn’t doing it intentionally, Lilliam seemed stressed beyond belief.

“Is there anyone—anyone, Lilliam—we can get who can help you with this? You’ve been married sixteen years. Is this relationship—working? Was it working, and if it’s failed, how can we get it back on track?”

The other Drake thought for a long time about this. She put her face in her hands, then glanced up. Her wine-colored scales smoothed as she massaged her cheeks.

“I…I think the magic wore off and duty replaced it close enough, Dragonspeaker. I know why Zeter matters. I know the City of War needs me to do my part. So don’t worry about my investment in this. I think—I want our children to get through school and then I’ll see. Zeter will be in his fifties or sixties then, anyways. Less in his prime, even for a Named-rank.”

She was planning on up to twenty more years? Dedication, but Lilliam wavered even saying that. Her eyes flicked, and she closed them.

“Was it ever better? Yes! When he was lower-level and he wasn’t fighting monsters.”

“His level’s risen according to the threats. We don’t overextend him—”

Lilliam opened her eyes grimly.

“They’re still more terrifying. He has nightmares about Wrymvr the Deathless, the Goblin Lords, and everything else he’s fought. He calls himself ‘a man with a sword fighting real monsters’. Wyverns are easy. He could chop them up all day and night, even a weyr, and not fear them. It’s not whether it was better when he was lower-level. Named-rank changes you. Was it ever better when he was Gold-rank…?”

Again, she thought, and then her head rose.

“…Yes. Yes, I know who made it better for a while. But it’s not going to solve your problems, Dragonspeaker.”

“Tell me. Unless they’re dead, we can get them here.”

Lilliam gave Luciva a faintly amused smile.

“Even you can’t command Saliss of Lights, Dragonspeaker. Do you remember when he had just come back from Chandrar from one of his apprenticeships and was touring the cities? Before the, uh, war incident?”

Luciva’s heart sank. Saliss of Lights had been a rising Gold-rank who every Walled City had regarded as Chaldion’s true heir. He’d been in the City of War quite often, perfecting his explosive craft. Then he’d gone to war against Manus for the first and only time he’d fought against a Walled City and showed them exactly what kind of Named-rank adventurer he was. The nakedness had started…just around that time?

“You socialized with him? He was hard to get ahold of, even when he was here.”

He’d avoided Luciva like the plague when he wasn’t pranking High Command. Lilliam shrugged.

“Saliss? He and Zeter weren’t the best of friends, but they were Named-ranks. They got along like water and oil, or water and that stuff that explodes when Saliss tosses it in. Sometimes, they fought nonstop, but Saliss could talk to Zeter and to me. I’d cook them dinner while Hethka was still running around underfoot, and they’d…talk. Like people, to each other. About things only Named-ranks get.”

“Like…?”

Luciva was fascinated, and Lilliam shot her an interested glance, and suddenly, the conversation reversed on the Dragonspeaker.

“Like what it felt like to be the strongest, most dangerous man in a room. Like being a weapon, Dragonspeaker. Or—or hating orders but following them for the good of the city! Having a commander who didn’t know what you could do or thought you could do more. Like being someone who couldn’t even pick up a flower without crushing it or thinking about how to turn it into an explosion. The same kind of conversations High Command has with each other—or doesn’t.”

That made Luciva uncomfortable. High-level people did have that disconnect, and she hadn’t had those exact conversations with the other members of High Command…but they tended to focus on Rafaema a lot. Rafaema…Luciva wished she had more peers than Cire or that damn Dragon in the north. Damn him. If only—she tried to focus on the conversation.

“So what changed?”

“Saliss left. And I think Zeter offended him—I don’t know. Maybe Saliss found out he was cheating on me—they had a huge fight. Neither one tried to actually kill the other, but it tore up the mansion.”

“They did?”

Luciva didn’t remember this report, then remembered to appear shocked, but Lilliam’s expression was cool.

“I’m sure you’ve read that in the report too.”

“I, ah—the cheating isn’t uncommon on Zeter’s side.”

Luciva really didn’t have much else to say in the Swordman of Six’s defense. Lilliam shrugged.

“Named-rank adventurers all have faults. Zeter’s one gift was always that he never, ever put his claws on me. I’ve heard stories. As for the cheating—I’m doing my part for Manus. I appreciate you remember that, and I get his gold. I don’t know what’s wrong with Saliss. Not exactly—”

Her eyes slid sideways, and Luciva wondered if Lilliam had the same insights Saliss’ reports did that painted a very clear picture. The Dragonspeaker saw the Drake fidget.

“He had a cousin at the time. Some other [Alchemist] who followed him around, Onieva. I think that was it. She and Zeter would hang out together more and more until they had a fight. Or he did something Saliss took him to task for.”

“Ah.”

Luciva’s honed ability to keep her face blank was working overtime. Lilliam nodded.

“And that was it. It’s not like he went to pieces without Saliss, but it ruined his relationship with some of the other Named-ranks at the time, like Mivifa. So he only has the army now, and it’s not enough. Only Lulv or a few others hold the same rank as him, and they’re all commanding officers—he’s not. And I’d expect Lulv and Zeter wouldn’t be nearly as good together.”

The idea of Lulv being a positive influence socially made Luciva almost smile.

“That would be disastrous, Lilliam. I see the problem. We can try to find you more people to talk to in Manus…”

“Pass. I can tell when they’re an agent, and it feels forced whenever we’re put together. I am fine, Dragonspeaker.”

She wasn’t. Luciva knew how to read [Soldiers], and here was one approaching her limits. The Dragonspeaker stared at her claws as she thought.

“What you need, Lilliam, is…a holiday.”

“I’m not working, Dragonspeaker. Technically, every day is—”

“I mean a holiday from Manus. From Zeter. Maybe take your children, but we can arrange…”

Luciva was staring at a war-map on the walls of Izril. She was tilting her head, wondering where you went on holiday.

“I’ve visited all the Walled Cities, Dragonspeaker. Where could I go?”

Because she was without real insight and her thoughts kept popping up there anyways, Luciva said the name that occurred more and more frequently on people’s tongues these days. She gave Lilliam a blank look and said:

“How about Liscor?”

That was how Lilliam blinked, looked at the map, and found herself on holiday from her marriage. Heading to Liscor. A kind act from the City of War, who cared about its soldiers, even her. But she did think even the perceptive Dragonspeaker had made one mistake in her consideration of Lilliam.

Everyone asked, ‘how was Zeter?’, then ‘how was Lilliam?’. No one asked…what Lilliam’s class was.

It wasn’t [Wife]. She wasn’t good enough at that, and it hadn’t ever been her dream.

Lilliam’s class was [Sheath Tender]. A class that could only exist with the Swordsman of Six.

This was her holiday.

 

——

 

 

 

Mini-Chapter #5 — Healing

It was a strange day. The best of days, and the skies were still filled with magical fireworks and light spells. They’d gone from dawn to dusk, and the crown had paid for sweets and baked goods to be given out for free across the entire kingdom. A fortune, but no one had complained, even the most diehard penny-pinchers.

The best of days…and the worst of them for one person, the person it was all about. But no one realized it at first.

Dame Chorisa was drunk. She, Lacres, Indella, and Aine were technically on-duty, and as members of the Thirsting Veil, they should have been professional and sober at all times. Especially since they were guarding a member of the royal family.

However…lately their professionalism had slipped. How could it not when they had learned they were in service to a Wyrm and that the Kingdom of Glass and Glory was ruled by immortal beings as much as—if not more than—their [King]?

The immortal cabal wasn’t actually the part that made them slip up on their duties. You could almost find pride in the fact that Ailendamus was served by ancient beings of myth and legend…so long as they were serving it and not the other way around.

The laxity came from the distinct impression Chorisa had that…she was utterly useless. Since she knew the truth of the realm, she could not be sent on missions or into battle lest she be captured or turn traitor. Thus, she was assigned to guard duty to Rhisveri’s section of the royal palace.

Guard duty—for a Wyrm. Hundreds of feet long, armored in scales that made modern-day artifacts look like rocks compared to a fortress wall, able to spit acidic venom, and cast at least Tier 7 spells. Oh, and he could fly.

She’d been depressed about it for months, even though there were perks to being so highly-placed, like knowing what was going on in the Kingdom of Glass and Glory and training with House Shoel’s Agelum—a mixed blessing, that.

Today, though, Chorisa was over the moon. In fact, she didn’t think she’d met a single sister or, exceptionally rarely, brother of her Order of the Thirsting Veil who wasn’t drunk and delighted. The normally stoic, reserved Knight Order were dancing on tables and even singing.

Because their Great Knight had returned. Because from this damned war that had taken far more than it should—the Great Knight Eclizza, the Pale Serpent, had come back.

How? Why?

Chorisa herself didn’t know; the chaos and then celebrations had left her unable to ask. It had been…possibly forty hours since Eclizza had returned?

Fireworks were still going. The windows were flashing with every color as Chorisa got back to guard duty. She hadn’t slept.

“Attention. You wood maggots. We’re on duty. Act like it!”

Lacres, Indella, and Aine were stumbling into a line next to her at the doors. They were so drunk they had bounced off several pillars on the way here. Chorisa wondered if they could get chairs. It was going to be a long eight hours of duty.

Maybe they’d trade off two-by-two. It wasn’t like Rhisveri used them for anything but glorified [Messengers] or to check on other immortals.

Rhisveri. She hesitated, then cracked the door open. Then she froze. Chorisa stared into his rooms, where the Wyrm himself slept. There she saw him curled up like a giant snake. That wasn’t unusual. She knew better than to enter; he put magic up at all times when he slept, another reason she was useless.

But she had never seen…the helmeted figure was almost invisible, except for the squirming, against the green and white scales. However, there she was.

Wrapped up like a sausage, the Wyrm curled around her much like a child holding a treasured teddy bear, Dame Eclizza was trapped by Rhisveri. Her helmeted head slowly turned as she stopped trying to get an arm free from his scales. Chorisa felt Eclizza’s gaze on her—

Eclizza, who was like a big sister to all of the Thirsting Veil Knights. An inspiration, a hero—someone who had personally taught Chorisa, which was why Chorisa and her fellow [Knights] had been so wroth at Ryoka when they’d thought she had killed Eclizza.

Mightiest warrior of Ailendamus. Powerful aura user, bladeswoman, even capable of limited spellcasting. And—Chorisa felt the alcohol draining out of her blood—

Sort of intense. Eclizza’s aura was like a wave of venom that hit Chorisa and tossed her off her feet. The other three [Knights] followed her, rolling head over heels.

“Drunk on duty?”

Eclizza’s voice didn’t wake the Wyrm. She finally got an arm free, pushed herself up—and Chorisa sat up.

“Dame Eclizza! We were only celebrating—”

The thwack of Eclizza chopping Chorisa’s forehead made Rhisveri stir and frown in his sleep. Chorisa clutched at her dented helmet, enchanted or not, and Eclizza balled a fist.

“You are the same Chorisa I remember. Though the Chorisa I remember never shirked her duty. A great pity so much in Ailendamus has changed. It appears I must rectify issues as the Agelum taught me. By hitting things. Let’s see how well you can defend your target, Dame Chorisa, Dame Knights.”

Chorisa squeaked.

 

——

 

The servants found what they thought were four corpses on the ground outside of Duke Rhisveri’s chambers as the sun rose. They woke the Wyrm with their calls for the guards. He woke, thrashed around, and searched for Dame Eclizza.

She was sitting on a balcony’s ledge, cross-legged, balanced on the railing of his personal chambers. Here, she stared out at sights that no one, not even King Itorin II, was privy to.

Rhisveri had kept gardens. Or rather, Fithea, his adopted mother, had. Practical ones, filled with herbs and rare plants. Even cacti in controlled magical environments; they filled the inner courtyards no one was allowed to enter.

This entire wing was like a museum of his treasures, empty and deserted. She had wandered this place since she was allowed to enter, and today, Eclizza was having a drink.

Sandviper venom. Quite a lot of it, given it could fill the shot glass in her hand. It was colorless, though not odorless; the acrid smell of it was a clear warning, but she just sipped at it, visor raised.

She seldom showed her face. But if you could see her, you’d find her hair bleached almost blonde from the brown it had used to be, skin pale from lack of light. Pale Serpent indeed. Poison had only added to the effect.

“Fireworks. He never celebrated me like this, even when I made Great Knight. But I knew he cared. This much?”

She gazed up as more flew. Yet more—what was this, the third day? The Great Knight saw it in everyone’s eyes, from the King on down. Relief, confusion, awe—she had come back from the dead.

It was a glorious day. For all but her. She could hear Rhisveri laughing in the distance as he realized what she’d done to his guards. Laughing in delight. For to him, one of his beloved champions had returned from the dead after he had lost so many.

“His mother, Fithea. His greatest warrior and general, Dionamella. And me, I suppose. I would think him mad—if I did not understand.”

Another sip of the drink. Venom did not sear the tongue. It just…tingled until things went numb. A bitter, sour taste. Eclizza brought out another bottle and poured herself a refill. She was so immune to poisons of any kind that this was both training and as close to drinking as she could get.

“I have watched him die. And I have lost my world, whatever it was, however real they were. I chose to stay.”

She mourned a Wyrm who had vanished to protect her, and even if his likeness was here, she mourned her world, her companions. Dionamella, gone in two worlds, as with Fithea. She drank to the breaking of that strange palace, to the deaths of many warriors.

Even if she had been granted the memories and beliefs of her other self through the power of the system of levels itself—that just meant twice to mourn. Twice as many regrets.

No—Eclizza filled her cup with Creler’s poison, a rare and dangerous drink even for her, and drank, and that did burn like the fires of Rhir.

No, she did not wish to celebrate today. So, when Rhisveri came to find her, intending to parade her across Ailendamus, she was gone. She, who had used to dance attendance on his mercurial whims to earn his affection and respect.

How things changed. The Pale Serpent roamed out from the palace, in search of something appropriate to take her attention. So she visited the only place she thought of as home, where she had learned to do battle from the greatest warriors living: the Agelum.

That was when she encountered those in need of respite and healing, even more than her beloved Wyrm.

 

——

 

An argument had swept through House Shoel. A true argument, not the spats that occurred between Lucifen. They were the ones most people associated with House Shoel, the grim judges who arbitrated law.

The ‘fair cousins’, the reclusive, sickly Agelum, had far less political power with mortals due to their necessary isolation. But within House Shoel, they were Lucifen and Agelum, and mostly, the Lucifen acceded to the whims of their counterparts and let them amuse themselves with Sariant Lambs, donations, and public works.

Rarely did Lucifen and Agelum fight. Agelum were physically dominating beings, or should have been, a counterpart to the Lucifen, who were also strong, but far more magically gifted. However, the frailty of the Agelum over the millennia meant they could hurt themselves even standing up, let alone swinging a sword. More than one had left themselves bedridden by overexerting themselves playing with children; the staff had strict orders to not let them overdo anything.

So that was why nearly two dozen Agelum on their feet, arguing with the Lucifen, had Eclizza’s hand on her sword. She recognized Uziel, of course; the head of the Agelum was one of the oldest and strongest amongst them.

He was pointing a finger, his normally-kind eyes glaring wide, the multi-pupiled gaze fixed on a very nervous young Lucifen—Paxere. She was speaking quickly.

“Uziel, sit down! You are going to hurt yourself—”

“I will not sit until you agree! It is a matter of principle! Azemith and Igolze did not fight and perish to hand any of the captives, any of them, back to Roshal or risk their deaths in Rhir! Nor will we just send them off to be preyed on again!”

She flinched at that, and Eclizza halted, gathering information.

Azemith and Igolze were dead? Yes, Rhisveri had told her—no wonder the Lucifen looked equal in number to the Agelum. They had done far better than the Agelum at surviving and reproducing over the years, but twenty-four of them dead was disastrous.

“Uziel, please sit before you hurt yourself. I am willing to move on all but the Djinni. They’re…Djinni. If any other nation were to hear of—”

“Speak to them, Paxere. No, I don’t want my chair! Who—Eclizza!”

Uziel turned as he noticed her, and he bounded over so fast that the gale of air following him nearly knocked one of the servants off her feet. Eclizza felt him grasp her forearm even through her armor.

“Lord Uziel, you should not be up.”

“Bah. I feel stronger than ever. Maybe it’s my dander over the freed [Slaves]. Did you hear what Paxere and the Lucifen want to do? Send them back?”

“The…freed [Slaves], Lord Uziel? Ailendamus does not allow [Slaves], except those that pass through our borders. Have you freed some?”

That would cause trouble if the Agelum had been moved to it. However, Uziel just gave her a strange look before snapping his fingers gently.

“Ah. You must not have been caught up by Rhisveri about all events. I have so many questions myself; hark, all! Eclizza has returned!”

All the Lucifen and Agelum stopped bickering. They turned, and all of them smiled. The dark and sinister smirks of the Lucifen contrasted with the beaming joy of Agelum, even tears. All Eclizza could do was bow. Uziel took her arm.

“Refreshments! And don’t slink away, Paxere, we are not done. Ah—Eclizza has not been told of the battle at sea.”

“That battle I know of. A terrible tragedy which I wish to ask Visophecin about—though I am told he is gone. But what is this about the [Slaves]?”

In all the many events she had to catch up on, Eclizza had already memorized every detail of note…but she had forgotten they were only the details Rhisveri saw fit to furnish her with. Uziel’s eyes softened, and he took her by one arm.

“Why, the freed [Slaves] from Roshal’s damned ship, of course. Some of the Lucifen would have us throw them to the wolves.”

“They know we rescued them, Uziel. We do not need more danger—”

The Agelum bristled, and Paxere raised her hands.

“Peace. Peace, before you injure yourselves. Show Dame Eclizza round. We shall discuss the matter.”

The Lucifen drew together and vanished through one of their doorways, and Eclizza turned to Uziel questioningly. All he said was:

“The [Innkeeper] and that Goblin friend of hers were captive in Roshal’s cells. Visophecin did the right thing and freed them when she contacted him. He brought them all here afterwards. Now they are in the company of Agelum. We shall consider surrendering them to Roshal after the world splits in twain. Not before.”

That, at least, never changed. Despite herself, Eclizza took off her helmet and smiled. If there were two things that Agelum knew, it was war—and healing. It was a difficult battle, even for them.

 

——

 

The wings of House Shoel’s sprawling mansions had plenty of guest rooms and ones set up for children, whom the Agelum adored, despite not having any themselves.

The door that Uziel knocked on several times led to a spacious playground of bolster pillows and blankets that Dame Eclizza had scarce seen the like of. The largest fort had two stories and stood eleven feet tall, stretching to the top of the room where windows let in sunlight.

“Anqua? Anqua, I’ve brought a guest. Don’t be frightened. Unless you’d like to sleep or rest?”

Uziel called gently, and Eclizza spotted the sole occupant of the rooms instantly, though only a slight duck of the head revealed any movement. Behind a smaller fort of pillows and a ‘roof’ of quilts, a little figure hid.

Eclizza’s advanced aura-abilities revealed the child instantly, of course. A crouching figure, trembling. Uziel seemed to know he had alarmed the guest, despite the gentle knocking, and he took a seat on a pillow, sighing.

“I’m all stiff. Not in pain, though. Eclizza, take off that wretched helmet; you’re scaring her. Anqua, this is Eclizza, a very brave and honorable [Knight] in service to Ailendamus. She’s sworn to protect you and all those like you. Eclizza, Anqua is the youngest of those rescued. A Lizardgirl. She’s very good at building, aren’t you, Anqua? I helped with the big fort.”

“How many pillows did you give her? And how many dolls?”

They were scattered about the great room, like soldiers lining battlements. Each one a different style. Some, Eclizza recognized as being dolls of famous adventurers, but there were new plushies. Including…she stared at one doll.

“Is that the Wind Runner? She looks rather ill-made. Her eyes are…goofy, for lack of a better word. And is that a sock with eyes on it?”

“Rhissy and the Windy Girl are the most famous and well-selling puppets in Ailendamus and every neighboring country.”

Uziel informed Eclizza, which made her confused again. Ailendamus was almost identical to the one she knew—except for these changes which she couldn’t explain. They were very recent and very…

“Why are there green pillows around her?”

“Oh, those are fart clouds. That’s what she expels.”

“—I don’t recall that.”

Admittedly, she’d only captured Ryoka in her memory of this Eclizza’s life, then been killed while in the [Greater Teleport] spell. Damn the Death of Magic; Eclizza hadn’t been able to move, dodge, or block whatever she’d been hit with. What an ignoble way to go…

Perhaps she’d dodged an arrow if that was how the Wind Runner flew. Dead gods. Eclizza had thought it was wind magic. What kind of class…

Uziel was glancing at the little tail which had waved up from the top of the pillow fort. He grinned, his face soft and kind.

“That’s right. It’s her special power on Rhissy and the Windy Girl—the television show Duke Rhisveri puts on. That’s him, the sock puppet.”

“The what.”

Eclizza’s mind had stopped working for a second. But Uziel began clapping his hands.

“It’s even her song—well, one of them! Fart, not Smart! How does it go, Anqua? ‘Farts, farts, lots of farts! Be careful not to shart—’”

There was a sound, muffled, then the giggling got too loud, and the entire fort wobbled. Uziel laughed, then blinked.

“Oh no, watch out—”

The pillow fortress was collapsing. It had all the lethality of a bunch of pillows falling on you, but Eclizza moved instinctively, catching the pillows before they could topple onto—

She locked eyes with a child with huge, wide, slitted yellow pupils blinking up at her. Her face was terribly scarred. As if someone had taken a knife to—

Anqua, the Lizardgirl, leapt away with a cry and scrambled behind another fort. Uziel threw a pillow. It bounced off Eclizza’s back.

“Eclizza only wanted to protect you, Anqua. Don’t be scared. Are you scared? Should we go?”

They found the girl squatting under another fort in a little dome of cloth, hiding her head and crouched in a corner. When she turned, she had something else on her face.

A mask, made of porcelain, that gave her an eerie look but covered all but her eyes. She wore it, still hiding, staring up at Eclizza. This time, the Great Knight hung back while Uziel tried to coax her out.

“You don’t have to come out. Shall I bring you breakfast? Would you like that?”

She didn’t say anything, just stared up at Eclizza like she was a monster. The Great Knight said nothing, but she knelt and saw why the Agelum were so wrathful. They believed in causes, and they were the most moral people she had ever met. By which Eclizza meant that no Agelum she had met could sit by when they heard of an injustice perpetrated.

One of them had once heard of a killer terrorizing one of Ailendamus’ provinces. So, Razia had snuck out of House Shoel and made a near eighty-mile journey and hidden herself for two weeks straight to hunt down the killer before they could take more lives. The Agelum were the sort to go to war for injustice—she had compared them to the King of Destruction more than once.

But the Agelum were better with children. Anqua whispered so quietly that even Eclizza couldn’t hear her, but Uziel just listened.

“She’s not scary or too important for you, Anqua. I taught Dame Eclizza myself. If she or I were too busy to talk to children, we’d be useless! I know—you just think you don’t know her. Where…aha! How could she be scary if you know her so well? Look! Ezzy’s here!”

He had a doll in his hands with a black helmet, a sword and shield in both hands, and—Eclizza twitched—the pale viper twisting over her chest plate. A miniature Dame Eclizza in plushie form.

I forgot Rhisveri made that. Uziel offered it to the Lizardgirl, and she clutched it, then peered at the doll and the genuine article. Once again, the scarred, wide-eyed gaze found Eclizza, and she saw Uziel giving her an encouraging smile.

The [Knight] wavered…then she knelt. Carefully, she bowed, hand splayed over her chest, the other moving out and back, as if she bowed to royalty.

“Lady Anqua. I am Dame Eclizza, the Pale Serpent of Ailendamus. I am indeed at your service. You have my shield. I would be delighted to make your acquaintance, if I may.”

She waited and saw the girl swallow. Then Anqua crawled forwards a bit. Her voice was still shaky when she said—

“Are you going to protect Miss Ulvama? Please?”

Eclizza hesitated, but the girl was clutching the doll tightly, so the Great Knight nodded.

“Is she the person who rescued you?”

“Yes. She was nice to me, but she fell into the sea.”

Uziel patted Anqua’s hand, gently.

“She’s alive, we’re sure of it. Her and Miss Erin.”

“They’ll catch her and put her in the cage again.”

The girl didn’t look at Uziel. Her eyes darted to the door, and she began to tremble terribly. Dame Eclizza murmured.

“If she saved you, Anqua, then I will protect this Ulvama. I swear it on my shield and by the Kingdom of Glass and Glory. Just as I promise no one will hurt you in my company. Will you accompany Lord Uziel to breakfast? He is weak and needs his nourishment.”

Uziel smiled faintly, and the girl peered up, then nodded. So, Uziel held out his hand, and they walked out of her bedroom, where his wheelchair was already waiting. Anqua sat in his lap, and he insisted on wheeling them towards the dining room.

Only during breakfast did the Agelum lean over and whisper to Eclizza that she’d sworn to defend a Hobgoblin.

 

——

 

At least the sight of scrambled eggs leaving Eclizza’s visor at speed had Anqua and the other children laughing so hard the girl nearly fell out of Uziel’s lap. Then the loud sounds scared her, and she almost fled back to her rooms.

“Ah, not yet, Anqua! You haven’t finished eating. You do need to eat. What scared you this time? The loud noises? Bravery, child. Don’t be afraid in our company. Did someone scare you? Ask any of those here and you shall see no one wished to scare you or hurt you.”

One of the other Agelum, Ligandre, bent over to speak to the girl. They all seemed to know her and they did their jobs well, as far as Eclizza could tell.

The dining rooms, like so many walls in the mansion, were colored by childish drawings or paintings they had made. To the dismay of the Lucifen, the Agelum adored the memory of the many children who’d entered their manors to train or learn or just play.

Indeed, while the Lizardgirl was too shy to play with the other noisy children—a mix of half-Elves, Humans, even a pair of Dwarves—she had mustered the courage to eat breakfast with Uziel and Eclizza.

However, it seemed too much for her at this point. Midway through breakfast, she put down her fork and began to fiddle with her claws, twiddling them together anxiously. She didn’t cry—but her aura diffused in a way that made Eclizza think she would have, if she dared.

Uziel was even better at reading auras, and he instantly stopped eating and leaned over.

“Anqua? Do you want something?”

“I want Isoquen.”

She sounded worried, but Uziel instantly turned and asked someone where an ‘Emira Isoquen’ was. The woman, or rather, Stitch-woman, turned out to be on the way already, with a small gathering that made Anqua jump off Uziel’s lap and run to them. She hid behind the Emira’s skirts, following them back to the table.

“Lord Uziel, may I know who our guest is?”

The Emira was intelligent and recognized Eclizza at once as being someone of rank. For her part, Eclizza noted that while Isoquen’s cloth was silk and doubtless resewn and mended, the others had markings on their necks and arms if they weren’t Stitch-folk. Faded they might be, but the scars from manacles were visible.

No slave brand magic. Someone must have removed that.

“I am Dame Eclizza, Emira Isoquen.”

The Stitch-woman bowed deeply.

“I am merely Isoquen now. Whatever titles I had—a former [Slave] has none. We are all indebted to House Shoel and Duke Rhisveri for their generosity.”

Eclizza guessed the Emira didn’t know the true nature of Lucifen and Agelum. She very much doubted Rhisveri would have approved of telling them anything. Anqua whispered in Isoquen’s ears, pointing at Eclizza.

“Anqua greatly admires you, Dame Eclizza. She has a doll of your likeness in her rooms. Donated by the Duke, I think.”

“I am relieved it gives her some comfort, Emira. Tell me…how long have you been in Ailendamus?”

A quick glance between Isoquen and the others. The ones who sat closest were all women, varying in age from Isoquen to teenagers. Anqua was by far the youngest.

“A month? Two, now? I have lost count. No, I am a liar, I have counted each one exactly. I am more a coward than little Anqua. I would have hidden in my rooms, except I was told she was out here.”

Then Eclizza saw the way the Emira was only being served by female servants. She flinched every time any male came by who wasn’t a child. Uziel seemed an exception, along with the other Agelum, but several of them had moved back.

“Emira Isoquen was one who knew Anqua well. She is a leader of her group, of sorts.”

“A leader of little, Lord Uziel. If we are to leave, I will call upon whatever favors I have, but—”

Uziel waved this off, growing visibly upset.

“Who suggested that? Paxere?”

“We hear talk. We know we are a risk—”

“To whom? The Kingdom of Glass and Glory? Let the Slavers come—”

The word ‘slavers’ made many of the people sitting at the table flinch. Anqua ducked down at the table, and Uziel hesitated. But then he finished his sentence.

“Let the Slavers of Roshal come. Or even the Naga. I have hunted serpents before. Some monsters should be killed and displayed so all know they are dead.”

Several Agelum nodded at that, but Anqua just sucked on her thumb-claw. At this point, Eclizza found it hard to continue enjoying breakfast. She made light conversation with Isoquen about her coming back from the dead until she could rise and speak.

 

——

 

“They’re Visophecin’s folly. He could have put them at any other port, but he dumped them here, with us. Now, they’re a liability. I would rather give them gold and send them on their way, but the Agelum have promised violence if we try.”

Paxere was leader of the Lucifen, or at least speaking for them, which told Eclizza how disrupted they were. She was young, and even if her parents had both fallen in battle—

They might be letting her speak and act while the older ones figure out what to do. A figurehead. Either that or she’s grown strong enough to wrest power for herself.

Regardless, Eclizza would have rather spoken with a senior Lucifen, but many had perished and Visophecin was exiled. Paxere’s red-eyed glare took in the former [Slaves] as Eclizza folded her own arms.

“As far as I understand it, this was a pact struck by Visophecin.”

“A foolish one! That little Lizardgirl flinches when one of us so much as breathes.”

“As charming as the Lucifen are, I cannot imagine why.”

“Yes, b—”

Paxere went silent, and her face turned blank. She had forgotten some mortals were willing to talk back to her kind, even if they knew who she was. Eclizza was all but immune to the Lucifen’s disconcerting stares. She’d grown up here, learning from Uziel how to swing a sword.

“Surely the Lucifen have opinions on the [Slaves]. Or did you approve of their treatment and Roshal’s ship?”

This time, the Lucifen colored slightly and snapped back.

“Misery for misery’s sake is pointless! Nor do we hold with Roshal’s methods of rule. The Lucifen have been debating the slave-holding arguments for the last few months, though.”

“Not to take it as a proposal to Rhisveri, I trust.”

Eclizza was alarmed at that, and Paxere waved it off.

