She opened her eyes and tried in vain to remember her dream, or even if there had been a dream. There was slight panic as she tried to remember where she was. There was mild panic as she failed in that task. There was full blown panic as she realized she was in a confined space very much the size and shape of a coffin. She beat at the dimly lit convex surface above her until her head cleared enough to recognize that she was panicking. With a deep inward breath and a momentous effort of will, she stopped moving and actually looked.
The space was indeed coffin shaped, but it wasn¡¯t devoid of things. Several indicator lights flashed in rhythmic patterns. There were electrodes on her arms with wires that disappeared into clusters to either side. Most importantly of all, there was a red level labeled ¡°Pull.¡± She pulled it.
She let out her held breath as the top of the convex lid slid away revealing utter darkness, but it was a wide open utter darkness. So it was a thousand times better than dimly lit claustrophobia. She sat up and was presented with a new sensation as the panic receded, she felt like shit. So much so that the motion of sitting up made her head spin and her stomach lurch. She leaned over the edge of the coffin thing and hurled. She choked and coughed until the slimy end of her stomach contents separated from her mouth to fall to the floor. She didn¡¯t move until the room stopped spinning.
She winced as she pulled off the electrodes. Each making a quiet ¡®POP¡¯ that seemed to echo in the eerie stillness around her. She shivered as she clutched the sides of the coffin thing. Her joints creaked as she positioned herself to take a slow and somewhat painful step out. She tried to swallow, but the dry sandpaper of her throat refused to function. It was like all her tactile functions were coming online and none of them were reporting anything remotely pleasant. An unclad foot made contact with the cold tile floor and she managed to steady herself on shaky legs. She looked around still fighting a bout of nausea.
Nothing was truly visible. The dim glow from the coffin thing was the only source of light. If she squinted hard enough, she could barely make out the outline of a desk. Carefully and with shaky steps, she made her way slowly to the dark rectangle. Her hands found what indeed felt like a desk, complete with computer, notebooks, and judging by the size and sound of the thing she bumped into, an office chair. Relief surged through her cold aching muscles as she slumped down into the chair, her tail instinctively moving to the side as she sat. She wrapped her fingers around the appendage and ran her hand across the smooth surface to the tapered point. She didn¡¯t remember having a tail. She didn¡¯t remember anything come to think of it.
¡°Who am I?¡± She tried to say, mostly just to hear her own voice, but the sound that came out was a hoarse crackle that hurt her throat. She ran her fingers over her tail again before reaching up and grabbing her horns. Tel¡¯ani. That was the word that came to mind. A race with purple skin, a long black tail, and black horns. The odd part was the utter lack of context. She had the information, but no memories to go with it. She clearly was Tel¡¯ani, but she couldn¡¯t remember being Tel¡¯ani. It was a disturbing feeling that survival needs were more than willing to push away.
She lifted herself out of the chair and fumbled blindly for the wall. Looking primarily for a light switch. What she found was confusing. As if part of the wall had collapsed inward. She returned to the desk and by feel alone started searching that. The computer didn¡¯t turn on when the button was pushed and nothing in any of the drawers felt like a flashlight. She started pulling out the drawers and bringing them to the dim light of the coffin-like thing. The top drawers were meticulously organised. Mostly pens, empty notebooks, and pads of sticky notes. The bottom drawer contained an off brand cola. How she knew it was ¡°off brand¡± she wasn¡¯t sure. Again there was no context. It tasted off, but how was she supposed to know if it was bad, her sense of taste was off, or if it was just because it was off brand? It burned going down and didn¡¯t settle right in her stomach, but it helped with the dryness in her throat. She wasn''t getting far with the search for a flashlight and so decided an attempt at cobbling something together would be the next task.
The coffin had several access panels. All of which required a screwdriver. The computer on the other hand was another matter. Pressing the wires of the red indicator LED for the power button to the sides of a coin battery produced a light that was next to nothing. In the pitch black of the room, it was practically a beacon. Best yet, it was portable. She briefly wondered how she knew there was a coin battery attached to the computer¡¯s motherboard, but again survival was a higher priority. Making her way to the collapsed wall, she found that her guess had been right. The wall had indeed collapsed inward and the presence of dirt suggested she was underground.
The makeshift night light helped her locate an elevator, a staircase blocked by the previously discovered collapse, a breakroom of some sort, and a bathroom. The last of which she was eager to use even though the water in the toilet was gone. The breakroom fridge continued a putrid odor and two bottles of fizzy water. She clearly didn¡¯t have a taste for the stuff, but wasn¡¯t going to complain. The breakroom also contained a vending machine, openable by chair to the plexiglass over. Plexiglass might not shatter, but it can be knocked loose of its mounting.
Judging from the state of the stairwell, it looked like the first floor had partially collapsed downward. Something catastrophic had happened¡ªan earthquake, perhaps. Whatever the cause, it had left her trapped in what seemed to be an underground level. She forced herself to stay calm and push away the growing dread. It was too soon to panic; first, she needed to confirm whether there was a way out.
Her spirits lifted when she discovered a half-buried locker in the collapsed rubble. After some effort, she managed to pry it open, revealing a small cache of tools and an oversized button-up shirt. She gave a satisfied nod as she pulled out a crowbar. None of the battery-powered devices worked, but the crowbar was exactly what she needed to force open the elevator doors.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
She slipped the shirt over her bare shoulders, grateful for even the minimal protection against the chill. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was better than wandering around naked. As she approached the elevator, her makeshift LED light flickered weakly, unable to illuminate much beyond the immediate area. Peering into the dark shaft, she confirmed the elevator car wasn¡¯t at her level. Instead, it was stuck below, leaving the shaft open above her.
The cold bit into her skin, and she briefly wondered where she might find more clothing, particularly pants, before shifting focus back to her immediate task. With the crowbar in hand, she returned to the coffin-like pod she had awoken in. After some experimentation, she managed to pry off several access panels. That¡¯s when she hit the jackpot: the pod was powered by several standard energy cells.
She hesitated for a moment before pulling out one of the cells, unsure if removing it would cause the pod¡¯s light to die entirely. Thankfully, it didn¡¯t. The cell continued to emit a faint glow, and she examined it closely. It was about the size of a 20 ounce soda bottle, with a flat side for handling and another side covered in output nodes. From what she could recall, each node delivered about twenty-four volts, and the whole unit could discharge up to 240 volts. She didn¡¯t know how she knew what to do, but there was enough information in her head to work out how to line up five nodes to power a standard 120-volt appliance.
A grin crossed her face as she improvised a solution. Using the crowbar and some careful maneuvering, she dismantled a ceiling fixture and rigged it to the power cell. After a few nerve-wracking minutes of trying not to electrocute herself, she succeeded. The result was a portable ceiling light, though it wasn¡¯t entirely practical¡ªshe had to hold the power cell steady while moving.
The light from her new lamp illuminated something she had previously missed. A nameplate stuck to her coffin-thing. ¡°Corp. S. Yari.¡± She said, reading the bold letters. It was probably her name, but beyond the displaced feeling that Yari was a common first name, she felt nothing.
Returning to the elevator shaft, she assessed the situation again. The elevator car was below her, so she had access to the upper doors. She couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that there should have been a ladder. Again, there was no context. Still, the network of pipes and beams might offer a way up if she could manage the climb without slipping.
She realized she couldn¡¯t carry both the light and the crowbar while climbing. The crowbar was essential for prying open the doors above, so she needed a solution for lighting the way. Another quick sweep of the area turned up nothing useful¡ªjust plates, paper towels, and discarded cups. Then, inspiration struck: the vending machine in the breakroom.
At first, she considered cutting off the power cord from the machine, but then her eyes flicked upward, catching sight of the ceiling. A grin formed as she spotted the tangle of ethernet cables running between the computer equipment and the faux ceiling panels. With some effort and a bit of ingenuity, she could fashion a makeshift rope out of the cables, giving herself a fighting chance to climb the shaft with both hands free.
***
Darkness greeted her as she pushed the elevator door open. Standing on the beams was taking its toll on her already cold and sore feet. Carefully leaning back over the ledge, she pulled up the makeshift light. Halfway up, it flickered off, plunging her into an oppressive darkness that seemed to close in from all sides. She fought down the panic rising in her chest and focused on the task. Once the light was safely over the ledge, she pulled out her small LED. Handling the exposed power cell in the dark was dangerous¡ªone wrong move and she might electrocute herself. Relief flooded her as the corridor lit up again, pushing back the shadows.
On one side of the hallway, she saw the blocked-off stairwell. The other direction led into a series of offices filled with empty cubicles, a breakroom, a bathroom, and a barred checkpoint. Sliding the gate open, she froze in place. ¡°Um, hello?¡± she called hesitantly. Something moved just beyond the edge of her light. There was no response, only the sound of shuffling footsteps growing closer.
The figure came into view, and something about it felt profoundly wrong. It looked hornless, or at least it had been once. Now its skin was ashen and dry, stretched tight over its frame. Its hair was mostly gone, and its tattered clothes hung off its emaciated body like rags. Worst of all were the cuts and wounds covering its body¡ªthey weren¡¯t bleeding. They had long since dried. Her instincts screamed at her to run, but she stood there, frozen in place, her mind struggling to process the sight.
The creature stopped a few feet away, studying her with lifeless eyes. Then, without warning, its face split open from forehead to chin, emitting an ear-piercing scream before charging at her. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she let out an involuntary scream of her own. Acting on instinct, she slammed the gate shut just as the creature reached it. She fell back onto the floor, breathing heavily as the creature crashed into the bars, gnashing its teeth and clawing at the metal in a frenzy.
It was like something out of a nightmare. The creature¡¯s head was grotesquely split, revealing rows of jagged teeth where there shouldn¡¯t have been any. It was dead, or at least it should have been, yet here it was, thrashing violently. Her hands tightened around the crowbar as she tried to figure out what to do. She took a few swings at it, but hesitated to get too close. The creature didn¡¯t seem intelligent, but it was dangerous.
Watching it thrash gave her a stupid, desperate idea. She clicked the latch open and bolted down the hallway. Against her better judgment, she glanced over her shoulder just in time to see the creature still stuck in the gate. She slowed to a stop, contemplating whether to go back and push the door open further, when the creature abruptly figured out how to squeeze through. Her heart sank as it resumed its charge, faster than before.
Without thinking, she launched herself into the elevator shaft, swinging to the other side of the door. The creature pursued her into the open shaft with reckless abandon, but quickly scrambled to grab hold of a horizontal bar. It wasn¡¯t falling. She scrambled back into the hallway, grabbed the crowbar, and tried to think. How could she get it to fall? Before she could act, the creature¡¯s head swiveled toward her, and it lunged at the doorway, catching hold with one hand.
She let out another involuntary scream and swung the crowbar at its bony fingers. The creature didn¡¯t react to pain, but the force of her blows cracked its bones. It managed to grab the ledge with its other hand and lift its head, she swung in a blind panic, landing hit after hit until it finally lost its grip and fell. The sound of it hitting the elevator car below reverberated through the shaft.
Collapsing onto the floor, she sat there panting, her hands trembling. Those few minutes had been terrifying. What the hell was that? Moving the light to illuminate the shaft, she saw the creature below, still alive and scrambling weakly, though its hands appeared broken. She glanced at the open gate and wondered if there were more of those things lurking nearby.
Past the gate, the stairwell was clear of debris, though it was muddy and littered with chunks of rubble. She climbed the two flights carefully, her bare feet slipping occasionally on the damp steps. Daylight filtered through small holes in the collapsed building above, offering a faint promise of escape. She poked at one of the holes, loosening the debris until it widened enough for her to crawl through.
Pulling herself out into the open, she inhaled deeply, savoring her first breath of fresh air since waking up in the pod. She lay there for a while, panting and staring at the sky. Eventually, she stood and took in the view around her. The city lay in ruins, a hauntingly beautiful landscape of skeletal skyscrapers and overgrown streets. Towering buildings stood hollowed out, their glass shattered, with vines and trees growing through the cracks. Multi-level roadways hung precariously, chunks of concrete missing, their exposed rebar dangling like severed tendons.
Cars were scattered like discarded toys, rusted and overgrown with vegetation. The remnants of a clear poly dome that once covered the city were shattered, pieces of it embedded in buildings or lying broken on the ground. What few intact panels remained above had gathered dirt and sprouted patches of greenery, casting a strange, green-tinted light over parts of the city.
The sight was both awe-inspiring and deeply unsettling, as though the world itself was trying to decide whether to welcome her or warn her. Her moment of reflection was shattered by a distant gunshot echoing across the ruins, a stark reminder that she was not alone in this desolate world.
The Enchanter
Description:
Kaylik has one desire, to create awesome magical shit. That requires gold, components, and levels. There''s only one way to get those: Adventure. The level one Wizard has set out from the city and found himself in the small mountain town of Falcon''s Hollow. A sickness has swept over the town and people are dying on a daily basis. The Steelborn, along with a few new potential friends, find themselves searching the deep forest for ingredients to be used in a last ditch effort to save what few lives they can.
Molly has many desires. Highest among them, being treated like a person. While she feels bad for the infected children, the adults who blame her for their ailment can continue to choke up blood for all she cares. Searching the vale for ingredients for a cure was the last thing she expected to be doing. For her, the sickness didn''t bring a slow death. It brought a person that would turn her world on its head.
Notes: This story is getting filed under Fanfiction as it contains a lot of IP from Paizo Publishing. The main plot line starts with the module ¡°Hollow''s Last Hope¡±. I''m hoping to run the whole four Module series.
AI Note: AI was used in the creation of this story.
Voice Actors:
Narrator: Jessica
Kallik: Charlie
Laurel: Lilly
Jack: Callum
Castilia:
Info
Characters
I will analyze the document to extract the context and personality traits of Kallik, Molly, and Tomlin. This may take a moment.
Here is an analysis of the characters based on the extracted text from the document:
Kallik
- Description: Kallik seems to be a character accustomed to structured environments, having grown up in a city with defensive walls. He observes his surroundings critically, noting disrepair and the condition of those around him, such as beggars and orphans. His perspective hints at an analytical nature and a sense of detachment.
- Personality Traits:
- Observant and detail-oriented.
- Potentially empathetic but reserved, given his reaction to the plight of those in the town.
- Practical, as suggested by his focus on navigation and the logistics of his journey.
Molly
- Description: Molly is portrayed as someone who desires dignity and respect, striving to be treated as a person rather than an outcast. She is not well-liked in Falcon¡¯s Hollow, though her competence is acknowledged by some, such as Laurel, an herbalist.
- Personality Traits:
- Resilient, as she continues to strive despite being treated poorly.
- Practical and competent, earning her respect in specific circles.
- Sensitive to judgment and the way others perceive her.
Tomlin
- Description: Tomlin is introduced as a young man working within a monastic or disciplined setting. He appears dutiful, responding quickly to instructions but displays occasional defiance or skepticism, such as when he glances at Molly with a glare.
- Personality Traits:
- Dutiful and reliable, as seen when he quickly prepares for a journey.
- Stoic or reserved, often not responding verbally to others¡¯ remarks.
- Possibly judgmental or cautious about others, particularly Molly.
Let me know if you need further exploration or detailed insights into the story dynamics!
Chapter 1 base text
Chapter 1
The Greenflow was primarily fed by ice melt from the mountains. It ran through the hollows from the southwest to the northeast, curving slightly more east before emptying into the Iron River¡ªwhich made its meandering way to the Iron Bay and eventually out into the ocean.
In the higher elevations, nestled between the Greenflow and the Darkmoon Vale, was a small lumber and trading town called Falcon¡¯s Hollow. The town had a palisade wall of dark wooden logs, some of which seemed in a rather bleak state of disrepair. Kallik was used to having walls around his hometown¡ªhe¡¯d been born and raised in the capital city of Kal-Drovak, where the surrounding walls were on average forty feet tall and ten feet thick, well-built by the same dwarves who constructed the Great Ziggurat. Compared to those, the palisade around Falcon¡¯s Hollow looked like a fence that had given up trying. The security of the town clearly wasn¡¯t a top priority.
Case in point: the lone guard slumped in a single chair at the gate, snoring rather loudly with his neck bent at an angle Kallik was sure he¡¯d regret upon waking. Once he passed through the gate, Kallik was assailed by the sounds, smells, and bustle of the town¡ªor more specifically, the lack thereof. No vendors crowded the major streets. No criers called out the news. No beggars or orphans plodded around seeking alms.
There were beggars and orphans, but they seemed to huddle in the alleys and against the walls, staring at Kallik as though he were some monstrous creature who¡¯d invaded their home, rather than a potential merchant they might beg a few coins from. All in all, the small town felt deserted. The only sounds punctuating the still air were the occasional wet, wheezing coughs and the distant baying of hounds.
To the northwest rose a higher area of the town, surrounded by its own palisade wall¡ªthis one in slightly better condition. It seemed to be the only place with buildings of over two stories. Beyond that, Kallik knew the river was somewhere to the east, and if he were to pass through town and head northwest, he¡¯d find the lumber camps for which Falcon¡¯s Hollow was supposedly famous. As it was mid-morning, it seemed likely that most of the lumber workers were already beyond the gates.
As Kallik wandered deeper into the settlement, the rhythmic sound of a blacksmith¡¯s hammer echoed in the distance to the east, giving the place at least some semblance of a working village. That was when Kallik found his first able-bodied, non-destitute, awake resident.
¡°Excuse me?¡± Kallik said, getting the girl¡¯s attention as she crossed from one side of the street to the other. She took one look at him¡ªeyes traveling up and down his body before finally meeting his gaze¡ªand then promptly turned around and hurried off in the opposite direction. Kallik frowned, watching her run off, disappointed that the only visible person had completely ignored him¡ªor, worse, fled.
At the crossroads¡ªa part of town centered on a large oak tree where the road split between the southern gate he¡¯d entered, the northern gate presumably leading to the lumber camps, a path up to the higher, walled-off section of town, and another road heading east toward the Greenflow¡ªKallik was rewarded with a line of people. Clearly, the eastern road was busier. Even beyond the line, he could see folks moving between buildings on their daily business.
He checked each building as he headed east, looking for one called Roots and Remedies¡ªan alchemist¡¯s shop, whose summons was the reason he¡¯d come to Falcon¡¯s Hollow in the first place. He was about to ask one of the residents standing in line for directions when he realized the sign on the buildings clearly stated he¡¯d arrived at his destination.
Creeping ivy and full window boxes covered the facade of the rugged-looking, two-story shop bearing the faded aforementioned sign. The man at the front of the line was pounding on the door. He paused for a moment to hack up a few dry coughs into his fist before pounding on the door again and yelling out for the shopkeeper on the other side to open up.
