hell, man!"
For most people familiar with high fantasy and fiction in general, goblins are a divisive species. On the one hand, they''re brainless, slobbering mooks with nothing but perverse and violent intentions, often likened to a pack animal driven by base desires. On the other hand, they''re a more human species, often silly and lovable little guys who are as much gremlins as they are unorthodox green pals.
For Courtney, some knife-eared shitter from a Halloween movie just jumped at her with a shiv, so she didn''t have much time to debate the moral quandary of goblinkind.
"Fuck is that?!" She yelps, before taking a closer look at the malformed creature she ragdolled across the dirt. "Is that a guy?"
"My goodness, milady¡" Ronister whistles, lowering his warhammer a bit. "Your attack and reaction stats must be very good ¨C he''s completely unconscious."
"Oh, good, he isn''t dead." Courtney sighs, not sure if she''s quite ready to become a killer on her first day on the job. Granted, she wouldn''t feel particularly bad about it, but it''d still be pretty crap.
"I suppose it''s good that a hero cares for the monstrous races¡" Ronister mutters to himself, and Courtney just knows that she''s missing important cultural context, with the way that he says it.
Does¡ does she have to deal with real-life moral quandaries, in addition to being stuck in fucking Narnia? If she finds out that there''s a monster-based apartheid or slave trade in this fantasy-land, heads will roll. Probably slaver heads. Lincoln is her favorite president, after all.
Before Courtney can dread otherworldly ethical principles any further, two other little green jackasses come hopping out of the other bushes.
"Glimbo, you idiot!"
"Stupid humans, we''ll steal your ribs for that!"
Okay, well, they sure sound like goblins. And the one that Courtney kicked was named Glimbo?
Glimbo the goblin.
¡These ones also have weapons: one with a spear, the other with a slingshot and a bag full of rocks. They''re pretty simple weapons, but definitely enough to hurt someone. Courtney''s staring at that spear, specifically, taking a step back.
"Hey, Ronister? You hold off the one with the spear," what with him wearing at least five-hundred pounds of armor, and all, "I''ll get the one with the rocks."
"I, ah, yes, milady!" Ronister yelps, before trudging into combat.
Watching him clunk over to a little green man to do glorious battle, Courtney grumbles and turns to face the other goblin thing she''s supposed to deal with. Seriously, though, a slingshot? What''s he gonna do, hit her with a pebble ¨C
CRK ¨C KEEEEEN¡
Courtney screams and curses as a fist-sized rock slams into her left temple, blood now painting the side of her head. Her palm presses tightly against the wound as she staggers to stay on her feet. It''s hot, it''s wet, and it smells like a fresh coat of rusted iron. It''s all she can focus on, if she doesn''t want to think about the ringing in her skull.
Angry eyes laser to her assailant in question. Garish yellowed fangs creak into a rage-inducing smile, the goblin''s bulbish nose wrinkling as it grins. Creepy little fingers reach into the bag of rocks again and before she knows it, Courtney is dead-sprinting towards the little fucker before he pelts her with another brick.
She''s a moment too slow to intercept the second one, but at least she knows it''s coming. As the next rock flies, she shields her face with her right forearm, curling her body to be smaller as she runs. It beans her in the stomach, but that doesn''t hurt nearly as much, and it feels like it doesn''t have as much power as the first shot. Fine. Whatever. Screw it, live with it. Just get to the thing and kill it.
Hard to care about the purpling bruise on her abs, not when Courtney is finally on top of the little fucker who dented her skull. There''s really no time to think about pain or consequences, not when her heart is pounding out of her chest, and her nostrils flare so hot that her breath feels like ice in her lungs.
Courtney can feel its little body squirming and struggling under her as she buries fist after fist in its godforsaken face, wiping its smug smile off with two white-knuckled erasers. Oh, yeah, it tries to kick her off, buck her off like a wild horse, but she''s too busy disassembling its jawline to give a shit.
There''s really no need for descriptions, here: Courtney is just beating the dog shit out of this thing, wildly and without further consideration. Its teeth hurt like a motherfucker against her fists, so she settles for eye shots, halfway through. Somewhere in the middle, she slides a right hook into its trachea, for good measure. The goblin goes unconscious within a reasonable time, and Courtney stops laying into it after¡ well, she wasn''t counting, but she stops hitting it long after it''s knocked out. More than morally acceptable, honestly, but who''s counting?