“We enjoy talking about everything. The…condition of the freed [Slaves] was instrumental in our debates. If that is how the Naga’s own [Slaves] are treated, it provides a baseline for the institution itself. As well as testimony of how the [Innkeeper] and Hobgoblin were being treated.”

Her voice reserved more ire for Erin Solstice than the Hobgoblin, Ulvama. Quite odd, given how the Goblin King, Curulac, had decimated both Lucifen and Agelum.

“Is it annoyance, then, that drives the Lucifen to oust the [Slaves]?”

Eclizza wanted to know. Paxere seemed insulted.

“No! We’ve had two centuries to get used to noisome brats in the mansion. We’ve even been researching scale-growth spells for that small one! Our reasoning is sound, Eclizza. The little one weeps for her parents and requests to be sent home. It is her wish; it is the Agelum who refuse to grant it. If these other freed [Slaves] wish the same, who are we to refuse? Liberty of choice must be extended to all those who have not lost the right to it or it is not true freedom.”

That did surprise the [Knight]. Eclizza had thought it was purely annoyance that made the Lucifen change their opinions. She was going to ask more when a Sariant Lamb wearing a little bell dinged its way towards them with a bow on his head, mewling for affection.

When the Lucifen and Great Knight stared at it, the Sariant Lamb rolled over and played dead. The two didn’t fall for the trick and backed away from the lamb to find a place where they couldn’t be eavesdropped on. Though Eclizza did, reluctantly, leave an offering of chopped up bits of steak, gold, and some sweets from the capital at a ‘shrine’ for them, which was just a big feed bowl.

She didn’t like the nosy, inquisitive creatures who were too smart and less cute than they appeared. However—she had a debt to them, or one of them. She even found the statue of her savior, Ser Tubeliges, and put it back on the pedestal.

She hadn’t known how to swim when he’d dived in the pond to save her. No one, not even the Thirsting Veil Knights, knew about that particular incident.

 

——

 

Duke Rhisveri arrived like a literal thunderclap just past breakfast, scaring Anqua so badly she ran to her rooms and hid in the forts she’d built for herself. Eclizza strode outside and grabbed him by the ear.

“Ow! I was just coming to find—Eclizza! I am your Duke! Let go of—that really hurts—”

He harrumphed when she brought up the girl.

“Bah, she’s got to learn to deal with teleportation sounds someday. Don’t hit me.”

“She’s a freed [Slave] who escaped captivity and worse. Don’t you have any sympathy for—you did remove her class, didn’t you?”

He raised his hands before she could hit him.

“I did! I mean, not me, personally—Itorin did, and it was like stuffing ten cats in a tin can, trying to get him to do it without telling him exactly who they were. I’m doing much for this lot! The most out of anyone!”

The unconvinced look Eclizza gave him made him splutter.

“Who do you think deactivated all their slave brands and the other tracking spells on them! Once that child gets her scales back, she’ll be any other annoying Lizardchild. I would have cast [Restoration], but I’ve been using my mana on other tasks.”

“[Restoration]? You do know that spell.”

“Of course, what do you think, I’m like that idiot in Tenbault? But it’s damn hard reversing someone’s injuries sometimes, and children don’t benefit from high-tier magic—ow, ow, ow, my ear! Wait, it came off!”

 

——

 

They put his ear back on before she dragged him over to Anqua. But the little girl refused treatment, hiding her face and flinching away from his fingers.

“Told you. She refuses to be magicked. Very sensible too. That’s how they got her after her parents…I did offer it. You didn’t let me say that part.”

Rhisveri snarked at Eclizza as they went to talk to Uziel, because now Eclizza was invested in this argument. It transpired that the freed [Slaves] weren’t entirely idle; in Anqua’s case, she was receiving time with [Thought Healers] and lessons when she could manage them, but the older freed [Slaves] needed work.

Emira Isoquen had taken over doing finances and other managerial tasks for House Shoel; several others were training with the Agelum.

It was a familiar sight to Eclizza, but even those who had come to the mansion stopped to stare as what looked like an aged grandmother—very spry and wrinkle-less for her age, but white-haired and thin—dueled three of the freed [Slaves] with a cane as they came at her from all sides.

She balanced her wheelchair in a wheelie, deflecting sword strikes from both sides before knocking the attackers away, then let the wheelchair fall backwards to avoid a slash. She pushed herself off the ground, and the flying wheelchair pinned one of her attackers as she landed on them.

“Don’t overdo it, Manfie!”

Uziel shouted, but the Agelum just called back, not even panting.

“I feel like I did when I was forty, Uziel! I don’t know what it is, but I think I’m ready to take the fight to the Dawn Concordat!”

Rhisveri just rolled his eyes as Uziel grinned at her.

“What’s this about sending the freed [Slaves] off, Uziel?”

“Oh, we’re not doing it.”

The Agelum was adamant, but Rhisveri snapped at him.

“I heard the Lizardgirl wants to see her parents! If we get her back to Baleros, what’s the issue? Wait, you’re worried Roshal will take vengeance…right.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is stupid, and I don’t have time for it. Get them to come here. We’ll have our agents find them, bring them over, one big happy Lizardfolk family. Make a fuss about it and promote immigration. That moves our timetables up from getting a coastal kingdom, but it’ll do.”

“No.”

This time, Rhisveri drew up with an actual snarl, but Lord Uziel’s eyes were focused back on the mansion. Eclizza glanced over and saw a shadow duck down; Anqua was watching the play outside.

“Why not?”

“Her parents sold her to Roshal. They do not deserve her. She may have forgiven them, or forgotten that fact, but I refuse. The Lucifen have their arguments—no one is going to be sent out of Ailendamus, Rhisveri. No one.”

The Wyrm turned to Eclizza with that expression of, ‘do you see what I have to deal with?’, which he so often wore. But it seemed simple enough to her.

“Lord Uziel has a point, Rhisveri.”

“The village was impoverished, then Roshal appeared! You’re too black-and-white, Uziel! I can follow the Lucifen’s arguments as well as you—but your lot never cares to. Alright, don’t turn me into a pillar of salt, that’s your problem. But some of them—”

“No.”

“The two—”

“No. Do you want to war with the Agelum, Rhisveri? You battled Lucifen once. Don’t push us.”

Eclizza knew the ominous, ringing tones in Uziel’s voice were a prelude to battle. She interposed herself between the two immortals as Rhisveri bristled; the Wyrm did not back down from a challenge.

“We are around children. Behave yourselves.”

Instantly, the two stopped glaring at each other as harshly, and Eclizza turned to Rhisveri.

“You’d force some of the freed slaves out?”

“He would.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it. I’m being practical. There’s offending Roshal, and this—”

“The Lucifen struck a pact.”

“I’m not saying kill them or dump them away! If we just escort them or gave them a clear shot at—”

“No.”

Dame Eclizza gave Rhisveri a troubled look.

“Rhisveri…”

“They’re Djinni, you feather-brained idiot! Djinni! What in the name of flying cats are we supposed to do with them?”

Rhisveri whisper-screamed at Uziel, and Eclizza stopped. Uziel wore the same, unfazed expression as before.

“Talk to them, Rhisveri Zessoprical. Haven’t you done that?”

 

——

 

One wore the guise of a half-Elf, the other a Dwarf. But neither one fit. Their eyes were too magical. They were too…different.

A black-skinned Dwarf grinned as he sat, whittling a piece of wood with a knife that flicked and danced across his hands so delicately that Eclizza almost believed he was that good—but her eyes showed her his true, magical body shaping the wood.

The half-Elf was a woman braiding and re-braiding a single, filthy knot of rope with little, rounded stones worked into the threads. Like him, she glowed with too much magic, and her true form was more than the half-Elven body.

Djinni were all magic. Their clothes were just pieces of magic shaped to look like fabric. These were the last two Djinni who’d survived the Winter Solstice, taken from Roshal’s ship—both had been given the task of filling The Naga’s Den’s sails and even pushing it and defending it from harm.

It was Rhisveri and the Lucifen’s opinion that they had to go. To the Demons, if nowhere else, where Djinni often fled.

Eclizza did see the point here. Djinni were so magical and so powerful they couldn’t be controlled or have their memories erased. Only the same binding spells that had enslaved them could force them to submit—and these two had lost their masters.

They were rogue Djinni, who could be powerful enough to wipe out entire cities. Hadn’t one of the ones the King of Destruction had freed done just that? Even Rhisveri treated them warily, though Eclizza felt like these weren’t the strongest of their kind.

However, Uziel just greeted them as warmly as Isoquen or Anqua and introduced them to her and Rhisveri.

“This is Isomentodrix, six hundred and some years old. The Dwarf is Hithneir’wevre, who thinks he’s been alive two thousand years. So, older than even we immortals, by and large!”

The Dwarf waved as he carved, and Eclizza grew alarmed. However, Rhisveri just growl-whispered to her.

“We can’t hide who we are from them. The older one remembers Agelum. And two thousand years isn’t that old.”

So said the Great Wyrm, who’d spent a thousand years underground before ever seeing the sun. The younger Djinni grinned as she swung herself up and bowed.

“Dame Knight, yer a sight for sore eyes. I heard tell you were dead, and here half the kingdom’s exploding over your return. I’d ask for an autograph—but I suppose we’d as best pretend we never met, eh?”

She had an accent and moved around in her body as if she were used to it; she was barefoot, and her fake clothing was of a [Sailor]. She even breathed in and out regularly.

The Dwarf did not. His clothing was embroidered with filigree on all the edges and rich, as if he were a nobleman himself or a powerful [Merchant]. He did not rise, but spoke.

“Have you decided what you will do with us, Uziel of Agelum?”

What an interesting pair. Even Eclizza had scarcely conversed with Djinni before, as they were largely confined to Chandrar. Uziel shook his head.

“I hope Duke Rhisveri and Dame Eclizza will hear your stories, if you are willing to tell them, friends.”

Isomentodrix drew in a ready breath, but Hithneir just held up a hand.

“Friends. Odd, to be called that. We are slaves. Freed, and twice as dangerous to your Kingdom of Glass and Glory. Even if I were not blind to that, friends? ‘Twas Agelum who once helped cage the mightiest of us, and Wyrms have ruled Chandrar before.”

His stare held no apology, just a kind of weary readiness. Eclizza saw Uziel’s smile slip, but it was Rhisveri who demonstrated the calm aplomb she knew he could exhibit when he cared to.

“Wyrms of the past are not the same as this Great Wyrm, Djinni Hithneir’wevre. As for Agelum, I have no doubt that some imprisoned Djinni, but I suspect just as many would have freed and fought beside them in the past. Are you trying to insult us?”

His tone was steady, and the Djinni lifted his hand again, palm up, when it had been palm out at first.

“Merely gauging whether we have traded one master for another under the guise of friendship or protection. If you shackle or kill us, do it outright.”

“Or put us in a lamp and give us to the [Innkeeper] and Hobgoblin. I’ll obey the two of them.”

The comment from the half-Elf Djinni drew such an expression of actual sparks from the Dwarf’s eyes that Eclizza almost reached for her sword. Rhisveri glanced at her.

“Interesting. It seems there’s a difference of opinions here. I’ll spare time to speak to you both, since Uziel’s so damn insistent. But first—if you’re two thousand years old, you surely remember something interesting. How do you find Ailendamus? Do you remember the recipe for Scaethen Bread? I swear I’ve heard someone talking about it recently.”

“Someone’s reinvented Scaethen Bread?”

The Dwarf Djinni sat up, and he and Rhisveri began doing what all immortals did—talk about the old days, which were, somehow, always better than now. It was Isomentodrix who beckoned Eclizza aside.

 

——

 

The Great Knight thought she could kill Isomentodrix in a fight. She’d need her armor and blades enchanted by Rhisveri, but she could do it. Nor did she feel bad about her warrior’s assessment—the half-Elf said the same things as she tucked her hands in her pockets, walking around the park that encircled House Shoel’s mansion.

“You can call me Isome. The rest of my name’s too much for all but Djinni to use. This Kingdom of Glass and Glory’s mighty, eh? I’ve met few mortals who could kill me in a fair fight. You look like you’d best me in an unfair one.”

“I’ve trained under Lord Uziel.”

“Oh, that one? Hithneir said his kind are better’n [Blademasters] at fighting. Sight to see, I’ll say. Story for the seas. Look, you needn’t pretend you like me, Dame Knight. The spicy ‘Duke’ who ain’t real doesn’t. He could crush the both of us. Just let him know I meant what I said. Stuff me in a bottle and give me to the [Innkeeper]. She’s alive, or so I’m told. Though the one on the television ain’t her.”

The Djinni’s eyes glittered as she leapt up on a railing and balanced there, effortlessly walking down the narrow ledge. As far as Eclizza could tell, she was actually doing it.

Because she was curious and too well-trained to give away her intentions, Eclizza nodded at her.

“You’re far more mobile than Hithneir is.”

“That’s because I was born to the chains. Hithneir had five decades of freedom before they collared him. Me—I like wearing the look. [Sailor], that’s who I’d have been if I wasn’t chained. Sometimes it even works a time, and they forget and treat me like one of their own. Never long. I like the feel of the deck, the singing of storms, the calm salt wind, and fish fresh-caught. I don’t get his yearning for freedom. ‘S best this way.”

“It seems an incredible thing to say.”

The half-Elf Djinni spun, grinning, and then her eyes were hollow pits, bleak and filled with magic.

“Well, I could be centuries more in chains, millennia if I’m lucky. I’d rather not weep for what I don’t miss, Dame Knight. Say, there aren’t any good stones around here, yay big?”

She still had that odd rope in her hands, and she made a gesture with her fingers a thumb’s length across.

“There’s a pond where I nearly drowned once. It has skipping stones there. The Agelum love to find the best ones. This way.”

“You nearly drowned?”

“I think I was pushed. But I was saved either way. By a Sariant Lamb.”

Isome got the story out of Eclizza as they walked, and her laughter sounded real and carefree. But all too soon she was haggling. Haggling, Eclizza realized, for the terms of her captivity.

“There’s no chance you let us free. But if you put Hithneir in a vault, I think he’ll take to being a war asset better’n serving. Given the chance, he’d go with me.”

“Why do you want to serve the [Innkeeper]?”

The Djinni gave Eclizza a blank look as she hunted around in the muck for stones, picking and choosing them and skipping the ones she didn’t care for. She wanted the best one, it seemed, but Eclizza couldn’t tell what her criteria was.

“She slew my masters, of course, and tweaked the noses of Roshal’s [Slavers]. For that, I’ll always love her, burning her chains off herself. For the delight of someone who’d fight and die for a Goblin? That’s interesting. She might use me better than most, and maybe…”

Maybe she’ll let you go when she dies? Or before that? Isome gave Eclizza a weak smile.

“Can’t hurt if I dream, eh? ‘Sides, after they treated her so, I doubt she’ll make me entertain the ship’s crew.”

Ah, there it was. Eclizza had felt too peaceful in House Shoel, with the gentleness of the Agelum here. She felt the black feeling in her chest, and it leaked from her teeth. Venom…she didn’t spit, but swallowed and spoke.

“You don’t have any rage towards your captors?”

This time, the Djinni avoided her gaze and skipped another stone over the water.

“Rage? Too much fear. Hithneir might join those Demons, but I’d hide. I’ll run. I only fear what’ll happen if they catch me again. They make examples of Djinni who escape. Say, do you want to see my possession?”

Another odd statement. Eclizza thought that Isome meant she’d possess something until she realized the improper-sounding grammar was accurate.

Isome showed her the only possession she owned in all the world. A piece of rope with stones tied carefully into each link.

 

AND NOW I AM DONE

It’s 6k+. I think I’ll make this either a half-chapter or one that’s fuller but I’ll have to ask people to vote for it.

Let me know how that went but I need to eat food and rest!

 

 

 

Dame Chorisa, Lacres, Indella, and Aine

Uziel

Lizardgirl ??? — Scarred badly across face.

Emira Isoquen

Marika — [Shepherd], Deceased

Djinni X2

The cord of rocks—a djinni’s possession. The list.

 

 

Post-Chapter Notes:

See all that nonsense above? That’s what I wrote on stream. The stuff below is also notes for characters in the story. I have more but I’m leaving it in because this is raw, unfiltered. Like poop stains on the play in Shakespeare’s time. I dunno.

 

Bear in mind, this is meant to be an uplifting chapter. As uplifting as chapters about this material get? I might be bad at happy stories.

 

 

 

 

Pre-Chapter Note:

This is when I started getting sick. Not sure if you can tell.

 

 

Mini-Chapter #6 — Imani

There was a reason why she was sitting in a kitchen, eating spider legs. Only, when Imani thought about the situation like that, her reasons still seemed to, uh, suck.

Imani Okpara, age 20, birthday February 22nd, from Nigeria, Kano, transported to this world in 2017 with sixteen others. Lone survivor. Now, [Otherworld Chef], Level 36.

She wasn’t quite sure she was twenty years old, actually. She might be closer to twenty-one years, given how much longer the years were and how time seemed to be…wrong. It was 2025 on Earth, and she was gravely concerned that either she was aging slower or perhaps this world was passing slower in time compared to her world.

A terrifying thought. Imani wasn’t a mathematician or someone who could speculate as to what was happening, but she knew that other Earthers like Rhaldon claimed to be from later years, and she had other pieces of evidence to support a theory that Earth was experiencing a…faster time-flow than this world.

Palt had asked his Ullsinoi faction, the intelligent [Illusionists], about it, and they had described a theory that made sense to Imani: imagine there were two rivers and both flowed at different speeds. Each world was a leaf sailboat floating down the streams; the rivers flowed at their own speeds, but something, a gate or spell, had linked the two. So now they flowed in parallel, but still at their own speeds.

Hither to this moment, thousands of years might have passed in each world in the blink of an eye. However, now they would be linked forevermore—but one did not change the flow of time itself. Unless, of course…the bridge were to become more cohesive. Stronger. Then, perhaps, the illusionists had speculated, time would become a 1:1 as the two realities became a whole, like two dyes of red and blue became purple. The only question was what that would mean.

Would magic flow to Earth’s world and create a second world of magic, divide itself between the two, or be only feasible in one world? The implications of each scenario were important to consider…because the Ullsinoi wanted to know what would happen if they managed to open the gate or portal or reverse-engineer how the Earthers were getting here.

“Obviously, we’re not planning or hoping for a war, my hoofless filly. It’s more preventative. You have your world wars, we have ours—if people were talking or knew what levers to pull to avoid that when we made first contact—or second contact, I guess, since you’re already first—that would be good.”

“Oh, mind-control spells on heads of state?”

Imani had teased Palt, and the Centaur, her boyfriend and co-owner of Barehoof Kitchens, the restaurant/kitchen they operated, had hesitated for a long moment.

“That’s not the first option that Galei was talking about. But, uh, if the opposition doesn’t have good magical protections and they’re going to hit us with one of those Tier 9 nukes…they’re not even sure what happens if a ‘door’ opens, so don’t worry about it.”

He’d given her a smile, and she’d tried to reply with sincere trust, but she didn’t know his faction. Imani rather suspected the Ullsinoi were a bit like clever rats. Helpful, highly intelligent, practical—but also rats. Her only consolation was that Palt was one of them, and as he was rising in their weird hierarchy, she had some input into how things were going.

 

——

 

“Why are you rising in the Ullsinoi faction, Palt? It’s not like I see you casting better magic. And you haven’t been doing more than running Barehoof Kitchens with me.”

Imani asked about it as they made bread in the morning. They had a routine. They had a life in Liscor.

Each morning, she’d roll out of the low, practically floor-level bed—which was the size of two king-sized mattresses on the 2nd floor of their modest house—and walk down the long, long ramp that connected the 2nd floor to the first. Normally, a set of stairs would suffice, but Palt had contracted Antinium to build the huge and wide ramp so he could access the 2nd floor; he’d risk tripping and breaking a leg without one.

Normally, Centaurs loved ranch-style homes with one floor for that reason, but in Liscor, that kind of space was beyond any reasonable budget. And they’d already paid a pretty penny for this home. The interior was wood, another huge luxury; Imani hadn’t known how wealthy Palt was until he’d sprung for it. The outside was a cobblestone facade that only became wood on the last third. From the outside, you could be forgiven for thinking this was a warehouse, because it had been until they’d bought it.

Even so, the ‘house’ section was small, and Imani would make tea for herself and Palt until she heard him clomping about upstairs. Then they’d have tea and make bread—and breakfast—in the gigantic kitchens while they discussed business for the day.

The kitchens were as close to modern as Imani could imagine—better in some ways. There were a few counters of stainless steel, but because it was so expensive, they had lacquered marble or hardwood instead, even a counter with special inlaid jade and other minerals.

Ordinarily, given the rough treatment of any surface, you’d want steel. On Earth that made sense, but Palt had personally enchanted everything to be tough as steel and with all kinds of features. So instead of traditional stoves or ovens, Imani just used magic.

There were wood-fed stoves, but she seldom bothered with that when she could use a heating rune or a magical stove instead. Similarly, a lot of tools she had were magic.

Goodbye electric beater, hello Stirring Spoon—which would do a rotation in a bowl until you wanted it to stop. A bit slower, but you didn’t have to hold it in place! No more refrigerators, welcome Runes of Preservation!

The kitchens had several sets of doors that led to the dining area of Barehoof Kitchens, and thus the entire building was both home and workplace.

Palt had rougher mornings, so he was drinking tea and staring out a window. He squinted as he replied to Imani’s question.

“Wurgb?”

“I said, why are you rising in Ullsinoi’s ranks when your magic isn’t improving, Palt?”

She nudged him fairly hard with an elbow. Centaurs were big and pretty tough; she didn’t even come up to his shoulder, and he outweighed her by hundreds of pounds. Even so, they could injure themselves as easily as horses. They were like highly-tuned cars, to use another Earth analogy. One broken leg and that was it.

“That’s hurtful, dearhoof. I study the latest spells from Archmage Eldavin all the time!”

She rolled her eye.

“Answer the question.”

Palt shifted his hooves evasively, but she’d known him long enough to pin him down for an answer if she wanted one. He muttered.

“Well, partly it’s because we are sending recipes to Ullsinoi. And your Earth-insights. Nothing like a willing source of information since most of them escaped. Plus, I’m highly placed! With the…inn…and Valeterisa.”

“So you’re being promoted because you’re sleeping with an Earther and because you’re in the right place?”

“My sweet monkey-mare, that makes it sound like I just got lucky!”

Imani folded her arms. She gave him a direct look with her one eye. Her other was covered by a white eyepatch with floral designs on it. It had been shot out by one of Roshal’s [Assassins] last winter. She still got surprised when she saw herself in the mirror, sometimes, but she was growing used to it.

“You did.”

“I, er, of course I did! Meeting such a lovely blossom as you. I just mean—what about my contributions? Let’s count them off.”

“Okay, you came here to kidnap Pisces—”

“Which I realized I was very wrong about! Then I fought at the Bloodfields and lost Isceil…and then, uh…”

He faltered, and Imani gestured at herself.

“You got into a relationship with me. It’s my Skills, isn’t it? You’ve been teleporting some of the Earth-goods we get to Wistram or another Mage’s Guild.”

“No…what about my sterling work representing the Ullsinoi faction with that [Innkeeper]?”

“Erin. That was her being amazing and you putting Ullsinoi’s name on it, Palt. Are you…bribing your master with our candy? Is your promotion due to—Tim Tams?”

He hesitated, pawing the ground in a way that signalled to her he was upset. He didn’t like talking about Erin these days, or The Wandering Inn. He blamed them for her missing eye, which might be fair. It probably was fair on some levels, even if Roshal had fired the shot, but Imani felt, as the one-eyed [Chef], she was allowed to blame whomever she wanted.

And she blamed only the gun and Roshal, not Erin. It was one of the things they had been divided on, and Palt avoided bringing it up.

“I won’t deny some of your world’s goods play well with my faction. They’re good as treats for other [Mages] or for just the information labels. Very useful information, that. We, ah, we wouldn’t happen to have more of the candy, would we?”

“Most of what I ask for isn’t candy, Palt. It’s a waste of my Skill.”

Which she could only use once a week. Palt trotted after her, clasping his hands together.

“Of course, of course! But if we could consider a few—”

So there it was. Her magical boyfriend was being promoted because of candy. Imani rolled her eye as she checked on some bread rising in a magical oven.

 

——

 

Barehoof Kitchens wasn’t a full-time restaurant; they had specific meals at specific dates in the week and rotated as they pleased; they had a schedule, and you had to have reservations to get in. They were exclusive, which meant expensive, and their income came half from their actual guests and half from the lessons Imani and Palt would give—to other [Chefs].

It was something that Imani had observed when she’d come to Erin’s inn and heard tales of how Erin had spread burgers around or her woes with ice cream. Yes, if you were an Earther, you could come out with a lot of recipes or ideas that were new and exciting, but everyone copied you instantly. It was better to teach people how to do things and earn your money that way.

The trouble with that, of course, was that you had to know enough to teach it, and Imani rather suspected Erin, and by extension, most Earthers, weren’t that good at cooking. Imani was. She’d fed herself and her roommates as well as her family growing up, and while she’d actually been majoring in administration before she’d been abducted—teaching a bunch of [Cooks] new techniques and running Barehoof Kitchens was right in that skillset. Their co-owned business was doing quite well, actually. It was making a lot of money, so that day, Imani brought something up with Palt that had been on her mind.

“We need to hire apprentices. Or other workers.”

She was pulling out loaves of bread and ruthlessly hollowing them out; the bread crumbs went in a separate bowl, and she was preparing a pottage to fill the bread bowls with. Nothing Earth-unique; just good, solid cooking with more hints of her homeland’s cuisine.

Izril had always struck her as more European, so Imani producing fufu or knowing how to work cassava and maize into her dishes made her cooking more interesting. Plus, she was high-level. Palt frowned at her as he tasted the pottage.

“What’s wrong with the two of us working together, my…prancing pony?”

“Don’t call me that again, please, Palt. The problem is that we’re working full-time to do our lessons, the cooking, and cleaning and buying ingredients—you need more time to study, and I’d like help. Besides, I can’t keep coming up with Earth-style menu items forever, even with my Skills. We need more hands in Barehoof Kitchens, preferably high-level ones.”

It was the logical next step for a business. If she had more time, Imani was sure she’d come up with something actually unique and interesting. There were so many things magic could do.

For instance, there was a box Palt had whipped up for her whose entire purpose was to cast a mild desiccation spell on anything inside. It dehydrated bread into bread crumbs in minutes, and she wondered if she could do something interesting with vegetables—dry them up, grind them into a basis for vegetable-flavored noodles? That might help picky eaters. Or she could study how Rufelt did his magical drinks, which were very fun.

Palt chewed the idea over, muttering to himself.

“Hiring the wrong person can lead to all kinds of strife. Half the [Cooks] in this city would only stick around long enough to copy all our recipes before leaving.”

“Well then, we’re picky. But unless you can cast [Arcane Familiar] yet, I need some help, and you are still a [Mage], Palt. Unless you’ve given up to become a [Chef]?”

She knew he wasn’t levelling as fast as Montressa or Bezale, even with the new magic, because he was devoting so much time to help her. Palt pawed at the ground.

“I just don’t want to devote less time to cooking together—what if some handsome [Chef] comes along and you leave me?”

“Palt…”

She abandoned one of the bread bowls and came over. He hugged her, smoking on a cigar that spooled the smoke into a magical bag over his head rather than filling the kitchens. She patted his horse’s back.

“Palt, I’d never leave you for some random [Chef]. I will leave you if you keep insulting the inn and treating me like I’m glass. We can’t keep ignoring it, and Erin’s still my friend along with everyone in it. I’m visiting the inn today, and if you’d like to forbid me to go again—let’s have the discussion.”

She gave him a sweet smile as he hesitated. He’d been adamant all week that she avoid the inn after the destruction of the Goblin King and the latest round of disasters, whatever they’d been. But the inn was where they’d met, and if he’d forgotten that…

The Centaur hesitated, then hugged her tightly.

“I would never dream of telling my free-spirited love what to do! I’ll walk you there myself.”

“You’re a smart ass.”

She murmured, and he seemed offended.

“Hey!”

“What, you can call me a monkey-mare and I can’t call you an ass?”

“I thought you liked that one. You didn’t say—”

“Palt, you need to stick to one nickname and keep to it. Or I’ll start referring to you as my ‘magical mule’.”

 

——

 

Things were fine between Palt and Imani, it was just that she’d stopped being as clingy with him, and she thought his enamourment with Erin had left him. What was true was this: they were no longer part of The Wandering Inn.

Friends? In Imani’s case, certainly. They visited, but she just wasn’t one of the in-group, the people dodging Goblin Lords and able to tell you exactly why the High Passes had been shaking. It was safer this way, but sometimes…she missed the feeling of being somewhere important.

Then again, when she saw the broken front of the inn being patched up in the rain and how people were cleaning up with that shell-shocked air of those who were surprised they were still alive—Imani remembered why she’d left.

She wondered who’d died. A terrible, horrifying thing to think—but appropriate to this inn. To this world.

At first, it was hard to get anyone’s attention. There were a lot of new Humans in the inn, none of whom recognized her. One agreed to let Lyonette know Imani was here, but it took the [Chef] poking her head into the kitchen for Calescent to come out.

“Imani! You is a sight for sore eyes. Sit, sit. You want food? You have new recipes? No one hurt in Liscor, are they? How horseboy?”

She laughed.

“Calescent, I’m fine. I had breakfast—I was coming to ask how things were…here?”

She scrutinized his face, and it went blank a second, then he offered her a rueful smile.

“More holes in the inn. But no one…died. Actually—”

He hesitated, then glanced over his shoulder.

“—Oh. Miss Lyonette will want to talk to you. Not my secret, but is…good?”

He made that word as tentative as a feather’s footsteps. Imani frowned.

“Good? After the Goblin King went through? No one died? Not a one?”

“No…”

He sounded the word out carefully. Then he sighed.

“No one…anyone will miss. Is the happiest heart-death-tragedy in the inn ever.”

Well, that was utterly mysterious. The expression on his face told Imani she had definitely missed something important though, but Calescent’s meaningful glance around the common room said he couldn’t tell her more. He had to get back to cooking, so Imani rose.

“I’ll help you cook. We just served some pottage in Barehoof Kitchens.”

“Oh. I’m making ‘Glad We’re Alive Chili’. How your kitchen going?”

“Pretty good. We’re making enough money that I want more help in the kitchens. I’d steal you…but Lyonette would kill me.”

“Plus, I’m needed here.”