The next person in line looked considerably more ill. She barely moved, appearing lethargic, her face pale as she stared blankly at the back of the man pounding on the door. As sick as the woman looked, the child in her arms looked worse¡ªa young girl of three or four. Her hair was thick and matted, her skin pale, her eyes unfocused, and dried blood spattered her face, primarily under her nose and mouth. As heart-wrenching as the sight of the girl¡ªwhose sole focus in life was clinging to her mother and breathing¡ªwas, that same scene was repeated multiple times down the line of about twenty townsfolk, each waiting their turn to pound on the closed door.
Looking over the two-story building, Kallik backtracked a few shops until he found an alley. Counting the doors until he reached what he was fairly certain was the back of Roots and Remedies, he pounded on that door. From inside came muffled swearing, a couple of thumps from someone stumbling around, and then the sound of an interior lock being undone. The door swung open almost violently, revealing a tall, gaunt, dark-skinned woman gripping a brass-capped club raised high in a threatening manner. She yelled: ¡°I swear to the gods, if you¡¯re here to buy something, you¡¯re going to need more than just¡ª...¡±
The woman halted mid-threat, club still raised. It was the eyes. It was always the eyes. As Kallik had ventured further from the larger cities, he¡¯d found people responded to his eye color in a variety of ways. Many assumed he was a Fire Islander¡ªlikely the reason the previous woman he¡¯d seen had turned and bolted. The denizens of the Fire Isles had long ago taken over the country of Ironhold. While city folk tended not to mind so much, the more remote the settlement, the fewer people were indifferent.
The woman¡¯s face cycled through several emotions, though the club remained aloft. Finally, she seemed to find her voice. ¡°Who are you?¡±
Kallik held up the piece of paper he¡¯d discovered in the city of Berkhanstead. It claimed that Laurel, the proprietor of Roots and Remedies in Falcon¡¯s Hollow, was seeking help to cure a plague of blackscour taint.
The woman¡ªlikely Laurel¡ªstared at the printed notice for a while before lowering her club. In a calmer, if still wary, tone, she asked,
¡°And you are¡?¡±
Kallik lowered the paper and gave a slight smile. ¡°I¡¯m Kallik, acolyte of the Ritter Literati out of Kal-Drovak.¡±
¡°Kal-Drovak?¡± The woman¡¯s eyebrows rose. ¡°There¡¯s no way you could¡¯ve come from Kal-Drovak. There¡¯s no way my plea for help could¡¯ve made it there.¡±
Kallik shrugged. ¡°I was in Berkhanstead when I found it.¡±
The woman twisted her lips, evidently thinking, then asked the question Kallik expected. ¡°A Fire Islander?¡±
It was a common question. Kallik¡¯s eyes were red like those of the Fire Isles, though he lacked the accent. He could imitate one if needed¡ªafter all, he¡¯d grown up in the Embers¡ªbut he was not a Fire Islander. No, he was simply ¡°steel-born.¡±
¡°Humph. Fine. Get in.¡± The woman stepped out of the doorway, allowing him to enter. Kallik carefully threaded his spear through the doorway so as not to bump anything. If the smell wafting through the door to the outside had been pungent, the smell inside the room was nearly overpowering. He sucked in a deep breath through his teeth and tried not to choke on the thick air.
The door was shut behind him and the lock thrown. It took a bit for Kallik¡¯s eyes to adjust to the dark room, but when they did, he found exactly what he would have expected from the den of an herbalist¡ªjust on a scale two or three times larger. Bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling rafters; every shelf was loaded to a point of dangerously overflowing with various ingredients, equipment, and other bric-¨¤-brac whose purpose Kallik couldn¡¯t fathom. A cluttered table held all manner of cooking utensils and alchemy equipment. The severe woman returned to stirring a cauldron boiling over a flame on an iron stove, and the distant pounding on the front door could be heard through the entry to the next room¡ªlikely where the front desk was.
Kallik attempted to lean his spear against the wall in the only spot he could find where it wouldn¡¯t touch anything, then dropped his pack.
¡°Can you magically cure disease?¡± Laurel practically barked at him.
¡°No.¡± The woman shot him a look as though he was probably wasting her time. ¡°I was hoping other people would have come to help. I¡¯m not the only one who has showed up, right?¡±
The twisted expression of frustration that crossed her face told him the answer.
¡°I suppose I didn¡¯t list a reward, because I don¡¯t have one to give. Better question is, why did you think it was a good idea to come all the way out here?¡±
Kallik shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m an acolyte of the Ritter Literati. It seemed like a good thing to do.¡±
Laurel cocked an eyebrow at him. ¡°What does attempting to help a town with a sickness¡ªwhen you have no skills to deal with such a thing¡ªhave to do with being a librarian?¡±
Kallik tried to hide a grimace. ¡°Uh, more about going into the world and trying to do good while¡gaining levels and skills.¡±
¡°Humph,¡± Laurel huffed again. She motioned her chin toward his spear. ¡°So what are you, a warrior?¡±
¡°Level-one wizard,¡± Kallik responded.
The woman paused a moment, the stirring of her bubbling cauldron seemingly forgotten as she looked Kallik over askance.
¡°A wizard? You don¡¯t look like a wizard.¡±
It was a normal response. People usually pictured old men with thin frames hunched over a book when they thought of wizards. Kallik gave the woman a grin and held up a hand. ¡°Level-one wizard, I promise.¡±
¡°Fine. What do you know about making potions?¡±
¡°I¡¯ve had a few courses, but it¡¯s not something I¡¯ve mastered yet.¡±
¡°Do you know what a quarter vial is?¡±
Kallik acknowledged he did, and Laurel set him to collecting a tray full of small vials and a funnel as she pulled her cauldron off the heater. She gave a short yell at whoever was still banging on her front door before attempting to clear off a space on her worktable. Then, reigniting the conversation with a single question, she asked: ¡°Do you know what Blackscour Taint is?¡±
¡°Not a clue.¡±
¡°Blackscour is a mushroom, a fungus that likes to grow in wet places,¡± Laurel explained. ¡°Not necessarily native here, and it¡¯s pretty much good for nothing. Bitter and sharp, it¡¯s not really an issue unless you eat it or drink the water it lives in. Blackscour Taint is the disease you get when you do. Essentially, the fungus ends up in your stomach and crawls into your lungs, where it thrives in the warm, moist environment, slowly consuming you from the inside out. Your body tries to hack up the fungus, and then you slowly cough yourself to death.¡±
Kallik grimaced as Laurel continued stirring the pot while adding a few extra salts.
¡°I¡¯ve tried everything,¡± she said. ¡°Nothing¡¯s curing it¡ªnot even what¡¯s in my granny¡¯s old tome, the one she got from a damned witch she supposedly traded her eyesight for. I found the well, so the spread is stopped. But anyone infected is basically already dying.¡±
¡°So, without being a higher-level cleric or knowing a specific cure for this disease,¡± Kallik asked, uncorking small vials and preparing them to be filled, ¡°there¡¯s nothing I can actually do to help, is there?¡±
¡°No,¡± Laurel said, pressing her lips together, then hesitating. ¡°Well¡maybe.¡±
Kallik waited a few moments before the woman continued. ¡°There¡¯s a recipe in my granny¡¯s old book¡ªfairly certain it was written afterward by someone else. Honestly, it sounds like a whole lot of hooju to me. I have most of the ingredients, but I¡¯m short three things, all of which might be able to¡ I don¡¯t know. There¡¯s some darkwood moss¡ªwhich, according to my granny¡¯s book, can be found on the oldest tree in the Vale. A pickled herb called rat¡¯s tail, which I¡¯ve never even heard of. And the final ingredient I need is an iron mushroom, which tends to grow in the mountains near iron veins. It¡¯s a favorite among dwarves, but I don¡¯t have any, and I don¡¯t know where to get them. Again, the whole recipe sounds like hooey to me, but if you could find those things, I suppose it¡¯s worth a shot.¡±
¡°How much time do we have?¡± Kallik asked. It seemed like the most reasonable question, given he¡¯d have to go search the forest or somewhere else for the ingredients.
Laurel let out a humorless chortle. ¡°There¡¯s no time. People are already dying. At this point, we¡¯re just trying to spare the gravedigger the extra work.¡±
¡°Oh,¡± Kallik said. ¡°I guess I should start looking then. Do you know where I should begin?¡±
Laurel looked him in his red eyes as though trying to gauge his honesty. ¡°Millen Roddale. He should be working at the Lumber Consortium camp. He¡¯s the most experienced woodsman I know. If anyone knows where to find that stuff, it¡¯s him. My guess is that rat¡¯s tail, the pickled herb, might be at Uza¡¯s hut¡ªthe witch. I don¡¯t trust her, but I don¡¯t think she¡¯s as bad as most of these ingrates make her out to be.¡±
Kallik nodded. ¡°All right, I guess I¡¯ll get going.¡±
¡°No,¡± Laurel blurted.
¡°No?¡± Kallik echoed.
¡°No,¡± Laurel affirmed. ¡°You¡¯re not from around here. My guess is, you¡¯ll just get lost wandering around, and the longer you stall, the more people die. Ten copper.¡±
¡°Ten copper?¡± Kallik asked, confusion creeping into his voice and evident on his light-brown face.
¡°Ten copper, and I can get you an introduction to someone who might be able to navigate the forest. I sure as hell can¡¯t help with that, and I ain¡¯t going,¡± Laurel said.
¡°All right¡ªten copper,¡± Kallik agreed, beginning to fish out his coins. Making a small pile of copper and steel.
Laurel took the money, ordered him to keep filling vials, and disappeared out the back door. She reappeared a couple of minutes later and inspected Kallik¡¯s work. With a nod of satisfaction, she told him to wait there and continue filling as she made her way to the front room. There, she finally opened the front door and promptly launched into a heated argument with the man who had been beating on her entryway for the last thirty minutes or so.
Kallik kept working until he ran out of vials. He waited for a lull in Laurel¡¯s seemingly endless tirade against her own would-be customers. Between the woman¡¯s attitude and the fact that she had sent a plea for help out of town, Kallik mentally placed her somewhere on the ¡°caring old lady¡± spectrum¡ªcertainly not the sweet, gentle grandmother type, but more of the tough-love, harsh-words-yet-still-caring figure. She seemed to have no qualms about fleecing every copper from those townsfolk she deemed hypochondriacs while simultaneously doing everything she could for the genuinely ill.
Unfortunately, there were a great many genuinely ill. The number of children clinging to their parents¡ªwho in turn pleaded with the herbalist to save them¡ªwas heartbreaking. By Laurel¡¯s own words, anything Kallik might do to help would merely spare the gravedigger a bit of effort if he could find the ingredients in time... if they even existed in this area... if he could do it fast enough to be useful... and if the potion actually worked.
It was a lot of ¡°ifs.¡± For Kallik¡¯s first act of goodwill in the wider world, this one was likely to have a sad ending either way. Hopefully, it wouldn¡¯t be a complete loss.
Chapter 2 Base text
Molly wasn¡¯t particularly well-liked by the people of Falcon¡¯s Hollow. It was one of the main reasons she lived outside the walls, on the far side of the Greenflow. In all honesty, she found people more concerning than animals. There were two exceptions to the people she avoided: Jack and Laurel.
Jack was an old adventurer who had traveled enough and worked with enough people to avoid judging Molly by her appearance. Laurel was¡well, Laurel. Molly wasn¡¯t sure if Laurel actually liked anyone. The older, taciturn woman seemed to categorize people into two camps: those who were ¡°useless¡± and those who were ¡°competent.¡± Being an herbalist, Laurel had somehow placed Molly in the ¡°competent¡± category. Still, it was surprising to be summoned. The errand boy Laurel had sent to fetch Molly hadn¡¯t been too happy about entering anywhere near Molly¡¯s little hovel, but he delivered his message and tore off.
Why Molly needed a pack for a three-day hike, she wasn¡¯t sure. Perhaps Laurel was leaving town¡ªplausible, but not especially likely. In the years Molly had known the stern woman, she¡¯d noted that Laurel utterly refused to wander the wilds.
Having crossed the river and made it through the eastern section of town with only a few calls of ¡°Mousy Molly¡± and ¡°witch¡± and ¡°hellspawn,¡± Molly slunk into the alleyways and rapped twice on Laurel¡¯s door. She then tried to open it, expecting it to be locked. For once, it wasn¡¯t. The pungent odor of countless drying herbs surrounded Molly¡ªa thick miasma of potential remedies.
Once the door was shut, she turned to greet the older woman, only to find that it was not Laurel but some strange man standing there, scrubbing one of the smaller cauldrons. Molly froze¡ªperhaps not on the verge of panic, but feeling pretty close.
The man, a fairly decent-looking fellow, tall with broad shoulders and a short mop of nearly black hair, wore what looked like a red-and-off-white surcoat. He turned his head toward her and gave a smile. Now Molly was definitely about to panic. The red eyes of a Fire Islander bored into her¡ªknives that seemed to flay away her skin to look at the soul beneath. A Fire Islander inquisitor, perhaps? Someone who¡¯d come to purge Falcon¡¯s Hollow of its most ¡°undesired¡± resident?
Had Laurel betrayed her¡ªsummoned her here to meet someone who would¡what? Execute her? Imprison her? The man¡¯s genuinely warm smile horrifyingly contradicted his terrifying purpose, or so Molly feared. And then Molly heard Laurel¡¯s voice.
¡°Molly. This is Kallik, with the library. He needs a guide to the Vale.¡±
Molly watched the man grimace at that introduction. He dried his hands on a towel before turning to her, hand extended. Molly¡¯s eyes locked on the symbol on his chest. The surcoat buttoned to the side and offered plenty of room for the emblem of a white, open book within a flame. Did the Fire Islanders have to put flames on everything?
Molly¡¯s gaze dropped to his still-extended hand. Only then did she realize he¡¯d been offering it for a while, and she¡¯d been awkwardly staring at his chest instead of shaking.
¡°Oh¡sorry,¡± she squeaked, thrusting her considerably dirtier hand out to meet his.
He didn¡¯t clasp her wrist in a normal greeting, nor did he grab her fingers and lift them to gently kiss her hand like some nobleman in one of those romance novels Molly had stolen. Instead, he took her hand in his, firm but not crushing, and gave it a single solid shake before letting go. With that action, he spoke a phrase she wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d ever heard outside of a story: ¡°A pleasure to meet you.¡±
Molly stared at the man. A moment ago, she had been considering fleeing, thinking him likely some Fire Islander inquisitor come to hunt down ¡°demonic influences¡± in the world. Now her brain was floundering with the tiniest possibility that he might be her ¡°prince charming¡± in some romantic story. Another thought crossed her mind¡ªmaybe it was Laurel¡¯s reference to a library, or that he used words she¡¯d only ever read in books, or that he wore the symbol of an open book on his chest, but Molly found herself thinking, This guy might have some books.
Again, she realized she was staring. In fact, her hand was still extended in the same position it had been when he let go. She had to salvage the situation before her own awkwardness drove away the only person who¡¯d ever greeted her kindly. Though, in Jack¡¯s case, it was her fault that their first interaction had involved harsh words.
Too quickly, she pulled her arm back to her chest, then did something she¡¯d read about in countless stories: she tried pushing a strand of hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. It did not end well. Her dark brown hair was a frazzled mess, and she winced as she accidentally yanked out a few strands by the root.
¡°Molly,¡± Laurel snapped as she poked her head in from the front. ¡°He needs a guide to the Vale. You should be discussing pay.¡± Laurel jabbed a finger in Molly¡¯s direction. ¡°He needs you. Don¡¯t go cheap.¡±
¡°Uh¡¡± Molly began, then stopped. It was just like Laurel to think of money at a time like this. To be fair, Laurel was always thinking about money.
Fortunately, the man¡ªwho had gone back to tidying the area around Laurel¡¯s washbasin¡ªsaved her. ¡°As long as you can adequately guide me around this Vale, I see no reason I can¡¯t pay you a gold per day.¡±
Once again, Molly found herself staring. A full fucking gold per day? That was more than she¡¯d made¡ well, more than she¡¯d made in the last couple of months. In truth, she didn¡¯t need much gold. Laurel would probably want her to bargain for more. Part of Molly wanted to refuse taking so much. In the end, she decided just to accept the offer¡ªuntil she noticed he was looking slightly above her head.
It took her a second to realize what had caught his attention. She¡¯d felt something crawling up the back of her neck and nestling into her hair, but she was so used to her familiar¡¯s presence that it hadn¡¯t registered as unusual. Pointing upward, she said, ¡°Oh, that¡¯s Quarrel.¡±
The man¡¯s momentarily surprised look turned into a grin, then a chuckle, then a full-on gleeful laugh. Molly blushed. Yeah, she wasn¡¯t great at naming things, and calling her squirrel, Quarrel might be extreme, but did he have to find it that funny? He actually seemed to give the squirrel a tiny nod before turning his gaze back to Molly and asking, ¡°Well, is one gold enough for the two of you?¡±
¡°Oh¡ªer, yeah,¡± Molly stammered. A moment later, a party invite blinked into her peripheral vision. She accepted it, then stared at the prompt in fascination before dismissing it. She had never been invited to a party of this sort or any other.
¡°Any idea where we can find other people?¡± the man asked. ¡°Preferably someone with combat skills.¡±
It took Molly a moment to realize he was speaking to her again. ¡°No,¡± she blurted without thinking, then hurriedly amended, ¡°I guess we could ask Jack. He knows a lot of people.¡±
¡°All right, come on. Where do we find him?¡± The man, Kallik, said as he lifted his pack and swung it over his shoulder. Then he reached for his spear. A librarian who carried a spear? That was unexpected.
¡°Uh, he¡¯s by the crossroads. Can I, um¡ can I ask you a question?¡± Molly asked.
Kallik gave her a smile that almost warmed her heart. ¡°I¡¯m not a Fire Islander, just a steelborn. Does that answer your question?¡±
Molly¡¯s eyes widened. Either he got that question a lot, or he was a mind reader. Instead of verbally answering, she just nodded her head rapidly, causing Quarrel to grip her hair more tightly.
Kallik opened the door and gestured for her to go first. ¡°Lead on,¡± he said, then turned toward the front of the shop and called out, ¡°We¡¯re heading out, Laurel!¡±
¡°Hurry the fuck up!¡± came the sharp response from the taciturn old lady.
Kallik chuckled as he exited the building.