Climbing off the little green fuck, Courtney gives it one last kick in the ribs for good measure. She wipes off the blood getting in her left eye with her forearm, drying globs of the stuff now splattering on the dirt, before turning around to see where Ronister is.
Oh my god, he''s still fighting the goddamn thing. They''re clashing weapons.
Grabbing the forgotten bag of rocks, Courtney yanks it open to palm some sediment and starts chucking stones at Ronister''s assigned opponent. She hasn''t thrown a softball in years, so she doesn''t land shit until her third rock.
Still, it''s enough to notify the spear-wielding goblin that both of its allies are comatose. Seemingly at a loss for a moment, the gremlin makes up its mind and runs away, back into the treeline where it jumped out from.
Courtney throws a middle finger at it. Bitch.
"Thank you for the assistance, milady ¨C" Ronister starts as per usual, and Courtney doesn''t want to hear it, not when she''s got a goddamn laceration gushing out of her brain.
"Do you know first aid?" She cuts him off bluntly, before hissing and applying pressure to her cut again.
"I ¨C well, that is ¨C" Ronister fumbles, and Courtney clicks her tongue in frustration.
"I got hit, Ronister, do you have something for it or not?" The cheerleader demands, fury bubbling in her chest. She knows she needs to tamp it down, like, calm down bitch, this is a middle schooler ¨C but God, it''s the right mix of pain and annoyance that can get Courtney pissed off at just about anyone.
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Going nonverbal, Ronister drops his pack from his back and cracks it open, shoving his gauntlets deep into his inventory. He pulls out his waterskin, some gauze, some cloth she can wrap around her head. Courtney''s shoulders sag in mild relief: he has some basic survival stuff in there, at least.
"Milady, if you could take a seat¡" He mumbles, looking up at her.
Subconsciously unclenching her teeth, Courtney sighs and squats down to the ground, letting Ronister do his thing. The water on her wound feels a little better, and the blood trickling around her eye isn''t bothering her anymore.
"It, ah, it is not a dire hit, at least," the diminutive wannabe-knight assures her, "facial wounds oft bleed more, but there is no great risk to your health."
"...Well, sure." Sure felt like Courtney would have gotten a concussion from a rock that big. She''s still a little dizzy, and all. Ronister''s not a health professional, it''s fine. "I''d rather get it clean and treated while I can, though. Hurts like hell."
"Wise decision, milady." Ronister acquiesces, and that''s that.
Once Courtney has a palm''s worth of gauze wrapped under a tight headband, she stands and looks to the two goblins currently lying on the floor, a hint of wariness in her throat.
The one Courtney punted ¨C Glimbus, or whatever his name was ¨C is still unconscious, but not all that worse for wear, relatively speaking. The one that she curbstomped¡ looks to be on the brink of death. It''s choking on nothing, and she''d bet twenty bucks that it''ll start gargling on its own blood if it isn''t laid on its side or something.
Courtney feels a little bad for pulverizing it, but¡ well. It slung a brick-sized rock at her. Two, in fact. She could have easily died, Cain and Abel style, if it was more accurate. Her brain immediately starts justifying her actions in every way possible: it was self-defense, this sort of thing was the usual for fantasy settings, nobody would care about a violent green highwayman dying in a puddle of its own blood.
Wordlessly, with a cold look in her eyes, Courtney trudges over to the beat-down goblin and kicks under it, flipping it onto its side. Some blood spills out from between its missing teeth, and it stops choking.
"Milady? What are you doing?" Ronister asks, putting away his first aid supplies.
"Seeing what I can loot," Courtney lies without missing a beat, "aside from what you got for allowance from your mom, we''re gonna be pretty broke until we get to the Capital."
"I see. Yes, that would be a good course of action." Ronister nods, as if looting broken bodies was a normal thing to do on a weekday afternoon. Oh, who was she kidding? This was video game land. Of course it was. The wolves probably dropped gold and potions, too, or something.
"Sucks that the other one ran." Courtney grumbles, picking at some dried blood on her cheek. "A spear would be helpful. I don''t know how to use a slingshot."
"But you seemed quite proficient in pugilism!" Ronister perks up, looking over his shoulder at her as he crouches to retrieve some gold off one of the goblin''s little belt-sacks. "Do you plan to take up the monk class, once we reach Gran Tidel?"
Reaching down to help him retrieve their well-earned fight rewards, Courtney''s brain conjures up the image of a Gregorian monk, with the bald bowl cut and everything, and she cringes. "What the hell do pugs have to do with monks¡? No thanks, I''m not super religious."