He grinned. Imani got to work, seeing him chopping up ingredients for his chili, which was actually loaded with lots of seafood. Scallops, some Rock Crab, and a whitefish—plus his patented spices. It tasted quite good, and Imani wished she could have a Calescent on her team.

“I’m thinking if we get help, we could keep the kitchens open all the time. Teach lessons and be a full-time restaurant. That kind of money…we could hire a full staff.”

“Hmm. Then what?”

Imani paused as she organized pieces of flatbread into a basket and Calescent put together a bowl and bread and slapped a little bell; a Human man came to the counter and took the plate, only looking slightly nervous as Calescent told him this one was fairly spicy. Imani checked the bubbling chili.

“Then…I suppose I’d have time to really figure out recipes on my own. And Palt’s learning magic.”

“Mm. Magic good. Then what? You have baby? Or you do more cooking?”

Goblins were very good at cutting to the root of problems. Imani stood there, staring into the stew.

“No babies. Not for…until I know if there’s a way back home. I hope Palt’s not thinking of that, Calescent. More cooking? I suppose we could open a second location. Let’s see. If I hit Level 40—that would be amazing.”

“You one of the best cooks in the region then. Then what?”

She stared at her hands.

“I don’t know. Making more money or opening more Barehoof Kitchens doesn’t sound appealing. What would you do if you were Level 40, Calescent? Or Level 50?”

He stirred some more spices into a pot, tasted it, then grimaced.

“Too hot. [Remove Spicing]. Me? Level 40 okay for this inn. Barely. Need to hit it soon. If I get to Level 50…”

He talked so casually about becoming one of the highest-level people on the continent. Calescent re-added the spices that had appeared in his claw to the pot, but more sparingly.

“Level 50, maybe I go back to Chieftain Rags’ tribe. After training replacement. Level 50…Level 50, I do something to feed poor Goblins going hungry. More Goblins who live is good. Whether I cook here or somewhere…”

He waved an airy hand.

“That good.”

There was something inspiring about Calescent’s calm confidence. Imani took a breath and felt instantly better.

“That’s right, Calescent. That’s—I’d like something like that. Something meaningful. For now, I want Barehoof Kitchens to run without me and Palt needing to do everything. To be a thing in Liscor.”

“It nice thing already. People talk about getting reservations all the time. Lyonette always say, ‘Calescent, why we not copy them more?’ And I say, ‘too many people for fancy stuff, also she have too many special recipes’.”

Imani ducked her head, smiling.

“We’re getting there. But I think we can do better. Thank you, Calescent.”

She hugged him as he grinned; Lyonette had appeared, and Imani went to talk to the [Princess].

 

——

 

The conversation with Lyonette was very civil and friendly, even. The [Princess] smiled when she saw Imani, but when the [Chef] asked about casualties…the smile vanished.

“No one’s dead.”

“No one? Not one person from the Goblin King?”

“Not in the inn, no.”

Lyonette’s blue eyes were level and distant, like someone who’d survived a Creler attack. Magnolia had introduced Imani to other survivors—the [Princess] was trapped somewhere else entirely.

The pleasant smile on Lyonette’s face never shifted. Imani nodded slowly.

“I’m glad, then.”

The [Princess] roused herself, then focused on Imani, and her eyes widened slightly.

“Yes…and there’s, ah, a few changes as well. There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to, Imani. But not now. It—might be difficult.”

“Tearful difficult, painful difficult, or agonizingly difficult?”

“Yes. Are you free this evening?”

Imani bit her lip.

“Possibly. I could bring Palt if it’s important. How urgent is it? I was planning on going to various kitchens in Liscor, Invrisil, and so on.”

“Oh, not very. And no need to bring Palt. I know he objects to the inn.”

Well, that was cryptic, and Imani didn’t necessarily know if she wanted to face heartbreaking tears today, so she left it at that. Mrsha poked her head out of the [Garden of Sanctuary] and ran over to say hello.

“Mrsha! Is Lyonette feeding you enough?”

The first thing Imani noticed was that the girl had lost a lot of weight. But one warning glance from Mrsha and Imani just brought something out of her bag of holding.

“I don’t have enough to share, so if you eat this, it’s all gone. Palt took the rest for his faction. We just transported a bunch of ingredients over—”

“Oh! What country this time?”

Lyonette was fascinated as Mrsha sniffed at the object Imani held. The [Chef] winked.

“Japan again. I’ve been trying to copy steamed buns and mochi products, and getting the consistency right is tough. I was thinking that baked goods like that would sell very well—again, if I can get some help making it! Here.”

Mrsha had already ripped the shiny box open, and she pulled out a long stick coated with…pink? She sniffed it, and Lyonette inspected the box.

“Pocky. What an odd treat. Strawberry chocolate? Eugh, that sounds rather—well, if you like it, go ahead, Mrsha.”

She nibbled one, and Imani was explaining to Lyonette about it when there was a shout.

“Fucking Pocky?”

Joseph leapt a table and slid over the floor; Mrsha hid her treats and only gave him one when he put his hands out. Imani laughed.

“Joseph! How have you been?”

“Alive, thanks. Mrsha, give me two—no, four of them. Two for me and two for…you’ve gotta, come on! How many boxes do you have, Imani? I’ll pay you their weight in gold, literally!”

He would have too, but Imani held up her hands.

“Sadly, Palt has the rest. I’m sorry, I’ll get some more next week! How are you and—Rose! There you are!”

She had come running too, and Imani was delighted to see Rose. She was far more rugged after her time with the Gnolls and had put on muscle, but there was something else odd about her—she seemed to have makeup on or something, because she looked well put-together today. However, she just fought over the Pocky sticks as Mrsha tried to fend off Nanette, Asgra, and everyone else who wanted one.

“We were just talking about you, Imani. Hey, Lyonette, has she met—”

“No, she hasn’t. Later, Joseph.”

He quieted down and gave Imani a significant look, but Rose burst out.

“This is so fucking good. Imani, you have the best Skills ever. We just heard from the last member of the team! You know?”

“…Leon?”

“Okay, the last member of the team we like. Galina! She wrote us from—get this—Pheislant! The Players of Celum just hit Terandria, and they’ve been so famous they were months in First Landing. In fact—where’s the recording?”

Joseph jogged to his rooms and came back with a scrying orb, or so Imani thought. But when he touched something on the base, it lit up and showed a familiar Drake speaking from a very realistic tower down to a kneeling man.

Jasi and Wesle! The scrying orb was a recording of Juliet and Romeo, and Imani blinked.

“That’s expensive magic. Palt says he can do it now with the Terras faction’s teachings, but you can’t just buy that anywhere!”

“I know, right? But Galina paid for it and a Courier to send the [Message]. Actually, she sent a lot of gold back. Two hundred gold coins for each of us.”

“Uh. What?”

Imani had to have heard that wrong. Joseph just flashed her a Merchant’s Guild scroll.

“She opened up an account at the Merchant’s Guild for all of us. You can draw from it there. She says the Players made so much money that all the main cast is richer than Gold-ranks. And she’s one of them, because, y’know, Earther. They took First Landing by storm, and the only reason they moved on was because they left a bunch of their lower-level [Actors] to establish a theatre there; now they’re performing for the King of Pheislant!”

“Amazing.”

Imani murmured, imagining how many days of work she’d have to put in to get two hundred gold pieces. Still, that was show business in any world. Joseph cleared his throat.

“If you have a moment, we’d like to show you something, Imani…”

“He’s in Esthelm.”

“Right. Fuck. Later, Imani?”

He? Imani frowned and wondered if they were talking about…Rhaldon? Again, the isolation from the inn bothered her, but everyone wore that strained smile as Mrsha tilted the crumbs of the Pocky box into her mouth. Lyonette didn’t even scold the Gnoll, and Imani promised she’d visit when she could.

She left—two hundred gold pieces richer—with a promise to come back and watch the Players’ recordings and to meet with someone that night if possible. Still, Imani had a sense of relief.

Of missing something that weighed on them all. She preferred her quieter life in Liscor to that. It was just—

A sense of rivalry, perhaps. She was happy in her life with less drama and more baking of bread, but Imani thought to herself—if Erin could make wondrous food, surely she could do something of her own now that things were so good.

Hence, the spider’s leg.

 

——

 

Okay, so here was the train of thought that led Imani to spider legs. She was thinking that one of the things she should do was invent or reinvent something fancy.

Something classy, something that no one could put together with an hour of thought. That was the problem with Liscor’s chefs. They were getting good.

Just the other day, Imani had put together some okonomiyaki, a Japanese dish that was like a savory pancake with lots of ingredients you fried on a griddle. Within the day, half the street vendors had a variant that tasted good enough, and even with profits on the recipe…

Something fancy, and yes, perhaps a bit expensive. Galina’s money was all very good, but it sparked some rivalry in Imani. She could make money too, and if they were hiring another chef or helpers…

Okay, where did fancy take you? Logic said Michelin star restaurants. That was where Imani had to go off pop culture and shows more than first-hand experience. She’d never been to one, and Nigeria, in fact, had a total of zero Michelin star restaurants. Probably because no one in her entire country had that level of talent…definitely the reason and not that the reviewers had decided to choose other countries to review.

Like America or big cities in Europe. Still, she’d watched enough cooking shows to have an idea of what they served.

Some of it she discarded right off, like veal, which was fancy in this world as well. There were all kinds of complicated foam reductions she could have tried, but Imani remembered she’d once looked up what they’d actually serve at such restaurants, and aside from being very small portions—she’d seen pork rind fries sold at one!

Pork rinds on curly fries, until it was practically transparent, served in a tin can. Street food mixed with expensive cooking. Imani had been experimenting with the concept until she’d run out of pork rind…and realized that this fancy dish didn’t really make her that happy.

“It’s just another variant of fries. More Earth food. I’m sort of sick of triumphing on Earth food. I need to make something…unique to this world. To Liscor! What does Liscor have that other places don’t? Rock Crab? Fish, right now…uh…”

And then she’d had a thought. What about…Shield Spiders?

They were big. Normally, people didn’t eat spiders because of the ick factor, but mostly the size. Bugs just weren’t much of a meal, but a big Shield Spider? The legs on one of them had to be like…crab?

They were making glue out of Shield Spider chitin. Why not something with their meat? Imani had hesitated there for a long, long time. But in the end, she’d gone down to the Adventurer’s Guild, and the receptionist, after several worried questions, had pointed her to a shop that sold monster parts, and the [Shop Owner] had directed her to a specialized [Butcher], who had sold her some spider legs, raw and de-chitined.

 

——

 

…It tasted…

The texture was…Imani had cooked it up with a heating rune to a safe temperature to get the real, unvarnished flavor.

It sort of—prickled in the mouth. A crunch, and then it was almost like little hairs of the spider’s leg had stayed on the meat. She wondered if some had as she chewed.

As for the taste, it was slightly nutty, which was off-putting, but also, and she couldn’t deny this—! Slightly insect-y. It was hard to stomach. In fact, Imani tried hard, but she could not, in fact, stomach it.

“…There has to be a way to cook this.”

Imani rolled up her sleeves and got to work. And she found there was a way to cook Shield Spider meat!

You could deep fry it, batter it in bread, even pan-fry it up—boiling rendered it into more of a paste, which was not appealing—and it tasted great so long as you hid the actual flavor.

But the prickling texture remained, even if you got rid of the insect taste. That was because—and Imani hadn’t really thought of this—the Shield Spider meat was slightly toxic.

 

——

 

Garry informed Imani of this when she met him at his new public bakery, clutching at her stomach. Her gut was not doing well, and the [Baker] stopped making his loaves of bread which Liscor gave out and gave her an alarmed look.

“Miss Imani, Shield Spider meat is slightly poisonous.”

“What? They don’t have venom! No one’s ever talked about Shield Spider venom before!”

They were just tough, weren’t they? Garry clacked his mandibles.

“They are, ah, slightly venomous. Enough to stop a healing potion, but their bodies are far less toxic than their venom sacs. I imagine you will have bad poos tonight. To combat Shield Spider meat, it is recommended by Antinium to mash them up in at least a 1:3 ratio with other foodstuffs, or to have a detoxin Skill, which I possess.”

Imani put her head down on the counter.

“This is a disaster, Garry. I was trying to come up with a unique food for Liscor!”

“Ah. I would advise to not make it Shield Spiders. They do not have a lot of utility in soup…the meat dissolves. And removing their chitin is very annoying. Would you like a piece of Scaethen Bread? I have just made some.”

Her head rose as he offered her a piece of the glowing, red bread that his two Flying Antinium were visibly salivating over. Garry was an inspiration in a sense; he was another [Chef] to come from Erin’s inn, but he was operating a food bank for all of Liscor—and he had his own signature dish.

Scaethen Bread. It tasted like pure energy, and Imani’s stomach actually stopped hurting a few seconds after swallowing her first bite. She blinked.

“Garry, this is incredible! Do you sell it?”

“Oh, no. Not this bread. It is only for my favorite customers and Antinium.”

Garry went back to baking before leaning over.

“Please do not tell anyone I have favorite customers. I am supposed to give this bread out fairly to all, but I have those I like more than others. I am a very biased [Baker] and unworthy of any compliments of charitability because of this.”

Imani happened to know that Garry’s ‘favorite customers’ were his old ones from when he operated his single baking stand, and she smiled at him.

“You are a saint, Garry.”

“No, no. That is Pawn. Or he might one day be. I am merely a [Baker]. I would also love to work at your restaurant, but I have a more important job.”

“You…wouldn’t happen to have any gifted [Chefs] you know of that I could hire? I’d take Antinium workers!”

There was an idea, actually. Unfortunately, Garry just scratched his chin and shrugged.

“Sadly, few Antinium have an opportunity to cook. Those who work aboveground have gained some of the classes, but no one is above Level 15 aside from my helpers. There are a few beginning to take the trade on in Antinium-run establishments, but Runel and Pisca are still well above them.”

He nodded to Runel and Pisca, who fanned their wings at Imani. A pair of young Gnolls edged around them with more loaves of dough.

“I can see you’re also expanding, Garry.”

Imani sighed, and Garry smiled at her.

“Oh, yes. I have levelled twice now, because, I think, I am giving so many people who need food food. I have plans to do far more than this…once the farms are big enough.”

Now there was a [Chef] with dreams for the future, bigger than even Calescent’s and Imani’s put together. Imani murmured.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find talented help, do you? I know some good [Chefs] in Liscor, but all the high-level ones are already in their own kitchens. I need someone talented or promising or high-level—but who’s willing to work for me and with me. If not an Antinium or a Goblin, then who?”

“Whom. I believe, Miss Imani, that you are looking in the wrong city. Liscor has too many jobs, too much progress. You are searching for a richer city with underappreciated people. Pallass or Invrisil would be where I would start. If you go to fancy restaurants, I imagine you will find at least one [Chef] who wants to quit.”

It was such a reasonable thing to say that Imani was shocked. But then, Garry had always been one of the most grounded people she’d ever met, especially for one of Erin’s original Antinium.

“Good point, Garry! But I’ll need to spend a lot to go dining there…and you normally need to be famous to skip their waiting lists!”

She groaned until she remembered Galina’s money. That would do nicely. Garry scratched under his baker’s hat.

“The gold part I cannot help you with. However, I do not see the problem with the famous part.”

“Um, why, Garry? It’s not like Barehoof Kitchens is that big.”

He pointed a hand at her as he kept kneading dough, mandibles spreading in an amused smile.

“This is true. But you are also Imani, who is best friends with Joseph the Football Coach, who beat Invrisil’s football team and probably is welcome in any restaurant he wishes to go to. And if that does not work, then you are surely Imani, who had the hit baking television appearance where she made delicious sundaes for everyone.”

“My hit what? Garry, I never appeared on telev—”

The [Baker] gave her an innocent gaze.

“I could have sworn it was on Channel 2 news. But then, perhaps I was wrong. It is not like Erin used to say that baking segments were very popular on television. Or that celebrity chefs are very famous. So long as they do not use the N-word. Which word this is, I do not know, but I would advise you not to say it.”

A slow smile spread over Imani’s face. Television? Well…

Why not? It only took a quick trip to The Wandering Inn and then to Pallass to ask if Drassi had a moment for a favor. Imani only got up to the studio, but when Drassi heard about the request, she came out of the dressing room herself to set it up.

Imani missed the opportunity to visit The Wandering Inn that evening—because she was doing a segment on Wistram News Network showing everyone how to make ice cream with Palt as she discussed living in Liscor with Drassi.

Talk about fast! It was nerve-wracking, but Palt had cigars for that, and he was very photogenic and delighted to be on television. Plus, once she got into making the most ridiculous sundaes she could, it was amazingly fun to serve it to her ‘judges’, which were Ekirra, Visma, and Kenva, who nearly went insane.

Imani won the segment, then did a Q&A where she explained how ice cream was made and answered questions. The only weird part was all the Balerosian viewers calling in to ask why she wasn’t crediting some ‘King Loran’ for making it—Imani could only tell them she’d learned it in Liscor, a white lie.

And that was that. Joseph was only too happy to join Imani for eating out in Invrisil—if they could bring Rose and, potentially, someone else. Imani wasn’t happy to have to eat out with what she assumed would be Troy, but she had already gotten reservations at several restaurants.

It didn’t occur to her that there would be other consequences for her television broadcast. Namely—that someone or a lot of people might see her on air.

Like, say, other Earthers. It should have also occurred to her to be worried about Roshal noticing she was alive, but that evening, someone knocked on the door to her home, and she stopped having a celebratory drink with Palt to answer.

The person on her doorstep was Kevin.

 

 

 

THE MINI CHAPTER IS DONE

A NEW EARTHER MAY APPEAR

I AM DONE DEATH

SICKNESS

LET ME KNOW IF THAT WAS INTERSTING

I LEAVE NOW

I HATE COLDS

 

Pre-Chapter Note:

For context I was very sick this day. Probably the worst I was—I asked for ideas since I was so blasted and someone in the Discord who loves maids, Sado, asked for maids. Someone else, Tomeo, asked for Heartslayi.

In my sickness I thought Caroline was still at Wistram and began writing a chapter synthesizing the two. Then someone told me Caroline was in Nombernaught. So this is a chapter I thought out that involves [Maids] and because Caroline’s not there…it’s a Leon chapter. With skiing.

 

Mini-Chapter #7 — LeonOBSERVE TOMEO + SADO’s REQUESTS SYNTHESIZED THROGUH A SICK MIND

 

You had to give this to the man: Archmage Eldavin kept his promises. What he did with Wistram wasn’t really, uh, something Leon wanted to worry about. But when he said that things would change, that Earthers would benefit from the Academy of Mages’ resources, he meant it.

Probably only Wistram Academy or a truly powerful nation—like Top 20—could arrange for Leon to fly over the snow-covered plains of Cenidau’s Loarfress region, staring down at pale blue flowers blooming in the sub-zero temperatures.

“This is amazing! I’m flying! I’m fl—whoa!”

A gust of incredibly cold wind blew suddenly and nearly sent him into a nosedive. Leon screamed, but before he could go plunging downwards, the [Levitation] spell steadied him. And someone else went diving after him.

An armored figure in bright blue armor, splashed with seven-pointed stars and what Leon had thought was the confederate flag, dove after him. Flynn, wearing the super-armor decorated with Australia’s flag—which had the Union Jack on it—dove down and steadied him in the air.

“Careful, dude. You can crash hard even with the [Safe Levitation] spell on. You good? Not feeling sick?”

“I’m fine, man.”

Leon scowled slightly, embarrassed by his scream. Flynn hovered in the air like it was only natural. He had practice—and he was wearing the full set of the magical battle-armor that Archmage Eldavin had created.

Real Iron Man shit. Leon had hinted that he wouldn’t mind taking the armor for a spin, but Eldavin wasn’t making more of the armor himself, and each set was ‘attuned’ to a user. Until they died, no one could mug them and take the armor.

Flynn was the lucky bastard that had gotten a set. Of course, Leon could have volunteered, but he hadn’t been close to the Terras faction, and there had been that war with Ailendamus going on. Some of the volunteers had died, armor or not. Even so, Flynn got the armor, and Leon only got flying boots and an Amulet of Cold Resistance, which made it so the horrific chill of Cenidau was merely cold on his skin.

“Let’s dive down a bit. We don’t want to get caught in a blizzard. ‘Sides, I think they’re welcoming us down below.”

Because Flynn was Leon’s bodyguard and the guy in charge, Leon had to descend and follow the young Australian man towards the only lights in this frozen region. Cenidau, the Kingdom of Tundras, was so damn cold that even magic got cold. Heating spells failed if you just left them in the open; because of this, Cenidau had adopted a very different style of building to the other Terandrian kingdoms that Leon had been visiting on his vacation from Wistram.

Frozen blocks of ice made up absolutely massive structures. The entire city, Tirfriv, was one gigantic fortress. Apparently, everyone made the outer walls out of the ice blocks, and they just kept expanding the fortress when they needed space. Inside was where all the heating magic and warmer stuff was. It looked like some lopsided fortress, almost like someone had taken a regular fort, attached a massive boot-like section, and then a bunch of smaller bubbles of space over the years.

But the entire structure was still snow-covered, and the huge slabs of perma-frozen ice were visible. It seemed like an otherworldly fortress to Leon. He certainly wasn’t regretting asking to visit the coldest, northernmost Terandrian nation. Especially because, as he and Flynn descended, he got an eyeful of Cenidau’s newest feature. Or rather, an old feature turned new. Even if they had a problem with it—

The two Earthers were flying over probably a thousand women, a quarter of whom were wearing maid outfits despite the cold, practicing with weapons in the snow, or arguing. Only Cenidau’s people could wear anything less than full padded clothing in this weather; he heard you got [Lesser Frost Resistance] as practically your first Skill each time.

[Shield Maids]. Formerly, [Shieldmaidens]. A proud warrior class unique to Cenidau’s north—now drastically altered in Skills and capabilities. They were not happy.

“Wow, that’s something, right, Flynn?”

“Uh huh. Try not to stare so much, Leon? They’re watching us.”

Flynn was giving Leon a dubious look, as if he didn’t also have eyes. Leon tried not to openly leer. But it was hard; they had everyone from young women to women well into their sixties practicing in the snow. Flynn rolled his eyes and waved a hand as they flew overhead, and the [Shield Maids] pointed up at them.

Even in Terandria, which had lots of magic and riches, two flying guys wasn’t exactly a normal sight. That was why Leon was absolutely positive that he’d chosen right by abandoning the inn and Liscor and going to Wistram.

Absolutely. Otherwise, he’d have ended up like Kevin.

Dead. Damn. That was…well, damn, you know?

Why Kevin?

 

Notes from me:

This was supposed to be a caroline/cenidau combo chapter with maids but I forgot where Caroline was. Instead it must be leon.

[Skiier] earther.

Forgot the rest. Something something scramble to grab something something princess something

Am sick

 

 

Pre-Chapter Notes: This is the Caroline chapter. I’m coughing so bad right now. I long for death.

 

Mini-Chapter #8 — Heartslayi

No one respected [Romance Writers] in this or any other world. Caroline knew it; she’d dabbled in the field a bit back on Earth, had written her own AO3 fanfiction about certain stories, but she’d never tried to be a full-time writer. She had a sizable collection of unpublished stories, but she hadn’t had the guts to go into the big leagues.

Mind you, she’d had a fanfiction that had gotten over 400,000 views…but that had been under one of her pseudonyms. It wasn’t something Caroline told anyone. The only person in the world who knew was her best friend…and mother, because her mother had found Caroline’s fanfiction open one day and became an unironic fan before figuring out it was Caroline who was the author.

The point was, if Shadeward Doroumata’s theory was correct, every Earther had something notable about them that meant they’d been ‘chosen’ for this world. It wasn’t always huge. For instance, Saif, who’d been the guy with the airsoft gun, had been an airsoft champion in his country. Not exactly what Caroline would call super cool, but it was evidence.

Caroline having a popular fanfiction…might count. Which made you wonder, then, what the other Earthers had done that made them special. Doroumata had asked questions—Drowned Folk were big on questions and learning about you if you were part of ‘the crew’. So far, the evidence…sort of held?

Lamont was a legitimate deckhand. Someone who actually sailed on ships in this day and age. Drowned Folk hadn’t gotten how weird that was until Caroline explained it to them. Malia was majoring in child psychology in college, which didn’t sound that unusual, but she’d once had to deliver a baby when she was only thirteen for her aunt when they were stuck on a ferris wheel.

That was sort of important, right? Haley had won an equestrian competition. During his mandatory years of service in the South Korean military, Sang-min had made squad leader and earned a commendation from his commander for outstanding performance of some kind.

It just didn’t feel like anyone was amazing—except for probably Luan, who was an Olympian hopeful. But Caroline supposed there were plenty of Earthers who might have cooler backgrounds than the ones she’d met.

Well, the theory didn’t include Sidney yet, the traumatized 14-year old kid whose family had been eaten by horror-rats. But she was also too scared of most people to talk.

Ultimately, the point was that Caroline had gotten the class that she was good at: writing romance. She was meek, mild-mannered Caroline in person, wandering around the Drowned City of Nombernaught, but on the page, she was Heartslayi, published, best-selling author with books sold on every continent! She’d even gotten her stories into Tales of Adventure and Woe, the longest-running series in the world!

In a sense, you could say Caroline was the most important Earther rescued from Wistram. Not that she was going to say it. Just think it. Loudly.

Unfortunately, Shadeward Doroumata seemed to wish she’d gotten Elena, Trey, or another Earther, like Saif. Which was hurtful, because what were they, chopped liver? Sure, maybe Trey was actually some genius [Mastermind] who’d tricked even the Archmages of Wistram and was probably-definitely in a relationship with Gazi and that warrior-guy, Calac, but Caroline was famous!

She was Level 24 already, and she’d only begun publishing her works when she got to Wistram! Unfortunately, when the Shadeward had pressed her, Caroline had had to admit her Skills didn’t really involve ‘surviving in the New Lands of Izril’.

“I could write a great story about the adventures your people get up to. I have, uh, [Accurate Dialogue] and [Immersive Descriptions]! Oh, oh, and [Enthralling Sentence].”

Those were some of her best Skills. Half of Caroline’s Skills related to her writing ability. The other half were, sadly, all practical.

Writing in this world meant you were either using a laptop or doing it by hand, and Caroline hadn’t come to this world with a laptop. She’d been reluctant to use her smartphone, so quill and ink it was. Such a pain—but the Skills had really supported her.

“[Tireless Hand: Writing], [Relaxed Muscles], [Stainless Skin], [Autocorrect Grammar], [Subjective Spellcheck], and, uh, [Speed Scribing].”

Honestly, if she could get a laptop and printer or have someone invent a typewriter for her, Caroline wouldn’t have needed so many utility Skills. She wanted narrative-Skills. Some of them elevated her writing.

 

The umbral depths of the Antinium’s Hive echoed with the thrumming of a thousand feet, all beating in unison to the Antinium Queen’s will. The torch the silver warrioress carried shivered in the dead air, but she steeled herself, her spine fusing like a bar of mithril in response to her Adamantine will. Her beloved friend and teammate was down there, so Yvlon Byres set foot in the Grand Hive of the Antinium…

 

Just a sample of her new writing chops. It would have taken Caroline half an hour to do that on Earth—looking up umbral as a synonym for dark and brown for instance would have necessitated some googling, and she had no idea what an Antinium Hive actually looked like. But with her Skills? Voila! She’d put that out in five minutes.

Again, Shadeward Doroumata didn’t seem hugely impressed. But she was also a very, very old woman, and, uh, it might be she’d forgotten the point of romance novels these days.

“You enjoy writing these—passionate tales.”

The Shadeward remarked softly, enshrouded in her black veils, as her identical daughters stood around her, each one wielding the magic of the deeps and the light to pierce even the ocean’s abyss. Caroline hesitated and took back the writing sample.

“Um, well, yes. Shouldn’t I?”

“Much of your tales seem to have artistic license regarding the characters involved.”

“Well, yeah, it’s fanfiction. Or just fiction, I guess. I have a few, um, Skills there too.”

“Such as?”

Caroline went red.

“W-well, [Passionate Vision] and, uh, [Enthralling Imagination]—”

The Shadeward inclined her head slowly and lifted two aged fingers and beckoned; a cup of tea was held out, and she sipped from it before continuing.

“I see. Perhaps I seem unimpressed. I do recognize the value of your tales, Caroline Levine. Nombernaught hungers for stories, and if they amuse a ship’s crew or make gold, it is a valuable trade. It is simply that I am Shadeward, and your class and Skills do not help me safeguard Nombernaught, locate more Earthers, or bring your world’s wonders to mine.”

“Right, well—sorry I’m not Aaron. But I do appreciate you getting us out of Wistram! Once the seas settle down, do you think I could get a ride to Baleros? To my people there or maybe…maybe not Baleros. Maybe somewhere else?”

Once again, Shadeward Doroumata nodded.

“Once the seas calm and we have received fitting recompense for the blood spilled and effort spent to free your kin, we shall sail you wherever the waters reach. It is a bargain struck in salt and writ upon the hull, girl.”

Fair payment for fair treatment. Caroline supposed it was fair, given that the Drowned Folk had pissed Wistram off royally to rescue them. But what was fitting recompense? Some of the Earthers like Obi were sharing what they knew of Earth’s tech, but no one was an Aaron; it was Lamont who could talk to the Drowned Folk a lot about nautical improvements, but most of that apparently had to do with engines, which he didn’t know how to make.

Once again, it had to be Caroline who’d save the day. Because, obviously, she’d just have to make a lot of gold and that’d satisfy the Drowned Folk, right?

 

——

 

“I swear I’m going to toss her off the city’s railings if she doesn’t shut up about how important she is, Lamont.”

Haley muttered as she polished some armor with a cloth, oil, and metal wire, removing rust and buffing the piece to a fine sheen. The [Squire] was using a Skill—[Buff Armor]—to improve the gear temporarily.

It wasn’t much and wore off after a few days, but it made the armor fit better and take a few more blows, so she was helping do it for all the Drowned Folk scouting the New Lands. Lamont, who was pulling nasty spines out of some leather armor, shrugged.

“You’ve gotta admit, she’s the highest-level among us.”

“Barely.”

“She’s also rich.”

“Yeah, and she flaunts it! I know she’s being nice when she buys everyone snacks or gives us money to spend, but it’s like having an obnoxious rich aunt. Who writes porn-y fanfiction.”

“Hey, it’s not that bad.”

“It’s romance literature. It’s like having a ‘wine mom’ aunt who’s younger than I am.”