It felt strange walking down the alleyways with a giant looming over her. The top of Molly¡¯s head didn¡¯t even reach his shoulder, and she could practically feel his broad presence behind her like some sort of storm cloud. She tried not to look back¡ªthough she was sorely tempted¡ªreminding herself that, for once, he was supposed to be following her. Still, it was extremely awkward.
Not that Kallik was freakishly tall. He might have been a little taller than average, but his broad shoulders made him look bigger. Take away the red eyes and the fancy surcoat, and he would have fit in with the rest of Falcon¡¯s Hollow just fine. Except he lacked the rundown, weary look that most folks wore. No, once they emerged from the alley, people would stare, and their gazes would end up on her. Kallik, for all his height and bulk, was still overshadowed by how short Molly was. She was perfectly proportioned, but she was about the size of a young teenager. Add in gray skin, horns, and a tail in a town that hated everything about gray skin, horns, and tails, and she stuck out like a sore thumb. Her general disheveled look probably didn¡¯t help matters.
Lost in these thoughts, she exited the alley and stepped into the main street. So focused on the large man behind her, she wasn¡¯t paying attention to anything else. A shout of ¡°Hey, Mousy!¡± brought her attention back just in time to see something brownish hurtling toward her. The light-brown object sailed through the air before she could even flinch.
Oddly enough, a similarly hued hand reached out and snatched the object before it contacted her. Molly couldn¡¯t decide which surprised her more¡ªthat she¡¯d been so preoccupied she hadn¡¯t noticed some kid was about to throw something at her, or that someone would bother intercepting the projectile.
In the tangle of her own thoughts, Molly identified this as a pivotal moment in her life. She had just been saved. Not in any grand sense, but in a small, significant way. In one of her novels, this was where the two characters would stare into each other¡¯s eyes, their bond slowly deepening while readers squealed over how many chapters remained before they finally kissed.
Molly looked up at Kallik¡¯s face so she could fulfill her part of staring deeply into his red eyes.
Kallik was not looking at her.
Part of Molly berated herself for being stupid, while another part of her watched Kallik¡¯s expression transform from a confident smile to something not quite a frown. He stared at his hand, where yellowish and clear goo dripped down onto the ground near the shattered remains of an egg. The egg likely wouldn¡¯t have hurt Molly¡ªhells, it didn¡¯t even look rotten.
Kallik turned his head to the boy, who seemed just as shocked as Molly that anyone had intercepted the projectile. Then Kallik spoke, but not in the pleasant cadence Molly had come to associate with him. Instead, his words emerged in the harsh brogue of a Fire Islander:
¡°You throw egg at me? Perhaps you will¡ burn!¡±
That last word was laden with enough malice that Molly herself took a few steps back. The boy reacted similarly. He stumbled backward, fell on his rear, and dropped the basket of eggs he was carrying. He then scrambled away, leaving the basket on the ground, finally flipping over to bolt down the street.
Molly turned her attention back to Kallik just in time to see his previously dark, menacing countenance break into a bemused chuckle. When his eyes settled on her again, he was smiling.
¡°It¡¯s crazy how scared you people are of Fire Islanders.¡±
¡°Uh¡?¡± Molly managed. Of course, this man wasn¡¯t afraid of Fire Islanders. If Molly understood ¡°steelborn¡± correctly, Kallik was half¨CFire Islander: someone who carried the physical traits but none of the terrifying authority that came with belonging to the ruling class.
Kallik pulled out a rag and wiped his hand. ¡°Why¡¯d he throw an egg at you?¡± he asked.
¡°Because I¡¯m¡devil-blooded,¡± Molly said, as though it was obvious.
Kallik¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°You mean a tiefling?¡±
¡°What¡¯s a tiefling?¡± Molly asked, staring at the man who used words she had never heard before.
¡°A person with demonic or infernal blood in them,¡± Kallik answered, as though the term was common knowledge.
Molly just stared. She had no idea there was a single word to describe her that wasn¡¯t devil-blooded, demon-blooded, demon-kin, hellspawn, or countless other derogatory epithets.
¡°Oh,¡± was all she could say.
¡°Why did he call you ¡®Mousy?¡¯¡± Kallik asked.
Molly looked up at him again. The answer seemed obvious to her and presumably everyone else. Him not thinking she looked mousy was almost perplexing. Then again, ¡°Mousy Molly¡± did roll off the tongue.
¡°Um¡because I¡¯m small. And timid,¡± she admitted.
Kallik studied her. This time, he did that thing where a man¡¯s gaze roams from the top of a girl¡¯s head to her feet and back again. Unfortunately for Molly, this was more about him evaluating how mousy she was than appreciating her charms. Life really sucked sometimes.
The big man shrugged, then bade her to lead on. Once again, Molly was struck by the odd sensation of having a large person walking behind her as she tried not to scurry away. Mousy Molly, indeed.
Finally, they reached Jack-a-Napes. The journey wasn¡¯t far. Falcon¡¯s Hollow wasn¡¯t very large, but the oppressive feeling of having this large man behind her wasn¡¯t something Molly enjoyed.
Jack-a-Napes was a leaning ramshackle inn next to the town¡¯s stables. Its faded sign depicted a stack of pancakes and key. Molly walked through the squeaky door and was greeted almost instantly.
¡°Molly?¡± said a rotund red-faced human with a single wisp of bright red hair on his otherwise bald head.
Molly dipped her head, and in a considerably less enthusiastic voice, replied, ¡°Jack.¡±
¡°Who¡¯s your¡friend?¡± The tone of Jack¡¯s voice suggested he was misreading the situation. He seemed a bit surprised when Kallik moved around Molly, approached him, and held out a hand in greeting.
¡°My name is Kallik. I¡¯m an acolyte of the Ritter Literati out of Kal-Drovak.¡±
Jack squinted at him for a moment, his gaze flicking between Kallik¡¯s face, his hand, and the symbol on his surcoat. He cast a quick glance toward Molly, then finally took the proffered hand.
¡°Jack. Just Jack. And this is my inn.¡± He shook Kallik¡¯s hand, then added, ¡°Been a while since I¡¯ve seen anyone from the library.¡±
Kallik seemed to grimace at the mention of the library. Both Molly and Jack noticed, but neither commented on it.
¡°Will you be staying for lunch?¡± Jack asked.
¡°No,¡± Kallik answered promptly. ¡°Molly here is going to guide me through the Vale. We¡¯re looking for ingredients to help with this plague, and I was hoping to hire a bit more combat-focused help for protection.¡±
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¡°I¡¯m retired,¡± Jack said at once.
Kallik tilted his head, clearly not understanding. ¡°Okay¡we came here to ask if you knew anyone who might be available.¡±
¡°Oh, I see. That makes a bit more sense. Hmm.¡±
The two men began discussing the guards that came with various caravans, caravans that currently weren¡¯t in town and with the tight timeframe Kallik was working with, as well as how much he was willing to pay. Meanwhile, Molly slunk off toward a corner. Some of the patrons were eyeing her. They were also eyeing Kallik, but likely because of his fancy surcoat and the fact he was clearly not from Falcon¡¯s Hollow. Without a direct view of his red eyes, most of their focus rested on ¡°that evil, horrible, demon-blooded witch¡± they believed was poisoning their children, and so on. Nobody said anything. This was Jack¡¯s territory, and Jack wouldn¡¯t tolerate trouble.
¡°You know the way to the Temple of Iomedae?¡±
The question startled Molly. She¡¯d been so focused on blending into the shadows that she hadn¡¯t noticed Kallik and Jack finishing their conversation.
¡°Sure,¡± she mumbled. She didn¡¯t get another word out before walking out the door, doing her best not to appear as though she were running.
Molly didn¡¯t particularly like the Church of Iomedae. It felt a bit like a small malignant cancer on an otherwise healthy body. Or perhaps the opposite, a single spot of healthy flesh on an otherwise mangy beast. Neither analogy seemed exactly right. While the Goddess of Justice might genuinely seek justice, her local priestess was far more¡ human.
Molly and Castilia did not see eye to eye, mostly, Molly believed, because Castilia assumed she was some sort of evil devilspawn who¡¯d poisoned the well with Blackscour mushrooms. Molly had not done so, but if people kept accusing her anyway, maybe she¡¯d consider it. She knew where to find Blackscour and knew where the wells were. Though she acknowledged it wouldn¡¯t be fair to essentially kill the entire town for treating her poorly. There were more than a few people who might deserve it. Even the corrupt antagonists in some of her stolen books didn¡¯t seem as vile as certain folks in this little mountain settlement.
As the two approached the Temple of Iomedae, Molly considered what it said about her home that some of its population seemed worse than fictional villains. Nearing the temple¡¯s steps, she slowed and let Kallik take the lead. She knew from experience that she wouldn¡¯t burst into flames upon entering¡ªas long as Castilia¡¯s glare wasn¡¯t enough to set someone ablaze¡ªand, so far at least, it couldn¡¯t.
Chapter 3 base text
The temple of Iomedae certainly wasn¡¯t as grand as those in the larger cities. While its base was made of stone and raised a couple of steps off the ground, most of the structure was wooden. It wasn¡¯t unattractive, though. It still had an aesthetically pleasing design. Multiple layers of trim and a uniquely sloped roof. In place of a large stained-glass window depicting the symbol of the temple¡¯s patron deity, it featured a well-carved wooden sign. The vertical sword and sunburst emblem was painted on, and in all honesty, Kallik preferred the 3D carving to a flat stained-glass display. At least the building was well cared for.
Stepping through a propped-open door, Kallik wasn¡¯t surprised, though he realized he should have been, to find a large section of the interior partitioned off with sheets, behind which came the coughing and suffering of very sick people. A single man sat in a pew, wrapped in a thick blanket, turning to look toward Kallik and Molly. His eyes appeared distant, his face pale, and specks of red marred his lips. Slowly, he turned his head from the entryway to the partitioned area, then weakly called, ¡°Priestess?¡±
After a moment¡¯s delay, a flap in the sectioned-off area opened, revealing a young woman wearing a white scapular emblazoned with the sword-and-sunburst sigil of Iomedae. She looked exhausted. Her hair disheveled, bags under her eyes, and flecks of red staining the otherwise pure white of her vestments. Kallik winced slightly at the thought that the people behind the curtains were literally coughing up their lungs.
The priestess¡¯s eyes first locked onto Molly, who was practically hiding behind Kallik. The woman¡¯s already weary expression deepened into something close to a scowl. Then her gaze shifted to Kallik, focusing on the emblem on his chest. For a moment, her eyes widened with what could only be called hope. ¡°Ritter¡?¡± she began.
Kallik shook his head as he stepped forward. ¡°Only an acolyte.¡±
The priestess¡¯s face fell. Hopes dashed against reality as she realized Kallik wasn¡¯t high enough in his order to be of real help. He stepped forward and extended a hand.
¡°My name is Kallik, an acolyte of the Ritter Literati.¡±
The woman took his hand and offered a polite response. ¡°Castilia, cleric of the Goddess Iomedae.¡±
¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you,¡± Kallik said. Castilia¡¯s tension eased slightly, and she forced a smile. She was, in her own way, quite attractive. Brown hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin might have been as average as one could get, but the shape of her face and an underlying confidence that refused to hide behind those tired eyes lent her a certain radiance. Then her gaze drifted off to the side and down, and her expression fell once more as she focused on the person behind Kallik.
¡°Why would the Ritter Literati send an acolyte?¡± she asked. ¡°No offense, but we could use someone who can at least cast Remove Disease. That¡¯s the bare minimum we need right now.¡±
Kallik shook his head. ¡°The Literati did not send me. I found a flyer in Berkhanstead, created by Laurel.¡±
Castilia¡¯s eyebrows rose. ¡°Laurel? You mean that cranky, gold-hounding alchemist, err, herbalist, I guess? I didn¡¯t think she actually cared about the people here.¡±
¡°I¡¯m uncertain Laurel is a gold-hound,¡± Kallik replied carefully. ¡°She seems to be doing what she can for those who are truly ill. As far as I understand, she¡¯s on her last desperate effort. Grasping at straws, you might say. I¡¯ve been tasked with going into the Darkmoon Vale in search of certain ingredients for a concoction even Laurel believes might be nonsense. Again, just grasping at straws. I¡¯ve hired Molly here as my guide.¡±
Once more, Castilia frowned, her eyes dipping back toward the shorter woman who knew better than to speak. ¡°Hmm. And why have you come here?¡± the priestess asked.
¡°I was looking to hire someone more combat-focused to watch our backs,¡± Kallik explained. ¡°A man named Jack suggested I come here. Said I should talk to you about your acolyte.¡±
¡°Hmm, reasonable, I suppose, if only for the slim chance this might help. One moment.¡± Castilia turned her gaze toward the sectioned-off area and called for a man named Tomlin. A young man in a similar monastic scapular came out carrying rags.
¡°This is Kallik, an acolyte of the Ritter Literati. He¡¯s going on an expedition into the Vale, trying to find some ingredients that likely won¡¯t, but might, help with the Blackscour Taint. If you¡¯re willing to go, then fetch your gear,¡± Castilia instructed.
Tomlin glanced between Castilia and Kallik for a moment, shot a brief glare at Molly, then gave Castilia a single nod.
¡°Paying five silver a day,¡± Kallik added.
Tomlin either didn¡¯t hear or didn¡¯t acknowledge it. Castilia turned her attention back to Kallik. ¡°I do appreciate that, though the possibility of gaining experience is reason enough for him to go.¡±
Kallik nodded. Castilia leaned to the side, arms folded, and glared at Molly for a moment. ¡°Could you stand outside?¡±
Kallik wanted to protest, but he sensed Castilia wanted to speak without the other girl present. As Molly left, Castilia tilted her head, indicating she wanted Kallik to follow. He obliged, and she led him to a side room. She left the door open so she could still watch the entry, but it afforded a degree of privacy. She turned to Kallik and bluntly stated, ¡°Don¡¯t trust that girl.¡±
¡°Oh?¡± Kallik responded aloud, raising an eyebrow.
¡°Unlike the natives, I don¡¯t judge her for what she is. But Falcon¡¯s Hollow is corrupt and harsh, and its people have molded her into the thing they fear.¡± Castilia sighed. ¡°Molly¡¯s a liar and a thief at best. At worst¡well, it¡¯s possible this Blackscour Taint came from someone bringing it in. Of course, I have no proof, but if I had to suspect anyone, it¡¯d be her. I¡¯m not saying she won¡¯t be an adequate guide to the Vale. I¡¯m just warning you not to trust her.¡±
Kallik silently considered her words, then nodded. He could make his own judgment, but there was nothing illogical in the priestess¡¯s warning. For now, he would assume Molly would do the job he was paying her for. Laurel seemed to trust Molly, but he decided not to mention that.
¡°All right. Any other advice before I head into the Vale?¡± he asked.
¡°Mm. I¡¯d say avoid the witch¡¯s hut, meaning Uza¡¯s place,¡± Castilia said. ¡°Reports are wildly mixed. She¡¯s either an evil old hermit or a wise sage who likes her privacy. In either case, she tends to extract strange and often terrible prices for what she offers.¡±
¡°That might not be avoidable,¡± Kallik admitted.
¡°Then I suggest being careful,¡± Castilia replied.
Tomlin emerged from a back room, pack in tow, armor on, and a bedroll over his shoulder.
¡°Well, I guess that¡¯s that,¡± Castilia said. ¡°May Iomedae watch over you and guide you to success on this¡ mission.¡±
Kallik found Molly sitting on the temple¡¯s front step, head down and tail resting in her lap, the little tuft at the end twitching cat-like. ¡°To the lumber camp, please?¡± he asked, causing Molly to nearly jump out of her skin. ¡°Sorry.¡±
Molly cast one quick glance at Tomlin before standing, then set off toward the northern gate. Thus, their journey began.
¡°Just so we can get an idea of everyone¡¯s abilities,¡± Kallik said, ¡°I¡¯m a level-one wizard¡¡±
¡°Uh, what? Wizard?¡± Tomlin asked with some surprise. Even Molly missed a step and turned to look Kallik over. Kallik himself chuckled. He rather enjoyed people¡¯s reactions upon discovering that the broad-shouldered, tall, and well-built individual was a member of a class that typically conjured images of the exact opposite.
¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°Prepared spells for the day are: an unerring missile of magical force, a spread of flame, and the ability to alarm an area at night, mostly useful for camp. Beyond that, I know how to use this.¡± He lifted his spear off the ground as he spoke.
¡°Level one¡ w-w, a warrior?¡± Tomlin stuttered. ¡°I focus on a shield and m-m-m, a mace,¡± Tomlin clarified.
There was a long pause as they continued down the road, before Molly realized Kallik was waiting for her to speak.
¡°Oh,¡± she managed, keeping her head down and fiddling with her fingers. ¡°Adept. Level one,¡± she said in a small voice, volunteering no further information.
¡°Can you heal?¡± Kallik asked.
¡°Uh¡yeah.¡±
¡°How many spells?¡± he pressed.
¡°Um¡two,¡± Molly replied, sounding unsure and steadfastly not looking back at the two men behind her. She could practically feel Tomlin¡¯s glare, as well as the more analytical scrutiny of Kallik¡¯s red gaze. Instead, she kept her head down and pressed on., She was, after all, the guide, and that was her job.
Kallik watched the little tiefling girl in front of him. She was¡well, cute in a mousy, disheveled sort of way. Her dark hair was a frazzled mess, made more literal by the squirrel perched atop her head and staring back at him. The girl seemed to want to vanish into herself, and her tail, with a little tuft of fur at the end, barely moved. The back of her left pant leg was torn, revealing skin nearly up to her knee. Her pack was small, but in proportion to her small stature.
Yes, she was cute, but Castilia had been right: she was likely a liar. Kallik threw a slight glare at the squirrel, which returned it with beady-eyed indignation. Kallik, being a wizard in service to the Literati, recognized a familiar when he saw one. The squirrel wasn¡¯t just a pet. It was possible for an Adept to have a familiar, but the odds were that Molly was lying about her station. If she could actually cast healing spells, though, she¡¯d be worth her weight in gold¡ªliar or not. For now, he¡¯d keep his suspicions to himself.
The Lumber Consortium¡¯s logging camp cut a deep scar into the forest¡ªa considerable swath of nothing but cut stumps and a thick carpet of sawdust and slash. Five buildings, built entirely of logs, stood scattered across a broad clearing in a rough, near-pentagram arrangement. Large carts and sleds trundled back and forth, hauling logs in various stages of processing, presumably toward more specialized facilities. The lumberjacks looked surly. Hardened as old sailors, but with thicker beards.
¡°Excuse me, do you know where I can find Millen Roddale?¡± Kallik asked one burly lumberjack.