"Religious¡?" Ronister asks in confusion, before unhooking the dagger''s sheath from Glimbob''s waist. "Well, if you wish for a weapon, milady, then this one had a dagger."
"Yeah, that works." Courtney shrugs, taking it from him and sliding it onto a belt loop.
"Oh, and this one had a minor magic potion!" Ronister grins, holding up a flask of blue¡ stuff.
"La-di-da. Y''know any spells, Ronny?"
"Well¡ We can still sell it, methinks."
"Yeah, fair point."
"And I heard there was this amazing fountain in the center square¡" Ronister yawns next to her, lazily yapping about Gran Tidel after Courtney asked about it about thirty minutes ago, "As big as a mansion, by itself¡"
Under the pale moonlight, half-listening to her travel companion, Courtney pokes at the embers of their campfire, the remains of their dinner settling into her stomach. Tonight''s entree was two servings of adventuring rations. Thankfully, with Smallwood not that far behind them, the meal was still fairly fresh, albeit initially cold. Courtney didn''t particularly enjoy bread, nuts, dried berries, and beef jerky, but it wasn''t as bad as she thought it''d be.
As always, the Qliphoth Bastion of Sanguillon looms in the distance, the moon casting a heavy shadow on its intimidating silhouette. It''s definitely scary, relatively speaking. Again, it''s something out of a video game, so it isn''t mind-numbingly terrifying like Ronister thinks it is, but it''s still got a hell of a presence.
What''s really scary is the prospect of going there.
That was the whole point of this, right? Courtney would be made a hero ¨C like many before her, probably ¨C and she''d be sent to kill the bad guy. Pretty standard. But it takes her a while to just stare at the place and realize how huge it must be. How many creatures and demons and probably people she''ll have to fight, and kill. It takes up a sizable amount of the skyline, like when you see a distant city on a cross-country bus ride. Is it the size of a skyscraper? Bigger? An entire city?
The thought of facing off the entirety of New York City ¨C well, demon New York City ¨C sends chills down her spine.
Courtney got her face fucked up against a single goblin. One. And that bruise on her stomach is starting to hurt now, too. If she didn''t get lucky and punt Glorbo or whoever, she might have gotten stabbed, too. And she''s supposed to face a city''s worth of bigger, badder, stronger enemies?
She''s very likely to die young, and that realization only now just hit her.
"Ronister?" Courtney shudders, the cold of the night starting to seep into her bones. "It''s not too late to go back."
A soft snore is all the response Courtney gets. Ronister, all tuckered out, nods off, his eyes closing. Softly, the boy''s head rests on her shoulder, and he''s fully asleep.
Her eyes flicker from the distant Bastion to the low orange of the embers in front of her, and Courtney snorts.
Yeah. Sure.
Septgard
shit, there is no number of movies or video games that would prepare her for how tedious this would be. Most of the movies skip this part! Play some big orchestral piece while the camera pans over a beautiful New Zealand countryside, ride a horse into a sunset while the credits roll, that sort of thing. Not¡ turn your brain off and put one foot after the other.
Except Courtney can''t even turn her brain off, not after she took a brick-sized rock to the cranium because of three little fuckers. Now she''s paranoid on top of bored, and she has to keep herself occupied without a working phone, or even a goddamn crossword! It''s just her and Ronister.
Well, at least she can grill him on the specifics of fantasyland. Or, as names go, the world of Septgard.
"So, who decided to split the planet into seven worlds, again?" Courtney asks, her hand hovering over her reapplied head bandage to scratch at it. But then she glares and puts her hand back down, thinking better of doing so.
"Depends whom you ask, milady. It is oft believed ¨C and it is my belief ¨C that the Pantheon molded the leylines that splits the worlds, and thus the eight worlds remain so. A merchant told me of Ixianish scholars who think that the division is a result of some¡ clockwork reaction, I suppose, betwixt nature and magic." Ronister scrunches his nose. "And there''s always the barmy cultist who ascribes these to some primordial hero or goddess¡"
"Ixian is the metal world, right? With the robots, er, automatons?" Courtney hazards, trying to recall her fantasy geographical cram session.
"Correct! And the third furthest from our current location."
Right. They''re divided based on magic elements or whatever. Light, Earth, Metal, Water, Wood, Fire, and Darkness. In order, they correspond to Grandstart, Corozona, Ixian, Nippon Niban, the Sanguillon colonial coast, Burntes (part of Sanguillon), and actual Sanguillon.