Haley grumped as she worked. Lamont said nothing as he pulled another spine out, nearly jabbing himself with it.

“Yeow. What hit the scouting group this time?”

“They said it was like a cactus but it shoots spines.”

“Lovely. Are you sure you want to go scouting?”

“Well, I’m not doing much good just polishing armor, am I? I’m a [Squire]. If I want to be a [Knight], I’ve got to do something actually important. I wish I’d never left Kaaz.”

Haley turned morose as she put the piece of polished armor aside. Lamont patted her on the shoulder.

“You were going to be one of the Thousand Lances, right?”

“Hah, don’t be stupid. They’re way too important for that. I was just going to be a [Squire] for a year or less if I was good—then they’d send me to a lesser [Knight] Order. Kaaz sort of trains [Squires] and [Pages] to be ready to be [Knights], but no one gets to be one of the Thousand Lances from that. If you were super lucky, one of them would mentor you, but you have to work up as an independent [Knight] or join another Order—then they recruit you once you’re Level 40. At least!”

“Whoa. That’s crazy. All of them are over Level 40?”

Lamont didn’t know much about Terandria, having spent his time at sea in this world. Haley frowned as she picked up another piece of gear.

“Maybe some are high Level 30. They have rankings. The top 100 definitely are all over Level 40. There’s a reason Kaaz is one of the Restful Three.”

“Right.”

Lamont pulled another needle out, and Haley shot him a sardonic expression.

“You have no idea who the Restful Three are.”

“C’mon, I know almost every port in the world. Dorace is teaching me what she thinks is important, though.”

Haley just shook her head, her blonde hair whirling in her ponytail.

“I can’t believe you and one of Doroumata’s daughters are seeing each other.”

“Why? She’s funny.”

He grew defensive, and Haley held up her hands.

“Nothing! I’m not like Caroline, and I don’t want to know details. It’s just—isn’t she a clone?”

“Her mom’s half-Starfish. She’s not exactly the same. Just…really close. Look, they’re all actually pretty different. They just act the same. Imagine if you had been raised differently. You’d be a different Haley. It’s like that.”

The [Squire] shook her head again. She hefted a sword next and balanced it on one finger by the hilt. Lamont eyed the trick, and Haley spun the sword around in her hand in an impressive movement. Someone squeaked, and she caught the sword.

“Sorry, Sidney! Did I scare you?”

They were in the Earthers’ personal quarters, a single home meant for a family, and Sidney hid behind the doorframe until Haley put the sword down. She came over shyly, and Haley smiled at her.

“What’ve you got there?”

“Washing. Me and Malia are doing it.”

Haley nodded.

“We’re just cleaning more gear. We can help out afterwards or go explore the city. Has, uh, Caroline come back from badgering Doroumata yet?”

Sidney shook her head. She hauled the clothing over to another room where Malia would have to scrub it with soap and water. A [Launderer] could do the task, but it was work, and since Sidney was young and largely unskilled, Doroumata had found work for her that she could handle while teaching her more light magic, which the child had an aptitude for.

Drowned Folk believed in work. Everyone pitched in on a ship or in the city, even guests like the Earthers. A Drake city or Wistram might let their guests laze about and do whatever they wanted, but the Drowned Folk had a fairly intense attitude towards work. Everyone had to have a job. Too many vagrants or layabouts and their careful underwater societies would fall apart fast.

It came of not having much space and navigating the vast underworld of the sea. Stuff like how quiet Nombernaught was after curfew were a product of culture; you couldn’t attract too much attention from nasty monsters in the waters.

“Where’s Sang-min?”

Lamont asked as Sidney came back to sit and wait for Malia so they could do the washing. The girl replied softly.

“Scouting.”

“Damn, he beat me to it. Stupid [Mercenary] class. They respect him because he was fighting in Terandria. Me, they think I’m like a junior [Sailor].”

“You are a [Squire], Haley.”

“I know how to use a sword! They were training me to fight, and I had to run around with weighted vests day in, day out! Come on, let’s have a practice battle. I’ll beat you one-handed.”

She glowered at him, and Lamont raised his hands.

“Pass.”

“How about you, Sidney? Want more sword lessons?”

Sidney shook her head as Haley tried to cajole the younger girl into doing something. She stared wide-eyed at another quill as Lamont yanked it out. He grinned at her as he offered it to her, blunt end first.

“Do you want to learn to repair gear, Sidney? Or maybe practice magic? Malia’s taking lessons from one of Doroumata’s daughters. So am I.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Haley and Lamont exchanged glances. Trying to cheer up the depressed and nervous Sidney was a hard task. Only Malia could do it well. They went back to work in the living room as Sidney sat on the worn but comfy couch. Everything in their house had a slightly patchwork look, from the walls to even the chairs; wood was expensive, and Drowned Folk had built Nombernaught out of scraps as much as good wood. Ships at the end of their life had become foundations for new buildings.

Even the couch was a product of that design; it was very springy due to some kind of seaweed or kelp they filled it with, and the fabric was a wet cloth that felt almost slick upon the skin, but was quite soft. You had to get used to it, but the entire frame was half of a regular couch’s weight and mostly hollow, molded into shape around the sturdy lengths of wood. You could pick it up easily, and it was hollow inside.

Also, dusty.

Haley went on, grousing.

“What I really want is for Lord Lanight to let me work for him. Poor guy.”

“The Lord? Oh, you mean…”

Lamont snapped his fingers a few times, and Haley filled in the gap too quickly. Was that a hint of a blush on her cheeks?

“Olvos. He’s from House Lanight in the Lantocracy of Bitorm. He’s waiting on a second expedition for his people. I saw him riding out with his granddaughter the other day, exploring. I tried to get him to take me along, but I think he’d rather fight more Sword Crabs than put someone else in danger.”

“Ah, right. Didn’t those weird Drakes on Wyverns help him out?”

“Mhm. Have you seen them recently?”

“Nope. I remember City Captain Horvin complaining about it. They brought news and goods. So…you want to join him?”

Haley hesitated and brushed at her hair. Haley. Now that you looked at her, aside from her priggish, prudish ways when it came to the fine art of literature, she was annoyingly striking. Equestrian club champion, one of those rich girls from the countryside…she’d even gone to a boarding school for god’s sake!

She sounded like someone who should have folded under pressure the moment she came to this world, but instead, she’d grabbed a sword, fought off some muggers, and impressed a passing [Knight] so much she’d gotten a [Squire]’s class and training. She was apparently talented enough to impress the Wistram [Mages], but she wasn’t…well, a Gold-rank adventurer.

Untried, untested, and perhaps, overeager. Yes…if she went into the New Lands alone, she might get herself killed, unlike Sang-min, who was competent, even scarily serious about anything that might result in people getting killed.

Haley might well ride out and get accosted by a Sword Crab. She’d fight hard, but then she’d need rescue, and wouldn’t it be something if that grave, heart-wounded Lord Lanight came to her rescue? He was a real silver fox in the flesh. Fit, armored in Mithril, terribly bereaved from losing his wife and people in the Sword Crab ambush—and Haley was a third his age, after all.

But in the heat of battle, saving someone’s life? There could be a connection. Of course, it might not come to anything at first, but if circumstances threw them together again—a [Squire] and a [Lord]/[Knight]. How scandalous!

Certainly, you could perhaps see a bit of longing on Haley’s face. No, perhaps just pure admiration.

“He’s good with a lance and a sword. I think he’s got [Knight] training—and he wears Mithril armor. He’s like a character out of a fantasy book, you know? That’s when I feel like this world’s still a story.”

Lamont nodded while Sidney just sat there, face doubtful. The girl had seen too much to still have any idealism left—but Lamont smiled.

“Sort of like Aragorn? If you could just be any character from Lord of the Rings or have their powers, I’d go out fighting. But I’m not for it. I’d be Aragorn if I could, though.”

He seemed wistful, and Haley nodded, eyes bright. Of course! She had always, probably, longed to be the Arwen to that Aragorn, the brave Elven princess (and one of two female characters in the entire book)—

“I always wanted to be Legolas.”

Oh.

Huh. Well, that was sort of unexpected. But perhaps fitting! Legolas and Aragorn, name a better duo. Legolas and Gimli worked too, but it was so boring…

Haley was about to talk more about her clear, budding infatuation with Lord Olvos when she glanced at the door.

“Seriously, is Caroline still bothering the Shadeward about having her sail us to other cities? It’s not because she wants to settle down somewhere else. She just wants ‘reference materials’ for her writing.”

“Right. So she knows how to write things.”

“Not just that, Lamont. She wants to meet people to write about. She’s still bitching about not meeting the Horns of Hammerad.”

“Hey, I wanted to meet them too.”

Even Sidney nodded at that, but Haley tossed the sharpened sword down and reached for a dagger.

“Right, but she wanted to write that necromancer dude into another novel where he jumps the silver-armed woman. What’s her name? The awesome one.”

“Yvlon the Silver-Killer?”

That came from Sidney, who loved watching television. Haley pointed at her, nodding. Lamont scratched his head.

“Wait, isn’t she writing romance with Yvlon and the ant-dude now?”

The [Squire] glared.

“She says she switched ‘ships’ because everyone likes that one more. I think it’s just disrespectful. Can you imagine her going to Nerrhavia’s Fallen and bothering everyone there with her nonsense? I wouldn’t mind if they weren’t real people, but I’ve watched Ksmvr of Chandrar’s documentary with that Rémi Canada guy, and he’s nothing like how she writes him. He’s like this cute kid. It’s more like they’re brother and sister. She’s delusional. I hope Doroumata tells her no and she drops it. If I have to hear her talk one more time about pairings—”

Lamont was half-nodding along and Sidney was poking two of the sharp quills together as Haley’s unwarranted, unfounded, and certainly unfair diatribe continued. At this point, Caroline couldn’t take it any longer, so she shouted as she pushed up from under the couch.

“Haley, you bitch! Is this what you say behind my back all the time?”

Sidney leapt off the couch and was around the corner with a scream so fast no one saw her. Lamont shouted and leapt sideways; Haley had the sword raised and pointing at Caroline before she caught herself.

“Caroline! What th—what are you doing in the couch?”

Caroline was red-faced and furious. She extricated herself from the hollow spot she’d found under the couch thanks to its unique design and shook a finger at Haley.

“I knew you didn’t like me, but badmouthing me behind my back is low. Low. I’ve been trying to be a nice friend to you and everyone else, and this is how you treat me? I’m writing what I can to make money, and you—someone from Earth, one of the few people on my side—just wait until my back is turned to stab me!”

Haley had turned red and was spluttering an apology until Lamont narrowed his eyes.

“Caroline, why were you hiding in the couch? Were you spying on us?”

Sidney and Haley peered at Caroline, who hesitated.

“Only for inspiration.”

“For what?”

“Well—Lamont won’t talk about his girlfriend, and I knew there was something up with you and Lord Olvos! I’ve got a perfect new story to write.”

Caroline smiled. Haley gave her a gaze of utter incomprehension—then one of genuine disgust.

“W—me and Lord Olvos? He just lost his wife. Are you insane? Don’t you dare write me into your smutty fanfics, Caroline. I mean it. If you write about him, we’re going to have it out now.”

She made a fist, and Caroline backed away from her.

“You wouldn’t dare. I won’t use his name, and I’ll make up—Lamont, help me!”

“That is messed up, Caroline. His wife was just killed by Sword Crabs.”

Caroline wavered. She wasn’t going to write anything that would involve his name! Just—she needed ideas! She turned to Sidney for support, but the girl just peeked at Caroline as she circled a table, avoiding Haley.

“I’m serious, Caroline. Put me or Olvos in a story and I will lay you out and then drown you in the surf, I swear by Christ.”

“Hey, no using the g-stuff! Erin said—”

“Erin Solstice would probably stab you too. Is that book you published about her out yet?”

“Novella, and yes, it’s in stores now. It’s technically—it could be any [Innkeeper]!”

“One who falls into the sea after stabbing a [Prince] and ends up on a deserted island with him and has babies? That’s why I’m pissed, Caroline. These are real people, not fanfiction.”

“That’s not fair.”

Caroline halted and confronted Haley, and the [Squire] folded her arms.

“Isn’t it? People get their feelings hurt, Caroline. Fanfiction or romance novels about fictional characters…that’s fine, I guess. I don’t care. But why real people?”

“Well—I—it’s just easier that way, alright?”

Now the [Romance Writer] was really regretting both her spying attempt—which did seem bad in hindsight—and her revealing herself. She tried to explain as Lamont put the gear away. He passed by the windows, which were closed because the sea breeze got salt everywhere otherwise.

“Easy? So what? You’re a [Writer]. Make stuff up.”

“It’s hard to make new characters, Haley. If you ever tried writing, you’d know that! This isn’t harmful. It’s like—tabloids making stuff up about celebrities, you know?”

“Yeah, that’s never hurt their mental health ever.”

“I’m allowed to write fanfiction, Haley! Legally back home, I had every right to write about people—so long as I don’t use their actual names and I just change things up like this, it’s fine.”

“I don’t care about legally, Caroline. This is stupid. Let me ask you something—has anyone from The Wandering Inn heard about your Erin book? Maybe I should send them a copy and ask what they think.”

The Wandering Inn. It was something of a legend amongst the Earthers, not just in Nombernaught. Leon had told stories of the place—and later, they’d all fact-checked them because they’d heard a lot about Leon doing heroic things, and found out that there were stories and scrying recordings of the inn and who might have been the first Earther in the world: Erin Solstice.

Certainly, the first one to get on the news. Between that and Erin’s warning about the god stuff, her fighting through the Bloodtear Pirates to murder a [Prince], and all the other things about her, everyone wanted to meet her.

Caroline herself was certain that the inn was a goldmine of stories; a lot of her tales revolved around the Horns of Hammerad, who’d gotten their very start there! She wanted to visit, but Haley’s threat made her stomach lurch.

“There’s no need for that.”

“Oh, really? If it’s fine and it wouldn’t piss them off, why not?”

Haley’s judgemental smirk made Caroline snap. It was one thing to have someone like Geneva, Ken, or Luan lecture her, but this?

“Listen, it’s because of the gold I’m making that you can afford armor, and we’re paying for Sidney’s extra potions to make her feel better, and everyone else has stuff to spend! Without me, who’d be pulling all the weight? Sang-min?”

She poked back at Haley, and the [Squire] bit her lip. Then her voice went low, rather than defensive like Caroline was expecting.

“Don’t bring Sidney into this, Caroline. That’s low.”

The [Romance Writer] hesitated. She cast a glance at Sidney, whose face was suddenly awash with guilt over the Calming Tonics she needed to deal with her nightmares.

“I only meant—Sidney, it’s not a problem! I just—”

Then she grew tongue-tied and embarrassed and flustered. The words never came as elegantly or as easily as they did in her head. She just wanted to prove to everyone her writing had merit!

It wasn’t fair! Now Caroline was tearing up, and Haley was hesitating.

“Alright, stop crying, Caroline. Just don’t write about me and Lord Olvos, okay? We all respect your writing. Also, don’t spy on us.”

“Yep. Let’s get some tea and calm down.”

Lamont was in the kitchen, and Sidney was peeking at them but edging out from behind her corner. Caroline sniffed.

“You don’t get it! It’s not fair! Romance writing is hard!”

“Yeah, yeah. As hard as fighting as a [Knight], I bet.”

Now, Haley was being mean-nice, which Caroline would have respected if it wasn’t directed at her. Caroline glowered through her tears and scooped up a piece of armor. She wasn’t sure what piece; armor had too many stupid names. A pauldron?

She hurled it, and Haley dodged it easily; it hit the wall next to one of the open windows.

“It is! D’you know how hard it is to write online? I had fans on Earth and here—and lots of haters and trolls! Plus, other romance writers suck. There’s one that’s been badmouthing me all over the world! In magazines, to book publishers—it’s as bad as home!”

Romance writing was rather infamous for the infighting and dragging down of fellow authors that could occur online. It wasn’t an exclusively romance-fiction thing…it was just that the genre was genuinely explosive when it came to potential success and fame.

Thus, you could get quick, false friendships with fellow writers that quickly devolved into mudslinging, organizing your fans into attacking one another, and even litigation. Caroline knew all the stories. She hadn’t been involved in anything that bad…but someone had tried to dox her identity once when she’d been starting out. Hence the pseudonyms and caution.

“Oh, right, Sandquen. Your mortal enemy. Caroline…I think your class is getting to you. You think like, well, your stories. You see too much romance everywhere when sometimes people just smile or like each other. As for the writing, I get it’s hard, but can you tone it down, please?”

Haley sighed as she put the sword down on the coffee table. Caroline was about to point out that Haley was one to talk, always complaining and trying to prove herself, when the [Writer] realized she had, in fact, won the argument.

No one respected [Romance Writers] and the struggle of the profession. Yes, there might be some formula to the art, yes, sometimes you were writing a bodice-ripper, but if your audience loved it, who cared? Writing having to be ‘elevated’ or grand was a myth.

It was also true that sometimes you could take too many shortcuts in your romantic fiction, and that gave the genre a bad name—good writing was good writing, bad writing was bad writing, and perhaps Caroline used real people as crutches for her writing, which had moral quandaries attached that she had not hitherto addressed.

However, you had to give Caroline this: the life of a [Romance Writer] was harder than Haley or the naysayers gave her credit for. The pettiness of other authors, the pressure of fans, of fame—back home, it was litigation, death threats, doxing, and hate mobs coming after you, which could be pretty bad.

In this world? The [Assassin] who’d snuck in through the window they’d opened drew a dagger with one hand, their head wrapped with black cloth so only their eyes were visible. They lunged as Caroline’s mouth opened wide—her scream was followed by a crash as Lamont hurled a tea kettle into the [Assassin]’s head.

“Caroline! Get back! [Quick Slash]!”

Haley snatched the sword up and attacked the [Assassin], who leapt away, cursing and shaking his head. Tea poured onto the floor as Sidney screamed, then pulled the little amulet that Doroumata had given her out and ripped the chain out of the amulet.

Instantly, the room went dark. But Caroline could still see the [Assassin] jumping for the window as Haley pursued them—Caroline was hiding behind the sofa as Lamont shouted.

“Haley! Don’t go after them! There might be more!”

The [Squire] hesitated at the window, realizing she might be leaving Caroline in danger. For a few seconds. Because the next moment, a figure was rising out of the black floor, hand raised, her veils fluttering around her.

Shadeward Doroumata herself pointed a finger at the window and fired a black tracer spell out of it, following the [Assassin]. Then she spoke.

“My daughters, to me. Is anyone hurt? Cut?”

She turned, walls of darkness covering the windows and doors until the Earthers assured her they hadn’t been hurt. The Shadeward patted Sidney’s hand.

“Well done, child. As I promised, nowhere in Nombernaught is free from my aegis. But who would try to murder you all? Rhir? Drakes in their pettiness? Wistram?”

“He dropped something. I think it was a he—careful—”

Haley kicked something over, and Doroumata levitated it up. She inspected it, then her face went slack. The aged Shadeward of Nombernaught turned to Caroline, and then, and only then, did she seem to believe that a [Romance Writer] had troubles of her own.

The [Assassin]’s dagger, meant for Caroline’s throat, had a single word emblazoned upon the metal:

 

Sandquen.

 

Thus, a true war between [Writers] began.

 

——

 

Captain Therrium Sailwinds was not a team player. He didn’t usually associate with other Drowned Folk; he was a [Pirate], one of the great [Pirate Lords] of the sea. He preyed upon Drowned Folk as well as Landfolk and Storm Sailors…but with an awareness of how far he could push any one faction.

Politics was in his blood, but again, he didn’t try to make friends. He had allies and enemies and neutral parties. Being in Nombernaught, being on the…side of Drowned Folk was new and rather unpleasant for him.

Lots of niceties when he had found grabbing someone and threatening to cut them from groin to forehead worked faster. But when he heard about the [Assassin] that had gone after Earth’s children, he of course felt he had to investigate.

It was the City Captain who was in charge of the day-to-day running of Nombernaught. A miserable job that any [Captain] might be pressganged into. The man in charge was Captain Horvin, who seemed fit for the job. He already had details of who and why.

“A low-level [Assassin]. One of the ones for hire that work themselves into crews. The kind anyone could pay a coin for. Fool didn’t even know he was after one of the Earth children. We caught him trying to hide in the wetmarket already; all he knows is the gold came to take that knife and stab the girl.”

Therrium had made his own inferences as well, which he shared with the City Captain.

“It wasn’t meant to be fatal. Probably a warning.”

“You think so? She would have been bloodied had not Miss Haley been there to fend him off before the Shadeward arrived.”

Therrium snorted.

“You’ve never had an [Assassin] after your back. It was only a warning. If they wanted her dead, they wouldn’t have given him a poisonless knife. Like as not, the [Assassin] had orders to stab once, drop the knife, and flee. But why…Caroline, is it?”

He gave the other Drowned Man a look, and Captain Horvin shifted. His face was cautious; Therrium didn’t know much about these Earth children. Of course, he knew some; word spread, especially about the Wistram raid. But he wasn’t…trusted. Which was fair, but rankling.

“Caroline. Like as not, it’s some rivalry between her and another, ah, [Writer].”

“…A what?”

Therrium thought the man was actually lying to him, but the City Captain just told him that apparently another [Writer] might have tried to kill or wound Caroline as a message.

Therrium thanked the man, then, as they left the Captain-of-Ship’s office, he leaned over. He was always followed by his crew, loyal [Captains] or 1st Mates of their own as deadly as he was. He murmured to one, a half-Blowfish Drowned Woman.

“Look into this Caroline cautiously. Don’t ruffle any feathers, so do it polite. Then, ah…ask what sort of [Writers] hire [Assassins] to off each other.”

The Drowned Woman, whose name was Glisal, regarded him slyly. She could spit poison on to her arrows, and she had killed more [Captains] than he had with her deadly shots.

“Oh, I’ll ask, though the Shadeward’s got lips locked tighter’n a treasure chest at the bottom of Kraken’s Pass. But as for t’other, Captain? [Writers] offing other [Writers] is a tale old as Nombernaught. If that Caroline be who I think she is, Heartslayi, then she’s got enemies willing to stab her just to stop her coming out with her next work.”

“…You know her?”

“Aye, Captain! I have fifteen of her books. If you’d like to read them?”

Fifteen? Dead gods, these Earth children were talented as they said. Therrium nodded, missing the colorful expressions on some of his crew who knew exactly what sort of books they were. That was how he found himself sitting in his rich cabins in his ship, The Passing Shadow, wine goblet in hand.

He had some reading spectacles on his nose and trophies from great monsters and enemies slain hung on his walls. One of the greatest [Pirates] on the sea flipped another page in the book, mouth open, having forgotten his drink entirely.

 

“So, y’know, I don’t know how the heck we survived, but I really want to stab you again, buddy,” Erun said to the panting [Prince] who lay recumbent upon the piece of driftwood that was their only protection from the rains. Blood stained his tunic, but the filigreed gold of his worn doublet coat still flashed in the nimbus of light from a falling [Lightning Bolt] spell.

“I, too, would prefer to continue our battle. But it seems we must make a truce, if only to survive this storm you caused, [Innkeeper].”

He hissed, his breath a rush of pain through his ribs. The [Innkeeper] eyed him and wiped at her brow. She was sorely wounded, and the rain had drenched her blouse, revealing her skin underneath, pale and supple despite the weather.

“I guess we have to work together. Okay, pal, I’ll bite.”

“…Pal?”

 

The writing was…something. It was this incredible mix of overexaggerated romance combined with what Therrium had to believe was either first-hand knowledge of how the people spoke or wild divergences thereof. Because it sounded like how the two would talk. But then—he flipped the page and had to check the title of the book.

A Knife to the Heart by Heartslayi, the Tale of a [Prince] and an [Innkeeper] Trapped Upon an Island. 

The art was even reminiscent of that famous scene. So that would make this…that [Innkeeper] who’d sheltered the students of Niers Astoragon. And it would make this Prince Iradoren…Captain Therrium flipped to a page far further into the thin booklet.

“What?”

He stared at the writing. Then flipped to another page.

“What?”

Then he had a lot of questions about this…

Caroline.

 

 

ASBAHSDFHASDF

I AM DONE FOR NOW

GIVE ME THOUGHTS ESPECIALLY YOU TOMEO

I AM REST

DEATH

 

Nombernaught Cast:

Earthers: Lamont, Caroline, Sidney, Malia, Sang-nim, Haley, Obi

Shadeward Doroumata

City Captain Horvin

Captain Therrium Sailwinds

 

 

 

Mini-Chapter #9 — Haeight (Rewrite)

Notes: One of the problems with the Haeight mini-chapter was that it was recap of Huntsong/Ghostsong more than anything interesting. Potentially wasted words all the way down. Let me put in 3k words trying a new opening then I’ll pivot to something else.

 

 

The waters ran straight down from the distant Derithal-Vel’s mountain into the sea, along the river Irghi. They emerged clear and ice-cold from the mountain’s heart, even glittering with trails of mana due to the gemstones in the mountain that infused the water with power.

However, by the time the waters had emerged from the carefully-contained collection facility operated by Dwarves at the spring’s mouth, the magic had faded. Then the water was simply mineraly, flowing down through the mountain, feeding animals and monsters and the occasional weary Dwarf or traveller as it snaked down into the neighboring country of Samal.

Even water needed to pass through the gates which regulated the water, and here it was, again, given new life. Ancient purification spells and magics made the water vibrant and fresh, and it carried itself steadily through the Kingdom of Keys, a paradise, cherished and free for all to drink.

No longer young, but still vibrant, it was here that the river’s course turned. It entered a new kingdom, then, one with grey skies and chalky ground, where color had been leached. The fresh optimism of the beautiful river flowed then through the Kingdom of Shade where there was no paradise of magic nor magic stones of Dwarves to invigorate it.

Just death.

Death magic, radiating up from every inch of soil, infusing the water. Corpses of animals that drowned, even, yes, undead fish and other creatures, who were dredged from the water, but contaminated it nevertheless.

The water was still mostly pure, but it was…slowing. Tiring as it longed to reach the sea on Noelictus’ most western border next to the highland Kingdom of Bows, Avel. The sea was vast, and if not pure, there the water would finish its journey from the mountain.

But oh, Noelictus was long, the largest of the three kingdoms, if only by comparison, and the path wended past huge, silent towns of thick walls and somber folk, tilling greedy fields which sucked up water. Underneath dark forests in which bears were not to be feared—but undead bears were.

It was in the Province of Havens where the river, now desperate to reach the oceans, became turbid. Mired in the bogs where water could become lost, distracted, imprisoned for centuries. The bogs were one of the most dangerous places to be lost, as any seasoned traveller well knew. The footing was precarious at best, deceptive; a wrong step would drag the unwary down dozens of feet in the mud, suffocating dead water, and worse…the undead.

A rotting corpse, 4,843 years old, ‘young’ by some standards, was sunken up to its eyeballs in the muck. Ancient, desiccated flesh had been preserved to the point of almost becoming dust—until death magic had rejuvenated it. For a given value of the word. The corpse was foul and overgrown with lichen and some enterprising mushrooms, and fly maggots writhed in its back and were currently drowning in the water.

But few things wanted to interact with the corpse. It floated there, motionless, and next to it were two more bodies, sunk deep in the mud itself. One of them was a woman, mouth still open in her last dying screams—but her eyes now glowed a bright yellow. She was a zombie. The other corpse had been there two months. It had been infused with more death magic and upgraded into a Ghoul.

The difference was the speed at which the two twitched in reaction to sound or stimuli. The zombie’s movements were lethargic, like a sleeper. The Ghoul was faster, even smarter; it had killed three fish unwary enough to swim close to its claws, but ripped each corpse apart so badly they hadn’t become more than death magic; not enough to be reanimated. Yet even this being was itself…lesser.

Normally, the two undead would have struggled their way out of the bog and wandered about, seeking more death magic or the living to add to their numbers. But the half-submerged undead waiting and staring across the bog had ordered them to submerge.

It was superior to the other two. A Swamplurk Ghoul. One of eighteen in this bog, spread out in their own ambush sites. Not just a Ghoul, but one infused with the power of the water, as mobile and dangerous in the water as out of it. Already, its skin had begun to mottle a bluer-green color than even rot had allowed, and webs were growing from between the fingers. Not that it had any living tissue; the rot simply seemed to reveal a different form as it fell apart and collected more flesh.

The Swamplurk Ghoul waited for prey. In this bog, the traveller or locals passing through had limited visibility. Mists often rose from the desperate river fleeing this spot, trying to reach the sea, and even with a powerful lantern, one would not see more than a dozen paces ahead of them. In the waters, a Swamplurk Ghoul could rise, silent as a falling droplet of water, and drag their prey into the water to drown. If a caravan were to pass through or get mired nearby, all the undead would rise and drag the living into the water.

This was an infestation. One of the many types of undead that haunted Noelictus, the Kingdom of Shade. In time, the Swamplurk Ghouls would amass a horde and collect enough death magic to refine into something even worse.

A Marsh Horror perhaps, large as two Draugr combined, covered in foul detritus and hump-backed, a single gnashing mouth ready to grind whatever it pulled towards it into dust. Then they would swim up the rivers and kill everything they found until they reached the Kingdom of Keys, then the mountain, then spread over land, into the ocean until the world—the very world—died.

All it took was time. And the corpse had been lying here for over four thousand years—reanimated in the last eighty, and escaped its prison four months ago.

It could wait. Indeed, its patience was rewarded, for it heard and sensed the splashing in the distance. Saw the life magic in a being moving slowly across the bog’s exterior.

A Human.

Slowly, they came, wading through the muck along the safer islands of the bog. The water, begging for release, splashed around their boots, and the thick coat of scarred and worn leather swished through the water with every step.

Insects buzzed around the figure’s face but found no traction save for the few spots where skin was showing; a mask covered the lower half of their face, and they wore a pointed hat that was pulled down low, only allowing two grey eyes to survey the murk.

The Swamplurk Ghoul did not move its body. But it slowly drifted as the unwilling water developed an unnatural current, propelling it closer. It seemed to be a mere stone in the water. But it, and other Swamplurk Ghouls, were drifting closer, placing themselves in the way of this traveller.

Beneath them, the zombie and ghouls and other undead moved underwater, closing the trap. The traveller didn’t notice the danger. They had a single torch, a sputtering flame fighting the mists as they cast around. Right, left, stepping forwards and back, uncertainly trying to find their way through the bog.