The man only glared and kindly told him to ¡°fuck off.¡±
Undeterred, Kallik found another person, this time pulling out a gold coin.
¡°Do you know where I can find Millen Roddale?¡±
The man stared at the coin a moment before looking into Kallik¡¯s red eyes, issuing a derisive huff, and returning to his work. Twice more, a whole gold was rejected. Concluding that his red eyes and presumed Fire Islander heritage were causing distrust, Kallik decided to play into that notion.
He climbed atop a large stack of logs and cupped his hands around his mouth. In the best approximation of his mother¡¯s accent, he shouted, ¡°Attention, tree-cutter people! I am look for Millen Roddale. Bring him to me! I pay!¡±
That statement certainly drew attention. Molly found herself hiding behind Tomlin, who didn¡¯t seem thrilled by the lumberjacks¡¯ general mood. Someone at the base of the log pile clamped a tool onto one of the lower logs and twisted, causing the entire stack to roll. Kallik let out a startled yelp as what had moments ago been his firm footing suddenly vanished.
¡°Um¡perhaps if¡maybe w-w-we¡ Where¡¯s the fore-m-man?¡± Tomlin asked. Someone pointed toward a log building, and once Tomlin was sure Kallik had broken nothing during his impromptu log-rolling test, he led him away. The three headed toward what looked like the camp¡¯s office amid the lumberjacks¡¯ glares.
The office of one Jarlben Trookshavits, the lumber boss, wasn¡¯t any more welcoming. His employees out front might as well have been snarling wolves. A large bear, angry coyotes, and a couple of oversized reptilian things seemed to glare from their mounts on Jarlben¡¯s wall, giving the place an eerie vibe. Jarlben himself presented no kinder visage.
¡°We need to talk to your woodsman, Millen Roddale,¡± Kallik began. ¡°We¡¯re trying¡ª¡±
The thick tap of a finger on the desk and a gruff voice demanding cut him off, ¡°Five gold.¡±
Kallik frowned. ¡°We¡¯re searching for ingredients in the forest to help with Blackscour Taint.¡±
Another finger-tap on the desk. ¡°Five gold.¡±
Kallik glared; the man glared right back. In the end, Kallik parted with five more gold pieces, hoping this venture wouldn¡¯t take too many days. Further delays would mean more deaths, and he wouldn¡¯t have enough coin to pay his help. They were ordered to wait outside while a runner went to find Millen.
Millen himself actually listened to what they needed and seemed relieved that there might be a cure. His niece had the disease. He was only too happy to draw them a map of all possible locations for their ingredients. With that settled, the trio finally set off into the Darkmoon Vale: the small tiefling adept up front, the normal-sized human warrior in the rear, and the broad-shouldered wizard in the middle. Kallik had a feeling this would go either very well¡or very, very badly.
Chapter 4 base text
The forest was quiet but alive with possibilities. From his perch high in the sturdy branches of a blackwood tree, Grung Knifetongue licked his lips, the malformed cleft in his palate making the sound wet and faintly grotesque. Below, the cries of the fox echoed through the cool air, a sharp, pitiful wail that would draw any soft-hearted fool into the open. The adventurers had appeared minutes earlier, their chatter betraying their positions long before Grung caught sight of them through the dense leaves. His gray-skinned fingers twitched over the taut string of his shortbow.
They were good prey. Not the usual scavengers or beasts¡ªthese ones carried gear. Real weapons. One of them, a stocky figure with a mace and shield, even wore some armor. Grung¡¯s heart thudded in anticipation. That mace would fetch a good price, and their coin purses jingled faintly as they moved closer to the lake.
The group paused at the edge of the grassy shore. The fox lay sprawled on its side, its bright orange fur matted with blood, hindquarters caught in the jagged iron maw of Grung¡¯s trap. The largest of the three¡ªa spear-wielding man with no armor to speak of¡ªscanned the tree line, his oddly red eyes sharp. Grung held his breath, melting into the shadow of the branches, his nerves dancing on the edge of panic. Then, the smallest of the group, a dark-haired woman with a sickle hooked at her belt, darted forward. Her voice, soft and urgent, carried through the stillness.
¡°It¡¯s hurt badly,¡± she said, crouching beside the fox. Her hands hovered over its trembling body, uncertain. ¡°Hold on. I''ve got you.¡±
The man with the mace stepped forward, glancing back toward the trees. ¡°Molly, we should keep g-g-g, Keep moving. This isn''t¡ª¡±
¡°No,¡± Molly cut in, her voice snapping with impatience. ¡°Just wait.¡±
Grung¡¯s lip curled. Foolish. So foolish. He fitted an arrow to his bowstring, his excitement tempered by caution. His black, beady eyes flicked between the spear-wielder and the armored one. The spearman would go down first. Without armor, he¡¯d be easy to drop. Grung took aim, steadying his breath as Molly fussed over the fox, her back turned to him.
The arrow flew, slicing through the air with a faint whistle. It struck the spearman high in the shoulder. He staggered back, a sharp cry escaping his lips as his spear clattered to the ground. Molly¡¯s head whipped around, her eyes wide with shock.
¡°Kallik!¡± she shouted.
Grung didn¡¯t wait for her reaction. He nocked another arrow, already shifting his aim to the next target. The armored one¡ªTomlin, the spearman had called him¡ªraised his shield, his face pale but determined. Grung grunted in frustration. Shields were a nuisance. Perhaps the razorcrows would distract him.
Grung clicked his tongue sharply, a guttural command that sent the razorcrows into a frenzy. Their harsh cries sliced through the forest¡¯s uneasy quiet as they descended, black-feathered shapes swooping low with claws outstretched toward the group. Grung didn¡¯t care if they succeeded. They were a tool, nothing more. He fired again, the arrow glancing off Tomlin¡¯s shield with a sharp thunk. The hobgoblin hissed through his teeth, his excitement giving way to irritation. They weren¡¯t running yet.
Below, the spearman pulled himself to his feet, blood streaming down his arm. Molly had drawn her sickle, her face set with near panic, while Tomlin batted at the razorcrows with his shield.
Grung¡¯s nerves frayed. They weren¡¯t supposed to fight back like this. The spear-wielder, Kallik, suddenly straightened, his crimson eyes locking onto Grung with an intensity that froze the hobgoblin in place. Kallik raised his weapon, pointing the spear directly at Grung.
Grung let out a scoffing laugh. ¡°Point all you like, stick-man. Won¡¯t stop this.¡±
But the spear tip began to glow, a blinding white light gathering at its tip. Before Grung could process what was happening, the light shot forth, forming a spearhead-shaped projectile wreathed in ethereal white fire. The projectile streaked toward him with impossible precision.
Grung yelped, instinctively dropping from his tree. The world tilted as he fell, his stomach lurching with the motion. Mid-fall, his beady eyes widened in horror as the blazing projectile twisted in the air, turning to follow him like a predator locked on its prey.
He raised his arms in desperation to shield himself. The magical spear struck him square in the chest, burning through his crude leathers and slicing into his gray skin. Pain exploded through his ribs as he crashed into the ground below. The wound was not deep, but it hurt enough to make him flinch. His next shot went wild, the arrow flying uselessly into the trees as he hissed in agony. The pain coursing through his chest was too much, and for the first time, a flicker of genuine fear gripped him.
Grung scrambled to his feet, the razorcrows still darting and clawing at the adventurers. They were a distraction, just enough to cover his retreat. Clutching his side, he turned and bolted deeper into the forest, his gray feet pounding against the underbrush. Branches slapped at his face and arms as he ran, but he didn¡¯t dare stop or look back.
The sounds of combat and shouts faded behind him as the shadows of the blackwood trees enveloped him. Grung gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep moving despite the searing pain in his chest. His prey had been more trouble than they were worth, and he cursed himself for underestimating them. But he was alive, and that was all that mattered.
***
The razorcrows lay still, their black feathers scattered across the grass near Tomlin¡¯s feet. He stood with his shield resting against his leg, his mace held loosely in one hand, surveying the forest¡¯s edge. Red scratches lined his face and arms, but he seemed otherwise unbothered, though his cautious gaze darted through the trees.
Molly, crouched a short distance away, was nearly oblivious to him and Kallik. Her attention fixed entirely on the fox caught in the trap. The creature trembled as she worked, her hands moving carefully to avoid jostling its wounded leg. Quarrel chirped nervously from his perch in her tangled hair, his tiny claws gripping tightly. She gave him a gentle nudge with one finger.
¡°Hush, Quarrel,¡± she murmured under her breath, her tone soft and steady. ¡°It¡¯s all right. Just a bit longer.¡±
The fox¡¯s bright orange fur was matted with blood, and Molly¡¯s fingers were slick as she worked to loosen the crude iron jaws of the trap. She knew the others were close by, felt their movements at the edges of her awareness, but she kept her focus on the animal. Its sharp, terrified eyes flicked to her every so often, and she murmured calming words, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kallik approached from the forest¡¯s edge, his steps heavy but deliberate. His hand rested on the arrow shaft lodged in his shoulder, the wooden shaft wobbling slightly with each step. He glanced at Tomlin, who was still scanning the tree line.
¡°It doesn¡¯t hurt as much as I thought it would,¡± Kallik said, his voice laced with mild curiosity. ¡°Not deep, though. Should come out easy.¡±
Tomlin¡¯s eyes flicked to the arrow, then to Kallik¡¯s face. ¡°Y-you sure?¡± he asked.
Kallik nodded, gripping the arrow¡¯s base with one hand. ¡°Yeah. Probably.¡±
With a quick motion, he yanked the arrow free. His expression barely shifted, but his next breath came sharply. Blood welled up from the gash left behind, staining his tunic a darker red. He grimaced.
¡°Hurts more now,¡± he admitted, holding a hand over the wound as if to stop the bleeding. His eyes met Tomlin¡¯s briefly, but the smaller man¡¯s attention had already returned to the forest.
¡°B-bad idea,¡± Tomlin muttered. He adjusted his shield, his grip on the handle tightening. ¡°H-he might still b-be out there.¡±
Molly didn¡¯t glance up, but she could hear the exchange clearly. Her jaw tightened as she carefully pried open the last hinge of the trap. With a faint metallic creak, the iron jaws released, and the fox flinched away. It limped a few feet, then collapsed onto the grass, its sides heaving with labored breaths.
¡°Got it,¡± Molly said softly, brushing her bloodied hands on her pant legs. Quarrel chittered in relief, though he still refused to leave her hair. She reached toward the fox, her movements slow and deliberate, her voice calming. ¡°Easy now. You¡¯re okay. Let me see how bad it is.¡±
Behind her, Kallik adjusted his grip on his spear, his sharp eyes flicking to the treetops and back. Tomlin stood as still as a statue, his shoulders tense.
¡°If he¡¯s smart,¡± Kallik said, his tone low, ¡°he¡¯s long gone.¡±
Tomlin didn¡¯t respond, his gaze still locked on the forest line. Molly barely registered their words. Her fingers moved gently over the fox¡¯s injured leg, her expression softening despite the tension around her. She pressed her hand lightly to the worst of the wounds, her brow furrowing in concentration. No words passed her lips, no glow illuminated the scene, but the ragged flesh beneath her touch began to knit together. The fox let out a soft whimper but stilled, its breathing growing steadier.
Tomlin¡¯s sharp intake of breath broke the moment. ¡°You¡you used a h-h-healing spell? On a-an animal?¡±
Molly blinked, turning her head slightly toward him, but her hand remained on the fox. ¡°It needed help,¡± she said simply, her voice as cold and firm as she could force it to be.
Tomlin¡¯s face twisted in disbelief, his stuttered words rising with irritation. ¡°A-a-a waste! K-Kallik is hurt. You should have¡¡±
Her eyes snapped to Kallik then, finally noticing the blood staining his tunic and the gash in his shoulder. She should have paid more attention. Kallik gave her a small smile, the corners of his mouth tilting upward despite the strain. ¡°It¡¯s fine. I think.¡±
Molly hesitated, her hands still for a moment before she motioned for him to come closer. ¡°Let me see,¡± she murmured, her voice soft but insistent.
Kallik stepped forward, his movements careful. Molly reached up, her fingers trembling slightly as she placed a hand over the wound. She was touching him. Well, she was touching his bloody surcoat. Her eyes darted to his face, watching for any reaction.
Kallik¡¯s expression remained neutral at first, but his brow furrowed slightly as a faint warmth spread through his shoulder. Molly¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line as she concentrated.
When she finally pulled her hand away, Kallik rolled his shoulder, testing the movement. His grin widened as he swung his arm in circles. ¡°That¡¯s amazing,¡± he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. ¡°Thank you, Molly.¡±
Tomlin, standing a few paces away, scowled, his voice low and muttered. ¡°A-all out of h-healing spells already¡ W-wonderful.¡±
Molly glanced at him briefly, her expression unreadable, but she said nothing. She hadn''t used her two healing spells yet, that was something different. Kallik¡¯s gaze lingered on her a moment longer, his expression thoughtful. Did he suspect her of something. Of coarse the wizard would be able to recognize a hex over a spell. He didn''t anything though.
"Alright." Said Kallik. "Moving on. Molly?"
Molly scooped the fox up into her arms and took lead into the forest.
Chapter 5 base text
The elder tree wasn''t hard to find. Not with Quarrel''s help. The dense forest fell away as the group stepped into the clearing, and for a moment, all they could do was stare. The massive darkwood tree towered above them, its colossal trunk anchoring it like a titan rooted in the earth. Its sprawling branches stretched skyward, an intricate cathedral of leaves and limbs, while its thick roots burrowed into the soil like serpents. The rich, almost black bark gleamed faintly in the fading light.
¡°Oh wow,¡± Kallik said softly, his voice carrying the wonder Molly and presumably the others felt.
They moved toward the tree almost in unison, their steps slow and reverent, eyes craning upward to take in the sheer immensity of it. A small crack sound under her boot caught Molly''s attention enough for her to tear her gaze away the great forest elder. She glanced down, expecting a branch or dried leaves, but instead saw the slender, splintered ankle bone of a deer.
Her brow furrowed as she crouched to inspect it. The fox in her arms squirming against the motion. Nearby, another crunch made her glance sideways. A skull, round and elongated, caught her eye. The telltale shape of a Darkmoon wolf¡¯s jawbone sent a prickle of unease up her spine. She scanned the ground more closely now, her fingers brushing the detritus. Bones. So many bones.
¡°There are¡¡± Molly hesitated, her voice uneven. ¡°There are bones everywhere.¡±
Kallik and Tomlin finally tore their gazes away from the tree, looking down as if seeing the ground for the first time. The bones scattered across the floor formed a grim carpet beneath the tree¡¯s massive roots. Molly swallowed hard, brushing her hands on her skirt as she rose. Leaving the Firefoot Fennec by her feet.
Why so many? She wanted to ask, but the words didn''t form.
Tomlin turned slowly, his cautious gaze sweeping the clearing. He shifted his shield into position, the tension in his shoulders building. Molly¡¯s unease deepened, her tail twitching nervously behind her.
Tomlin¡¯s attention lingered on the tree a moment longer before he turned, his lips parting to say something¡ªbut the words never came.
A deafening hiss split the air as a serpentine form burst from the canopy above. Leaves and small branches rained down as the creature plunged toward them, its emerald scales glinting in the fading light. Its yellow eyes glowed with predatory intent, and its muscular, snake-like body twisted midair. Thick forearms tipped with sharp claws spread wide, grasping for prey. Before any of them could react, it slammed into Tomlin with the force of a boulder, sending him sprawling.
Molly screamed, stumbling back as Quarrel erupted from her hair in a flurry of panicked chirps. Kallik whirled, his spear already in hand, his expression shifting from awe to alarm in an instant.
The creature hissed, its claws raking against Tomlin¡¯s armor as it coiled around him. Its forearms gripped him tightly, claws digging into the seams of his armor, as it began to drag him toward the tree. Its body lashed, striking the ground and scattering dirt and bones. Tomlin struggled beneath the beast¡¯s weight, his shield wedged awkwardly between them as he grunted in pain. The creature''s maw snapped inches from his face, its hot breath steaming against his skin, while its powerful limbs strained to haul him into the branches above.
¡°Get it off!¡± Tomlin shouted, his voice ragged with fear and effort. His mace swung wildly, striking the wyrm¡¯s side but failing to do much more than brush over its scales.
Kallik moved first, his spear angled toward the beast. ¡°Hold on!¡± he called, his voice steady despite the chaos. He lunged forward, the point of his weapon aiming for the wyrm¡¯s exposed flank.
Molly stood frozen for a heartbeat, her eyes wide as the scene unfolded. She didn¡¯t like Tomlin, not at all, but she didn¡¯t want to see him die either. Her gaze darted between the creature and the massive tree looming above, her indecision carving a hollow pit in her chest. Then, as the wyrm¡¯s claws dug deeper and Tomlin¡¯s muffled grunts grew weaker, she set her jaw.
Taking a deep breath, she planted her feet and reached outward, into the dark, familiar other. Comfort and unease swirled together as she felt the pulse of life and death around her¡ªthe bones beneath her feet whispering of ends long past, and the tree towering before her radiating timeless vitality. Her hand twisted unnaturally, her fingers forming shapes no humanoid hand should. Words spilled from her lips, soft and alien and ancient, reverberating through the clearing like a distant echo.
A sickly green and purple ray erupted from her outstretched finger, shooting across the clearing. Molly''s heart sank as the ray missed its mark, disappearing into the branches of the massive tree behind the wyrm. The creature, undeterred, tightened its grip on Tomlin, its claws digging deeper as it dragged him closer to the tree''s limbs. Molly cursed under her breath, her hands trembling as she stood on the ground unable to do anything useful.
Kallik seized his last opportunity. His spear lashed forward, piercing the wyrm¡¯s side with a brutal thrust. The creature screeched again, thrashing violently as it tried to pull away from the steel weapon.
Molly watched helplessly as the wyrm hauled a struggling Tomlin higher into the tree¡¯s massive branches, its powerful limbs pulling him effortlessly out of Kallik¡¯s reach. Her heart raced, panic and frustration swirling in her chest as she tried to think of anything that could stop it. She clenched her fists, but before she could act again, Kallik stepped forward.
He seemed unfazed, his focus sharp and unyielding. He leveled his spear, aiming carefully at the wyrm¡¯s wounded side. Then, with a quick flick of his wrist, the spear launched itself forward with impossible speed. The tip buried itself deep into the creature¡¯s scales, driving straight into the previous wound. The wyrm let out a deafening screech, its grip faltering as it writhed in pain. Tomlin slipped free of its claws, falling several feet before landing heavily on the bone covered ground.