Turns out, the bad guys have had a few decades to keep up the world domination schtick, which means they''ve already taken over three worlds. Burntes actually allied with the evil demons from the get-go (no surprise there), and they promptly got merged somewhere in the middle. With that in mind, she''ll let you guess as to what happened to the world once known as the Verdant Sanctuaries.
All of that isn''t surprising to Courtney. What is surprising is Nippon Niban, because that is, historically, the retirement home for a lot of unsuccessful otherworldly heroes. Who all happen to be Japanese, for some reason. Ronister doesn''t know much more than that ¨C he basically has a Victorian schoolboy''s education at best, so Courtney doesn''t blame him.
"Still can''t believe Niban exists." Courtney snorts, her mind veered off-topic by the sheer weirdness of having a Japan Two in a different universe entirely. Like, she knows that other people died and got sent here, but why''s the demographic so¡ skewed?
"Perhaps you might find someone you know there? Being from the same world, and all." Ronister ventures hopefully, under the sound of his giant backpack clonking like someone dropped a pots-and-pans combo pack.
"Of the Japanese people I knew, I''m pretty sure none of them got run over." Then again, Courtney''s been dead for a few days now, so who''s to say? "And you said ninety percent of heroes come from there?"
"At least, that''s what it said in my Handbook of Heroes. I only have the fourth and fifth edition, though." Ronister waddles, and Courtney can''t help herself.
"Look at this fuckin'' nerd." The cheerleader verbally jabs at him, a cruel smirk on her face.
Ronister''s hung out with her long enough to know she''s shooting the shit, so he just sticks his tongue out and raspberries at her. "Pbbt!"
Before Courtney can reach over and noogie this little dweeb, she feels the vibration of the earth under her boots and freezes in place. Listening intently for any disturbances, the distant sounds of hooves and rickety wheels cause her to perk up and look for the source. Her hand hovers over her new dagger, finger grazing over its handle. Ronister does so as well, looking a bit more excited than her.
A coachman waves a white handkerchief in the distance, and Ronister waves back. He''s dressed in the usual peasant garb that she saw back in Smallwood. Relaxing at the sight, Courtney puts her hand on her hip, dagger forgotten.
At the cost of an introduction and two silver pieces, Courtney finally gets to sit her ass on a chair and ride to Gran Tidel instead of hiking the entire way. Thank God, she really didn''t want to walk the entire time.
They''re now going by horse-drawn wagon, so the difference is that they''ll be getting to the Capital by midday rather than past sunset. It doesn''t matter if she walked three-fourths of the way, she still gets a break. Although, thinking about it, Courtney really did just travel to another city by foot, huh? In heavy-ass boots to... boot. She''ll pat herself on the back for that.
The coachman''s name is Ezekiel of Backfoot, Backfoot being a town a little further away from Gran Tidel, compared to Littlewood. Nice guy, looks kind of Amish. Apparently, he was already ferrying two other folks ¨CTakahashi Whitefang, a wolf-girl, and Johann du Mille ¨C so adding two more people to his rickety bus ride wasn''t an issue.
Johann is a standard Civil War-era white dude, with ginger hair, crow''s feet, and a bushy beard. Courtney would see his type in the hunting part of a sporting goods store, if he wasn''t clad in leather and burlap. In contrast, Whitefang is an honest-to-God anime girl. She''s clearly got some Asian blood, if the last name wasn''t a giveaway, but she has also impossibly beautiful locks of snow white hair, and a tail, and wolf ears, and a little fang that sticks out and stabs her lower lip when her mouth is closed.
Courtney is now convinced that Michael Worth should''ve been run over. His nerd ass would be slobbering all over this shit.
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Everything''s nice and quiet until Ronister opens his big mouth and starts bragging.
"What brings you two to Gran Tidel?" Ezekiel asks, looking over his shoulder and away from two horse asses.
"Milady here was summoned from another world!" Ronister chirps, and Courtney immediately leans forward and hisses at him.
"Ronnie!"
"We''re off to make her a hero ¨C milady, I don''t ¨C I''m just trying to explain ¨C" Ronister gets uppity, sending Courtney''s blood pressure into the stratosphere.