They were near a deep patch of water. A few more steps and they’d go straight down to a twenty-foot pit where a dozen zombies stared sightlessly up through the murky water. The Swamplurk Ghoul was only a dozen feet away now. It waited for the traveller to do the job for it, but the Human—a woman wearing the dark armor—was having trouble with their torch.

A muffled curse; she tossed the torch down, and the flame was almost out. Then she was in the darkness, and the Swamplurk Ghoul saw her fumbling at her side.

It rose out of the water, silently shedding droplets, and crossed the shallower ground behind her as two more Swamplurks rose. They advanced, timing their attack as the figure waited.

The Swamplurk Ghoul had limited intelligence, enough to wait, plan an attack, and calculate threats. It reached out, almost lovingly, to grab the shoulders of the Human. It wouldn’t even bother to rip at her—her entire body was more useful. Drowning was so much easier.

If it did have emotions, the undead was, perhaps, disappointed. The Human wasn’t as big as she had seemed; she stood fairly tall, at five feet and ten inches, but the armor added to her mass. The bigger the Human was, the more powerful the undead as a rule of thumb. The Ghoul couldn’t tell how much power was in her either. High-level beings became greater undead far, far faster.

The woman rose from where she’d been kneeling in the muck, and the Ghoul froze, knowing it was invisible in the darkness. It thought it heard a chuckle. Then there was light.

A bullseye lantern, far brighter than the meager torch, projected a narrow cone of light around. Blue light, which made the waters shimmer and illuminated the shapes of the zombies below. The woman spun—and her grey eyes were on the Swamplurk Ghoul.

She’d known it was there! It lunged instantly, throwing itself at her. She dodged, and a hand thrust the ghoul into the waters. It thrashed, then spun around as the undead began to rise. Attack! Att—

Two of the Swamplurk Ghouls died before the first one could breach the surface of the water again. Their death essence fled them; the Swamplurk Ghoul hesitated as it rose.

So fast. How? When it could see, it saw the woman was standing over the corpses. She had weapons in hand. Not that the Ghoul was clever enough to recognize the magical sheen of Mithril or the two hand-axes. It simply threw itself out of the waters with six more Swamplurk Ghouls as lesser undead clawed up. The miniature horde was all converging on the woman—no—the Hunter of Noelictus. But an odd, unsettling sound filled the air above the groaning and squelching of mud, the groans of gasses leaving putrid bodies.

The Hunter.

She was laughing. Giggling. Her axe rose, and she threw it through one of the bounding Swamplurk Ghouls, then dragged her hand back through the air. The Ghoul, struck through the chest, came flying towards her as the axe returned—and her second blow hacked through its skull. Then she ripped her blades free and drove them both through another Ghoul—a zombie coming up—

Fast. Faster than they were. A Swamplurk Ghoul couldn’t feel fear, but it realized it was outmatched and tried to sync up its attack with the rest of the horde. Something was wrong, though. It felt sluggish, uncoordinated, and those axes—they bit through the undead the Hunter was swinging at like the bones and flesh barely mattered.

She was a frenzy of blows. The undead kept coming, and they’d surround her soon, but her eyes found the first Swamplurk Ghoul as it treaded water in the deep pit of the swamp. And then it felt that ominous feeling upon it intensify.

A Skill.

[Nemesis: Undead]. For the first time, the Swamplurk Ghoul felt a kind of apprehension stealing through it. It had been raised to slaughter the living. But the living had sent something after it, designed to hunt them.

Hunter of Noelictus. And she was—mad. The axes rose, and the Hunter’s eyes locked on the Swamplurk Ghoul, who moved back into the waters. She took one step backwards—then she was running forwards. She threw herself into the waters, still giggling.

Into their domain. Her first axe buried itself in the Swamplurk Ghoul’s shoulder, but it was trying to grab her, drag her down into the dark. She couldn’t breathe. They’d won. They’d—

Her eyes. As the waters rushed around them both, the Hunter kept swinging her axes. Then the Swamplurk Ghoul saw her eyes glowing.

[Frenzy: An Agonizing Revelation].

She sank into the deep, dragged down by the hands of zombies, blades swishing through the trapped waters. Then—for the first time in centuries—the imprisoned waters remembered light. An arm floated up from the water as the rest of the undead poured into the depths. Then reversed course. A group of zombies began to retreat. Trailing a bounding Swamplurk Ghoul away as something rose from the waters. Spitting out water, two muck-covered axes in hand.

The Hunter followed. Behind her, in the pit, there was nothing.

Not even the undead.

 

 

Someone commented this feels like the beginning of book 4

Could be, could be

Or could be haeight’s chapter in TWI. Since the characters of the series do need to be mobile and doing stuff

 

Post-Chapter Note: You may see some more of my ramblings while streaming. I wasn’t doing well but I think I had some coffee. This is more of the Haeight chapter I think I should write. Action. We don’t need to know her backstory, just what she’s doing now.

Killing them undead. Mind you, like I wrote, this could just be the opening of Book 4 of the Singer series. Maybe I should put that on the poll.

Maybe someone should invent cold medicine that gets rid of the cold.

 

 

 

Wowk, only 2k

I’m improving in my sickness

How’s that opening?

 

 

What next…?

Anyone got suggestions?

Brain still no good

Someone suggested maids and heartlsayi last time

We can’t go worse from there surely

I was actually thinking calidus

But I dunno if I have brainspace for him

Zevara – already did her but it was actually mini

Kevin – bigger chapter dun wanna

Moore – bigger chapter dun wanna

Rose — sounds hard

 

If we’re doing redemptions, captain z might need one for the poll. Let’s try anodther 2-3k

I had notes but I’m sick

Putting on some noir music

 

Mini-Chapter #10 — Zevara (Rewrite)

The city was filthy, even in the rain. All the water that constantly rushed down couldn’t clean the streets. The downpour pattered off old slate roofs, held together by Shield Spider chitin glue or, if you were unlucky, mere masonry that dripped and let rivulets of water form spiderwebs as they trickled down towards the ground. Cracks, accumulating over the years.

In the bad parts of the city, her city, you’d have pots and pans out to collect the water dripping down. Each time another leak appeared, you prayed the rainy season would end sooner—because there was no patching that kind of leak; it wouldn’t dry in this damn city until the spring rains ended. Too many and you’d have to clamber out onto a roof, yanking out tiles and slapping down mud and mortar, swearing and hoping the rain didn’t wash away the patch for a few days.

The glue. It was the damn Shield Spider glue. Back in the day, they’d had it, and it was waterproof, dried even when wet—expanded a bit with water until it was hard as stone. The glue was something they’d lost during the 2nd Antinium War.

Crafter’s District, overrun by undead when one of the Zombie Giants had smashed through the walls. You remembered the screaming, even back then, if you’d survived it. The Necromancer’s forces being pushed out, then artillery spells pounding the city blocks over and over to erase the taint.

That’s how bad it had been. Every second, all the kids had thought they’d be dead, hiding in the safehouses and cellars, listening to the army fight. The first army, that was, the mercenaries. Bastards and brawlers who caused trouble—but who’d come back to lay down their lives for home.

Zel Shivertail, holding down the Necromancer himself. Fighting, they said, for hours on end while dodging spells, surrounded by undead, refusing to die. Those weren’t even Liscor’s greatest hours.

They’d survived the Antinium, seen the North come riding down in a charge to reverse the 1st Antinium War. Their city was the one that had produced General Sserys, the Drake who’d fought the Hives back. Their city…this backwater, this little city she called home.

Not many people remembered it, even though the 2nd Antinium War had been merely ten years ago. That was the dirty secret. Liscor had only had around a hundred thousand souls in it—‘big’ for some Drake cities, but a fraction of the size of a Walled City. A single floor of Pallass contained more people than Liscor by far.

Think on it.

How many do you think died to the plague the Necromancer had spread before his attack? During the siege itself, when anyone of fighting age had been drafted? Or before that? To the Antinium sieging the city?

Liscor’s army had been chewed up, reduced from their glory days under General Sserys. The population—likewise. Take Selys Shivertail, for instance. Both her parents, adventurers, had perished in the fighting. Her grandmother was the only Shivertail in the city who’d survived outside of Zel himself. Yet by the time that Human, Erin Solstice, had appeared, the city was more or less the same size it had been.

How? Lots of babies? Don’t be stupid. It was how Liscor always had been—that’s what idiots forgot. It was the new faces coming in. The Silverfang Gnolls had shown up after the siege, and the Antinium had made their Hive ten years ago. With them, by the hundreds or dozens, had come Drakes.

Reinforcements. Though the Walled Cities never said it like that. Rather, they just encouraged surplus Drakes to move to Liscor. Gave them some gold or rounded up those without homes or deep roots and sent them off. To fill their border-city that no one really liked or visited to make sure there was that bulwark against the Humans of the north.

Liscor, which existed to be a deterrent, because the south needed it there. Not because it was all that fun to live in, isolated from the south by the Blood Fields, plagued by the rains in the springs, Rock Crabs, Shield Spiders…and then the Antinium. Liscor had always been new Drakes and survivors. The only thing that changed were the faces.

The muck remained.

 

——

 

In her office, the Drake blew smoke out of her mouth. She had no pipe or cigar; she didn’t need one. On days like this, when she didn’t have enough fresh air, it built up in her lungs. Imperfect blood is what her instructors had called it, as if it were her fault that she breathed more smoke than fire.

She hadn’t asked for this. The woman coughed, then concentrated and created another stream of grey smoke, expunging it from her lungs before it could reduce her into a mess of wheezing exhalations.

She gazed out across the dark, rainy streets that she knew better than the daylit ones. Her city. Yes…hers. More than the Antinium, more than the Humans or new visitors. She didn’t bear them ill will, but they didn’t know Liscor. They hadn’t grown up here seeing new faces come and go, surviving two Antinium Wars—even if she’d been truly a girl during the first one.

Watch Captain Zevara, though, was a Liscorian, born and raised here. Two wars, well, three if you counted Tyrion Veltras’ siege. Four, perhaps, with the Winter Solstice…Ancestors.

How many ‘originals’ were there? Selys? Selys had left, so that was one less kid from the old days. Drassi—no, she’d come at six or something after the 1st Antinium War. So she was close, but few Gnolls had been here before the 2nd Antinium War.

“Mister Soot. Right. He was one of the originals.”

The old [Mastermind] who’d used to run Liscor’s underworld, the bastard who had some of the Watch taking his gold, who armed the criminals and ran the southwest district, the poorest part of the city. It had all been in his claws—again, in the old days.

After the 1st Antinium War, she’d grown up with him being the Drake everyone knew not to cross, whose people would take anything you stole without question and give you a pittance for it.

He hadn’t remembered her, later, when she’d become a Guardswoman, but she’d always known him—his people had once taken a silver-backed mirror she’d stolen and tossed her down a manhole into the sewers. True, she’d stolen the mirror first when she was seven. The first theft that had landed her in the Watch’s lockup—and she hadn’t even gotten paid for it.

Poor Soot. She meant it too. The Drake lazily blew more smoke up to the ceiling and watched it percolate. No water was leaking from the sturdy Watch House roof. She felt like it should; she always felt like there would be rivulets of it dripping down, like her old apartment, a sheet of water running down a huge crack along one wall. Rats and little Sewer Slimes sometimes scurrying in and out, daring her to make something of it.

“Poor Mister Soot. You did everything right. You were the big Drake on the streets, the Dragon of the underworld. Flash, sharp, and smarts all in one package. You and your little magic wands with three charges in them. Untraceable; you fire a few spells, toss it, and walk off. You had it all. Then the 2nd Antinium War had to happen. Suddenly, Antinium were in the middle of your district, and there were Gnolls who smelled too well and too many outsiders. Then we get money to rebuild, the Watch needs re-bribing, and worse, the old Watch Captain gets ousted and you can’t bribe the new one. Me.”

Her. She smiled at that, though at the time, she recalled sleeping with one eye on the door to her apartment, a sword next to her pillow, sweating every time she led a patrol.

The good old days? Hah! The ‘good old days’ had sucked. It had been just Beilmark, Jeiss, Tiltem, Goirssa…back in those days, Relc was a surly [Soldier] and Klbkch had been the mysterious Antinium liaison no one understood, the Slayer.

Zevara hunted around in her desk, but she didn’t have anything to drink these days. So she poured some medicine for her throat into a cup and toasted them with it instead. Old guards, old crooks. They’d used to be closer together, harder to tell apart. These days, everything was so shiny; she’d made it so, but still.

She felt old.

She wasn’t even thirty yet, but this new Liscor felt odd to her. She still thought she could see the stains on the streets, but everyone acted like everything was on the up-and-up. Maybe it was and she was the only one who remembered the scum.

“You never figured it out, did you, Soot? I adapted better’n you. You…you hated the Gnolls, most of them. Never found a group you couldn’t bribe, but Krshia and her Silverfangs were already a tribe. Half just took your money to make you stop bothering them, and when you sent the bullies down to mess up the ones who resisted, they had bows and stuck together. The Antinium? Even worse.”

No bribing them. No messing with the Soldiers. She nodded to herself.

“Then came Relc, saluting everyone who sneezed, a Level 30 [Spearmaster]. And he put four of your people in the Healer’s clinic for trying to bribe him. You could deal with Relc, though; he wasn’t smart enough to find your guys. But it meant you couldn’t come after us as well. When Klbkch arrived…that’s when you lost it.”

Klbkch and Relc, one ice-cold, the other snapping at him, both hating each other’s guts, she was sure. But they were the only two high-level enough to contain the other—and as much as they’d disliked the other, Soot and the gangs were even better targets.

“Klbkch had his Listeners. No way to dodge them. At the time, we thought it was all his mystic Antinium powers or the Free Queen. Relc was still a soldier, and they busted how many gangs in the first year? Six? And then there was me. You never figured out how I knew all your people and warehouses.”

Good days. Well, again, they sort of sucked, but it had been better helping dismantle the groups she’d grown up being afraid of as a kid. Poor Soot. Truly—he’d gone from running the southwest district to being merely one of the bigger crime-lords in a city that increasingly needed him less.

“Then came Erin. You were already smaller-time, but she was the last straw. I think you didn’t ever meet her. You were smart enough for that, but she had the Antinium riled up. By the time they started patrolling, you were already desperate. The magic door? Windfall for you. You could have operated in Celum, Esthelm, a dozen cities. But it never worked out. When’d you vanish? Around then?”

She couldn’t remember, but she saw the problems. Zevara ticked them off on her claws, imagining Soot was sitting across the room from her in the interrogation chambers, glaring with his red-rimmed eyes and the spectacles he’d had to wear in his old age. Tight-mouthed, wishing he could have her killed.

“Erin. Maybe when she was low-level you could have roughed her up, but even then, Relc and Klbkch were visiting her. And she had that skeleton and Pisces—none of the old guard would mess with undead. Plus, Selys was her friend—no one tweaks old Tekshia’s tail. She killed the last gang leader who tried. Then Erin had Hobgoblins in her inn. Hobgoblins. You couldn’t get the door then, and after that? Invrisil, Pallass? Too much heat. Too many high-level people making Liscor safe. Grimalkin, Chaldion—dead gods. Poor Soot!”

The last thing he’d wanted was Liscor’s dungeon attracting adventurers to the city. Gold-ranks were hard to corrupt, and if they got mad at your people, your people died.

Poor Soot! Zevara sobered and pulled out a file. She had her feet up on her desk, and she stared at the file.

Mister Soot. She had so many documents on him that it was a briefcase unto itself. She’d written half of them. Damn. The old days when he’d been the Watch’s biggest problem. She put the file down and stared at the one on ‘Erin Solstice’.

Twice as big. Filled with wax seals, colored folders, covered with stamps denoting classified information sealed to higher clearances. All of it above her right to access, but since she’d written almost all the reports she knew what was inside.

“What got you, Soot? That was no way to go. Dead in one of your safe-rooms, not enough of you to even turn into an undead? Probably Bearclaw, but where the hell did Bearclaw go? Did she run off or did something get her? Klbkch taking care of business quietly? Not his style, but he changed…did one of Pallass’ Eyes clean up? Or was it…something else?”

She’d never figured out what had killed him. But she had been almost positive it had been his corpse that had been found. Him and his bodyguards had been torn to shreds, and, the [Guards] had thought, been eaten.

At the time Zevara had been on high alert, so she’d checked and they’d not found any hearts among all the dead Gnolls…but she had no proof. Nor had any more disappearances threatened Liscor. A copycat could do the same thing and pin it on the Raskghar.

Regardless, that had been the end of the old crook. Soot’s people had been so terrified they’d reported it into the Watch. And his gang had fallen apart; he hadn’t grabbed any of his assets. Old Soot would never leave and retire without his loot.

Perhaps it was time to put the file away, but Zevara kept it around for old times’ sake. A reminder of when things had been different. Not easier. Did she like today’s Liscor? She thought about it.

“Lots of Humans these days. Even a few Garuda, Dullahans from Pallass. I swear I saw a half-Elf the other day and almost shouted Ceria’s name. Hah. The city’s never had more gold, Soot. Even back when Sserys was in charge…we’ve got [Necromancers] in their village, and the city’s half again as large. Antinium on the streets, incorruptible, they say. Watch Commander Venim…I think I like these new days more than the ones when it was just you and me and the old damn Council and Olesm trying to hold things together with a shoelace for a budget and no powers.”

Dead gods, she’d forgotten Olesm doing the job no one wanted, scurrying around the Council’s offices as they passed stupid little laws. Zevara shook her head and knocked back the rest of her drink and coughed more smoke out.

“It’s way better, Soot. Crazy Humans and all. Even wars and all, probably. Back in the day, we just wondered when the next big thing would kill half the city. These days…well, the inn events are getting bigger, but no one’s killed a third of Liscor off. Yet.”

She knocked on her desk and sighed. Zevara’s head turned to the streets, the filthy streets she swore she could see trash on, overflowing sewers, piss streaking the walls—despite the fact that the sewers ran beautifully these days and she hadn’t seen that much trash at all. She felt like it was her city.

“Or maybe it’s my turn, Soot. Maybe it’s my turn.”

The Watch Captain put her empty cup on the desk and coughed. She wiped at her mouth and stared blankly ahead as the rain kept pattering down. Because she felt rather like an old Drake in a new city again, despite her age.

Out of place. Out of touch. No one had come running up her steps with an emergency all week. She had no outstanding reports that Venim hadn’t already marked as being handled. Zevara fiddled with her desk and put something on the table. A little present; she’d bought the best sharpening stone she could from Pallass, one that left a bit of magic on the edge of your blade.

A gift…for the newest Watch Captain of Liscor. Zevara had even had Beilmark’s name stencilled onto the bag, which she felt was classy.

Not that Zevara was quitting, mind you. It was just that Liscor was getting another Watch Captain. Two, in fact, who’d be under Watch Commander Venim. Senior Guardsman Ronss was going to make Watch Captain for the north district; Beilmark would get 3rd District. Two new Watch Houses, and a headquarters in the new city center. Way more control, way more efficiency for a bigger city. Zevara imagined her job would be easier. Less all-nighters and sleeping at her desk.

…She had no idea what to do. Maybe she should have taken the Watch Commander job. But she would have hated meeting with the Council more, along with more paperwork. The Drake put her feet up on the desk, a luxury, and stared at the rain.

She wished she could stop thinking about Soot.

 

——

 

That’s a noir-style opening?

I couldn’t swing the dame at teh door routine

But how is it?

 

I’m gonna end stream. Thanks for seeing this interesting test run—we may do more! For now, I’ll end both streams, then, if I want to write more, I’ll do it just on my own channel.

Thanks for reading, everyone.

 

 

The doc is getting so big it’s geting a bit crash-y when ever I zoom in or out

 

I’m still sick

HOWEVER I MUST STREAM OR DIE

A bit more, a bit more for a tuesday

 

What else is noir tropes? The dame at the door

Rampant Alcoholism

Not sure I know the genre so well

I think I should continue the captain Z thing for a few more thousand words. Whaddya think? I don’t know why I’m asking

The sickness…is in the mind. Cold makes me loopy.

More insanity?

 

——

 

Maybe she hated Liscor. Elsewise, why would she keep looking for dirt? This filthy city…

It wasn’t like it had ever been filled with gutters running with poo, or the stuff you heard about in bad Drake cities—and there were a few.

Worhall; wasn’t that the name of a Drake city that had gone bad? She remembered hearing about it. Sewers backed up. Breaches in the wall. Drakes leaving and carting off everything they could carry. Normally, it was all ‘Drakes don’t run’, stubborn ‘my home is my home, I’ll die before leaving it’. But even Drakes had their breaking points, and…when had that expression started, anyways? With General Sserys. Back in the day, Drakes would pack up for better cities.

That was the dream in smaller cities: that you’d save up, get rich doing something, and move to a Walled City where you’d be safe and retire in one of the Drake heartland capitals. As a kid, Zevara had had the same dream of moving to Pallass one day. But things were changing.

Zevara didn’t know other Drake cities, she guessed. She knew Esthelm more than other Drake cities; she’d been there several times as a youth, before Erin and the magical door, again. It was the kind of city that you went to as a Drake, working up your courage to drink at a Human bar to say you could, or where you worked mining jobs if you had to be out of Liscor for a while. It wasn’t like Esthelm’s folk had gone at Liscorians the moment they saw Drakes, but you stuck with other Drakes, and sometimes there was a rumble…you avoided the other city for a while after that.

Few deaths. But Liscor hadn’t been multicultural until the Gnolls came along. Krshia Silverfang—not that anyone had known she was in charge until later—and the Gnolls. Gnolls and Antinium changing the city into one that wouldn’t chase Erin Solstice away. Lism hadn’t been pleasant, but it could have been worse. A lot worse.

Bad cities. Had Liscor been one? Close, perhaps. Worhall with the infrastructure issues. Cellidel sounded bad too. Rotten to the core. All the Watch officers mistreating Gnolls. Riots in the city. It had been a mistake to send Relc there, but they’d been so upbeat about having a Senior Guardsman—she’d thought it was respect.

Zevara took a night patrol out on the city in the same quiet mood she’d been in. Regular [Guards], a mixed patrol. Three Drakes, one Human, an Antinium, one Gnoll.

She only knew one of them well: Tkrn’s old partner, Junior Guardswoman Jerci, who’d made full Guardswoman recently. They marched along with Zevara, calling out items of interest, trying to act smart and look good. They must have thought she was testing them, like the sharp Antinium patrol from last time. Zevara patted the shoulder wet Gnoll barking orders after three blocks of marching in the rain.

It was late. Liscor’s buildings loomed like grey monoliths in the rain, stone blocks illuminated by soft light in places, but dark. Damn dark. The city had torches for night lighting, but not in the spring. She nodded to the young Gnoll woman who was trying not to shiver. Young…she was probably only eight years younger than Zevara. But she seemed to treat Zevara like the Watch Captain was Beilmark’s age.

“You can relax, Guardswoman Jerci. We’ll just wake half the block if we keep shouting. Not a lot happens on a night shift—if we’re lucky. Let’s just do the rounds.”

“Er, yes, Watch Captain. Should we be on the lookout for anything? It’s pretty dark, yes?”

They all had lanterns, and Zevara snorted as the squad shone the lights around.

“Stow everything. Let’s walk in the dark.”

“That’s not protocol, Watch Captain—”

One of the Drakes began and shut up as his compatriot elbowed him. Zevara glanced at the Antinium, but this was a Worker who hadn’t been as noisy as the all-Antinium squad.

“It used to be the Watch went around in the dark. Light ruins your nightvision, so you kept your head on a swivel and moved silent. With streets this dark, we’ll see better without lanterns.”

It was true, the patrol realized as they followed her. Without the glare of the lanterns, they could see everything equally. It was eerier, but soon they were all moving well in the dark, especially the Antinium.

“What’re your names, squad?”

“Er, Junior Guardsman Nen, Junior Guardswoman Eissa, Junior Guardsman Trolle, Junior Guardsman Bootstrap, and Junior Guardsman Thorton, Watch Captain.”

Nen introduced his compatriots, then the Antinium, ‘Bootstrap’, and Thorton. Zevara glanced down; sure enough, the Antinium had bootstraps. Which was rather funny, because most Antinium didn’t have shoes. If they were issued boots at all, they were without strings because Workers and especially Soldiers had trouble lacing them up. Klbkch had managed, but he was the exception.

She nodded at them.

“Walk slow and don’t shout. If you see something actually suspicious, nudge the [Guard] next to you and signal your leader; in this case, me or Guardswoman Jerci. Got it? Normally, you rookies wouldn’t be on patrol for a night watch. Not in the full dark.”

She kept her pace slow, strolling down the street, avoiding the streams of water rushing into the gutters. It was hard to hear anything over the roar of rain and water, but she could pick up the footsteps of her squad, and her eyes were focused on everything and nothing at once. It was sudden movement or inconsistencies in the shadows around her she was scanning for.

Perhaps it was her mood. Zevara hadn’t led a patrol out in…ages. Not like this; she only took command when there was a fight, a monster, or trouble. Then she went with hard-hitters to The Wandering Inn or to the spot and restored order. Leading a patrol?

Again, it wasn’t the same as the Antinium squad, and the rookies felt it.

“We could move faster, Watch Captain. We’re no slouches. We heard you covered half the city with the Antinium patrol yesterday.”

Jerci murmured after a moment. Zevara just ambled forwards, slower than the patrol’s normal march. The Gnoll was biting her lip, clearly worried they were being treated like slouches.

“That was me seeing how well they knew the job. And them being too enthusiastic to rein in, Guardswoman Jerci. It’s late. We have six hours on our feet. Keep it slow. Like I said, loud boots mean you’re warning everyone you’re coming. In the old days, the Watch always moved this fast.”

A long shift, even if they were allowed to break every two hours for fifteen minutes. Jerci nodded, but her eyes darted to Zevara.

“You mean…when you were a Junior Guardswoman, Watch Captain?”

“Hm? Oh, not even that. Five years ago, even, this was how we operated. No lanterns.”

The female Drake raised her hand. She had russet red scales and a stubby snout, and she held her spear like an amateur, but she seemed eager. Another oddity…no, only to the mindset Zevara was in today. She was trapped in the past. The rains brought back memories, trickling down.

“How’d you catch anyone in the dark, Watch Captain? It’s impossible to see anyone breaking into a house unless there’s a scream or breaking glass, pardon my saying so. I can’t wait for the new, magical lantern-posts that the Council’s promising to install.”

“Magical lanterns, what, on every street?”

Zevara remembered that in a report, vaguely, but since Venim had taken over, she didn’t have to report to the Council so often. The [Guards] peered at each other and nodded. She laughed.

“Back in the day, that would have been a waste of gold.”

“Why, Watch Captain?”

Nens asked blankly. The Drakes were the chatty ones. She guessed they were all native Liscorians; the Human, Thorton, was their age, but he seemed warier of speaking up around her, as for Bootstrap…the Antinium was listening, but kept his head on a swivel, antennae twitching. Only he and Thorton avoided the streams of water like she did, perhaps because he’d noticed, perhaps because he just feared it.

She spoke over the boots splashing in the gutters.

“They’d be stolen, of course. You couldn’t put a torch in a holster in some parts of the city without someone taking it.”

Nens snorted.

“A torch? That’s not even worth, what, a copper for a spent torch, Watch Captain.”

“No, but twelve might be worth a few coppers. Wood’s expensive—or was. The door makes it so much cheaper, but there was a time even a cheap wooden chair could be worth a silver piece or more even resold. So long as it wasn’t utter scrapwood.”

“Hah. What did everyone sit on then?”

She gave Nens a curious look.

“Stone. Or those old Shield Spider chairs, you know, the shiny black ones with polish, like lacquer?”

“Those ugly things? My grandma has one in her home.”

Nens laughed, but Zevara just shrugged.

“Wood was expensive. Traders used to come down the road with huge wagons and just sell entire trees off at a killing. It was a decent job; you’d just ride up north past Esthelm, find a forest, and hire a [Woodcutter] or do the job yourself. Then come back, drop the trees off, and count your gold. Humans from Celum did it; it was the only time we ever saw them. Big [Woodcutters] who’d brawl with our army’s [Soldiers] in the street. I once saw a hundred of ‘em go at it. It took half the Day Watch to break it up.”

“I remember that, Watch Captain. I was nine when it happened. The Council banned Humans from the city for a month, didn’t they?”

Trolle surprised Zevara, but then, he was probably twenty…she nodded. Did he remember the old days? No, he was shooting her an interested glance like the others. She supposed being a kid was still different to being a [Guard] back then, and eight years…he didn’t remember a time much before the 2nd Antinium War. A different Liscor back then. And a different one before the 1st Antinium War. Even after the 1st Antinium War, they’d been on the rise as ‘Sserys’ city’.

“So how’d you stop crimes in the dark, Watch Captain?”

Eissa wanted to know, and Zevara rolled her shoulders, self-conscious.

“We didn’t. Not much. You’d walk around like this, in the quiet, and if someone shouted ‘thief’, you maybe went after whomever it was. Usually, they were gone too fast on nights like these. Murder or screams for help—those you ran for. And you hoped to the Ancestors you didn’t run into a gang.”

“A gang? Doing what? Some big heist?”

“Just…out, Guardswoman Eissa. Trolle, you remember that, don’t you? Remember the Soot gang walking down some streets?”

“I, uh, I grew up in the northwest district, Watch Captain. I don’t remember many gangs.”

She twisted around to get a look at Trolle. Then he was from a richer family; north was where the biggest personal mansions and money was. Jewelers, magic-users, and the like. And he wanted to be a [Guard]?

“Well. I remember them. Jerci? Eissa? Nens?”

They all shook their heads. Jerci scratched her chin.

“I remember being a cub and there used to be some times when all the Gnolls on the block would come out because there was trouble, but no gangs.”

“You’re all too young. Trust me, there were times when an entire gang would come out and just walk a street, and the Watch cleared out. Too many, too high-level, too ready to kill. Other cities have worse problems with gangs. Invrisil, for one. That’s why you watch yourself if a group of out-of-city visitors comes in. Got it?”

They nodded. Because she had that antsy feeling from the old days, Zevara snapped.

“Don’t walk in the gutters either. Walk where I’m walking, see? You’re splashing too loud.”

They checked their feet and shuffled after her. Zevara murmured.

“No torches. Fewer guards. Fewer good guards.”

“Dead gods, Watch Captain. You make it sound like we were a Human city once, all bad Watch! There’s this Gnoll kid in the Junior Guards—one of Relc’s trainees, Vok—who talks about Cellidel, where Sergeant Relc went. They have a bad Watch. But ours?”

She smiled to herself.