The wyrm snarled, its instincts driving it to flee. The spear snapped back into Kallik¡¯s waiting hand, his movements calm and deliberate. With a sharp gesture and a single word of power, he unleashed a white, arcane spearpoint that trailed ethereal fire. The projectile curved deftly around the thick limbs of the tree before striking the wyrm squarely in its side. The creature¡¯s screech turned into a strangled hiss as it lost its grip entirely and plummeted from the canopy, crashing into the forest floor below.
Kallik approached the fallen wyrm, his spear in hand. Its movements were weak and sluggish. With a practiced thrust, he ended the creature¡¯s struggle swiftly. The forest fell eerily silent, save for the heavy breathing of the group.
Molly stared at Kallik, her breath catching in her throat as she watched him calmly lower his weapon. For a fleeting moment, he reminded her of the heroes from one of her stolen romance novels¡ªthe noble warrior, brave and unfaltering, stepping out of legend to save the day. However instead of striding confidently toward her, he ran to check on Tomlin.
¡°Do you have any more healing magic?¡± Kallik asked as he turned Tomlin onto his back. Blood seeped from the puncture wounds where the creature¡¯s claws had burrowed into his flesh. His expression remained calm, though his voice carried a sense of urgency.
¡°Um, yeah,¡± Molly said, her voice hesitant as she slowly approached Castilia¡¯s acolyte. Part of her didn¡¯t want to help him, but she knew she had no choice. She waved her hands in a practiced motion, mumbling the necessary words before placing her hand firmly on Tomlin¡¯s chest.
A soft glow emanated briefly from her touch, and the puncture wounds began to close. As she worked, Molly¡¯s mind raced. Did Kallik understand what she was doing? Could he see through her careful gestures and words to the deeper truth? She didn¡¯t understand it herself, not entirely. The power she wielded felt natural and yet alien, like instinct not knowledge.
When the magic faded, Molly stepped back, her hands trembling slightly. Tomlin stirred, his eyes relaxing as he let out a low groan. He looked at her, then quickly away, muttering something under his breath. Molly wasn¡¯t sure if it was a thank you or a complaint, and she didn¡¯t much care.
Kallik nodded at her, his expression steady. ¡°Good work,¡± he said simply, before lending a hand to help Tomlin up. Molly let out a quiet sigh, relieved the moment had passed without further scrutiny. She was at least one spell over her Adept cover story.
***
Molly crouched near the massive trunk of the elder darkwood tree, her fingers brushing lightly over the moss that clung to its dark surface. The patch was soft and spongy, its deep green color contrasting against the nearly black bark. Carefully, Molly peeled it away in clumps, placing each handful into the pouch. The task was simple and methodical, requiring none of her focus, which left her ears free to pick up on the low conversation behind her.
Not too far away, Kallik and Tomlin worked to bury the skeletal remains of the three hunters who had met their grisly end in the limbs of the tree. Their tones were muted, but the quiet of the forest carried their words clearly.
¡°How do we divide wa-wa-wa... Slpit the watches for tonight?¡± Tomlin asked, his voice practical but edged with tension.
Kallik¡¯s voice was calm, almost indifferent. ¡°Three of us, so three watches works.¡±
Tomlin hesitated. Molly edged around the tree just enough to catch the way his mouth twisted. ¡°And her?¡± he asked, tilting his head in her direction. ¡°You really think we can t-trust her to take a watch?¡±
Molly stilled, her fingers tightening slightly on the handful of moss she had just collected.
¡°No,¡± Tomlin continued before Kallik could answer. ¡°She¡¯s lying about her c-c... about her class, and probably more.¡±
There was a pause. Then Kallik sighed. ¡°She¡¯s definitely lying, I do think Castilia was right about her.¡± he said, his voice steady but devoid of judgment. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t mean she¡¯s dangerous. People lie for reasons.¡±
¡°Castilia is always right,¡± Tomlin muttered. ¡°I don¡¯t know why y-y-you¡¯d risk it.¡±
¡°We¡¯ll manage two watches,¡± Kallik said smoothly, changing the subject. ¡°I have a spell that will alert me if anything comes too close. Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±
Tomlin grunted in reluctant agreement. Their conversation shifted, their voices lowering further as they spoke about other matters. Molly stayed where she was, kneeling in the dirt and moss, staring at the patch she had just harvested. Her chest felt tight, her breath uneven.
She had expected distrust from Tomlin. That was nothing new. But hearing Kallik agree, even in his calm, detached way, stung more than she thought it would. She had lied to him, and maybe she deserved his doubt. Still, it hurt. And it was odd it hurt. Why should she care what he thinks?
Forcing herself to move, Molly finished gathering the last of the moss and tied her pouch shut. She rose slowly, her face carefully blank, and approached the men as if she hadn¡¯t heard a word.
¡°Got the moss,¡± she said, her voice steady. ¡°What now?¡±
Kallik looked out from under the boughs of the giant trees at the darkening sky. "Is it safe to camp here? With a small fire."
Molly looked up at the tree limbs above her. "A small one." "Then let¡¯s set camp. You two collect firewood. I''ll ward the area."
"Who has first watch?" Molly asked, her tone casual, but her eyes flicked toward Kallik, trying to gauge his reaction. She wanted to know if he truly intended to trust her, even for something as simple as keeping watch.
Kallik glanced at Tomlin. "Do you want first watch?"
Tomlin nodded. "Y-yeah, I can take first."
"Then I''ll take second, until morning," Kallik replied easily. He adjusted his spear and looked back at Molly. "What about me?" Molly asked, her voice light but probing.
Kallik met her gaze, his expression neutral. "You can watch with us if you want, or get some sleep. It''s up to you."
Molly nodded and turned to go collect firewood. Disappointed, but not surprised.
***
Molly sat cross-legged near the edge of the firelight, her fingers running absently through the fox¡¯s soft fur. The animal had relaxed in her lap, but Molly couldn¡¯t find the same comfort. The warmth of the campfire flickered over her face, but it didn¡¯t reach the cold dread curling in her stomach. She had been awake for a while now, stealing glances at Kallik as he kept watch, trying to piece together something to say¡ªsomething to break the silence that wasn¡¯t utterly meaningless.
She fidgeted, adjusting her grip on the fox, but before she could speak, Kallik¡¯s voice cut through the quiet.
¡°Sorcerer, Wizard, Magus, Witch, and maybe Oracle.¡±
Molly¡¯s breath caught. The word ¡°witch¡± struck her like a physical blow, her stomach twisting as though she had been caught doing something forbidden.
¡°What?¡± she asked, forcing the word out as neutrally as she could manage.
Kallik didn¡¯t look at her, his eyes still scanning the dark treeline. ¡°Ray of enfeeblement. A spell that saps the strength from its target. Too bad it missed.¡± He shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on his spear. ¡°Also, an adept can get a familiar at level two.¡±
Molly went still, her fingers halting against the fox¡¯s fur. The realization hit her all at once¡ªhe was calling her out. He knew. He had seen through her carefully crafted deception, seen the truth hidden in the gaps of her lies. He knew Quarrel wasn¡¯t just a pet, knew the spell she had cast during the fight with the wyrm wasn¡¯t something an adept should be able to use.
Her mind raced. Deny it? Change the subject? Laugh it off? Admit something, but not everything? Stay silent? The panic rising in her chest made each option feel impossible. The fire crackled, the fox gave a quiet sigh, and still, she said nothing.
The pause stretched too long.
Kallik finally turned his head slightly, his red eyes glinting in the firelight. ¡°Healing,¡± Kallik continued, his tone still neutral. ¡°Not impossible, but extremely rare for anyone other than Witch or Oracle.¡±
Molly let out a slow breath, shifting just slightly, positioning herself so she could bolt into the woods if she needed to. She could run. That option was always there. But she hesitated, her mind racing between choices she wasn¡¯t sure she had.
Her eyes flicked toward Kallik, only to catch sight of Quarrel perched comfortably on his leg, chewing idly on something Kallik was feeding him. The damn traitor.
She swallowed hard and remained silent.
Kallik tilted his head, watching her carefully. ¡°I¡¯d guess witch,¡± he said finally. ¡°Am I right?¡±
Molly¡¯s breath caught, her body tensing as if ready to spring. But then she caught the expression on his face. No anger. No accusation. Just curiosity, like he was trying to solve a puzzle rather than expose a fraud.
She didn¡¯t relax¡ªcouldn¡¯t¡ªbut she hesitated, uncertain now what she should have feared more: his judgment or the fact that she didn¡¯t know what it would be.
Molly shifted just a bit more, ready to bolt if she had to. The firelight flickered, making Kallik¡¯s expression harder to read, but his tone had remained so even, so matter-of-fact. That somehow made it worse.
She swallowed and forced the word out. "Yes."
Kallik just nodded to himself, as if confirming something obvious. Without another word, he plucked another morsel of food from his hand and passed it to Quarrel. The squirrel accepted it eagerly, beady black eyes flicking toward Molly as he chewed. He almost seemed to shrug.
The damn traitor.
Molly¡¯s mind reeled, grasping for any kind of logic. He wasn¡¯t reacting. No accusation, no anger, no hostility. Just¡ªacceptance? That couldn¡¯t be right. Before she could gather the words to ask, Kallik spoke again.
"Why lie about your class?"
Molly stared at him for a long moment, her fingers curling slightly in the fox¡¯s fur. When she finally found her voice, it came out small but edged with bitterness. "Um, because everyone hates witches?"
Kallik frowned, his head tilting slightly as he considered her words. "I¡¯m sorry, other than a class, what does ''witch'' mean out here?"
Molly let out a sharp exhale, her shoulders tensing. "It means people who consort with demons and evil fey to torment people they don¡¯t like. That¡¯s what they think witches do. That¡¯s what they think I do. They think I hex crops and poison wells and curse them with sickness when they glare at me for too long. Doesn¡¯t matter if I¡¯ve never done anything to them."
Kallik listened without interrupting, his expression unreadable. When she finished, he nodded once, as if absorbing the explanation. "I understand why you would hide your class in that case."
Molly barely had time to process his lack of judgment before he continued, shifting the conversation in the direction she had dreaded.
"What is your patron entity?"
Her heart skipped. Panic surged, tightening her throat, but she forced herself to answer honestly. Every time she had told the truth before, she had been called a liar. But Kallik didn¡¯t seem like the others. "I don¡¯t know."
Kallik barely reacted, his tone still mild, but there was a flicker of something¡ªconcern, maybe¡ªas he asked, "What does it want?"
"I don¡¯t know," she admitted, her voice a whisper.
Kallik considered her for a moment before asking the next question, his voice steady. "Can you give up power if the cost is too high?"
Molly froze. Completely. Her breath hitched, her muscles locking in place. Her expression twisted into something close to concern¡ªno, fear. She had never considered that. Never thought she¡¯d live long enough for it to matter. She had assumed she¡¯d die at level one or two, that she¡¯d never have enough power for it to be a problem.
But now she wasn¡¯t so sure. "I don''t know."
Kallik nodded, his expression thoughtful, but his next question caught Molly off guard. "Are you registered with the Order of the Silverwood?"
"The what?" she asked, blinking in confusion.
Kallik actually looked surprised. "The Order of the Silverwood. They oversee druids, witches, rangers, and a few others. It¡¯s their job to make sure people with those classes are accounted for and not causing trouble. You¡¯ve never heard of them?"
Molly shook her head slowly. "No. I¡¯ve never heard of them."
The concept intrigued her. She had always assumed witches were loners, avoiding notice and keeping their magic hidden. But an entire organization that monitored them? It was almost impossible to imagine.
Kallik seemed to consider this for a moment before asking another question. "Are there any druids or rangers in Falcon¡¯s Hollow?"
Molly thought for a second, frowning slightly. "I think there¡¯s a ranger, but he¡¯s gone most of the time. I don¡¯t know much about him. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever met him in person."
Kallik nodded again, seemingly filing that information away. Molly shifted slightly, still mulling over the idea of the Order of the Silverwood, trying to figure out if it was something she should be worried about¡ªor if it was something she might actually want to learn more about.
There was silence for a long while. Molly had relaxed somewhat, her fingers running idly through the fox¡¯s fur, though her thoughts still churned. Kallik remained where he was, methodically feeding Quarrel, his red eyes distant as the sky began to lighten with the first hints of dawn.
¡°When this is over, I¡¯ll need to head to Berkhanstead,¡± Kallik said, breaking the quiet. He didn¡¯t look at her, his voice as steady as ever. ¡°I¡¯d like you to come with me. To register at the Order.¡±
Molly¡¯s head snapped toward him, her breath catching. Her stomach twisted in a confusing knot of excitement and fear. He wanted her to go with him? To a real city? To see this mysterious Order? The thought sent a thrill through her, but it was immediately dampened by anxiety. Would they even let her in? Would it mean putting herself at even greater risk?
¡°Oh, okay,¡± she said quietly, the words slipping out before she had fully processed them. A part of her¡ªone she tried to smother¡ªwondered if a journey to the city together could be the start of the kind of story she had only read about. Probably not. But still¡
Chapter 6 Base Text
Items:
two crossbows, two short swords, a suit of hide armor, a masterwork shortbow, a signet ring with the image of a flaming hawk (worth 5 gp), 9 gp, 12 sp, and eight days¡¯ worth of rations.
Into the Wilds [lite LitRPG, town building, NPC life]
Description
NPCs dealing with NPC problems, often created directly or indirectly by Players.
Asher is done with adventuring. Too much loss, too much craziness, not enough reward. He opens a potion shop instead, but fate has other plans.
Ugly Ivana has found the perfect job. The pay is good and her boss doesn''t belittle her for her face. It doesn¡¯t last long though. Now the nobility wants Asher to head an expedition into the southern wilds to found a settlement. Mostly to pull the players out of Colspire. Its going to be dangerous. Monsters, bad guys, and the never ending insanity that is dealing with Player Characters.
AI Note: AI was used in the creation of this story.
Info:
Characters:
Archwarden Asher -
Taron Timberfell - High elven lumberjack (Hatred of trees)
Captain Landon Merrick - Human, roguish. (Lazy Soldier is more interested in gambling than working.) (thrives on charm and wit to mask his shortcomings.)
Drunken Priest who fumbles his blessings.
Cowardly Hunter afraid of the wilds.
One-Handed Carpenter struggling to keep up.
A miner/mason with a fear of small places.
A herbalist with allergy issues.
A bartender/innkeeper who looks creepy.
Players:
Here are brief physical descriptions for the player characters:
Jace_Macer (Male Half-Elf Paladin) - Jace has a lean, athletic build with the pointed ears and sharp features typical of a Half-Elf. His sandy blonde hair is tied back, and his youthful face. Dressed in a basic chainmail shirt and a slightly oversized tabard bearing a generic holy symbol, he clutches a plain longsword and a weathered wooden shield.
Kill-a-dor (Male Half-Orc Warrior) - Kill-a-dor is broad-shouldered and muscular, with greenish-gray skin and small tusks that curve from his lower jaw. His dark, unkempt hair is tied in a short knot, and a few scars mar his otherwise youthful face. He wears a simple leather cuirass and wields a rusty greatsword slung over his back, its chipped blade matching the scuffed boots and worn bracers completing his gear.
Chapter 1
Asher stared down at Mina, bile rising in his throat. He tried to swallow it down as he tore his eyes away from what remained of his partner¡¯s head. Harrock stood against the cavern wall, panting. Looking for all the world like he was working just as hard to keep his lunch where it belonged. This wasn¡¯t the first time they¡¯d lost someone, but as the sounds of further fighting echoed from deeper in the cavern, Asher couldn¡¯t help but hope this might be the last.
¡°I quit,¡± he said. The dark, musty cavern wasn¡¯t exactly quiet enough for his words to echo off the stone walls, but he looked to Harrock anyway, as though expecting some judgmental glare. None came. Harrock merely gave a single, solemn nod of his helmeted head. That was it. Asher had quit.
***
Ivana, sometimes called ¡°Ugly Ivana,¡± supposedly to distinguish her from some noblewoman also named Ivana and considered far more attractive, dropped a few coppers on the peddler¡¯s counter and took the loaf of bread she was buying. The man glared at her but never denied her service or said anything. Good enough for her.
The narrow streets of Colspire were already packed as she navigated the market district to its main crossroads, a large, open intersection serving as a town square. Her goal wasn¡¯t the residential, guild, or industrial sectors that branched off, but rather the large billboard occupying one corner of the square, its iron spikes bristling with job postings. She waited a moment while a ¡°player character¡± whose incomprehensible name, a jumble of letters, numbers, and odd symbols hovering above his head, finished browsing the board and moved on. In her experience, it was best to avoid player characters, who ranged from pleasant enough to psychotically insane. Usually, the weirder the name, the weirder the character. Once he left, she stepped up to examine the postings in another vain attempt to find new employment.
She ignored the fetch quests, the mercenary pleas, and the ¡°kill X-many monsters¡± notices. Her eye caught a job for a kitchen aide. She scanned the required skills and the address, then frowned. She¡¯d been there last week, where the tavern owner had bluntly told her he¡¯d never hire someone with her face ¡°unless all the hells froze over and the moon fell from the sky.¡± That was for a barmaid position, though. Maybe he¡¯d change his tune if she worked hidden in the kitchen. She kept searching. Worst case, she could return there later as a last resort.
Sales Clerk Needed for New Potion Shop ¡ª Must Be Trustworthy, Good with Numbers, Dependable, Able to Read and Write, Perceptive, and Trustworthy.
She paused. Trustworthy had been mentioned twice. It seemed redundant, but it also hinted that this potion shop catered to ¡°player characters.¡± That alone made her uneasy. Still, the listing promised a standard wage plus ¡°+1¡±¡ªlikely 1 copper or silver more. The flyer looked brand new, and she wasn¡¯t likely to do better. Odds were the owner would take one look at her and dismiss her based on her face. There was, after all, a reason people called her ¡°Ugly Ivana.¡±
Heading back through the market district, she branched off halfway down, taking a side street that led to a back alley. Asher¡¯s Potion Emporium wasn¡¯t in an ideal location. The building itself looked battered and worn, but Ivana peered at the items in the display window: basic mana, stamina, and health potions, plus antitoxins, antidotes, and other lesser potions. The reason for ¡°trustworthy¡± appearing twice on the notice became apparent. Even the cheapest item¡ªa so-called ¡°lesser¡± potion¡ªcost fifty gold. She stared at one bottle. She¡¯d probably be earning a few silvers a week, if that. Fifty gold for the lowest-tier product almost made her choke.