"You shouldn''t just fucking offer that information to everyone, you stupid little ¨C"
"Ma''am?" Someone says, and Courtney snaps out of it. Flexing her jaw into an underbite, Courtney gives Ronister a stink-eye before slinking back into her seat. Ronister shuffles nervously into his own, huddling into his own armor.
"Oh, my step-grandfather was a hero," Whitefang offers, tapping her finger on her chin in what has to be exaggerated cuteness, "that''s how he met my grandmother!"
"Really? How''d they meet?" Johann asks casually, pointedly not looking at the easily irate American girl.
"Well, actually, my mother was a white mage at the time, who was working with the hero. At some point, she introduced him to her recently widowed mother." Whitefang explains. "As it turns out, that hero was very much into his friend''s mother. One thing led to another, and, well¡"
"Hah! Not the mage, but her mother? What a dog!" Ezekiel barks with laughter, before making a sound like he''d just swallowed a lemon. "Er, no offense, ma''am."
"None taken." The half-canine, half-human girl laughs.
"Hey. What''s a white mage?" Courtney asks Ronister suddenly, her earlier anger mostly dissipated.
"It''s a, er, healing magician, milady." Ronister responds, sounding smaller than he did before. More self-confidence issues. They''ll need to talk about this later. Preferably not in a shared wagon ride.
"Should get one of those." Courtney notes offhandedly, before staring out the rear end of the wagon, watching the road pass by.
¡Until she feels two sets of eyes looking at her. Then, she turns to face the other two passengers, affronted. "What?"
"Nothing, it''s just, well¡" Johann tries to find the words. He''s beaten to the punch by Whitefang.
"Most ¨C if not nearly all heroes ¨C are familiar with basic vocabulary like that," Whitefang explains, sounding a bit cautious, "I¡ suppose it could be a stereotype, but from the ones I''ve met, it''s one-hundred percent true."
"What she said." Johann nods. "You¡ did go to school, right? In your original world?"
"Look, just because I didn''t bother with that crap past the age of six ¨C y''know what?" Courtney stops herself from going on a tirade, shoving down her instinctive indignation. "I don''t know if I''m a hero, honestly. All I know is I died and came here, and apparently that means I''m gonna get thrown at the Bastion. So."
"Ah¡"
"Hm¡"
The wagon falls silent. Courtney doesn''t care. She''s not sure why she cares about any of this, really. The basement dwellers and weeaboos should be here, not her. The locals even said as much. Her forte is kicking pizza-faced creeps in the balls and kicking ass in a dance routine, not leveling up and allocating stats and white mages and all this shit.
Maybe if she jumps in front of the wagon, she''ll get reincarnated into a world where she''s a trust fund baby and doesn''t have to worry about crap like the bad chafing on her feet or cleaning the wound on her dome. Certainly not being a hero, or earning a fucking Soul Weapon from King Charlon ¨C honestly, just saying that shit is a bad joke ¨C
A warm gauntlet rests on Courtney''s knee, and she looks up to Ronister. Her attention latches onto the glint of his eyes under the shade of his helmet.
Courtney heaves a sigh.
"¡If I''m some sorta stupid, they better give me an easy Soul Weapon." She grumbles, crossing her arms and looking out the wagon''s rear again. "If they give me a bow then I''m gonna use it as a stick, I swear to God."
That garners a few laughs, and it doesn''t feel like a funeral home anymore. Courtney returns to brooding, but with a little less self-loathing.
If the Qliphoth Bastion of Sanguillon is marked with the colors of evil ¨C the crimson of a bloodied edge and the darkness of an abyssal ichor ¨C then the castle city of Gran Tidel has doused itself in the hues of heavenly protection. Impossibly white marble walls stand victoriously in the distance, accented with glimmering gold and parapets borne of master masons across generations. Towers branch impossibly from other towers, reaching the sky with endless windows of stained glass. Surrounding the castle is the very picture of greener pastures, rolling verdant hills shining under a perfect blue sky.
Grandstart''s proud flag ¨C a white alicorn against a field of azure ¨C stands proudly from every high point of the fortress capital. It waves most brilliantly, most gloriously from the highest point in the city: the central clock tower of Castle Diviner, the seat of government widely regarded as humanity''s greatest architectural wonder, and the final stronghold against the Bastion''s heinous legions.
The wagon pulls across a beautiful curving bridge, a crystal-clear river rolling peacefully underneath. A mother duck leads its ducklings under its shadow, as a frog leaps from one lily pond to the next. Passerby folk smile and wave amiably to the coachman. As they get closer to the walls, the smell of freshly baked bread and blooming flowers begins to fill the air. A baby''s laughter can be heard from within.