“Drake Watches have more money and, generally, better training, but it’s all subjective, Guardsman Nens. There are Human cities where it’s safer at night because the right gang holds your street. Isn’t that right, Guardsman Thorton?”

He jumped slightly, and his voice was husky when everyone turned to him.

“Th-that’s right, Watch Captain. How’d you know…?”

“You walk like a streetkid, or someone who knows how. And your head’s swivelling right. Which city?”

“Remendia, Watch Captain.”

“All the way up there? Why to Liscor?”

He shrugged, self-conscious.

“Seems like there’s more money here then old Remendia. ‘Twas a bad winter. Lots of hungry people. I heard there was food here and in the Unseen Empire, and my old man flipped a coin on which one we were bound for.”

“Oh, so your family’s here. Working in 3rd District?”

“Yes, Watch Captain. Builders, though half have signed up for work in the smithies.”

“They always need hands. Councilwoman Raekea’s been trying to get us mining the mountains more. Though Esthelm’s got Master Pelt.”

Nens broke in excitedly.

“Who d’you think is gonna win the elections, Watch Captain? All the challengers or the current Council? Everyone’s saying it might be better to replace them, but who’d want to replace Lism?”

She turned her head so he couldn’t see her expression by moonlight, then spoke neutrally.

“Not my place to interfere or comment, Guardsman Nens.”

“Oh, come on, Watch Captain! If you said something—half the city knows you’re still the Watch Captain, even with that new Watch Commander.”

She snorted softly.

“You make it sound like I’m so important.”

“You were the one who fought off Skinner and the undead—and carried us through the siege, the monster attacks, and, and—”

“I’m not even Level 40, Guardsman Nens.”

“You’re not, Watch Captain?”

They seemed astounded at this. Zevara skirted round an open sewer, peering down inside, but there were no Sewer Slimes all bunched up—back in the day, you’d pluck out their filthy mana cores, give them a rinse, and sell them to the Mage’s Guild. She poked the opening with her sheathed sword anyways.

“Do they still teach you to poke the sewer grates with a spear every time you pass?”

“No, Watch Captain. Should we…?”

“…Forget it. No, I’m not Level 40. Nor was I as instrumental as you think. Liscor survived these things, but it was adventurers, the Free Antinium—not me single-handedly slaying Face-Eater Moth Mothers. Dead gods, I’m twenty-eight.”

“You are? My Mom swore you were her age and she’s forty-f—”

Nens shut up when the other trainees nudged him. Jerci avoided Zevara’s eyes as the Watch Captain glared back. She wondered if she appeared that old. Dead gods, maybe she did need to take care of her appearance.

“If I…seem important, it’s just because I survived, Guardsman. From the time before the inn got here. Just like Strategist—I mean, Strategos Olesm. Aside from the army, there were a lot of vacancies that needed filling. Lots of dead Drakes. Craftspeople, leaders, Guildleaders—all died during the 1st and 2nd Antinium Wars.”

They nodded at that. Zevara took them down off the main street, heading westwards. Through old stomping grounds. These days, the eastern district was getting as important as the northern district, since a lot of traffic came from the north via the roads.

The southwestern district where the Antinium had their Hive had always been poorest. Of course, even here, things were on the up, but the streets were the same. She led the patrol without needing to look up her route, and they saw people hurrying around, night crews, some adventurers heading out to the dungeon—all of them seemed surprised when the Watch patrol came upon them without lanterns.

But it was the back alleys, the smaller side streets that Zevara was after. There you could still find Drakes and Gnolls—and Humans too, she had no doubt—searching for an easy mark, whether it was through pickpocketing or violence. Or perhaps someone smuggling drugs in, or just someone searching for an abandoned street so they could enter a shop and grab what they could.

She spoke softly. More to herself, now.

“This probably isn’t good training. Watch Commander Venim’s put together a solid regimen for new [Guards]. I’m taking you around like we used to do. Pallass’ Watch is loud and moves fast. Liscor’s old one moved at a slouch. Right, Thorton?”

The Human man spoke up.

“Right, Watch Captain. Walk slow, don’t stir up trouble. Let the gangs work unless someone gets killed.”

“Exactly.”

“We really used to do that, Watch Captain?”

Nens was outraged. Zevara just gave him a silent gaze as smoke trickled from her mouth.

“Sometimes, you’re outnumbered, Guardsman Nens. And you don’t know, if you blow a whistle, if anyone’s going to come running or whether you can trust the squad at your back.”

She spotted a familiar bar up ahead, and it was Jerci who murmured.

“Is that why you ousted the old Watch Captain, um, Watch Captain Zevara? You were the youngest Drake to ever be named Watch Captain in Liscor’s history.”

Zevara didn’t look over her shoulder as the rest of the patrol turned to Jeric, then to her with clear astonishment.

“That’s old…that’s history, Guardswoman Jerci. The Watch needed changing. And so it has, for the better. I just feel like Watch Commander Venim’s the best leader for the times.”

And I’m tired. Complacent, maybe. With Erin gone, I just let The Wandering Inn solve its crises. There’s no Soot for me to battle. I can’t stop Goblin Kings or magical spells from the heavens. Maybe I’m the old dog unable to learn a new trick, even with a [Beast Tamer] around. Maybe I should get a dog. Take more time off.

Didn’t Elirr have this pet Frost Wyvern he was training? That would be a challenge. Zevara peered at the squad as they stopped in front of a battered tavern. Nens squinted up to stare at the name.

“The Corused Steer? Shouldn’t that be ‘The Corused Deer’?”

“Nope. Whomever came up with the name didn’t know that steer referred to cows. You ever been to a dive bar, Nens?”

“One or two, Watch Captain. And we’ve broken up bar fights before.”

That was common work for the Watch. Zevara nodded at him.

“Good. This isn’t a dive bar. It’s a hellhole bar. One, two steps nastier. Stay with the squad, don’t look anyone in the eyes too long, and don’t take too much interest in what people are doing. Stick to the door.”

They gulped. In truth, Zevara doubted it was going to be a problem. The Corused Steer had bloody fights, and she’d been in a few—but that had, again, been the old days.

Still, when she eased the door open, the buzz of voices in the decently-busy bar went low, then quiet when they saw her uniform. Someone moved out of the shadows; a big Drake missing half his neck-spines.

“No one called for the Watch, Guardswoman…”

“We’re just looking around. Is [Barman] Bobble here?”

There was a grunt from the Drake, who gave her a second eye.

“You know Bobble? Hey—”

The ‘hey’ was when the rest of the squad pushed in. At this, several patrons shifted in their seats; they were arrayed around the room at circular tables, drinks in hand. Puffer smoke ran throughout the room, laced with sharper smells—probably not Dreamleaf, since those here would want to keep sharp. It smelled like Mage’s Whiskervine; that pumped your mind up, then left you stupid once it wore off.

Zevara spotted dice on some tables, the old booths with the red curtains along one wall. A pair of scantily-clad Drakes stopped serving drinks and moved back towards the bar with instantaneous reflexes. Zevara raised a hand as the [Bouncer] clearly debated whether or not to try to get them to leave. Back in the old days, one of them would have already tossed a member of the squad out. Or be waiting for the regulars to do the job for them. The Drake spoke to the room.

“We’re just having a look ‘round. No one’s aiming to change the hay tonight. It’s wet, and I want a drink. Is Bobble there? Give me two claws of Firebreath Whiskey.”

Jerci’s mouth opened as Zevara made for the bar. The rest of the squad watched as Zevara tossed some coins onto the bar, and the patrons settled down. It was how she spoke, more casually, abandoning the crisp accent of the Watch Captain. It told them she knew the score. No one talked about hay in the Steer without knowing what that meant.

The [Bartender] who served her the cheap whiskey eyed her, not recognizing Zevara, but the moment the older [Barman], Bobble, came out, his eyes widened.

“Is that Zevara? Senior—no, Watch Captain Zevara?”

Every head snapped around again, and Zevara sighed. She saw the relaxing patrons suddenly turn to the doors and begin eyeing windows, as if ready to leap out of them. She hugged Bobble one-armed; he was a big Drake with an eyepatch and a cleaver for a left hand—he sliced up some ice and slid it into her drink as if the chipped metal cleaver were as nimble as digits. He was fast with the cleaver-hand too. Very fast. She still remembered a streak of blood on the old bar’s counter running from a Drake with a cut throat as Bobble shoved the body to the floor.

The floor…with straw on it. Straw that absorbed spills and messes. It wasn’t something most places did these days. But it soaked up a lot. Blood, among other things.

By now, Jerci had put two and two together and realized that this was one of the bars that the Watch sometimes got called to for the really nasty fights. The ones where you sent Senior Guards and told the rest of the squad to put on chainmail. Where you’d call for Relc and Klbkch. She was giving Zevara nervous stares as Zevara took the drink that Bobble served her on the flat of his cleaver.

“Bobble, you scalerat. Are you trying to get my rookies stabbed? Reassure these goodfolk that I’m not about to have the Watch bust down the doors.”

Bobble raised his voice and grinned, gaps in his teeth, around the bar.

“Don’t anyone sweat. Watch Captain Zevara’d never hug me if she was coming in for someone. She and me go way back, back to when she was a Junior Guardswoman. She knows better than to come into the Steer without four full squads of backup if there was trouble.”

Zevara snorted softly.

“If there was trouble, I’d get a Wand of Fireballs and blast this place down from the outside. I’d be reducing deaths in the city and making it cleaner.”

“Guardswoman Zevara, you wound me.”

Bobble laughed phlegmily and spat onto the ground as if to prove that the Steer had never been cleaner, which was probably true. Zevara took a gulp of the whiskey, wiped her mouth, and put the cup back.

It took a strong stomach to take down drinks here. If the rotgut liquor didn’t put you on your tail, the unhygienic glasses would—but she reckoned she’d drunk enough here to have an immunity if anyone did.

“So what brings you to the Steer, Watch Captain? Something tells me you don’t need information on what’s going on around here, not for the Watch Captain. Or is that shiny fellow from Pallass taking all the info? The Watch’s never appeared sharper, you know. Half my customers complain about it. You’ll be running me out of business next.”

Bobble eyed Zevara as he pretended to polish the bar with a rag that was probably making it dirtier. Zevara snorted.

“The Watch doesn’t come here, Bobble. Unless it’s to break up a fight. Venim’s no idiot. He’s not going to crack down on the Steer—not unless he wants more injured [Guards] and all the trouble you get in here across other bars in the city.”

“Well, just so long as you tell him that. These newcomers, they don’t know our city, Watch Captain. Even that Sergeant Relc is too keen to change things up. No respect for the old stuff.”

The [Barman] gave Zevara a grin, and she thought she smelled something on his breath, now. Probably Golucky or something that’d keep him from feeling his scars and in a good mood. He traded in drugs and took a cut of the gambling here—Liscor didn’t restrict gambling to designated locations, but gambling for gold was supposed to be only a single table in a tavern. She bet there were high-stakes games in some back rooms—high stakes games with high consequences for cheaters.

But Bobble was no kingpin of crime. Even the name—Drakes had stupid names, but ‘Bobble’ was a hard sell for a gang leader, even for them. She smiled at him, genuine.

“Relc’s keen to protect kids and keep the city safe from real monsters, Bobble. So long as you don’t have someone who’s dragging their tail through the sewers in your fine establishment, he’ll never come calling. You know that. What, are you that worried of Venim? Pallass has plenty of crime.”

Bobble shrugged, clearly reassured as he poured a drink for himself. All the patrons were undoubtedly listening in to their chat. He tossed his cloth sideways at a Gnoll, who jumped and probably caught a venereal disease.

“People talk. Hey, stop leaning in! Can’t I catch up with an old—friend? D’you recognize Maxius here, Zevara? Or any of the old faces?”

She waved a claw.

“Most probably changed since I was a Senior Guardswoman. Maxius…knives, right?”

The Gnoll pulled the cloth off his nose and tried not to gag.

“Bobble, that thing could kill a skunk. Knives, Watch Captain? I may have sold one or two over the years. I remember you—”

She grinned at him as he did the innocent game with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Yes, yes. You used to sell knives before a big fight in the Steer. It got so bad that every time you opened your coat, anyone with sense went for the nearest window.”

“Watch Captain, I’m entirely respectable these days. Now, I have a little storefront down Cherishing Way.”

Where you could get a few tweaks for your knife, she had no doubt, from a serrated edge to a bit of poison or file off identifying initials or tracking spells off a stolen blade. She tipped her cup to him and took another gulp.

“Life’s treated you well, then?”

“Not as well as you, Watch Captain. We were all very proud, you know, when you made Watch Captain. Bobble served out free drinks. We all said you’d be coming with the Watch any moment to bust this place down.”

Maxius grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes. Zevara sat with her back to the bar, inspecting the room.

“I’m just here to reminisce. You can stop [Pumping for Information], Maxius.”

His smile slipped.

“Just a curious Gnoll, Watch Captain. One might think you were after someone here.”

“Soot’s dead. Who else should I be going after?”

Maxius and Bobble traded gazes, and Zevara’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“—Unless there’s a bigger player back in Liscor?”

“There’s some…Brothers. Rather interesting fellows. You know about them, Watch Captain?”

She thought of Normen, blazing with fire, and raised her brows. Or Wilovan and Ratici—

“Invrisil’s gang. What about them? I know they’re in Liscor. I thought they just had a few streets.”

“More’n a few, Watch Captain. They’re getting big fast. Very strident fellows they are, too. All smiles until you do the wrong thing on their turf. Mostly, they just talk, but if you cross their lines—they’re rather direct.”

From the way Bobble licked his lips, he didn’t like what he’d seen. Few things made the Drake nervous, so Zevara blinked.

“I had no idea they scared the gangs around here so bad. What happened to the old tough attitudes? You cross me and we’ll feed you to the fishes in the spring, the Shield Spiders anytime else?”

She meant it as a light jest, but Bobble spat again.

“Easy for you to say, Guardsw—Captain. You’ve never seen them take their hellcursed hats off. Between them and the Antinium, it’s hard to make a living.”

She gave him a sardonic look.

“I sincerely doubt the Watch would make things impossible to live around here, even if we were four times larger, Bobble. Don’t cry healing potions to me.”

“I’m just saying, Watch Captain, if there were anyone you wanted to watch—things are quieter without Soot. But there’s always another Soot, if you catch my drift.”

“Not the same as him, though. Seeing you back here reminds me of the old schemer. I almost thought you were going to ask where he was and have Relc, Klbkch, Jeiss, and Beilmark kick down the doors like the old days. Five of you versus the entire pub.”

Maxius murmured, and Zevara raised her glass. They chinked them. She took down the rest of her drink.

“Those days sucked Creler eggs, Maxius. You cry about the Brothers, but they keep their noses cleaner than you two. Sadly. I’ll check on them, maybe. But I was really just visiting old haunts.”

The [Barman] chuckled.

“Most of the new blood’s scared to look you in the eye. Once word gets around you came back here, I expect all the old names will come circling if you wanted to come back.”

“And get stabbed through the earhole? No thanks, Bobble. Your drink’s just as foul as I remember. Try not to poison anyone tonight, alright?”

Zevara strode to the doors, and Bobble called after her, laughing.

“As you say, Guardswoman! And that, you young hatchlings, is the Watch Captain. The real Watch Captain, who used to be as tall as my knee. Then a Guardswoman who survived Soot and all the old bastards. Slept with one eye open—you ever think about tiptoeing up on her, or Beilmark, and you remember that. And that half the regulars’ll slit your throat for thinking it. We need someone who knows the score. Not too crooked, but not so straight she falls and cuts herself.”

Zevara rolled her eyes at that as she sauntered out of the bar, not too fast. Walking the walk—she wished it didn’t make her happy to hear Bobble’s rare compliments about her, even if it was all fake Dragonbreath.

Not too crooked, not too straight. They liked that she respected the Steer and kept her people from going into places where they’d get hurt. But perhaps…that was a sign she was still a mucky Guardswoman, and they needed Venim, who came from a Walled City where things were done right.

The Watch didn’t teach new Guards to let people off with warnings. They had strict rules about bribery, drinking on duty, and accepting gifts. All the hallmarks of the looser policing that Zevara had hated and tried to stamp out were gone in the next generation. But that meant, in time, she too became the fossil…

 

——

 

The patrol gave her wide-eyed gazes when they left The Corused Steer. Zevara didn’t say much for a block or two. Then she sighed.

“Bobble’s killed a lot of people with that cleaver in hand. Don’t mistake him or the Gnoll, Maxius—they’re old, and both are over Level 30. They can kill as easy as blinking, but I doubt you’ll ever see them except as innocent bystanders. They know better. As for the Steer, don’t go in and start trouble. If you get called for a brawl or a murder, get in, get out, and only sniff around if you have a lot of backup.”

“I smelled some illicit substances in there, Watch Captain…”

Jerci began nervously, and Zevara nodded.

“So did I. Unless we had Relc and a full squad armed up, I wouldn’t go after someone unless they were snorting Selphid’s Dust in my face. Half will be out the windows before you sneeze. They’re fast with blades and other nasty tricks in there. You need a bar like the Steer around.”

“May I ask for clarity as to why, Watch Captain? If this objectionable bar were burnt, as you previously iterated, would it not cut down on criminal acts and thus raise safety for the city?”

She grinned ruefully at the question. Then realized it was Bootstrap who’d spoken for the first time. The other [Guards], except for Trolle, nodded in agreement, and she replied.

“That’s not bad logic, Guardsman Bootstrap. But it doesn’t work that way. In practice, it would only mean all the criminals find another bar to go to. They’d spread out their mischief, not contain it in one place. The Watch can never be everywhere. Having places where the gangs can make mischief for each other and clean it up…is a necessity. Even in Pallass.”

She hoped they weren’t taking the wrong lessons from this. Zevara quickened her pace, guiding them back to the main streets, regretting her decision already. If it had gone bad, she’d have put them in a dangerous spot. But they had to know about dangerous things too. If the Watch clanked about all professional like, then they wouldn’t be sharp when they had to cross blades in a dark alley…

They were heading down the main street that ran down the entire city from north gate to south when a bunch of spotlights focused on them. Zevara shielded her eyes and thought, for a second, it was a passing wagon with too many lanterns. Then she heard a shout.

“Halt! In the name of the Watch!”

“Huh?”

Then she heard the jangle and stomp of boots in water—six [Guards] were coming at her fast. Her squad halted, and she held up a hand.

“What’re you—”

“They don’t have their lanterns! They’re fakes! Get them!”

Before she knew it, a second group of [Guards] was rushing them, batons drawn, blowing their whistle. Zevara’s mouth opened as she saw a Gnoll running at her, truncheon in hand.

“We’re on patrol—drop that!”

Whistles blew, and Jerci was shouting too, but what Zevara saw was the truncheon swinging for her head. She reacted instantly. She drew her sword and inhaled.

Her lungs, always itchy, seemed to smolder, and she concentrated, forming a murky ball of smoke and flames in her mind’s eye. Then she spat it out her lungs.

It burned as it came out, a roiling cloud of sparks and smoke. It made the Gnoll waving the truncheon yelp and stumble backwards, flailing at the air.

“Dragonbreath! Dragonbreath—”

She strode forwards, kicked the [Guard] in the knee, and hopped out of the way of a two-handed swing. Zevara clacked her teeth together, spraying sparks—a trick that made the Gnoll flinch. When he brought up his truncheon, shielding his face, she hooked a leg and knocked his weapon away. Down he went, the wooden club clattering on the ground.

“They got Jorrey! Form up! Form—”

She parried a club’s swing, fast, and threw an elbow into a helmeted face. That hurt because she caught the edge of a faceguard and cut her scales. But whomever she’d hit stumbled back. Cursing, Zevara feinted to her left, keeping two more figures away from her with jabs—the fallen Gnoll tried to grab her leg. He got a boot in the face and then a second kick to the stomach.

With her off-hand, Zevara was reaching for a baton of her own. She had just drawn it and thrown it so it spun and thwocked into the forehead of a Drake, who dropped, when Jerci finally got one of their lanterns working.

“Stop, you idiots! It’s us and the Watch Captain!”

She shone a light over Zevara, who stood above the downed Gnoll, another [Junior Guardsman] lying on the floor, clutching at his helmet, and the third who was holding their jaw. Zevara froze, no longer fighting on instinct, and she saw a second and third Watch patrol running their way, answering the alarm whistles.

In fact, even the gate-guards shone down a [Light] spell on her as she closed her eyes. The little result of her patrol was three [Guards] down for the night, one with a mild concussion, and one very embarrassed Watch Captain.

 

——

 

“Injury of fellow members of the Watch. Drinking on duty, failure to use lanterns on patrol, deviation from patrol route, failure to apprehend criminal elements on patrol—at least seventeen cases of narcotics, high-stakes gambling without regulation, and…illicit knife-selling?”

At this last line, Watch Commander Venim peered up from the report with a confused expression, and Zevara, who’d been staring at a framed Magical Picture of his daughter, drew her eyes back down and spoke.

“I think that might have been a miscommunication with my patrol, Watch Commander. It was a Gnoll I encountered at the Steer—the bar we visited. He sells knives, some of which are probably banned, but I know he performs a number of illicit services. I’m told he has a shop these days. I knew him back when I was a regular guard.”

“I see. The report states that Junior Guardsman Jorrey saw a group wearing the Watch’s insignia and took you for imposters. There was a heist of the Jeweler Guild’s storefronts where the perpetrators escaped with fake uniforms at night. He rushed you—whereupon the incident occured.”

Venim was trying not to smile. Zevara was red under her scales as she held herself at full attention. She hadn’t had to report to a superior for nearly a decade, and she didn’t really enjoy the feeling, but someone had to be held accountable for last night, and that was her.

“That’s more or less correct, Watch Captain. He rushed me too fast to hear me shouting, and I reacted on reflex.”

“I see. Tell me, Zevara…why didn’t you make the report yourself?”

Venim was in his late thirties and still fit and capable, but more of a desk-Drake than an active [Guard]. He’d been one of Pallass’ Watch Captains assigned to each floor, but the opportunity to work in Liscor as a Watch Commander had drawn him to the city. It suited him; he had a comfortability with managing huge numbers of people, and he was good with people.

For instance, he used Zevara’s name in private, which she could never do, even with Beilmark while they were at work. Beilmark, who’d known her since Zevara was a rookie—heck, Beilmark had been a regular guardswoman at the time and taught Zevara tricks. Zevara tried to relax a bit.

“I, uh, thought it best the patrols write up the events as practice, Commander Venim. Someone should be held accountable. Even the Watch Captain.”

He nodded.

“Your entire record is consistent with that, Zevara. No one’s above the law—it’s an interpretation of our class that not even Pallass’ Watch always takes.”

He grimaced at that, then looked the report over and snorted.

“—But really. Am I going to charge you to the full extent of the law, without nuance?”

Her lips quirked.

“I should hope not, sir. It’d probably end up with three years in prison if you interpreted it as strictly as could be.”

Venim shoved the reports to one side. Then he leaned back in his chair, which she envied; it had one of those fancy reclinable bases, not like the hard chairs you had to rock back on one leg to make it happen.

Pallass furniture. Some [Engineer] had made them, and they were snazzy but too expensive for her to ever justify getting. Technically, she could have gotten one on the Watch’s budget, but for what? It was just one of the things that Venim got with his new role. He tried not to laugh again, then snrked into one claw.

“Forgive me. But it’s very funny. Half of the Watch who knows you is talking about the Watch Captain destroying some junior [Guards] for not doing their jobs right. You are a legend amongst the new recruits.”

“What’s the other half think?”

He chuckled.

“The other half are reminiscing about the ‘good old days’ when they walked dark and swapping stories about the Slayer and Sergeant Relc, among others. Tell me, did you really do that before? I’d heard of the practice in other cities, but I never dreamed of doing it myself.”

There was the difference between him and her. Zevara shifted; she was from a smaller city, and he was from Pallass. She nodded to the desk.

“Oh, yes, sir. It wasn’t a fast patrol, and we had to move slowly to avoid being ambushed, but we didn’t have more than a single lantern per patrol. It was…different times.”

“Ancestors. What a nightmare. Well, I’m sure it shook up the rookies, and your visit to the…Steer must have been interesting. A dive?”

“Hellhole bar.”

“Dead gods, and you walked in there alone? With rookies and a single regular [Guard] to watch your back?”

Venim’s brows shot up in genuine alarm. Zevara coughed.

“I knew the bartender, sir. He knows that if anything happened to us in there, Senior Guardsman—sorry, Sergeant Relc would come after him, personally. It was relatively safe.”

At this, Venim just sat back and gestured for her to sit. When she did, he leaned over the desk.

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir’, Zevara. I may be Watch Commander, but I respect your role as the prior sole Watch Captain of Liscor. You’ve had to show me around the city for months—and I’m hardly going to take you to task for doing the job, even if it led to a few rookies getting knocked around.”

He chuckled again.

“It’s good for them to realize the Watch Captains can hold their own. We go to the training courts to prove an example in Pallass, too, every other month. Rushing in like that would have gotten Junior Guardsman Jorrey hurt, so it’s just as well he ran into you instead of the Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings.”

“Those were the ones who impersonated the Watch and stole the jewels? Is there a lead on them?”

Zevara straightened, but Venim waved it away.

“Only suspicions. They’re annoyingly good at covering their tracks, as a major gang of the north would be. Watch Captain Ronss’ first task is going to be investigating the incident.”

Right, so it’s out of my territory now. Zevara leaned back.

“Of course, sir. Though the Brothers probably operate in the southwestern or northeast districts, if I had to guess. Too many Gnolls in southeast—if I can coordinate with Ronss—”

“We’ll see how he operates, but it’s a good test for his leadership, Zevara. Let’s go over the incident first, if I may.”

She sat up slightly and took a breath, nodding. Venim tapped the papers and scrawled something at the bottom, then stamped it.

“I…have formally reprimanded you for the incidents I consider unbecoming to a Watch Captain, namely, placing yourself in danger and the practicing of old Liscorian Watch methods in front of junior guards without proper education. With that, I am disciplining you with another week of leave this month and calling for Sergeant Relc to take on administrative shifts in your Watch House for the foreseeable future.”

He glanced up, and Zevara blinked at him. At first, she thought this was some devilish punishment he’d given her until she saw his slight smile and realized he didn’t conflate ‘Relc’ and ‘administration’ with instant disaster.

“What? Relc? Another week off? With respect, Venim, I’ve taken too many of those as it is!”

He stared at her, then picked out a paper from a file that had her name on it.

“Watch Captain, you took off two weeks last year.”

“Exactly, sir.”

“That would make it six weeks of leave you’ve taken across ten years, including time for two broken bones.”

“—That can’t be right. I’ve taken off plenty of time.”

Venim checked the circled numbers at the bottom of his page.

“You mean, days off work? No, you’ve clocked in a third of the days you should have been resting. I had a [Scribe] tabulate it all. True, some of those days were when Liscor was in crisis or under siege, but you have a work record that would earn you a year of break in Pallass. And I know I saw you in the Watch House on at least one of your days off.”

She shifted, uncomfortable.

“I was passing by, and one of the [Guards] had an incident with some Humans who came to the city, and it needed a deft touch—”

“Quite. The Council would approve any number of days off for you if I had to ask them, which I don’t, Zevara. Do you know what I see when I read this report?”

Venim tapped the papers, and she stared at him.

“That I’ve lost touch with the patrols and I need to get back to the basics?”

“No, that you’re so overworked that you don’t know what to do with your spare time, Watch Captain! It’s fine to take a patrol out or to focus on a problematic [Guard] or area of the city—but you took an Antinium patrol out and did a full circuit of eighty-two streets? In six hours?”

“They were…eager, Commander.”

Her feet still hurt from that. Venim gave Zevara a sharp, concerned gaze.

“You’re overworked, Captain Zevara. I think you just don’t feel it yet. I expected you to sleep your entire break, but I think you’re pushing too much. Sergeant Relc will take over a lot of the paperwork for you.”

“He’ll hate that. He’s not a great desk-Drake, Commander.”

The female Drake protested mildly, but Venim just held up a claw.

“He’s nearing his forties, isn’t he? Even a high-level [Warrior] slows down, and he is a [Watch Sergeant]. Leadership’s become him of late. He’s no longer partnered with the Slayer…”

Venim said that name with the faintest of shudders, and Zevara wished he’d gotten to know the Klbkch she had, not the fell legend Drakes in other cities thought of him—

“…and he teaches junior [Guards] amazingly well. Finding out if he can handle the administrative aspect of a position is vital. If he can, there’s a clear track from Sergeant to Watch Captain, in time. Not that I think we’ll have more than three Watch Captains on active duty—but replacements so you three can rotate out would bring us up to six or seven for the city even if we don’t expand further.”

Six or seven Watch Captains for Liscor? It made her head spin. Zevara tried not to laugh, and Venim raised his brows.

“Something funny, Zevara?”

She schooled her face hurriedly.

“Sorry, Commander. It’s just that Watch Captain and Relc in the same sentence would have been a joke last year.”

Venim shook his head.

“I don’t know the Gecko of Liscor from any moments prior to becoming Watch Commander, but I’ve heard the rumors, and I can see why that would be assumed. He’s done quite well in his new class.”

“Of course, I didn’t mean to impugn him in any way.”

Now, she felt like the ass, but Venim just gave her a nod that said he got it.

“I’ll keep an eye on him, and I’m sure you will. Let him take the work on, and we’ll see. Besides…it was recommended to me that he’d be surprisingly good as a leader.”

“By who, sir?”

“Lord Raithland.”

Zevara blinked, then nearly shot out of her chair.

“You spoke to—is he still trying to get into the Council meetings?”

The half-Giant who looked like an older version of Moore had appeared just after the Goblin King did, entering Liscor like a storm. Well, he’d blocked a dozen bombardment spells that had nearly hit the city, which had already made him something of a hero, but he’d also bouldered his way into an embassy—by force. Zevara had taken his side then, but he was highly suspicious to her. He stank of The Wandering Inn, but Venim just shrugged.

“He’s quite knowledgeable, and the Council’s heard him out. He’s been talking to Guildmasters, to the election candidates—I think he’s even trying to get on the ballots last-minute.”

“He’s not even a citizen of Liscor!”

“He could be named an honorary one, and he’s bought a property in the 3rd District. Don’t worry, Watch Captain. I hardly take orders from a foreign [Lord], but he had a number of ideas of how to modernize the city. He’s been to proper cities, like Pallass.”

Proper cities. That bugged her so much she forgot to press about the half-Giant. Zevara fidgeted, folded her arms, then uncrossed them.