Eyeing the closed sign on the door, she took a breath, summoned her courage, and knocked twice on the solid wood. Then she tried the handle. To her surprise, and her mild horror, it turned, and the door opened.
Ivana stuck her head into a dimly lit room filled with glass cabinets displaying various potions and shelves of equipment, no doubt the supplies required to make them. The man at the counter didn¡¯t even look up from his work; his voice, ringing with an authoritative drawl, carried off the walls.
¡°We¡¯re not open yet. Try again tomorrow.¡±
Ivana froze. Part of her wanted to do exactly that¡ªleave and come back tomorrow¡ªwhile another part reminded her of the job posting. Really, there was only one choice.
¡°Um¡ The job board said you were looking for a sales clerk?¡±
The man looked up from the papers in front of him, and Ivana waited for him to flinch. She knew what he was seeing. Born ¡°devil-blooded,¡± birth and tragedy had collaborated to shape her face into something that provoked unease, if not outright disgust. She had two horns: one large, and one considerably smaller protruding just above her left eye socket¡ªgiving her eyebrow minimal room for expression. Her canines were slightly too sharp, her eyes a bit too red, her skin tinged with magenta, and that was the ¡°good¡± side of her face.
The other side, she kept covered with her long, black hair, brushed straight as best she could. To her surprise, the man didn¡¯t flinch. Instead, he simply nodded, lifted a hand to beckon her inside, and told her to close the door.
Standing there, just inside a potion shop unlike any she¡¯d seen or smelled before. Ivana noted it lacked the overpowering herbal scents typical of an apothecary. Instead, subtler, more peculiar perfumes drifted from odd corners.
¡°What is ten plus thirteen?¡± the man asked abruptly.
Ivana blinked at the question but answered promptly: ¡°Twenty-three.¡±
¡°Eight plus six plus five?¡±
¡°Nineteen.¡±
¡°One-twenty-eight divided by two, plus seven?¡±
She had to think about that for a few seconds. ¡°¡Seventy-one?¡±
The man, too, seemed to do a quick mental calculation, then nodded. ¡°Good. Now read this back to me,¡± he said, flipping a sheet around and pushing it toward her side of the counter.
Ivana ventured a few steps deeper into the shop until she reached the counter, bending down to look at the scribbles she was now meant to read:
¡°Canice Root, six copper per pound. Tittering Fungus, two copper per ounce. Qualle, Quett, Quattlefeather, two silver per inch¡¡±
¡°That¡¯s good, thank you.¡± He flipped the sheet over and handed her a stylus. ¡°Write down: seven spined truffle-shrumps, seventeen gold per ounce, plus twelve¡ª¡± he paused in thought ¡°¡ªtimes turned, divided by the amount of chicken feathers.¡±
Ivana tried not to laugh at the clearly made up instructions and wrote it out in her neatest block print. The man inspected it, nodded, and took the stylus from her.
¡°What¡¯s your experience with players?¡±
Again, he looked at her straight in the face, focusing on her one unobscured eye, and didn¡¯t appear to judge her for her appearance.
¡°Um¡I used to¡work as a barmaid,¡± Ivana offered. ¡°Players were¡¡± She hesitated, searching for a diplomatic way to say they were a giant pain in the ass. ¡°¡tedious and difficult at times, though sometimes the locals were just as bad.¡±
He gave a slight chuckle and nodded. ¡°Okay. I¡¯m willing to give you a chance. But here¡¯s the deal: I¡¯m dealing with highly expensive materials. I need someone vigilant against theft by my patrons, and I absolutely won¡¯t tolerate theft by my employees. Clear?¡±
Ivana nodded, though she had no clue how she was supposed to stop a ¡°player¡± from stealing. ¡°How am I supposed to keep a player from walking off with something?¡±
The man grinned. ¡°By activating the various wards I¡¯ve enspelled on this building.¡±
Ivana stared at him, not entirely sure if the man was joking. She couldn¡¯t even fathom how expensive such wards might be, but he seemed serious enough. For the first time since she¡¯d entered the shop, he rose from his seat. Reaching an arm over the counter, he offered a handshake.
¡°Name¡¯s Asher.¡±
Ivana took his hand. ¡°Ivana.¡±
He was taller than she was. No surprise, given that men tended to be slightly taller. He also had a broader, more athletic build. What unsettled her was his face. The set of his jaw and his eyes, along with a scar on his right cheek, made him look older, yet his hair¡ªuntouched by gray¡ªseemed younger. A human was probably between twenty and forty. It bothered her that she couldn¡¯t narrow it down.
¡°Well then, for now, consider yourself hired. I suggest you head back to the job board and remove the posting. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow morning at dawn. Oh, and is there a reason you cover half your face?¡±
Ivana¡¯s stomach churned violently, but she kept herself upright and responded evenly, ¡°I¡¯m blind in that eye, sir.¡± She brushed her hair aside, revealing the gruesomeness that was the right side of her face. This time, Asher did wince, though she sensed it was less about finding the burnt flesh and pale, sightless eye hideous and more about understanding how much pain someone must endure for such a severe burn.
¡°Does it hurt?¡± he asked.
¡°Can¡¯t feel a thing,¡± Ivana replied, watching his expression. Asher nodded, then said, ¡°See you tomorrow, then.¡±
***
For two and a half months, Ivana worked for Asher as a sales clerk in his potion emporium. Business was slow at first. He was still getting established, and neither of them seemed to mind. Players came and went, and Ivana noted their bizarre names, which ones came to sell ingredients, which ones came to buy potions, which were polite, and which were arrogant jerks.
She only had to activate the wards seven times. The wards temporarily froze everyone on the sales floor and caused a ringing alarm that summoned the guards. Ivana was sure she¡¯d be fired the time she paid for a look-alike flower instead of the real thing, or the two occasions when a display potion vanished under her watch. But Asher seemed to expect small scams and petty theft. Ivana shared a laugh with him when he explained that the display potions were little more than colored water.
All in all, things were going well¡ªuntil a non-player character in regal attire arrived at the shop with two bodyguards, asking specifically for Asher. Ivana politely asked the man to wait while she stuck her head into the back room to inform Asher that someone was there to see him.
When Asher emerged and asked what they wanted, the noble-looking man handed him a sealed envelope. Everyone stood in silence as Asher broke the seal and read its contents, his once neutral expression turning dour.
¡°Ivana, close up the shop and take the rest of the day off,¡± Asher said. She did as instructed, leaving the building with Asher and his three serious-looking visitors.
The next couple of days proceeded much the same, though Asher was in and out more frequently and seemed on edge. Then he told her not to purchase any new ingredients. Gradually, over the following week, the stock dwindled, with no fresh potions arriving. Players would enter, discover that the items they sought were no longer available, and promptly blamed Ivana. Those days were hectic. Eventually, Asher posted signs in the window listing what remained in stock. As the merchandise vanished from shelves, Ivana¡¯s anxiety grew. She knew the job she was holding¡ªa better-paying job than she¡¯d ever had, run by a man who didn¡¯t seem to care about her disfigurement¡ªwas nearing its end.
One day, when the shop was nearly empty and Ivana found herself sweeping the floor for the thirteenth time, the door opened to reveal a large non-player character. She froze, staring up at him. Tieflings were rare but not unheard of¡ªshe had seen others, though none quite as unsightly as herself. The man before her had almost catlike features: his yellow eyes scanned the room, and his horns perched atop his head like a crown. Despite his slightly more demonic traits¡ªcloven hooves and a tail with a tuft of fur at the end¡ªhe still managed a rugged handsomeness that nearly offset his infernal heritage.
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¡°Is Asher around?¡± The man inquired in a deep voice.
¡°Ah¡no,¡± Ivana replied.
¡°Do you know when he¡¯ll be back?¡±
¡°He¡¯s been in and out a lot lately, but he¡¯s usually here before sundown,¡± she answered.
The big man nodded. ¡°Then I¡¯ll be back by then. Please tell Asher that Harrock¡¯s here to see him.¡±
When Asher returned and received the message, he ordered Ivana to close up shop and pick up some alcohol. By the time she came back with the requested bottles, Asher and Harrock were in the back room, chatting amicably over a table. She was dismissed for the night.
In hindsight, it made sense that Asher hadn¡¯t judged her appearance as he had a tiefling for a friend. That was more plausible than him simply being a kinder sort of person. In almost three months working for him, Ivana hadn¡¯t gotten a clear read on the guy. Asher often seemed aloof, expecting his orders followed precisely, yet otherwise he was fair. As a boss, she would miss him¡ªand she¡¯d certainly miss the wages.
The next morning, Ivana found a note instructing her to pack the last of the items into the crates left around the floor. She spent the first hours doing just that, then wiping down the showroom once more. With little left to occupy her, she moved to the back room. Normally, she didn¡¯t touch that area. Though not expressly forbidden, her primary role was to monitor the front, so no one stole anything. Yet now she found it nearly empty as well. A few tools remained, along with piles of books, papers, and a modest kitchen setup in the corner. She started sweeping the floor.
Ivana nearly jumped out of her skin when she turned to find Asher standing behind her. Her first thought was that she¡¯d broken some unspoken rule, and he was angry, but he looked just as surprised that he¡¯d startled her.
¡°Oh, sorry,¡± he said. He walked to the center table and slumped into a chair. ¡°Why don¡¯t you put on some tea for us?¡±
Ivana set the broom aside and did as she was told, working in the kitchenette corner while trying to summon the courage to ask when she was to be let go. The tea seemed to take forever to brew. Eventually, it was ready; she poured two cups, placing one in front of Asher and, assuming the other was for her, she sat down across from him and waited for him to speak.
With an almost exaggerated sigh, he leaned forward, sipped at his cup, and said, ¡°I made it two and a half months.¡±
The statement hung in the air like a foul odor. Ivana wasn¡¯t sure how to respond, so she settled on a quiet, ¡°Sorry.¡±
Asher¡¯s gaze lifted, and his expression looked vaguely surprised. ¡°I¡¯m not blaming you. This is a confluence of my own success, political nonsense, and a few other things beyond my control.¡±
He sipped his tea again while Ivana stared into the dark liquid in her own cup. She had to say it¡ªshe needed to say it. ¡°Um, sir,¡± she ventured, ¡°when are you going to fire me?¡±
Asher took another long drink of his tea, clearly thinking. When he finally lowered the cup to its saucer, he spoke. ¡°That depends. The soonest I¡¯m likely to fire you is in the next few minutes.¡±
There it was: a deadline, looming like a hangman¡¯s noose. Ivana wasn¡¯t looking forward to returning to the old job board, searching for a new place where she¡¯d be mocked, ridiculed, and underpaid yet again.
As Asher took another deep breath, he leaned back in his seat and posed a different question. ¡°Where did you learn to read?¡±
¡°My mother taught me,¡± Ivana answered.
Asher nodded. ¡°That¡¯s good. She live here in Colspire?¡±
Ivana shook her head. ¡°She¡¯s dead.¡±
¡°Mind if I ask what happened?¡± he asked, his tone not unkind. Unfortunately, death was a common occurrence in these parts.
¡°When we were moving to Colspire, our caravan was attacked,¡± Ivana said, tapping the scarred half of her face. ¡°That¡¯s how I got this.¡±
¡°Your father?¡± Asher ventured.
¡°Monster attack, a few years before we tried moving here,¡± she said quietly.
¡°Siblings?¡± Asher asked.
Another headshake from Ivana. ¡°My parents didn¡¯t want to risk having more kids because¡well.¡± She gestured at her face.
¡°So what keeps you in Colspire?¡± he asked.
It seemed like an odd question, and she lifted her gaze to see his cool stare fixed on her. ¡°Um¡work.¡±
¡°That¡¯s it?¡± he pressed.
Ivana merely nodded.
Asher took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea, draining the cup. ¡°They want me to lead an expedition south to set up a new town.¡±
Ivana blinked. She¡¯d been wondering why he was giving up the potion shop when business had seemed decent, but she¡¯d assumed a more mundane reason¡ªless¡grand, perhaps. ¡°Oh.¡±
He nodded. ¡°It¡¯s tied up in treaties and political bullshit. There¡¯s a fear the players will settle that region, maybe from a nation of their own, which scares the nobility. They want me to found a settlement¡ªsomething that¡¯ll grow into a region or vassal kingdom under their nominal control, but with enough deniability to say, ¡®It¡¯s not us down there.¡¯ The tricky part is managing the players. And, essentially, they¡¯re also trying to push a lot of those players out of Colspire.¡±
Ivana couldn¡¯t think of anything to say besides ¡°Oh.¡± It was a lot to take in, and clearly just a rough summary.
¡°So I guess the question is¡would you be interested in joining us?¡± Asher asked.
¡°M-me?¡± Ivana stammered, before realizing, of course, he meant her.
¡°It¡¯s not exactly a paid position at first. There¡¯ll be a bit of coin upfront for supplies, but mostly I¡¯m promising you a job after a whole lot of hard work¡ªsome kind of administrative role, if possible.¡±
¡°Administrative?¡± she echoed.
Asher nodded. ¡°I need someone I can trust with paperwork. Dealing with townspeople, taxes eventually, that sort of thing. And you¡¯d be on the payroll once we¡¯re set up. But this¡¯ll be dangerous. Not just because the southern wilds can be lethal, but because of all the player issues. Don¡¯t decide right now,¡± he added. ¡°We¡¯re pressed for time, but take the night to think it over. If you agree, you¡¯ll basically be my assistant for a good while.¡±
He stopped talking, shifting to pull out his coin purse. Counting out a few silvers, he placed them on the table. ¡°Here¡¯s this week¡¯s pay, plus a little extra. Take the rest of the day off. Let me know by tomorrow¡¯s end what you decide.¡±
A long pause followed. Then, with a jerk of his head toward the door, he said, ¡°Go on. Out of here.¡±
***
Ivana wandered the dark streets of Colspire in a daze. The city held nothing good for her, but at least it was ¡°safe.¡± She didn¡¯t have to worry much about monsters or bandits while within its walls. Yes, there were places and people just as likely to harm her as any random beast would, but it was still some semblance of security¡ªalbeit a miserable one.
What the hell should she do?
Author¡¯s notes: I don¡¯t have more than a chapter one. I was at work listening to an audiobook. Thought up a character. And the next day, this was in my head. Any thoughts?
Chapter 2
Author¡¯s notes: I¡¯ve been using AI more often. I really have no idea what I¡¯m doing with this story yet. Because people seem to really like it, I don¡¯t want to ¡°Generate¡± the story. Here is an example of how AI might get used in a story I¡¯m just stuck on.
Give me an opening dialogue between Ivana and an elven lumberjack in charge of clearing a path through the forest. Ivana is trying to figure out what is delaying the clearing. The lumberjack is concerned about dreads and other fey creatures hiding in the trees. He doesn''t like them and seems to want to find and kill them. Include a comment about how he doesn''t like fey like he was some damn elf. Ivana stares At his elven ears and he adjusts his comment to mean wood elves.
Here¡¯s a draft for the opening dialogue:
---
**Ivana**: ¡°This path was supposed to be cleared days ago. What¡¯s holding you back?¡±
**Lumberjack**: ¡°Damn forest is crawling with dreads and other fey nasties. Every time we take an axe to a tree, you get that prickling feeling, like something¡¯s watching you from the shadows.¡±
**Ivana**: ¡°Fey creatures? I thought you were an elf. Aren¡¯t they supposed to like you?¡±
(*The lumberjack snorts loudly, his tone dripping with disdain.*)
**Lumberjack**: ¡°Hah! Just because I¡¯ve got these ears doesn¡¯t mean I have a soft spot for them. I¡¯m not some damn elf¡ª¡±
(*Ivana raises an eyebrow and stares pointedly at his elven ears. He shifts uncomfortably under her gaze before clearing his throat and amending himself.*)
**Lumberjack**: ¡°¡ªwood elf, I mean. They¡¯re the ones that go skipping through glades singing with sprites. Me? I cut trees. I don¡¯t talk to them.¡±
(*Ivana crosses her arms and steps closer, voice cold.*)
**Ivana**: ¡°Right. So instead of clearing the path, you¡¯re sitting here planning a war against things most people never see.¡±
**Lumberjack**: ¡°Planning nothing. If they¡¯d show themselves, I¡¯d take care of it quick. They¡¯re the ones playing games, hiding in the shadows. And if they want this forest, they can keep it¡ªonce I¡¯ve had my way with it.¡±
(*Ivana¡¯s eyes narrow.*)
**Ivana**: ¡°Well, while you¡¯re having your little feud with the fey, this path isn¡¯t getting cleared. I suggest you decide which is more important¡ªyour grudge, or your job.¡±
(*The lumberjack scowls, hefting his axe over his shoulder.*)
**Lumberjack**: ¡°Fine. But don¡¯t come crying when those shadow-dwelling little bastards start making trouble.¡±
And here¡¯s what that turned into
Also, you have LordB13 to thank for the idea that all the ¡°managers¡± in this town builder are screwed up in some way. It''s great. I love it. Here¡¯s what I have so far.
Taron Timberfell - High elven lumberjack (Hatred of trees)
Landon Merrick - Human, roguish. (Lazy Soldier is more interested in gambling than working.) (thrives on charm and wit to mask his shortcomings.)
Drunken Priest who fumbles his blessings.
Cowardly Hunter afraid of the wilds.
One-Handed Carpenter struggling to keep up.
A miner/mason with a fear of small places.
A herbalist with allergy issues.
A bartender/innkeeper who looks creepy.
Keep the ideas coming. I still don''t have a real plot yet.
Chapter 2
¡°This forest is crawling with dryads and other little fey nasties.¡± Taron Timberfell leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. His eyes darted to the trees as though expecting them to sprout legs and charge. ¡°Every time we take an axe to a tree, you get that prickling feeling, like something¡¯s watching you from the shadows.¡±
Ivana took a slow breath and leaned back, clasping her hands behind her back in a practiced attempt to appear professional. ¡°Fey creatures? Is that what¡¯s holding up the clearing? I thought elves could, I don¡¯t know, talk to them.¡±
Taron straightened, his jaw tightening as if she¡¯d just insulted his ancestors. ¡°I ain¡¯t no damned elf.¡±
Ivana cocked an eyebrow and tried her hardest not to glance at his pointed ears. She failed.