"I bet cost of living must be insanely high." Courtney muses.
"Oh, undeniably. The landed lords are utter thieves, I fear." Ronister nods.
"I''m guessing we should stick to the tourist spots unless we want to get mugged?"
"Yes, milady. Although, they set prices far more steeply in those areas, methinks..."
"Is there merchandise that says something along the lines of ''I LOVE GRAN TIDEL''?"
"My mother owns three bowls thusly!"
"Figures."
Castle Diviner
After thanking Ezekiel and saying their goodbyes to Johann and Whitefang, Ronister figured they should try and seek an audience with King Charlon early, since they arrived in town way earlier than they originally planned. According to him, the crown provides free lodgings to any hero and their party while they stay in Gran Tidel, and if they avoid any of the local inns, they can save a good chunk of money doing so.
Courtney was, admittedly, a little leery about meeting royalty when she came across as a broke hobo-version of an armored cheer captain, especially after trekking all the way to Gran Tidel. She smelled like crap and looked like a bear fist-fought her. Not a great first impression.
But then Ronister showed her the actual prices of the inns. Courtney might not have the monetary value of things completely down pat, but five gold pieces for one night seemed frankly insane, no matter what universe you''re from. The city as a whole is a dead ringer for places like New York or London or Paris: a huge metropolitan area with every tourist trap imaginable and, most likely, less-than-agreeable locals. No wonder the prices of the motel-equivalents are jacked up.
So they''re gonna try and cop some free room and board with the king, and hopefully a hot shower. All good and well, and Mr. "I would trade my sumptuous repast for hero trading cards" seems to think it''ll work out, so Court''s just gonna go along with it. Now, the issue is actually getting in.
Walking past a giant marble statue of a spiky-haired knight in shining armor, the duo meander up to the big gated bridge leading up to Castle Diviner. They stop before a small guardhouse in the center of their end of the bridge.
"P-Pardon me, sir!" Courtney''s full-armored squire squeaks.
"State your names and business." A stoic guard in gold armor drones off, the blue plumes of his Roman-looking helmet nearly brushing the top of his station''s doorframe. He''s built like a brick shithouse.
"Oh! I am, ah, Ronister of Smallwood. This is Courtney Cross, she''s from another world! We''re here to become heroes." Ronister declares, rattling in excitement. Courtney can see the stars in his eyes from under his visor. He says it like the world spins around the very concept of heroism. Which, around here, it probably does.
"One moment. [Scan.]" Something in the air reverberates and shudders when the guard says the word, before a floating blue magical circle erupts in front of his left eye. Courtney startles, before reminding herself that magic exists in magic-land, and this is probably just¡ that.
Then, he starts appraising Courtney. Honestly, she''s kinda miffed that her first encounter with actual goddamn witchcraft is basically a TSA check. Why couldn''t it have been a fireball, or y''know, some healing for her head injury? Wasn''t Whitefang''s mom a healer? Well then again, Courtney''s mom is a nurse, and she''s totally not doing that.
"You leveled up already?" He suddenly asks, and it catches her off-guard.
"Whuh?" Courtney replies intelligently.
"I see."
The magic circle fades away, and the guard nods, before putting two fingers to his throat.
"[Message.]" The air shudders again. "I have a Code H. Blonde teenage girl. Party of two. ¡Yes, verified. Yes, the hero is the blonde teenage girl. No, the mousy boy with her is not the hero. Yes, verified."
Oh, they have a radio spell. She should learn that. Ronister starts practically vibrating the moment the guard sends the message, and Courtney raises an eyebrow at him.
"Code H! Th-That''s the code for a new hero! I''ve always wanted to hear it¡" Ronister explains, as if it wasn''t completely obvious.
"That''s completely obvious." Courtney deadpans, bursting his balloon. Ronister stops bouncing on his heels and subdues his childlike joy and wonder, slowly curling into himself a little. Tough luck, you''ll get no sympathy here. Still, that does beg the question¡ "How often does it happen?"
"Well, they could be days apart or decades apart, really ¨C the last recorded hero was found five years ago right here, lying unconscious in the Savior''s Garden!" Ronister''s energy picks back up. "Alack, that must have a fright for just about everyone¡"
Ronister looks backwards at the courtyard ¨C the Savior''s Garden, apparently, even though it''s more of a plaza and not much of a garden ¨C and starts daydreaming, probably envisioning the scene unfolding right in front of him. He''s probably imagining a handsome actor-type in everyman clothes slowly picking up his head to a buxom, overpowered traveling companion. Usual teenage daydream stuff.