“So you’re taking my work away?”

Venim corrected her.

“I’m giving you time to adjust to a proper workload, Zevara. By all means, take the day off if you run out of work to do and you have Sergeant Relc or another Senior Guard you trust in office. Once you adjust, I’m sure you’ll find you’re busy with all the things you couldn’t focus on while you were managing the entire city. Maintenance of uniforms, repairs to the Watch House, problematic areas in your district—then we’ll be here, arguing over budgets and trying to get the Assembly of Crafts—I mean, the Council to give us repair budgets.”

He smiled at her, anticipating those future encounters with a slight wince. Zevara just sat there, trying to imagine herself doing that.

“What about The Wandering Inn?”

That made Venim’s smile slip slightly, which she wished didn’t give her so much pleasure. He fussed with his papers.

“It seems relatively…stable at the moment. Distance has indeed kept it from affecting Liscor—the last event excluded, but no one was hurt or killed, and I suppose that’s what we can hope for. The Council has focused on it, and I’m in contact with the Walled Cities about the matter. But we’re letting it stay as its own problem unless it affects us, Watch Captain. The most I heard we were going to do with it was tax it. Isn’t that what you recommended?”

Oh, that sounded like a fun event for whatever [Tax Collector] was on the job. Zevara hesitated. She had told Venim that the inn was hard to control and often bit you if you poked it, but…there was a difference between leaving it alone and staying in touch with it.

He was the Watch Commander, though. And she realized that was it. He was the Watch Commander. She was Watch Captain Zevara, and if she wanted to call the shots, she really should have taken his job.

“Watch Commander, you have a meeting with the Council in fifteen. Should I signal you’ll be delayed?”

The door opened, and a receptionist, a young Gnoll, asked. Venim shook his head and glanced at Zevara.

“I should be right on time unless there was anything else, Watch Captain…?”

“No, Commander. Thank you for your time. I’ll try to relax, then.”

She stood and threw a salute, which he returned. No, Zevara didn’t want to be him; she’d seen a list of his meetings for the day, and he was more meeting than desk-Drake. But he did call the shots. She didn’t want all of Liscor to be her problem, though. She wanted to be the Watch Captain doing things. But now she was one of three, possibly seven.

She…Zevara walked out of Venim’s office as he advised her to get some rest and of course contact him with any issues. He was doing a good job, she thought. Not the job she would have done, but good.

And she…

She trailed out of the new Watch Headquarters, recently built by Antinium out of stone, not old wood polished with age, fortified like a keep, filled with as many administrative people as [Guards]. She stared at the building and then around at the city which, in the faint light of the rains, still bustled with sound and opportunity.

Her city.

Not her city. She felt old in it, out of place. Had Tekshia ever felt the same? Surely. Surely…but Zevara could adjust. She was young and still hip with the things. Is that what the children said? She swore she’d heard Erin saying that once.

What worried her was that perhaps she was delusional. Because despite the cleansing rain, the magical portal station being built in the plaza, the new faces—

It still felt dirty to her, down under it all.

Dirty. She ran her claws along the wall of the Watch Headquarters. Trying to pick some up on her nails. But all she got was clean water.

 

 

How we doing so far

11k fuck

That’s a big arc

Which captain z’s might be 2-3 chapter

It’s a lot of setup. The opposite of all gas no breaks

 

I’m gonna get an iced cream and think on how much more I want to do. This is probably enough for the min chapter

 

 

 

 

 

Cast:

Jerci

Nens, Eissa, Trolle

Bootstrap

Thorton

 

Post-Chapter Notes: 

The first mini-chapter wasn’t good. This is the real Zevara noir chapter that’s lost so many polls, the one I want to do, the one that’s…more slice of life and optimistic. It is probably a lot too much of exposition. My condition was getting worse. I might be feeling better than I was initially with the cold but it’s drained my willpower and resources, if that makes sense. Cold receding, but so is my health.

The last mini-chapter’s the weirdest. No, I didn’t plan that character. The rest of it, yes.

 

 

Mini-Chapter #11 — Klbkch

Now it is quiet

I am tired and sick

But it was a coffee day

You are lucky there’s no new Everdark Sovereign for me to beat in Nightreign

That I don’t have any new game I’m super passionate about

That Warhammer 3 has no new DLC, and Grounded 2 isn’t out

For I am bored

And sick

And coughy. For the last little bit, what should I write? So many mini-chapters. What should I write? A real chapter’s prep? Something fun? Something insane?

 

Tiny bit of work or lots of it?

Thinking

 

It was a refrain from the moment her feet touched the ground, and it was all wrong. That non-stop chorus of voices from the best part of the Triple Platinum song of the year. The haunting litany of male and female voices that was such an earworm it didn’t leave your head.

Toxic antifreeze for the mind that drew everyone back to it. Like someone touching a hot burner on the stove again and again because they forgot how much it hurt. Drawn back like moths to the flame because no one could let it go.

Of course—she’d thought it wouldn’t be her. It didn’t happen to famous people. Or even semi-famous, or so everyone sort of thought. A politician’s daughter or an athlete from South Africa.

Not someone who spent almost all their time on camera. Not online royalty, a streamer who’d broken into formal acting work. No one like that got…spirited away.

She was the right age, though. Twenty-five was in the range—everyone thought the mid-thirties was the latest it could be, and you weren’t safe as young as thirteen. She’d told jokes about it with her friends, and of course…of course each time it happened, she would cover it on-stream, reacting to videos of an entire airport vanishing. Or once, dozens of people in a concert.

Big gatherings like that—less common. Still happened, but there were curfews these days in some states, and martial law in others. Martial law for years. Probably an excuse for the government to lock people down, but what did she know? She didn’t do politics or the news—just the stuff everyone knew.

Of course, she had an app on her phone that was supposed to warn you if you lost connection to wireless and roaming data. It was supposed to be a warning about being spirited away—and a way for you to be tracked if you vanished.

It only started buzzing six minutes after her feet landed on the ground and she stumbled. Six minutes—all the time in the world to realize that she should have kept a ‘vanishing bag’ on her at all times. Should have moved back home with her parents, even though she’d thought they were freaking out about nothing.

Should have never done a hop on stream in front of 400,000+ viewers to prove she could touch the net of a basketball hoop. Then, perhaps—

She wouldn’t have landed on a bunch of blue bricks in a city where everyone around her looked like a walking lizard-person, spines and all, and they turned to stare at her in a mini-shorts and a flashy branded clothing for her stream from her sponsor, at the mic pack she tore off of her, and her phone, which she desperately tried to call someone, anyone with.

Then the song was playing in her head.

 

Spirited gen, spirited away. Emily Franson, Erin Solstice, Luan Khumalo, damn, they got Antal Fekete too. Meeting Elvis or aliens or the Wizard of Oz—god, take me if it’s good. 

God damn it, why couldn’t they take some old bastard instead of the kids? Spirited away, spirited away, add you to the list when you’re spirited away~

 

It was such a banger song too. It really fit the feeling the world was burning down at times, and no one was doing anything other than pouring gasoline on the fire. But now it was playing, and she was right here.

Remira, her stream name was Remira, stood in the Drake city, head swiveling, trying not to scream into the phone that wouldn’t let her call her agent or manager or camera team—who’d been right in front of her—she flinched away from passing Drakes and a tall, furry woman who was panting and clutching at her side. They stared at her as well.

Oh, god, this is it. I’m going to die, and I didn’t even buy a gun. All she had was a stun-gun and pepper spray—in her backpack, which she wasn’t wearing. No money, not while she was mobile; her team had everything she needed.

“Uh, excuse me, Miss. One side, please.”

Remira screamed. The lizard-man carrying two huge bags on each shoulder almost dropped them as he lurched back—and an entire line of tired, sweaty lizard-people caught him.

“Hey!”

“Ancestors, watch it!”

“Move aside, Human! We’re on the job!”

They muscled past her, and she cringed aside, staring at the group carrying an incredible amount of weight on them. A few spat, and one gave her a disgusted glance.

“More damn Humans going to the New Lands.”

“Isn’t that outfit cold?”

Her belly-button was showing. She covered it with her arms, now feeling exposed and in danger. The panting furry woman was casting around.

“Where is he? Where…this is crazy. This is all crazy.”

She was muttering to herself—in English! They spoke English here? Remira turned to the woman.

“Am I dreaming?”

The furry woman had on clothing that seemed more provocative than Remira’s and had more fur showing—she gave Remira a confused eye and didn’t respond, just kept scanning the crowds. There were so many people.

She’d been in New York, but this—this wasn’t as dense, but they were almost all scale people! There were a few other fur-people, but—Remira backed against a wall. She had to do something. What? Then she flinched.

“Who’s there? W—what’s going on?”

Everyone turned to gaze at her, including the panting Gnoll [Prostitute]. No one was speaking to Remira, but she clutched at her dyed hair—which didn’t make her that unusual in this world.

Speaking to the air and screaming did. Everyone edged back. But Remira kept gasping wildly. There was something whispering to her. A voice.

It said:

 

<Calculating classes and assigning experience…>

 

It was an emotionless voice that she couldn’t describe. God? She closed her eyes as it spoke.

 

<Experience calculated. Assigning classes.>

 

[Famed Performer Level 18!]

[Gamer Class Created!]

[Gamer Level 7!]

 

<Assigning Skills…>

 

She began screaming, then, until someone shouted.

“Hey, there’s a crazy Human over here! I think she’s insane or something—Watch! Watch!”

One of the scaly folk was shouting and pointing at her. Then Remira was backing away.

“No, no, don’t—”

She had to run! Escape! She turned, searching for somewhere to hide, but this was a city of…what? The furry woman seized her arm, and Remira almost hit her.

“You don’t want to be arrested by the Watch in this city, Miss. They’ll throw you in prison without even asking questions if you’re not a Drake and you don’t have at least a Grade 2 Passport.”

“A what? Let go—let go of me!”

Remira flailed at the woman, who wasn’t a Drake…what was she? The Gnoll growled.

“I’m just warning you to—”

“Aaaaah! [Pepper Spray]!”

Remira shouted the first thing that came into her head. A familiar little bottle appeared in her hand, and she sprayed it at the Gnoll woman, whose reaction was instantaneous. She dodged the spray, then covered her nose and doubled over.

“Argh! What did you do?”

The entire street felt the stinging spray in the air instantly too—their eyes watered, and Remira coughed. They turned to her, and the shouting grew louder.

“Skill! She’s using a Skill—”

“Watch! Someone get the Watch!”

Now she was in for it. The Gnoll woman backed away, covering her nose, and the bottle that had appeared in Remira’s hand had vanished. Was that the Skill—?

Panicking, terrified, in a fantasy world. Just like the meme where you chose where you’d end up if you were spirited away like all the others. Actually, she’d landed on ‘sucked into Cthulhu’s mouth’.

Remira was in flight mode. She was stumbling away, heart pounding, and that song was in her mind. Then she did hear shouting. A clamor of voices—and a whistle blowing again and again. Dozens of them, growing louder.

It seemed like an army was coming her way, including more Drakes on horseback. Remira half-turned her head, hoping to see that familiar camera pointing at her with the ring light.

“Chat…are you seeing this?”

She smiled at the Gnoll woman, who gave her a look as if she was crazy. Remira was about to cry. Then—she heard screams and shouts. The flow of people heading down the street halted, and someone screamed.

“Help! Help! It’s a monster! It’s—”

“Antinium! Antinium!”

It was like a magic spell. Everyone forgot her and froze up. Then began moving back—and then there was a figure bounding over the heads of the lizard-people and furry folk, who began running, screaming. More whistles, riders after him—Remira stopped crying. Her mouth opened, and she stared up.

For all her terror, for all she’d appeared in another world with nothing to her name—and despite how terrifying the black, armored figure appeared, there was something graceful about the way the figure bounded over the heads of a dozen of the Drake [Laborers] and leapt up the wall of one of the buildings.

It took him three steps—and then he was jumping, back arching like a professional pole-vaulter, an insect shaped like a man. He soared over her head like a superhero, evading several arrows and a net that flashed under his legs. Someone breathed a single word.

“Antinium. No—the Slayer.”

“Klbkch.”

The Gnoll woman said. Remira stared up as the insect-man leapt higher and drew a pair of beautiful swords. He swung them in arcs around his body, and broken arrows clattered down around him. Then he flicked the sword in his right hand to the left, and a net fell as well, weights rolling into a gutter.

Then—well, everyone forgot about Remira. Because in this moment, she wasn’t the most famous, important person in the story.

It was him.

The Slayer of the Antinium.

Klbkchhezeim.

 

Earthers

Its’ a crazy opening I’m not sure of

But I did it

Still sick

Let me know how it is

Tiny bit more work until I gas out. Not long now

 

——

 

He had missed this.

Jumping. Relc had always laughed at him when Klbkch complained about his body, once they’d gotten to know each other and he’d admitted his weaknesses. The Gecko of Liscor, for all his abilities, hadn’t gotten it.

Relc could vault on his spear and get onto a rooftop about half the time—the other half, he hit the edge and fell on his back, which was highly amusing. But that was the act of a [Spearmaster] and Relc’s own personal and incredible strength.

It wasn’t the same as being able to run up to a vertical wall and just…go up it.

Any wall in the world, Relc. A hundred feet tall. Pallass’ walls. I could jump up it in my old body.

Then Relc had called him a ‘lying bug’, and Klbkch hadn’t ever explained how you actually did it. If you were light enough, fast enough, strong enough—it was so easy.

You just ran at the wall, found the tiny purchase where you put your foot against it as you were in motion—and for that small fraction of time, you had a foot hold. Then you just pushed yourself up while you had momentum, doing it again and again.

All it took was practice, angling yourself so you were moving towards the wall, not away. Then you could race up a mountain—or in this case, a shop’s three stories and kick off a wall and then the roof’s ledge. He broke a few of the pottery shingles with the force of his kick, which he felt bad about.

More money he’d have to tell the Free Queen to send to—what city was this again? Chomris? Had they been pursuing him and Miss Loisha all this way?

Klbkch arched his back as he flew, slowly rotating until his feet were under him. Then he landed on the roof across the street and drew his blades. Even this felt so much better. So much closer to how it had once been.

Yes, you swung them like this. A bit faster and it’d be [Silverflash Whirlwind]. Oh well, it still blocked the arrows coming at him. He sliced a thrown net in half. A targeting Skill. But unenchanted nets.

Blue bricks, horseback riders, and a penchant for nets. Such an odd city, this Chomris. He supposed the blue clay deposits explained the street, but why nets for their Watch?

Also—did no one listen in the last three cities he’d been to? He shouted, keeping his voice loud and controlled.

“I am Senior Guardsman Klbkch of Liscor! I have kept Miss Loisha under protective custody due to abusive practices in her place of work! You are interfering with an off-duty [Guardsman] enforcing the law!”

He didn’t quite say ‘off-duty’ at the same volume. He felt like it would ruin his case, and the Drakes were not listening anyways.

“Get the Antinium! Don’t let him get away!”

Klbkch scanned the ground. There was Loisha. The Gnoll [Prostitute] was hiding in the crowd as they’d agreed to do if he failed to smuggle her into the city. All she wanted was to find a safe place to work without being chased by the Watch of two cities and her former employer, a Drake who did not treat the workers at his brothel in accordance with Klbkch’s understanding of the law.

It was a very amusing story in fact, how Klbkch had even ended up in this situation. He couldn’t wait to tell Relc or Erin about it.

A slow-moving arrow—Klbkch leaned around it and clacked his mandibles together. At least dodging arrows was in his purview again. Gone were the days he died to a few dozen Goblins. His new body was getting a workout before he even got to the New Lands.

“I almost got her into the city with a passport. Who knew even underworld criminals balked at Antinium?”

Or that Gnollish [Prostitutes] got so little respect? It was almost like they were as reviled as Antinium. Klbkch held his position on the rooftops, planning his next course of action.

“The north gate!”

He shouted, and as everyone turned, he bounded in the opposite direction. Pretending he was heading further into the city. He trusted Miss Loisha would get the message and run that way. Or perhaps she’d give up on him and flee—but he rather felt like he was her best option as opposed to being a Gnoll with a Grade 1 Temporary Passport in an unfamiliar city.

Which was also a commentary on how these cities treated people. He resolved to have strong words with the local Watch Captain.

If they’d stop shooting at him.

The Antinium was hopping from rooftop to rooftop, causing a lot more damage than he would have in Liscor. Here, the clay tiles scattered and broke underfoot; they weren’t even nailed down! They were just held down by the weight of the ones on top—you could lift up an entire section of tiles, which he supposed was good for modular replacement, but would have been annihilated in Liscor’s rains.

Right now, the arrows and the force of his leaps were destroying a lot of roofs. Which he regretted. He also shouted down at the screaming Drakes and few Gnolls.

“Civilians, take cover! Beware of stray arrows! The Watch is in pursuit…the Watch is performing evasive maneuvers!”

The funny thing was that his voice was normal enough that the civilians took cover, then spotted him and heard the word ‘Antinium’ or his nickname being shouted—and then they screamed and fled him.

“I forgot how much they feared us outside of Liscor.”

Klbkch had reached the end of his line of rooftops and had arrived at a four-sided intersection. Too far to jump the other side of the street, but so what? He leapt down, raced to another wall, and was bounding up it in a second.

This was what he’d missed. Twenty years of living in that shell of a Worker’s body. Twenty years of losing his levels, of being so weak.

Just for fun, Klbkch did a flying jump from the top of the next roof, as high as he could. When they stared up at him, his pursuers, the people of this city, Loisha, and a random Human, they didn’t see any Antinium they would have been used to.

His chitin was a shadowy grey these days, not the plain brown-black. His body was leaner than the round shelled Workers or the bulky Soldiers made in Galuc’s image. He had thin, articulated legs, arms, and a compact torso. However, beetle-like ridging on his arms and legs formed the appearance of naturalistic armor—which was accurate, because he had been given chitin with around 164% more durability than the average Soldier’s shell.

Obviously, he was still quite fragile, but the Silent Queen had prioritized giving him as much mobility and strength as she could in this new body, and for that, he had commended her. Klbkch’s mandibles had a purplish tinge to the edges and were venomous—his eyes were no longer quite black and instead had more of that prismatic hue visible on most insect’s eyes and were, likewise, upgraded.

Most of him was. He was packed with so many rediscovered improvements and attempts at recreating old Antinium abilities that Klbkch had been very relieved his body hadn’t developed any significant defects. The Silent Queen had been forced to reprocess over sixty attempts at his current shell, and she had put the cost of his creation at around eight months of her Hive’s sole output.

It was worth it. He would have to repay her somehow. Klbkch hadn’t even activated a quarter of his body’s new abilities. Different kinds of sight, various excretions, hidden organs—nothing as extensive as Wrymvr, not by far. But enough.

He must have jumped twenty some feet up. Klbkch saw the city stretching down around him, a wide, sprawling place with simple, dirt walls and a moat that protected it—the moat was filled by the river and thirty feet wide to make up for the walls, which didn’t even have ramparts.

Such a strange city.

Klbkch landed on his feet and sheathed his swords. He stared down at the group of Drakes staring up at him. They seemed rather stunned by his acrobatic display. He supposed even a Gold-ranker would have trouble doing that without dedicated Skills.

I used to be even better. You have no idea. The Slayer was calm. No, he was Klbkch the Senior Guard. Diplomacy. The time of the Slayer was long ago—that was just a nickname that the Drakes had picked up from the Antinium.

Once, he had been Klbkch the Slayer, Centenium, the eighth Centenium ever made by the First Queen. The explorer, the one who roamed alone, killed foes, and found new places for the Antinium to grow and expand.

Then he had been Klbkch the Prognugator of the Hives, his body lost, a desperate survivor trying to take Izril, a war-leader fighting with scraps and children.

Lastly, he had been Senior Guardsman Klbkch, quietly unhappy, laboring in the city he had grown to love on a task he had personally despaired of until it had miraculously born fruit. Then…realized he didn’t fit the Antinium he had helped make. That he had become the problem.

Now, he was just Klbkch, an explorer with a mission to investigate the New Lands. An Antinium on an adventure.

…And rather sick of being shot at.

“Watch Captain of Chomris!”

The lead rider flinched as Klbkch shouted down at him. The Antinium pointed a finger.

“I am a Senior Guardsman of Liscor! If you do not respect my authority, then know me as Klbkch, Revalantor of the Free Antinium! This pursuit is pointless! I have killed no one, harmed no one—I seek safe passage for myself and my comrade! I do not wish to harm you or your Watch!”

Zevara would have called off the fighting when she saw he wasn’t attacking anyone. The Watch Captain just shouted back, voice quavering.

“Antinium! You have disrupted the peace of two other cities! You are under arrest! Come quietly or we will be forced to use force!”

Be forced to use force. Ancestors. Klbkch sighed and raised his hands.

“If that is what it requires, I surrender.”

He hopped down from the roof to the great surprise of the Drake on horseback. He was a thin, rakish Drake who had a bunch of throwing nets at his side. They seemed to expand when thrown and he must have been the one tossing them; the other Drakes had a mix of spears and bows.

“You…surrender?”

“If this will end this pointless chase, I do, Watch Captain. Your name, please?”

Klbkch thought about threatening to complain, but he had caused something of a problem, and Zevara had arrested Erin Solstice for similar acts. The Watch Captain glanced at him as a Drake, eyes bulging, mouthed at him.

“Captain, it’s him. The Slayer—”

“I’m not blind. I’m Watch Captain Romass of Chomris. Someone get me some enchanted cuffs.”

Klbkch lifted a finger, and all the Drakes tensed.

“Watch Captain, I would prefer not to be cuffed. I will go with you peacefully, but I do not quite trust that I will be safe in your custody. I give you my word I will not offer violence if it is not offered to me. I am an off-duty Senior Guardsman of Liscor.”

Romass eyed Klbkch, and his knuckles were white on his throwing net. But he was nodding, and Klbkch felt hopeful he could explain this entire affair when a second group of Drakes raced into the intersection and shouted.

“There it is! Kill it!”

They had a mix of wands and crossbows and fired the moment they saw him. One of the crossbows actually shot one of Romass’ Drakes in the butt; the [Guard] screamed, and the rest of them, panicked, drew and shot at Klbkch.

“Hold fire! Hold, you idiots—”

Romass shouted, and Klbkch just sighed. So much for that. He hoped Romass figured out he wasn’t a threat; the two groups of pursuers from the other cities were remarkably stupid. For one thing—the hail of arrows and spells coming his way? They had to see this wasn’t working.

“[Evasive Leap].”

Klbkch somersaulted over the heads of both groups of Drakes, kicked the Drake who’d shouted out of the saddle, and leapt off the horse’s back onto the roofs again. They really didn’t have a counter to that aside from climbing up the roofs thems—

“Slayer!”

A Drake with a sword lunged at Klbkch as he landed, and the Antinium jerked in surprise. He hadn’t expected that! He side-stepped the Drake, and the howl turned into a scream as the Drake went over the three-story drop.

Sighing, Klbkch caught them by the tail. That had to hurt—but the Drake’s momentum was slowed sufficiently so that Klbkch could drop them without them breaking more than perhaps an arm instead of splatting. He turned, and another group of Drakes came at him, sliding over the clay tiles.

“Get—”

Klbkch hopped from that side of the street to the other, landing lightly on the opposite roofs. He turned, spread his arms at the band of Drakes as if to say, ‘what were you thinking?’, and jogged off.

 

——

 

At this point, the Council of Chomris sat back and argued.

“Right, so we have an Antinium in our city, causing havoc, and the Watch can’t stop him. Let’s call Zeres and have them send the Sharkcaptain or an Admiral and the army. No more fighting.”

Zeres was the closest Walled City to them. Another Councilwoman was chewing on her nails.

“The Slayer. Here. Watch Captain Romass can’t stop him. We have to get rid of him.”

“Two other cities have tried. Didn’t you hear him say he wasn’t after a fight?”

“An Antinium! In our city? Do you think we should just stand for it?”

One of the Drakes cast around as if he felt like everyone was mad.

“Stand for…he’s humiliating our Watch.”

“Exactly! We have to deal with him!”

“So you want to die when the Antinium declare the Third Antinium War?”

“Wh—no! Don’t they regenerate when they die? But we can’t let him run amok!”

“Yes, exactly! Let’s send in Leysheif and be done with it! He’s the only one who can deal with this thing!”

“Or we don’t do that—look, what does Zeres say?”

One of the Council checked the urgent missives sent from the City of Waves—and one from the City of War.

“Zeres says—send in Leysheif. Manus says—Manus wants two Named-ranks but it approves as well.”

“See!”

“No, no, bad idea.”

“Oh come on, bad idea? Do you have anything better than a Named-rank adventurer?”

The dissenting Drake was stabbing the table urgently. There were four Drakes in Chomris’ council, and he only had a quarter vote, but he was trying to get a word in edgewise here.

“No, but think about it. Zeres and Manus want Leysheif to fight this Slayer. Our Named-rank.”

“Yes, exactly! He’ll stop him!”

“Or lose. Either way, the Walled Cities get what they want. What do we get if Leysheif gets hurt? Or the Slayer’s hurt or killed?”

Silence. Beating hearts. After a moment, someone grabbed the speaking stone.

“Adventurer’s Guild? This is the Council. The quest is authorized. Get the Slayer out of—”

There was a crash as another Drake dove for the speaking stone and the sounds of fighting. But when the [Receptionist] tried to get clarity on whether that meant—the Named-rank was already leaping up towards the rooftops in the direction of the fighting. Manus and Zeres were already watching.

It wouldn’t have made Chomris’ Council any happier to know that the Serpentine Matriarch was watching with a wine cup and popcorn.

 

——

 

Post-Chapter Notes:

I may figure out the classes and give more nuance to it later. The Grand Design is making moves. Things are in flux and could change. This is the stuff I change before a chapter comes out.

 

NOW I AM TIRED

AND I SHAL LSTOP

ONE MORE MINI CHAPTER

I CAN’T STOP WRITING UNRESOLVED MINI CHAPTERS

SICKNESS

DEATH

I REST

THANKS FOR READING

 

 

 

 

It’s me

It’s late in the morning and I can’t sleep yet.

I’ll be posting these mini-chapters later today…when I wake

But I can’t stop coughing. So I figure the only way to occupy myself is writing. What else can one do? I already beat the flying moth in Elden Ring Nightreign

It must be short. Perhaps a true mini chapter or the start to something else

I think I’d better make it uplifting because nothing else in my life or things around me feel that positivewrite what you want to see

 

 

Mini-Chapter #12 — Something Peaceful

When she opened her eyes, a girl understood. She rather did, just this one little insight. Without being so grandiose as to claim she was older or more mature, certainly not wiser—

Mrsha did think she got how Erin Solstice had felt after coming back from the dead. The head of red hair jerked out of her vision, and Mrsha pretended not to notice her and Nanette’s room door closing. She sat up, yawning, and a mess of brown hair ducked back down onto her pillow.

Nanette Weishart pretended to be asleep still, and Mrsha rubbed her eyes in her bed as the rain fell outside. She stared out the window a while and remembered seeing more souls than raindrops falling in the dark skies outside. Then she slid out of her covers and grabbed a toothbrush from the cup on her dresser.

She swabbed it in a half-empty jar of toothpaste and watched the rains fall as she began to brush.

I’m still buried in the Garden of Sanctuary. She had that intrusive thought like she’d had every single day. It felt like it needed to be acknowledged. Nanette coincidentally just woke up now and greeted her. The Gnoll girl held her mug out the open window and let the water trickling from the eaves pour into the cup. Then she drank, gargled, and spat.

A passing skeleton slowed as it hauled timber to the new foundations of the inn and peered up at her. She waved at it. For a second, she swore the skeleton almost let go of its burdens and waved back. Its arm twitched, and it gazed up at her. Add that to the pile of things to be concerned about, maybe. Mrsha didn’t know.

She was alive. The skies were rainy, but clear of death. There were fewer than ten people she loved on the imminent ‘may soon be dead’ list.

It was, all things considered, a pretty good day by her new standards.

 

——

 

Standards. You had to have them, but it seemed to Mrsha that everyone at The Wandering Inn had figured out how to deal with the impossible, like the dead coming back to life or horrific violence, after so many times of dealing with it.

You didn’t raise the standards—you lowered your own. Until you were grateful you were alive. That was what they’d done wrong with Erin, you see. Everyone had been both coddling her and expecting her to be the old Erin; they’d made her pretty miserable. And they’d all been pretending that worse wouldn’t come next.

Right now, it felt like everyone wasn’t under illusions. The inn still had a force field over the place where the common rooms met the hallway; Mrsha saw undead and [Necromancers] and a few curious guests trooping out of the blue barrier. It rippled like a bubble and let them enter and exit. What few guests there were; even the old regulars didn’t really come here. Not after what they’d seen. She hadn’t seen Menolit in six days, and he was one of the braver ones. Only the insane came here.

Adventurers, Antinium, Goblins, [Necromancers], Brothers—you know. The desperate, the lost, those without places. She thought it so appropriate.

“Breakfast! Hello, my little miracle.”

Lyonette hugged Mrsha and swung her around several times when the Gnoll came downstairs. She kept holding onto Mrsha, and the Gnoll girl held on for a while, long enough to surprise a [Spy] eating breakfast at one table. But neither one cared; when Mrsha was put down, she was shocked, nay, surprised, nay, shooketh to see breakfast.

“You always wanted to have one, didn’t you? Well…here it is! The Archmage’s Well!”

This was an Erin-era recipe on the books that had been served in The Wandering Inn merely 16 times in its entire history. It was still on the full menus, but if you tried to order it, the wait staff would laugh at you, then call for Peggy, Rosencrantz, or Lyonette herself to ensure you really knew what you were getting into before purchasing it.

The list price: 8 silvers, 16 coppers. It had been the highest-priced item before cakes and other luxury goods like chocolates or pizza covered with decorative gemstones beat out the Archmage’s Well.

What was it? Well, the platter required Calescent and Elia to carry it out together. The concept was simple enough: you put pancakes together, the real heavy ones with structural consistency, and made a mountain of them. Then…you hollowed out the center. And you filled it with syrup.

WHIPPED CREAM FOR THE FIELDS OF ICE ON TOP. STRAWBERRIES LIKE TREES. EXTRA POINTS FOR FROSTING, BLUEBERRIES, AND OTHER CONDIMENTS. BUTTER? MAKE IT A RIVER.

The instructions were written by Erin and were in capitals near the end. Lyonette just stared at the Archmage’s Well with the mild horror of someone trying to process why she’d ever allowed it to be served once, let alone 17 times.