Taron¡¯s frown deepened, and he crossed his arms. ¡°Wood elf, I mean. They¡¯re the ones that go skipping through glades singing with sprites and holding hands with pixies. Me? I cut trees. I don¡¯t talk to them.¡±
¡°Right,¡± Ivana said, her tone flat. ¡°Have you actually seen any of these fey?¡±
¡°Well, no,¡± Taron admitted, bristling. ¡°But that¡¯s their game, you see. They let you feel all safe and cozy, lull you into a false sense of security. Then, when you least expect it, they strike.¡± He made a dramatic chopping motion with his hand, which Ivana suspected was not entirely unrelated to how he handled his axe.
Ivana¡¯s lips twitched, but she wrestled them back into a neutral line. ¡°So instead of clearing the path, you¡¯re sitting here plotting war against things you haven¡¯t seen yet?¡±
¡°I ain¡¯t plotting nothing,¡± Taron huffed, clutching his axe. ¡°If they¡¯d just show themselves, I¡¯d take care of them real quick-like. But no, they¡¯ve gotta skulk around in the shadows, waiting.¡±
Ivana screwed her face into what she hoped was a serious, no-nonsense expression. The muscles in her forehead betrayed her, as usual. ¡°Well, while you¡¯re busy waging your imaginary war, this path isn¡¯t getting cleared. And I¡¯m stuck evaluating candidates for your replacement.¡±
It was a lie. She wasn¡¯t looking for a replacement yet. But Ivana was slowly realizing that her inability to express the right emotions on her face made her great at bluffing.
Taron scowled, hefting his axe over his shoulder like a soldier bracing for battle. ¡°Fine. But don¡¯t come crying to me when those tree-dwelling little bastards make a mess of everything.¡±
They exchanged glares, and Ivana held her ground until Taron stomped off, muttering under his breath. As soon as he was out of earshot, Ivana allowed herself a long, slow exhale.
***
Ivana made her way down the wagon train, the mingling smells of cooking sausage, warm porridge, and the forest''s floral decay creating a strange blend in the cool morning air. The small clearing was alive with activity as people packed up their gear or prepared breakfast. She weaved through the bustle until she spotted Asher near his personal cart, meticulously organizing supplies.
Before she could speak, Asher glanced up, his expression taut. ¡°Have you seen Landon anywhere?¡±
¡°Landon? No.¡± Ivana shrugged. That wasn¡¯t unusual. The captain was nearly impossible to find¡ªunless he wasn¡¯t needed, in which case he was annoyingly present.
Asher¡¯s jaw clenched, his frustration spilling into his movements as he yanked a strap tight. ¡°Any news from the scouts?¡±
¡°I haven¡¯t heard anything,¡± Ivana said, shifting her weight. ¡°I was busy talking to Timberfell about the road clearing.¡±
¡°Timberfell?¡± Asher rubbed his face, a gesture that screamed why is everything a disaster today?
Ivana folded her arms and gave him an amused look. ¡°He says the forest is crawling with fey. Dryads, shadows, and... I don¡¯t know, angry squirrels? Apparently, every tree feels like it¡¯s watching him.¡±
Asher paused mid-motion and stared at her. ¡°And what did you say?¡±
Ivana smirked. ¡°I told him I was evaluating replacements for his job.¡±
For a moment, Asher just blinked. Then a wry grin spread across his face. ¡°Maybe we should do the same with Landon.¡±
Ivana chuckled. ¡°Not the worst idea.¡±
Before Asher could respond, a scout sprinted toward them, his face pale and his breathing labored. ¡°Sir!¡± the scout said, snapping a poorly executed salute.
¡°What?¡± Asher asked, his tone shifting, all humor gone in an instant.
¡°We¡¯re missing two scouts, and I can¡¯t find Captain Merrick.¡±
Asher straightened, his voice calm and measured. ¡°Two scouts?¡±
¡°Yes, sir.¡±
¡°Understood. Get the rest of the scouts and meet me in front of the train.¡±
¡°Yes, sir!¡± The scout ran off, shouting for his peers.
Asher grabbed his sword and started toward the front of the wagon train, his movements brisk but steady. ¡°Ivana, if those two wake up, send them to me immediately.¡±
¡°Okay,¡± Ivana called after him, watching as he jogged off. Her attention wandered to the two Player Characters sitting in one of the carts.
Both were semi-transparent, staring blankly into the distance like unsettling mannequins. Ivana shivered. Gods, I hate it when they do that... it¡¯s fucking weird. Neither of them had gear even close to Asher¡¯s quality, which likely meant they were noobs¡ªlow-level Players who often had no clue how the world worked.
Just as Ivana turned away, a loud voice burst from the cart she¡¯d just been staring at.
¡°Alright! Random Encounter!¡±
Her heart leapt into her throat. She spun around, her gaze darting to the Players. One of them had stood, a wild grin on his face. The other Player remained seated, working a kink out of his neck.
¡°Where¡¯s the fight?¡± bellowed the standing half-orc, Kill-a-dor, his name tag floating above his head in glowing letters. His shout drew every pair of eyes in the clearing.
Ivana closed her mouth with an audible snap, scrambling to remember what she was supposed to do. Right, send them forward. She forced a bright smile onto her face, raising her hands to get their attention. ¡°Oh, brave adventurers!¡± she called, her voice dripping with theatrical enthusiasm. ¡°Your valor is needed at the front of the wagon train!¡± She pointed forward, her gesture overly dramatic, mostly because she wasn¡¯t sure if the noobs knew which direction the front was. ¡°Seek Archwarden Asher! He will guide you to glory!¡±
Kill-a-dor vaulted out of the cart like an overeager hunting hound, landing with a thud before breaking into a sprint. ¡°I call first blood!¡± he yelled, probably to his fellow Player, who climbed down with far more restraint.
The blonde-haired half-elf, Jace_Macer, adjusted his tabard and gave Ivana a polite nod. ¡°Thanks, miss,¡± he said before jogging off after his companion, his chainmail rattling softly with each step.
Ivana let her hands drop, scanning the clearing. Sighs of relief rippled through the gathered expedition members. The tension that had gripped the air seemed to dissipate, and she caught more than a few muttered prayers of gratitude.
Yeah, she thought, releasing her own quiet breath. I¡¯m relieved too.
Author¡¯s notes: I still have no idea what happens next. It¡¯s a game world. Its a forest. There are Players. Any thoughts?
Chapter 3
To Save the Princess, Probably [Fantasy, D&D-ish, Subverting the trope]
Chapter 1
The midday sun beat down upon the castle grounds, its rays glinting off polished armor and freshly oiled bows. The final round of the archery competition was underway, and the air buzzed with the excited chatter of onlookers. Merchants peddled roasted meats and honeyed breads to eager buyers, while nobles in finely embroidered tunics observed from shaded pavilions.
Standing atop the battlements, a cloaked figure watched the proceedings with keen interest. Beside them stood Master Corbin, the court wizard, his long silver hair flowing freely beneath a broad-brimmed hat.
"The guy in second place," the cloaked figure said, voice low but steady. "That¡¯s the one."
Corbin arched a brow and turned slightly toward the figure. "Are you sure? The first-place winner is clearly more skilled. Look at that precision."
The cloaked figure shook their head. "Too flashy. Competitions like these reward showmanship. He may be good on a field like this, but in real combat? not so much."
Corbin let out a thoughtful hum, his gaze drifting back toward the competitors. Gareth Lorne, the young man in second place, stood with an air of quiet confidence. Though he lacked the flamboyant flair of the winner, there was a steady resolve in his posture, a kind of readiness that spoke to experience rather than performance.
"I see your point," Corbin said after a moment. "Competitions favor spectacle. Real battles don¡¯t."
The cloaked figure took a step closer to the edge of the battlement, their eyes scanning the gathered crowd below. Nobles and commoners mingled in uneasy proximity, their excitement palpable but tinged with the usual tension. The cloaked figure¡¯s lips tightened into a thin line.
"This whole setup is ridiculous," they muttered. "Parading people like prizes, nobles posturing for favor. And this is just the start."
Corbin gave a wry smile, folding his hands behind his back. "And yet, here we are, playing our parts in this game."
The cloaked figure¡¯s eyes narrowed, but they said nothing further. Instead, they focused on Gareth, who now stood wiping his brow as he awaited the final results. Despite his second-place standing, he seemed unfazed, as if the outcome mattered little to him.
"He¡¯ll do," the cloaked figure said at last.
Corbin nodded. "I¡¯ll make the arrangements. You should prepare for the introductions."
The cloaked figure pulled their hood lower over their face, casting one last glance over the bustling crowd. This was only the beginning, and already, they could feel the weight of expectation pressing down. They turned away from the battlements, their cloak trailing behind them as they disappeared into the shadows.
***
The courtyard buzzed with anticipation as Isabella stood among the other contestants, waiting her turn to be called forward. Her gaze flicked briefly over the crowd¡ªhundreds of faces, nobles and commoners alike, all eager to watch the spectacle unfold. Banners bearing the king¡¯s sigil snapped sharply in the breeze, and at the heart of the courtyard, a makeshift wooden stage rose above the sea of spectators. A stout man in regal robes stood atop it, holding a glowing orb that amplified his voice with a faint hum of magic.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present the brave souls who shall comprise Team Three!" the announcer boomed, his voice echoing through the grounds.
Isabella shifted her weight, her tail curling slightly behind her ankles, a subconscious motion she suppressed as quickly as it began. Beside her, Bran of Ashvale was the first to be called. He strode forward, armor clinking faintly as sunlight gleamed off mismatched metal plates. The applause that followed was deafening, a clear testament to the crowd¡¯s approval.
"Bran of Ashvale, third place in one-on-one combat! A rising star among our mercenaries, known for his strength and leadership!" the announcer declared.
Bran¡¯s expression remained composed, neither humble nor boastful, as he offered a curt nod before stepping back into place. Isabella watched him without turning her head, noting the way he held himself with quiet pride.
"Next, Lyra Montclair, second place in the dueling competition!" The announcer¡¯s words drew more cheers as Lyra, clad in a sleek duelist¡¯s outfit, moved onto the stage. She walked with effortless grace, pausing just long enough to flash the crowd a brief smile. She looks every bit the noble she is. Isabella thought.
The applause barely faded before Gareth Lorne was called. Isabella¡¯s eyes tracked the young archer as he approached the stage, his calm, measured steps suggesting he was already used to such attention. He inclined his head politely to the crowd before joining Bran and Lyra in line.
"Elias Thatcherson, first place in the magical course!" The crowd''s energy shifted slightly¡ªmore curious now, as Elias approached with his usual air of superiority. His robes swirled dramatically around him, and Isabella caught a faint smirk on his face as he basked in the murmurs of admiration. Congratulations Elias. Don¡¯t make me regret this.
Her fingers tightened briefly at her side when she heard the announcer¡¯s next words. "And last but not least, Isabella, second place in the obstacle and running target course!"
This was her moment. Isabella stepped forward, her movements measured and deliberate, shoulders squared, chin high. She knew what the crowd saw¡ªthe flash of red skin, the curved horns, the tail that marked her as a Tiefling, Demonkin, Devil Blood. The applause faltered, less enthusiastic than it had been for the others. Isabella didn¡¯t flinch. She had long since grown used to such reactions.
Eyes ahead, posture rigid, she joined the line beside Elias without hesitation, refusing to acknowledge the muted response. Her heart didn¡¯t quicken, her expression didn¡¯t waver. If they wouldn¡¯t cheer for her, so be it. She wasn¡¯t here for their approval.
"Team Three!" the announcer called, clapping his hands together in an exaggerated display of enthusiasm. "May they bring honor and glory to the kingdom!"
The applause resumed¡ªforced, in Isabella¡¯s ears. The announcer turned to them, lowering the orb as the hum of magic faded. "Back to the waiting area," he said, keeping his voice low now. "Two more groups, then you''ll proceed to the final course."
Isabella pivoted with the others, heading toward the waiting area. She didn¡¯t speak, didn¡¯t glance at her teammates. Her focus remained on the task ahead, where the real challenge awaited. Let them cheer or not. This whole thing¡¯s a farce.
***
Isabella shifted on her feet, her tail curling slightly as she tried to ignore the weight of awkward silence hanging over Team Three. They had been standing in the courtyard for what felt like hours, waiting for their turn. Around them, the other groups loitered, some chatting quietly, others sizing up the competition. Finally, the announcer called their name. Relief mingled with tension in her chest as they moved forward toward the obstacle course.
The once-open courtyard had been transformed. Spectators crowded on either side, eager for the show to begin. Ahead of Team Three, a six-foot wall with a single, narrow door stood waiting, oddly plain and unassuming.
"Team Three, your first challenge is to get through the door!" The announcer¡¯s magically enhanced voice echoed across the courtyard. "The timer will start as soon as you cross the white line!"
Isabella joined the others behind the white line, glancing at the door warily. Something about it felt¡ off. Her gaze flicked briefly to Bran, who appeared deep in thought. Next to her, Elias muttered, "There must be a catch," eyeing the door with suspicion.
Gareth, his bow slung over one shoulder, narrowed his eyes. "Trapped?"
Bran frowned, his brow creasing as he considered their options. "Is anyone here good at finding traps?"
Isabella opened her mouth to respond, but before she could get a word out, Lyra stepped forward confidently. "I can do it."
Gareth¡¯s voice was edged with skepticism. "Are we sure about this? Running ahead sounds risky."
Bran¡¯s tone turned decisive. "We don¡¯t have time to debate. Lyra goes ahead and checks for traps. The rest of us will follow at a steady pace. If she can¡¯t get the door open before we arrive, I¡¯ll kick it in. If that doesn¡¯t work, Elias can use his magic."
Isabella watched as Lyra took a steadying breath before dashing forward. The spectators leaned forward in anticipation, their excitement palpable. The minor noble woman reached the door in a few quick strides and immediately began inspecting it, her hands running expertly along the edges of the frame. "There¡¯s something here," she called back, her voice steady.
The rest of the group approached cautiously, keeping an eye on their surroundings. Isabella found herself tensing, ready to react if something went wrong.
A soft click broke the tension. Lyra straightened with a triumphant grin. "Got it!"
Without missing a beat, Bran stepped forward and pushed the door open. Beyond it lay something entirely unexpected¡ªa row of motionless clay golems, their blank eyes fixed ahead, standing just past another white line.
Another door. Isabella¡¯s eyes narrowed as she pointed to the wall behind the row of golems. "Looks like we have another puzzle," she said, her voice calm but wary.
"Let¡¯s keep moving," Bran said, stepping cautiously through the doorway. Isabella followed, her muscles tense as her gaze flicked toward the unmoving golems. She had no idea what triggered them, but she wasn¡¯t about to let her guard down.
The announcer¡¯s voice rang out, rattling off their time as they entered the new section. Bran, focused on the golems, didn¡¯t seem to pay attention. "Let¡¯s take the golems on the right first," he suggested, scanning their surroundings.
"Shut up," Gareth hissed, annoyance sharp in his tone. "I missed what our time was."
Before anyone could respond, the announcer¡¯s voice boomed again. "The timer will start as soon as you cross the line again. The timer will stop once you pass through the door."
Isabella watched as Bran and Gareth began bickering over tactics, their voices growing louder. "We should flank them!" Bran insisted.
"No, we need to pick them off one by one," Gareth countered, his frustration growing.
Elias tried to interject, his voice barely cutting through the argument. "We don¡¯t have to fight them. We just need to get through the door."
Isabella exchanged an exasperated look with Lyra, both of them rolling their eyes. Enough of this nonsense.
"Hey!" Isabella yelled, her voice cutting through the noise. Everyone fell silent, turning toward her. She pointed at Elias. "Say that again."
"We only have to get through the door," Elias repeated, more clearly this time.
Isabella gave a curt nod. "Then let¡¯s focus on that." Bran and Gareth exchanged glances but didn¡¯t argue further.
With a new plan in place, they moved quickly. Elias stepped forward and cast a spell of darkness, shrouding the golems in a thick, impenetrable sphere of black magic.
Lyra sprinted ahead, reaching the door first. She dropped to her knees, pulling out her lockpicks with practiced ease. Isabella could hear the faint clicking of metal as Lyra worked on the large lock.
The rest of the group formed a defensive line. Bran raised his shield, ready to block any golems that might break through the darkness. Isabella positioned herself behind him, short sword in hand, trying to steady her breathing.
Magical energy crackled as Elias launched bursts of power toward the golems, blowing apart a few of the constructs. Each spell took time to prepare, leaving gaps that made Isabella uneasy.
Gareth quickly realized his bow was useless in the confined space. Drawing his short sword, he moved up beside Bran to strengthen the line. Isabella followed suit, though her strikes were hesitant. To her chagrin, her inexperience was painfully clear. She wasn¡¯t used to fighting alongside other people.
"Almost there!" Lyra called out, her voice tense but determined. A moment later, the lock clicked open with a satisfying snap.
"Fall back!" Bran ordered, signaling the group to retreat. They began moving toward the now-open door, Bran and Gareth holding the front line while Isabella and Elias provided support from behind.
As soon as everyone was through, Bran slammed the door shut with a heavy thud. The golems didn¡¯t pursue.
Gareth exhaled sharply, wiping sweat from his brow. "Well, that was fun," he muttered, sliding his sword back into its sheath.
"Too close," Bran added, his voice strained as he caught his breath.
Lyra grinned, twirling her lockpicks before tucking them away. "I¡¯d say that went pretty well, all things considered."
Isabella glanced back at the closed door. "We¡¯re not done yet," she said quietly, her gaze shifting toward what awaited them beyond.
The next challenge brought Team Three to the edge of a deep chasm, ten feet down and twenty feet across. Isabella eyed the stone and wooden pillars lining either side. They didn¡¯t look particularly stable, and certainly didn¡¯t offer any reassurance as to how they¡¯d make it across. She crossed her arms, already anticipating something more than a simple jump.
The announcer¡¯s voice echoed across the field. "Your challenge is to cross the chasm. Points will be deducted for each member who falls into the pit. Timer starts once you cross the white line."
"Anyone have rope?" Bran asked, his tone clipped but focused.
¡°Yeah.¡± Isabella said with a quick nod and pulled a coil of rope from her pack.
"You got any spell that could boost someone¡¯s jump?" Gareth asked, turning to Elias with a hopeful look.
Elias crossed his arms, scoffing. "Why would I waste time learning spells to make others jump better?"
Lyra stepped closer to the white line, sizing up the distance. "I might be able to make it about ten feet without a boost," she offered.
A tense silence settled over the group as they each considered their options. Isabella frowned, her mind racing through possible solutions. Finally, she broke the silence. "What if we push one of the pillars into the chasm?"
Bran¡¯s expression shifted, his eyes lighting up with approval. "Good idea. Get the rope ready."
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Bran and Gareth positioned themselves on either side. Together, they began rocking the heavy stone structure back and forth. It groaned ominously under the strain but didn¡¯t budge at first.
"Come on," Bran muttered, digging in his heels. With one final, coordinated push, the pillar toppled over, crashing into the chasm below with a resounding thud.
Wasting no time, Bran jumped down onto the fallen pillar and moved to its far end. "Alright, Lyra. Ready?"
Lyra took a few steps back, gripping the rope tightly. With a burst of speed, she sprinted forward. As she leapt, Bran crouched low, planting his hands beneath her feet and giving her an extra push upward.
Isabella watched, her heart pounding as Lyra soared through the air. The rope trailed behind her, the tension in the group palpable. Lyra hit the opposite edge hard, stumbling but managing to stay upright.
"Rope¡¯s secure!" Lyra called out after quickly tying it around a nearby pillar.
One by one, the rest of the group crossed the chasm, using the rope for balance as they made their way along the fallen pillar. Isabella focused on each careful step, gripping the rope tightly, her tail flicking nervously behind her.
Bran was the last to cross. He jumped, grabbing hold of the rope, and with help from Gareth and Isabella, hauled himself up onto solid ground.
"Nice work," Bran said, brushing dust off his hands as he straightened.
Elias, clearly not thrilled by the exertion, muttered, "Let¡¯s hope the next challenge requires more brains and less brute force."
Isabella smirked faintly, coiling the rope back into her pack. "I¡¯m not sure there is another challenge."
The group found themselves in a large room where Teams One and Two were already gathered. Across the way, Teams Four and Five were still tackling the previous challenges. Isabella noticed the tension hanging thick in the air as Gareth turned to Bran, irritation written all over his face.
"We could¡¯ve made more points if you¡¯d actually listen to me," Gareth said sharply.
Bran ignored him, his attention locked on the announcer as final times were recorded. Isabella shifted uncomfortably. It wasn¡¯t just Gareth¡¯s frustration¡ªsomething about the atmosphere in the room felt foreboding.
At last, the announcer called all five teams out onto the field. The crowd cheered, but the air remained tense, as if everyone was waiting for something more significant.
After a brief pause, the announcer¡¯s voice rang out. "Teams Four and Five, thank you for your participation. You are dismissed."
Isabella watched as the dismissed teams trudged off the field, heads bowed. She felt a flicker of sympathy but quickly focused as the announcer continued.
"Teams Two and Five will receive consolation prizes. Step forward."
Teams Two and Five approached the stage, accepted their prizes, and stepped aside. Isabella¡¯s fingers tightened around the strap of her pack as the announcer turned to Team Three.
"Team Three, please approach the stage."
The crowd fell silent, and Isabella¡¯s breath caught in her throat as the king himself stepped out from behind the stage. His regal bearing commanded immediate attention, and without hesitation, the entire crowd dropped to one knee.
"Rise," the king said, his tone calm but firm. Isabella stood with the others, every muscle in her body tense as she waited for what came next.
"Team Three," the king began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the courtyard, "you have earned the right to undertake a mission of great importance. Your task is to cross the Blackwater River, pass through the Shademire Swamp, and rescue my daughter from the clutches of the Dark Lord in Shadow Star Keep."
Isabella watched the expressions on the faces next to her. The princess died at birth, or so everyone was told. Lyra¡¯s scowl almost made her laugh. A murmur spread through the crowd at the mention of the princess and this so-called Dark Lord.
"Should you succeed," the king continued, "you will be rewarded with noble titles and land. One of you may be permitted my daughter¡¯s hand in marriage. Those who do not wish for such rewards may choose instead to accept a single payment of 500 gold crowns."
Isabella¡¯s eyes darted over her teammates. Confusion, disbelief, and unease were etched on their faces. The weight of the king¡¯s words hung heavily over them all.
Without further ceremony, the king turned and left, his abrupt departure leaving a thick silence in his wake.
"Well," Bran said quietly, breaking the tension, "I guess we know what¡¯s next."
Gareth scowled, still skeptical. "Yeah, but none of us were expecting this, or the stakes."
Lyra crossed her arms and gave Isabella a pointed look. "Looks like things just got a lot more complicated."
Isabella nodded slowly, her expression serious. "Yeah, but¡ why wouldn¡¯t he just send the army?"
Elias shrugged, his tone dry. "Maybe he doesn¡¯t want to risk losing an entire battalion in the swamp. Or maybe he¡¯s hiding something. Nobles rarely tell the whole truth."
Lyra shot a glare at Elias, but said nothing.
Bran crossed his arms, frowning in thought. "Whatever the reason, it¡¯s our mission now. We can speculate all we want, but it won¡¯t change what we have to do."
Gareth sighed, clearly still skeptical. "Fine. But we keep our eyes open. Something about this doesn¡¯t add up."
Chapter 2
The ballroom was stifling. Chatter echoed from every corner, a ceaseless hum of laughter and whispered gossip. The air smelled of perfume and wine, a cloying mix that made Bran¡¯s head ache. He tugged at his tunic¡¯s stiff collar and glanced around the room. Nobles drifted in small groups, their jeweled finery glinting in the light of the grand chandeliers. Here and there, their eyes slid to him and then quickly away, followed by a smirk or a whisper. He clenched his jaw. They weren¡¯t openly hostile, but their thinly veiled disdain was somehow worse. At least an enemy with a drawn sword was honest.
Bran resisted the urge to fidget. I hate this. The weight of his sword was a constant comfort in battle, but here it was useless¡ªa reminder that this was a battlefield of words and subtlety, not steel. Every smile felt like a trap, every laugh a dagger aimed at his back. Give me a fight over this any day.
He was debating whether to seek refuge by the refreshments when a servant approached, bowing slightly before leaning in to speak. ¡°Sir Bran of Ashvale, you¡¯ve been summoned to gather your companions. The king has arranged for accommodations at the Rose and Thorn Inn, just outside the city walls. You are to depart in the morning.¡±
Relief swept over him. An excuse to leave the party was a blessing. ¡°Understood,¡± Bran said, nodding curtly. Finally. The servant bowed again and disappeared into the throng. Bran squared his shoulders and scanned the room. His task was clear¡ªfind the others and escape.
He spotted Lyra near a cluster of nobles, her back straight and her hands folded demurely in front of her. Her calm expression might have fooled him at first glance, but the sharp glint in her eye gave her away. She was trading veiled barbs with a noblewoman, her words honeyed but her tone edged like a duelist¡¯s blade. The noblewoman¡¯s laughter was brittle, and the tension between them was palpable even from a distance.
Bran strode over, catching the tail end of Lyra¡¯s latest volley. ¡°...of course, your family¡¯s history is fascinating. I¡¯d heard your great-grandfather was quite a skilled horse breeder. It must be rewarding to inherit such an illustrious legacy.¡±
The noblewoman¡¯s smile faltered. ¡°Indeed. And I¡¯m certain you find your own background equally rewarding, despite its... humbler beginnings.¡±
¡°Lyra,¡± Bran interrupted, his voice firm. Both women turned to him, Lyra with a faint smirk, the noblewoman with an icy glare. I¡¯ve had enough of this nonsense. ¡°Do you know where the others are?¡±
Lyra¡¯s smile widened. ¡°Of course. Elias is hiding in that corner over there.¡± She inclined her head toward a shadowy alcove, where Bran could just make out Elias clutching a goblet and doing his best to blend into the drapes. ¡°Gareth is charming a few noble girls by the balcony. And Isabella¡ª¡± Lyra frowned thoughtfully. ¡°I think I saw her talking to some of the servants earlier. She moves fast, though.¡±
¡°Thank you,¡± Bran said, keeping his tone brisk. We can¡¯t leave fast enough. ¡°I need you to help me gather them. We¡¯re leaving for the inn soon.¡±
Lyra tilted her head, studying him. ¡°You¡¯re no fun, Bran.¡± Her smirk faded slightly, and she leaned closer. ¡°But for the record, I¡¯m not enjoying this as much as it looks. These people...¡± Her gaze flicked back to the noblewoman, who had already turned away, muttering something to her companions. ¡°They¡¯re exhausting.¡±
¡°All the more reason to leave,¡± Bran said. He gestured toward Elias¡¯s corner. ¡°I¡¯ll send him to the courtyard. Go find Gareth. I¡¯ll track down Isabella.¡±
Lyra nodded, brushing past him with a murmured ¡°Good luck.¡± Bran sighed and made his way toward Elias, who froze as Bran approached. After a brief conversation and a few reassurances that he wouldn¡¯t have to talk to anyone else, Elias headed out, taking the goblet with him.
Bran wove through the crowd, searching for Isabella. He found her near the side of the room, her head bent close to a servant. Her posture was relaxed, but there was an intensity in her voice, though he couldn¡¯t catch the words. He slowed, staying just far enough away to avoid interrupting, straining to overhear. What is she up to?
The servant nodded, murmuring something Bran couldn¡¯t make out, then hurried off, leaving Isabella alone. She turned, catching sight of Bran before he could pretend he wasn¡¯t watching.
¡°Something I can help you with?¡± she asked, her tone polite but cool. Her expression betrayed nothing, though her amber eyes glinted with something unreadable.
¡°We¡¯re meeting in the courtyard and heading to the inn,¡± Bran said, his voice steady. Then, before he could stop himself, he asked, ¡°What were you talking to the servant about?¡±
Isabella turned to him, one brow arching slightly. For a moment, her amber eyes searched his face, as though weighing how much to reveal. ¡°I was giving him instructions for my absence,¡± she said finally. Her tone was casual, but something about the way she said it felt too practiced, too deliberate.
Bran nodded, but unease prickled at the back of his mind. She¡¯s hiding something. Or at least not saying in here. He¡¯d learned to trust his instincts over the years, and right now, they told him to let it go for now. ¡°Good. We leave early.¡±
Isabella inclined her head, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. ¡°Of course.¡± Without waiting for a reply, she began walking toward the exit, her movements as fluid and composed as ever.
Bran followed, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. The nobles¡¯ stares and murmurs barely registered now; his mind was busy turning over the exchange. She had answered his question, but there was something beneath her words, something unspoken. Giving him instructions for her absence. What does that really mean? He let out a slow breath. Whatever she¡¯s keeping to herself, I¡¯ll figure it out later. For now, he had to get out of this hellhole disguised as a party.
***
The courtyard was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the thin veil of clouds. Bran spotted his group gathered near the fountain, their faces lit with a mixture of relief and weariness. The muffled sounds of the party inside still carried through the open windows, but out here, the air was cooler and freer. Finally, some breathing room.
Elias stood slightly apart from the others, cradling a silver goblet in his hand. Bran frowned as he approached. ¡°You planning on keeping that?¡±
Elias blinked, looking down at the goblet as if noticing it for the first time. ¡°Oh,¡± he said sheepishly. ¡°Right.¡± He set it down on the edge of the fountain, muttering something under his breath. At least he didn¡¯t try to justify it.
Lyra chuckled, shaking her head. ¡°I can¡¯t believe they expect us to work with those people,¡± she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. ¡°All smiles and pleasantries, but they¡¯d stab you in the back with a smile if they could.¡±
Bran crossed his arms, his lips thinning into a line. She¡¯s not wrong. I¡¯d rather deal with an ambush on the road than that snake pit of a ballroom.
¡°If titles mean becoming like them,¡± Gareth added, ¡°maybe I¡¯ll just take the gold and be on my way.¡±
¡°No shit,¡± Elias murmured, glancing toward the brightly lit ballroom. ¡°I¡¯d rather deal with a cranky archmage than another night like that.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t jinx us,¡± Lyra said with a grin. ¡°The king might just pair us with one for fun.¡± The group chuckled softly, the tension of the party beginning to ease as they fell into step with Bran leading them out of the courtyard. At least they could joke about it. Maybe that¡¯s a good sign.
The streets of the city were lively, even at this hour. Drunken peasants staggered arm in arm, singing off-key songs that echoed down the cobblestone streets. A few merchants leaned against their stalls, sharing laughs and stories as the celebration wound down. Bran kept his eyes moving, sticking to the edges of the road with the group. No point in attracting trouble. Not tonight.
The city gates loomed ahead, their iron-bound doors standing slightly ajar. The guards stationed there straightened at the sight of the group but made no attempt to salute or acknowledge them beyond a brief glance. One of them waved lazily to signal their passage.
Bran gave a curt nod as they walked through the gates. ¡°Looks like we¡¯re just another job to them,¡± he muttered, his voice low.
¡°Good,¡± Isabella replied evenly from the back of the group. ¡°Already had too much attention for one day.¡± Hard to argue with that. Bran thought.
Beyond the gates, the night was quiet save for the rustle of leaves in the breeze and the occasional distant cheer from the city. The moon bathed the path in pale light, making the walk to the inn feel less foreboding than it might have otherwise. Conversation ebbed and flowed, mostly centered on the party and their shared disdain for the nobles. By the time they reached the Rose and Thorn Inn, the sounds of the city had faded entirely. The building sat at the edge of a grove, its dark timber walls glowing faintly in the moonlight. A single lantern burned by the door, casting flickering shadows over the cobblestones.
Inside, the common room was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made Bran¡¯s instincts prick. The innkeeper, a stout man with a balding head, glanced up from wiping the bar and offered a nod. ¡°You must be the king¡¯s lot. Welcome.¡±
¡°Quiet night?¡± Lyra asked, her voice tinged with suspicion as she scanned the room.
The innkeeper set the cloth aside. ¡°Rented out the whole place for you lot. No one else but me and the staff.¡± He gestured toward a pile of gear stacked near the hearth. ¡°Your things are there. Provisions, too.¡±
The explanation settled the group¡¯s nerves somewhat, though Bran noticed Lyra¡¯s hand linger near the hilt of her sword as she stepped past the bar. The others moved to claim their belongings, muttering about the oddness of it all. Good instincts. Better cautious than careless.
Bran stayed near the door, his gaze sweeping the room. The faint smell of stew hung in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the timber walls. The quiet felt almost unnatural after the chaos of the city, but there was no sign of anything amiss. Maybe too quiet, but let¡¯s hope it stays that way.
The innkeeper placed bowls of steaming stew on the table, his movements brisk but not hurried. His eyes darted toward the group¡¯s pile of belongings and lingered for a moment before he turned back to fetch a pitcher of ale. Bran caught the glance but chose not to comment. Curious, aren¡¯t you? Wondering what kind of mess we¡¯re about to drag into your inn?
¡°Help yourselves,¡± the innkeeper said, setting down the pitcher along with a collection of mismatched mugs. His tone was polite, but he lingered nearby, wiping an already clean section of the bar. Bran noted how the man¡¯s ear tilted slightly in their direction as the group began sorting through their gear. He¡¯s listening. Can¡¯t blame him. If I were him, I¡¯d be doing the same.
Lyra dropped a bundle of rolled-up maps onto the table. ¡°Looks like someone went all out,¡± she said, untying the string and spreading one open. The rest of the group gathered around as Gareth leaned in, examining it with a raised brow.
¡°What in the name of all that¡¯s holy is this?¡± Gareth said, scoffing. He jabbed a finger at the winding, tangled route depicted on the map. ¡°This isn¡¯t a path¡ªit¡¯s a drunken scribble.¡±
Bran stepped closer, looking over his shoulder. The map showed a labyrinthine trail through dense forests and marshy terrain, skirting every major road. The destination, Shadow Star Keep, was marked with a bold black star at the end of the convoluted path. Hardly a direct route. Someone wants us to take the long way around, and they¡¯re not hiding it.
¡°Looks like they¡¯re trying to make this as hard as possible,¡± Lyra said, crossing her arms. Her tone was casual, but Bran could sense the tension beneath it. She¡¯s right. Nothing about this feels straightforward.
¡°Wait,¡± Elias said, pointing to a spot on the map in the middle of a swamp labeled ¡®Known Dark Lord Outpost¡¯. ¡°That can¡¯t be real. Who writes something like that? And how could they possibly know?¡±
The group made a collective chuckle, though the humor was edged with unease. ¡°Oh yes,¡± Lyra said, grinning. ¡°Because every self-respecting dark lord makes sure to label their evil lair for convenience.¡±
Gareth shook his head. ¡°What¡¯s next? A tavern for their henchmen called ¡®The Villain¡¯s Alehouse¡¯? This is absurd.¡±
Bran, however, couldn¡¯t shake his suspicion. ¡°Absurd or not, it¡¯s on the map for a reason,¡± he said, his voice low. He glanced at the innkeeper, who quickly averted his gaze and began busying himself with stacking empty mugs. He knows better than to ask. Smart man. ¡°Whoever made these maps wanted us to take this path, or at least head to this supposed outpost.¡±
Isabella traced the route with her finger, her expression unreadable. ¡°The question is whether it¡¯s a warning... or bait.¡±
¡°Or a joke,¡± Elias muttered, earning a glare from Isabella. ¡°What? It could be.¡±
Bran exhaled, leaning back in his chair. ¡°Regardless, we¡¯ll be wandering through the swamp. Complaining won¡¯t change it. Let¡¯s finish sorting this mess and get some rest.¡±
The group divided the provisions, their banter gradually fading as the reality of the map¡¯s implications set in. The innkeeper, still lingering in the background, occasionally glanced their way but said nothing. Bran couldn¡¯t help but feel the weight of his gaze, even as they worked. He¡¯s nervous. Why?
Later, as the stew cooled in their bowls and the pile of extra supplies dwindled, Bran caught himself staring at the map again. Known Dark Lord Outpost. The words felt ridiculous, but the pit in his stomach refused to let them go. Ridiculous mission, ridiculous map. And yet, here we are. What exactly are we walking into?
Author¡¯s notes:
This story started as a D&D one shot I was building. I never finished building it. And I never have time to play D&D.
I¡¯m trying to add some obvious inner monologue to this story. I don¡¯t normally do that. Usually I weave my character¡¯s thoughts into the paragraph as if they are the narrator. I¡¯m not sure I like the inner monologue mostly due to the idea of keeping inner and outer dialogue separate for audio. I¡¯ve been listening to an audio book that uses a lot of inner monologue and I find myself stopping often to think over whether the character said that out loud or not.
Also. And I hope you can¡¯t tell. This story is written by AI. I¡¯ve waited for the 2nd chapter to point it out because I don¡¯t want people immediately ignoring it, just because of that. At least for this experiment. Going forward, I want to be very clear about what is and is not written by AI. I¡¯m not sure if I should just put ¡°Heads up, this chapter is written by AI¡± on each chapter or if I should put all AI written things under my other RR profile.
What are your thoughts? There was a lot of up front work put in and I¡¯m running this less like an Author and more like a Director and editor.