“Oh my. I’ve, uh, taken the liberty of inviting everyone to have a piece after we’re done—”

“The Well! The Well!”

Nanette and Mrsha were banging their utensils on the table. Guests and staff crowded around as Lyonette was handed a knife. She hesitated, trying to find a place to cut the monstrosity. When she did, syrup began dripping down the side of the pancakes.

“Enjoy, Mrsha!”

Not a word about Mrsha banging her utensils. Not a moment of hesitation as she gave Mrsha a piece. The girl ate one huge bite, rolled her eyes up in her head, and sat there a second. Then—she began to eat.

 

——

 

Three plates later, Mrsha couldn’t go for more. She wanted to, but one glance at Lyonette’s concerned face and she waved the plate away. Relc reached for a fourth plate.

“I can do it. I’m taking down the Well this time. C’mon, Valeterisa.”

Valeterisa had managed one and a half plates and peered queasily at her helpings. She turned.

“Montressa, apprentice—”

Montressa needn’t have ducked. With all the staff and guests, the Archmage’s Well was a mere foothill and easily devoured once Nanette and Mrsha had had their fill. Mrsha lay, groaning, as Lyonette dabbed syrup off her face. Colfa val Lischelle-Drakle patted her lips as she finished her strawberry-covered morsel.

“Vell, that was a fine breakfast, Lyonette. And how do you feel, Miss Mrsha? Miss Nanette?”

“I think my stomach is going to explode. I might die.”

Nanette was trying to loosen her belt. She had on some blue suspenders—and no, Mrsha didn’t know where she’d gotten them—and a red t-shirt with an image of the Silver Killer on it. Lyonette didn’t comment on the attire. She just patted Mrsha’s stomach as the Gnoll girl held up a card.

Mother. I regret my wish slightly.

“And now you know better than to vant all your heart desires, no?”

Colfa offered Mrsha a pointed smile, and the girl groaned as Lyonette smiled at her friend. It was a lesson in disguise! Mrsha lay there until Lyonette reminded her.

“It’s time for school, Mrsha.”

Ser Dalimont already had Mrsha’s packed lunch ready and an umbrella. He was waiting at the door—Mrsha moaned her way after him. She only turned once to wave at her mother.

Wish me luck, Mother. I must multiply.

That was it. Nothing else grand in her day was planned. Truly. Mrsha staggered into line for the [Door of Portals], and Liska fast-tracked the Liscor group when she saw Ser Dalimont.

“Hey, Mrsha, you doing that school stuff? This Archmage’s Well is great.”

She was eating from her plate, then licking the syrup off as the door’s dial clicked around and people entered and exited, all without having to rise. Mrsha nodded at her, and Liska rolled her eyes.

“I’m glad I didn’t grow up in Liscor now. It sounds like it sucks.”

It’s sort of fun. If you want to learn stuff. Otherwise, it’s boring.

“Want to learn stuff. Hah. Ha. Hahaha—okay, everyone to Liscor, go ahead! It’s free from the inn. Anyone bound for other cities, enter! Remember, the fees are all written on the big signs, so if you can’t pay, get lost!”

Mrsha went to school. And the most exciting thing on her walk there was that she saw a bunch of election candidate posters. It looked like stiff competition in Market Street’s district against Krshia. Two other candidates: a Gnoll, Mister Retofur, who was the new Merchant’s Guild Guildmaster, and Miss Lassna, a Drake who’d emigrated here from the south.

Since she couldn’t vote, Mrsha went to school and found Ekirra bouncing a ball off his head and headbutting it to Kenva, who tried to return it. Visma had a new doll. And Mrsha…sat at her desk with her friends and stared out the window.

Daydreaming.

 

——

 

Only after Mrsha had left did Lyonette turn to Nanette.

“Nanette, your dress today…”

“Isn’t it interesting, Lyonette? I think it’s farmer-modern. And the Silver Killer t-shirt was being sold in Invrisil!”

“It’s dreadfully horrendous, Nanette. Well done.”

“Thank you, Lyonette!”

The two smiled at each other without rancor. As Mrsha had observed, they’d learned some lessons. One of the lessons Lyonette had learned was that she loved Nanette far more than she cared about how she dressed. Ielane had put better dressing by Nanette as a requirement…well, Nanette had her options to choose from and if that didn’t satisfy her mother, she wasn’t essential to Lyonette or the inn.

“My vord. People are wearing that image of Yvlon?”

Colfa eyed the screaming woman with arms like razors, seeming to be running off Nanette’s shirt. The witch pointed at it proudly.

“Lots of people like it! Mostly women. Not even young ones; I saw plenty of older ones buying it too.”

Lyonette snorted as she wiped at her mouth with a napkin.

“Do you plan on going shopping again today, Nanette? I intend to visit the Free Hive, but afterwards, I’d be delighted to go to Invrisil with you. Colfa’s coming with me to the Hive.”

“I shall be delighted to accompany you, if I do not hinder your style, Nanette.”

Colfa winked at the girl, and Nanette nodded after some thought.

“I’d love to visit the Hive. I did want to see what it was like—the only thing I’d like to do later is visit Hedault, if I may? He promised to give me a magic lesson.”

“Of course.”

And that was that. After a few minutes, Lyonette saw someone coming down the stairs. She waved.

“Kevin! You missed the Archmage’s Well.”

He covered his mouth as he came over. Kevin seemed rather hungover and not celebrating his new lease on life at this moment.

“That’s good, Lyonette. I think I’d hurl…I need a second hangover potion from Octavia. One didn’t do it.”

Lyonette eyed him, amused, as Nanette smiled and offered the remnants of her own plate.

“I’ve never heard of Octavia’s potions failing that badly.”

“Well—I was out drinking with Joseph, Rose, and Troy, celebrating me living, y’know? We were hitting stuff hard. Hey, Miss Colfa.”

“Kevin, if I drank your blood, how intoxicated would I be?”

She seemed amused, and Kevin held up a finger.

“Mostly hungover, I bet.”

They laughed at that. Kevin liked talking to a real Vampire, and she enjoyed not having to hide her nature around someone who knew the tropes. Come to that, Kevin was relaxed around them—it was when one of the Calanferians trotted over and bowed that he sat up.

“Your—Miss Lyonette, may we serve your party anything else? Mister Randy, would you care for anything this morning?”

“D’you have any hangover cures and, uh, bacon and coffee, please?”

Kevin waved a hand with a weak smile, and the man bowed and hurried to get it. Lyonette winced. She winced every time someone used his alias.

“Did you have to make your fake name Randy, Kevin?”

He scratched at one cheek, cringing.

“I’m gonna change it, I swear. It was really funny the first twenty times. [Second Life: A New Identity]…should I go with ‘Marty’?”

“No.”

The entire table chorused as one. Kevin sighed.

“I’ll workshop it. At least this way I don’t need a wig and face-paint or something weird like that. Or maybe I’ll just make it only work on spies and Roshal’s dudes.”

“They’ll find out who you are eventually, Kevin. All disguises fail in time.”

Nanette warned him, and the [Mechanic] scratched at his chin. An unfamiliar, steely look entered his eyes, and he took a gulp from a cup of water.

“Yeah. I guess they will. Well, Randy’s good enough for now. Hopefully that’s most of the people who want to celebrate me coming back from the dead.”

“I would assume it’s tiring after a while?”

Lyonette asked, not unkindly, and Kevin shook his head. He shrugged and regarded her, all seriousness.

“No, it’s just hard, Lyonette. It’s like dying twice, in a way. I see how much I mattered, and nothing I say is gonna undo how much it hurt—or keep it from cutting them open twice. Pelt and Hedault were some of the worst…Imani. I’d better do that after breakfast.”

He shook his head and almost made to rise. Then Lyonette did feel for him.

“Would it help if we came with you? We’re free today.”

Colfa and Nanette nodded, but Kevin just waved a hand, smiling in that familiar way. But older.

“No. It’s important for them and me. It’s just not easy. Not even for Troy. That’s…why it’s good to see. It shouldn’t be. Say, how good was the Archmage’s Well?”

“Pure sugar and pancake. Nanette and Mrsha liked it well enough.”

“Yuck. Thought so. That crazy Erin. Committing war and foodcrimes.”

Then Kevin sat back in his chair and stretched, and his sandy hair caught the light as he cracked his bones. Lyonette sat there, staring at another miracle. She savored it, and when she turned to Nanette and Colfa, neither one was in a hurry to rise.

That was the feeling in their bones. Not laziness, but just—a lack of restlessness. Deliberateness.

 

——

 

Lyonette prayed.

I don’t know how long this will last, or if we’ll even have a reprieve between this and the next event. But I hope we do.

She knelt on one knee on hard earth until she heard a voice speaking a benediction. Then, the simple wooden rows of seats creaked as people sat back on it.

Antinium save for three Humans and a Vampire. When Lyonette opened her eyes, the air in the Free Hive’s claustrophobic rooms seemed, for a moment, to shine like a vibrant sky overhead. But that was just the power of the speaker: Pawn.

He had on simple robes of white, and he carried no club, but the censer was the same. When she peered up at him, Lyonette imagined his pupils glowing white and two black pupils moving like pixels on a computer screen. She heard the thunder of hundreds of boots, the prayers of the faithful going to war—but she forced herself to listen to his soft voice and the silent prayers of the Antinium here.

It was different. So was his prayer.

“…and when you rise, know that we are one step closer to Heaven, both here and afterwards. Remember, Mottleshell’s Pet Café is a limited venue, and we must be content to wait and not crowd the animals. If it succeeds financially, we may hope for more, but do not spend all of your allotted income on pet cafés. Also, do be careful not to misplace your possessions; lost or stolen items are on the rise, and we must be vigilant with what we are given. Check market prices before buying from non-Antinium vendors, for being duped is for suckers, and we should not be suckers. Amen.”

It was such a simple way to end his sermon, but it was largely…practical. That was what shocked Lyonette. He motioned to her.

“And now our guests will offer this congregation prayerful, or perhaps simply musical, song. Lyonette, Miss Colfa, and Witch Nanette.”

Everyone turned to her, and Lyonette got up. Pawn was standing with Yellow Splatters and some of his [Acolytes] and [Priests]. She whispered to him as she stood with the other two.

“Fair market prices and pet cafes, Pawn? Is this what you pray for?”

His antennae twitched at her as his mandibles lifted.

“What else should one pray for, Miss Lyonette? Not everyone is fighting for their lives every day. A prayer for great and impossible things and a prayer for mundane needs is a good balance, I find.”

She nodded, then took a breath and smiled at the disconcerting rows of Soldiers, Workers, Painted Antinium, and even guest-Antinium from other Hives.

“Good morning! I’m Lyonette, from The Wandering Inn, and I’m delighted to lead this congregation in song. The three of us will sing, and if you are so inclined, please, join in. We have some copies of the lyrics…”

Antinium were staring at the sheets of paper in their hands, and when Lyonette nudged Colfa, the Vampiress licked her lips nervously. Possibly, she hadn’t thought singing for an Antinium congregation was scarier than just going into the Free Hive. But it was hard to fill the vast chamber with their three voices alone…

“Sing like we’re just practicing together. You help too, Ushar.”

The Thronebearer jumped as Lyonette glanced over her shoulder. Pawn nodded.

“We shall sing too, if we are not too off-key. You should take the first verse to show them how it is done, Lyonette.”

She nodded and closed her eyes. It wasn’t an Earth-song they sung, though there was plenty of religious music, apparently. This was just one that Colfa had taught Lyonette.

 

“I have roamed from every shore…

To Giant’s peaks, from the Kraken’s nests…”

Seeking a place to call my home.

To call my rest…”

 

It was a song that they sang up in Reizmelt called Izril’s Homecoming. A sentimental song about the continent that Lyonette had heard Barelle the Bard once play when he’d visited Calanfer’s courts.

The version Colfa had taught her was different from the one Barelle had played, and Nanette knew six different lyrics. Even the rhythm changed, apparently, but most versions of the song were very pleasing to the ear.

The three women sang slowly at first, and then their crooning voices deepened. Colfa’s was the lowest, and she could project her voice in the chamber, filling it; by contrast, Lyonette might lack for volume, but she had mastered pitch and control thanks to Ielane insisting all [Princesses] learn to sing for anthems. Nanette had the highest voice, which could effortlessly hit notes that Colfa and Lyonette struggled with.

At first, Lyonette feared that no one but Pawn and the priests would join in, and they weren’t…the best singers. Even Yellow Splatters, gifted with an amazing voice, didn’t have any real experience with singing. The congregation before them was silent—too nervous to join in, and the song faltered slightly with dissonance.

Then—someone stood. And began clapping their hands and sang. Sang with such force and enthusiasm that it outstripped the three women!

Singy, the Antinium who had sung with the Yoldenites, was a dedicated [Singer], and he drew other Antinium upwards like a wave, copying him. Then—they were joined by another female voice, and the uncertain voices became as strong as any choir in a moment. Lyonette gasped and almost lost her own place—

Bird. The [Queen]’s eyes shone as she linked with the Antinium choir, and they sang the lyrics as if they all had ten levels in the [Singer] class.

Nearly four hundred voices all singing Izril’s Homecoming nearly took Lyonette’s breath away. When the last lyrics stopped echoing in the cavern, there was a long, respectful silence. She had never heard so many people singing, save for Calanfer’s national anthem during public events—and that was second-nature to her. Boring.

But this? She met Colfa’s gaze, and they shared the same thought. The Vampire leaned over.

“We’ve got to get a choir. And invite Bird and Singy.”

Lyonette just nodded in reply.

 

——

 

“Another kind of wonder was given to us today. That of music. Let that be a lesson to all, including myself. Thank you for attending—if anyone would like scraps of bread, please line up here. Thank you.”

Pawn dismissed the congregation, then turned to Lyonette. He hugged her, and she smiled as Pawn gazed from her to Colfa.

“Lyonette, your presence here is extremely welcome. I have been wanting to visit ever since the Goblin King event, but Bird kept ordering me not to. It was highly distressing, but he…she said I would, and I quote, ‘freak everyone out’.”

His mandibles clacked in displeasure, and Lyonette sighed.

“Oh, Pawn, it’s not your fault.”

“Except that it very much is.”

Bird muttered as she wandered past them, staring around the Free Antinium’s barracks. Pawn glowered at her, and Lyonette sighed.

“We had a Solstice Event.”

“Oh no. I had presumed as much. But why not send for me? We could have helped!”

“We—well, for one, the Free Antinium would not have done much good for this one, Pawn.”

“What? Even without the 7th Hive or the [Crusaders], we would have made a difference!”

Yellow Splatters barked, hurt, and Lyonette shook her head.

“Not this time. And—technically—you were there, Pawn. You may wish to sit down.”

 

——

 

It took a long time to relate even an abridged version of the events to Pawn, but Nanette helped, being one of the people with the best insights into what Mrsha had done.

Lyonette rather feared that Pawn’s mandibles would fall off by the end—the other Antinium were equally astonished. Yellow Splatters kept protesting.

“Me? Condemned to Hell? Then resurrected by Erin, who was a Goddess?”

“Have you been eating suspect mushrooms grown by Palt, Lyonette?”

Pawn asked after a while, and Lyonette shook her head, smiling.

“I wish, Pawn. Mushrooms do not turn into Goblin Kings.”

“They do in one of the stories about space that Kevin told the Kevin-Antinium. But if that is the only other explanation that is logical…then this happened. I was a Level 60 monster. With glowing eyes.”

“Very scary, but also sort of cool. You kept attacking Roshal, which was good. If strategically unsound!”

Nanette added. Lyonette feared that Pawn would take it badly or not believe her, but to her surprise, he just nodded.

“I see. That explains much. Yellow Splatters, begin a sweep.”

“At once, Pawn.”

“Hmm? For what?”

Lyonette sat up, and Pawn explained.

“There have been odd incidents among the Antinium of late. Some are…lazy? Or perhaps even committing crimes. Byproducts of our exposure to Liscorian culture. Our version of Aberrations, in a sense. But there were also other oddities—there were several Antinium who appeared to be Painted Antinium, but spoke oddly to my flock and the rest of the Antinium. They preached of a ‘Goddess’ and a ‘failed Prophet’. When I attempted to question them, they fled.”

Lyonette felt her stomach do a tiny hop. No more, really. She sighed.

“That…is not very surprising. Don’t treat them harshly, please? But don’t let them—influence you.”

“It sounds as if I should not, Lyonette. Fear not; we are all Antinium and thus reasonable people.”

A few weeks ago that would have been so much more reassuring. Lyonette smiled at Pawn, and he tried to urge her to tour the rest of the Hive.

“I can’t stay all day, Pawn. I promised I’d take Nanette shopping.”

“Oh, I see.”

Pawn grew visibly disappointed, and an Antinium behind him desperately started shuffling cards in their hands. Pawn took a step back to read a new card offered to him. Nanette, who’d edged around the group to see what was written, mouthed at Lyonette. She sighed.

“Pawn, are you attempting to make a date of this?”

The [Princess] raised her brows, and Pawn froze.

“No. I am certainly not attempting to re-woo you.”

“Nor is it a plan he and his Free Antinium spend too much time talking about.”

Bird commented as she passed by with a sample of free spicy donuts from the inn for any Antinium. This time, Pawn actually kicked at her; she flutter-hopped over his foot. Lyonette smiled ruefully.

“Not the best moment, Pawn.”

“Ah, because of the death and destruction. I see.”

His antennae drooped, and she half shook her head.

“That—and also because your older self and I had some rather unpleasant encounters. I think he was trying to be charming to me, but a bridge of about a decade’s time did not make me like what I saw. Forgive me—but I will visit again.”

She smiled again, and he sighed and hugged her before she went. When the [Princess] had gracefully exited, Pawn punched his knee lightly.

“Pawn. Of all the obstacles we anticipated in our simulations, I never expected it to be that fool. Curses! What did he do?”

He went to join Yellow Splatter’s hunt for the mysterious future-Antinium, partly in search of answers and to analyze their odd Erin-centric faith…but mostly to figure out how the other Pawn had gotten so lucky and what the hell he’d done to this Lyonette.

 

——

 

Then it was Lyonette and Nanette together, having a mother-daughter time. Well, and Colfa too and Dame Ushar, and Vaulont was on surveillance, and there were a few Calanferian servants in the mix as well, and Lyonette wouldn’t have been surprised if there were spies following her at a great distance, but in practice, it was just Lyonette and Nanette.

Different from Mrsha and Lyonette. Lyonette had called Nanette her daughter, and the witch-girl had accepted, but it was a compact between them. Califor would always be Nanette’s mother as well, and Lyonette wouldn’t interfere with that. But right now, they both needed each other, and they needed to figure out what that was like.

“So…how do you shop for clothing? We have an unlimited budget, Nanette. Let’s get something. Shall we stop at that store and make some more outfits to stab the eye? I’ll help.”

It was part of Lyonette’s new attitude towards things. Which, like the Archmage’s Well, was to let Mrsha and Nanette do what they wanted. Not everything, but if it was something like this? Why the heck not?

“You can’t just walk into a shop and do it deliberately, Lyonette. It’s got to be…spontaneous. You walk around new streets, and then you get what catches your eye.”

“With no eye towards color-coordination?”

Colfa interjected quizzically. Nanette was getting fewer looks in her suspender-t-shirt combo than Lyonette thought was appropriate. The witch girl smiled.

“With tons of eyes, Miss Colfa! You just don’t have to bow to what people think is proper.”

“Oh, I see. We’re shopping like [Witches].”

Lyonette pieced it together, and Nanette grinned. So they were off.

 

——

 

The first thing they collected was a flower dress on sale. Not a dress with floral prints, oh no. Rather, a skirt and upper dress that was made of huge petals, like a flower, dyed such that you appeared to be a giant daffodil with a grass skirt. Lyonette held it up, utterly entranced by this heinous crime against cloth.

“Who made this?”

Even in Invrisil, you had to ask. The pawn shop owner said one word.

“[Druid].”

“And they are not wearing this beautiful garment because…?”

Colfa eyed the clothing, and the shop owner uttered a mirthless laugh.

“I heard they walked by an Ashfire Bee nest with it on.”

“Ah, well, we’ll take it, if it fits, Nanette?”

The girl propped her hands on her hips, thinking hard.

“Of course the answer is yes. But who should wear it? It’s rather your size, Lyonette. We could take it for me, but maybe we can do something with that skirt!”

“Oh, joy…”

Despite herself, Lyonette got into the spirit of things. The next thing she bought were some gold bangles for ankles that were far too large; they jangled as Nanette tried to walk with them, then she shoved them onto her arms.

Colfa found a pirate’s tricorne hat. It was far too stylish to fit Nanette’s criteria, but Colfa insisted on wearing it and adopted a swagger as she walked.

Funnily, Colfa was the best actress of the three by far, since she’d had to disguise herself so long. After two more stores, someone came up to her asking if she was a [Captain] or part of a crew with a ship at any harbor. She told them her ship was booked up in a fairly convincing accent.

Lyonette, meanwhile, had noticed a bit too many stares coming her way, and after she saw Dame Ushar bodyblock the third person in sight, she motioned the Thronebearer over.

“Ushar, why is everyone staring at me?”

“I believe they’re realizing who you are, Princess. Your mother has taken off some of the obfuscation of your identity in Calanfer, and with this latest incident…”

Ushar grimaced, and so did Lyonette. Well, it hardly mattered…then her eyes fell on the dreadful skirt Nanette had bought her, and she had a horrific idea.

 

——

 

Fifteen minutes later, Lyonette, wearing her floral dress and elkhide legging jeans, strode after Nanette. She had black hair and a scar down one cheek, thanks to Dame Ushar’s work with some hair dye and a makeup kit.

“How did you have that just lying around?”

Ushar gave Nanette an innocent look.

“My budget allowed for it, Miss Nanette. We could dye your hair if you wanted.”

“I’ll go redheaded, then! No, wait, make it a natural orange!”

Colfa refused to change her hair, even though Ushar assured her it would wash out easily. She did buy more clothing, though, since Lyonette was paying for everything, or rather, the inn’s rather vast budget was.

By the time they were two hours in, a [Pirate Captain], a [Druid], and a disaster of fashion were ready for lunch. Nothing would do but Lyonette take them to a fancy restaurant.

They might not have reservations, and they looked a fright, but Dame Ushar’s armor opened a lot of doors—as did handing gold to the server in charge. They found themselves eating at a restaurant named Palatable Cuisine, which was overly fancy and had that ostentatious fondness for Terandrian foods because that was ‘high-class’.

“I’ll share a bloody steak with you, Colfa, and we’ll have a curlwrap leaf salad…Nanette?”

“I would like more bread with butter!”

Nanette was greedily eating some dark Noelictan Ashwheat bread. She only ate two small loaves of it, and Lyonette and Colfa actually managed half the steak; Dame Ushar was only too happy to take custody of the other half for herself.

“The real reason I wanted to come here was for this. Aha!”

The dessert menu made Nanette sit up. It was miniature jello and sugar creations! You could request anything you wanted, and the chef, a dedicated expert in desserts, would come out and serve it to you. But that wasn’t the amazing thing.

“Slimes! Are you from Onononno, sir?”

Nanette clapped her hands as a tiny slime rolled out, balancing a platter on its body, and she picked up a soldier waving a sword, made of blown sugar like glass. The [Chef] smiled, but wanly.

“That’s correct, Miss. I’m a [Slime Chef de Patisserie].”

“You must be the hit of the city. This is delicious.”

Lyonette complimented him, and the man ducked his head.

“Oh, well, I’m hardly that famous, Miss. And I’m told it does lose its charm in time…”

He glanced back at the kitchens, and she detected his withheld sigh, but she let the matter be—she was with Nanette and Colfa, and after the fun little sweets, they had passed into midday quite splendidly.

 

The adventures of the [Slime Chef] would actually be in Imani’s chapter, which takes place on the same day as this.

—pirateaba

 

——

 

“Well, what shall we do now, Nanette?”

“Hedault! I should bring him a gift.”

“Oh, right.”

Lyonette had to escort Nanette to Hedault, who was indeed pleased to see she’d come precisely on time, and he even accepted a small gift of fruits with a nod. Lyonette waved at a replacement guard who’d come to make sure Nanette was safe: Elia.

That left her and Colfa, but the Vampiress checked the time and sighed.

“I must get back to the farm, Lyonette. Fun as this is, Himilt will do all the chores alone without me. Dinner tonight? I’ll bring Himilt.”

“Please do! I’ll get Calescent to make something appropriate.”

Lyonette smiled, and then she was alone. She stretched and remarked to Ushar as the Thronebearer fell in beside her.

“Vaulont, you can appear if you feel the need. That went well. Mrsha and Nanette loved the surprise breakfast, and I think Nanette enjoyed that, right, Ushar?”

“I think so, Lyonette. And Mrsha is doing well in class, Dalimont reports.”

Lyonette nodded. This day had no problems. None. She had managed to hold down an entire week now with no incidents, no drama, just good and pleasant things, even if slightly superficial.

She strolled along Invrisil’s streets, glancing right and left at her world, her timeline, with two daughters who were alive and an inn mostly intact. Grateful to be alive. Grateful for peace, however temporary. Grateful…

It was Vaulont the Ash who spoke tentatively. He was still a silent figure, but he’d gotten a crash-course in what The Wandering Inn meant, and he hadn’t run, even after Lyonette had given him all the bonuses he deserved. So perhaps he was being sucked into this place that made heroes or statues of people. If so…he didn’t appear afraid. Brave man. Desperate man.

Perhaps, just a lonely man.

“You look like some of my employers before they ordered me to assassinate an entire family, Miss Lyonette.”

She and Ushar swung around, and Vaulont stopped, then clarified the comment.

“Too pleasant. Like you’re holding in an explosion.”

“What sort of monsters—you worked for the Reinharts, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“Before Magnolia Reinhart took power.”

Lyonette went striding along the streets. A few passersby nodded to her warily.

“[Druid], Miss Knight.”

“Lady Druid.”

“I don’t beat my dogs, I swear! Don’t hit me!”

She ignored that. Lyonette searched her heart for a core of killing rage, and if it was there…she shook her head.

“I’m not bursting with rage, Vaulont. If anything, I think I’m genuinely enjoying this kind of day. But every moment I do…hah. Is this how Mrsha felt? I can’t stand here under the gentle sun and just savor living. Mrsha can, and she must, because I think she’s seen what she can do. But I cannot. Nanette is practicing. But I…am restless.”

He nodded.

“Aside from the sun, I understand. What do you will?”

“I will myself hitting Level 40. That I have not already is likely because I accomplished few great deeds of my own during the Palace of Fates. Or that I reacted instead of made my own plans. It’s time. I will many things, Vaulont. But mostly, I will that these peaceful days continue. For myself and all those who deserve them.”

The Level 39 [Princess] spoke softly. Ushar shivered and rolled her shoulders, and the Vampire waited. Lyonette turned to him.

“The Horns. Erin. Ryoka. Most of them are out of my reach. But there’s someone I almost forgot during the Palace of Fates. My warning has come and gone. Perhaps she never belonged to this inn as strongly, but she also survived several life-or-death moments. We owe her more than idle threats. Tell me, Vaulont. How well do you know Tessa, Shriekblade?”

His brows rose, and he smiled. Somewhere, a listening force made a note in its files and triggered the level-up even before waiting to see what Lyonette’s plan was. Vaulont spoke quietly.

“I know she’s supposed to be as good as an [Assassin] in many ways, madder than a Face. Likely to stab the hand that feeds her. I also know the Healer of Tenbault’s only good for a single spell. She can’t help my people; her spell kills or maims us. So I’d be delighted to do something, but I’d be wary of Shriekblade being wild…and the Healer’s pet dog. He barks loud.”

“Her spell hurts you?”

Lyonette was astonished. Vaulont shrugged.

“Most healing magic does, apparently. We usually don’t need it. If Shriekblade were coming willingly, we could evade Crowdcaller Merdon and his team easily. But if she wanted to, she’d leave the Healer herself. So like as not, you’d have to persuade her or get her by force.”

“And you couldn’t do it yourself?”

“Immobilize her without cutting a limb off? That’s a tall order for a Named-rank. I might be able to do it.”

Lyonette nodded, calm now, and her mind felt, if not free, then happy enough with the burdens it took on.

“Then we shall need a plan. I doubt Tessa has received my missives; she never replied. Or if she’s ignoring me…how fast can you reach Tenbault?”

He offered her a sliver of a smile.

“If I hurry, one night.”

She liked that.

 

Levels or something

Now I look at it this is just a lyonette chapter with a tessa focus instead of ilvriss

Oh well, my coughing isn’t getting better

Taking more meds and chilling out

I rest

Please send more throats

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

You heard the writer. I’m sick, and I hope this was entertaining to you, and I apologize for complaining so much, but it really does…annoy me.

I want to write.

I want to write so bad that even when I was sick I was writing because while I knew I could take a break and publish what I had—it was either play video games, watch Youtube, read a book, or write while sick.

Nothing is fun while sick. But writing at least makes me feel like I’m doing something productive, unless the quality’s bad, in which case it sucks.

Let me know how you found this weird, amalgamation poll-chapter thing. And vote. Voting is important because your vote counts. Back in the old days I had like 30 people voting for the side-stories. Back then your vote mattered a lot, but even now there’s only like 1,000 votes for the best chapters. Where else are you gonna get a better democracy than this?

…I’m rambling. One last thing. I’ve been reading Katalepsis, that web serial I recommended at the top. I’m on 5.2, I think, not far in, but I love eldritch tales, and I hope to continue, though the sickness makes reading tough. If I wasn’t writing The Wandering Inn, I might be writing an eldritch story because I have ideas.

I had more notes about the story, but I’m literally dying, and I need more water. I’ll write up thoughts later if I can. What I like…and what I hope to see about this story is the mundanity of it. Most horror is the horror itself. The thing rises. The madness comes, something wakes—but no one ever tells me what happens when you wake from the dream in Bloodborne, or in between the moments of terror.

Otherworldly beings should be otherworldly even when you’re eating a donut in the sunlight, and writing that out…is compelling. It’s like asking what Elves do all the time when they’re not sailing off or fighting in wars in Lord of the Rings. That’s part of what draws me to Katalepsis; that, and wanting to know—who Heather will be. I suspect, greatly, there’s something even more beneath the skin of her than I’ve found out so far. I hope it changes everything around it.

That’s all from me. Poll, mini-chapters, sickness, and recommendations. Please send cold cures or souls.

Please.

 

 

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