Courtney also starts imagining it. If it was anything like hers, then there was a lot of screaming and pig slop. Probably banged his head, and then they had to drag him into the castle for medical attention. But man, that''d be nice ¨C to be dropped off right where the adventure began. She had to make the trek like an asshole.
"Lady Cross? Sir Ronister?" A different guard calls their attention. Courtney immediately turns around, but she has to quickly rap on Ronister''s helmet to snap him back to reality. Clumsily, the boy shuffles into place and salutes, clacking his plated heels together and everything.
"Yes, ma''am!" Ronister puffs his steel-plated chest, clearly hyped up.
The guard clears her throat. "Right. Please follow me as I escort you to the king."
Sorry, what?
"I thought ¨C" Courtney immediately tries to hit the brakes, before fumbling for what the hell to say. "¨C I thought we''d get time to at least clean up, I mean Jesus Christ, I might be nursing a concussion here ¨C"
"It is standard protocol for all heroes to see the king as soon as possible. Their arrival has high priority over all other matters."
"Ronister ¨C"
"She''s right, you know!" The traitorous little garbage-bin of a boy blurbles, pulling Courtney by the hem of her skirt and forcing her to walk alongside them. "Since the very first hero, the crown has always welcomed those brave souls posthaste, and with great celebration! It''d be such a shame to keep them waiting!"
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"Ronister, I didn''t fucking ask you to explain, we look like dog shit ¨C"
"Open the gates!"
Any other objection that Courtney has is cut off by the loud screech of thrice-reinforced armored gates scraping open, kicking up dust and forcing her to hack and cough and try to wave it away from her face. As the rest of the grandiose castle is revealed to Courtney, she''s forced to dip her head and slip into the castle grounds, whether because of Ronister''s grip (unlikely) or because of the societal expectations that she should probably get in the gate while everyone else is walking forward (definitely).
The sheer scale of Castle Diviner up close is the next item to silence Courtney. She could crane her neck up so far she''d topple backwards, and she still wouldn''t be able to spot the very top of the towers that made up the superstructure. It was, honest-to-god, a skyscraper in medieval form. At most, she could spot the bells of the clock tower, inasmuch as their silhouette stood out against the sunlight.
Walking inside only added to the effect. She''d only visited New York once, but it was like if you turned the entire Empire State Building into a state capitol. Marble pillars that spanned high enough that you couldn''t see the top, paintings of old kings and governors across every wall, and ¨C oh, those were magic elevators. Fantasy-era office workers and clerks and white-collar workers all walk and talk and systematically clumped into the elevators, before they shot up and down the various floors of the castle at breakneck paces.
It''s just now that Courtney''s realizing she''s stumbled into a very busy government building. Like, duh, it''s a busy government building, it''s the main castle of the biggest city in the region, right? But the breakneck pace of it all is what hammers it in ¨C the brisk speed at which they''re walking, the razor-sharp fashion of all the inhabitants, even the laser-guided apathy in which they treated their surroundings as they marched from point A to point B. Only a few people stop and stare at the two dirty mutts tracking mud onto the nice floors, and then they turn their nose up and walk away.
Looking to her side, Ronister''s eating all of this up. The small town boy has probably only ever seen the inside of his sleepy town hall, and even then, no more than once or twice in his life. Making a beeline to the main castle and getting escorted through it like he''s some sort of VIP? He''s clearly living the dream. Courtney still has half a mind to speak up and demand a goddamn bed and shower, but she''s too distracted by Ron''s starry-eyed wonder that she doesn''t have time to act on it ¨C
Until she''s shoved into an elevator with the other two guards and Ronister. One of them hits a button with a crown on it, and oh, God, it''s happening.
It''s midday, or just about. Business hours. And if the button is any indicator¡ that means they''re heading to the throne. Courtney didn''t know jack about kingly councils or historically accurate governing bodies, but she did know that in all the fantasy settings, from the goofy Saturday morning cartoons all the way to the live-action TV series, the king or noble held court for whatever person to petition or present a gift or get beheaded. Or all of the above.
A pitfall starts to grow in her stomach ¨C and is immediately made twice its size when the elevator door opens, and yes, they are standing in front of a royal court. There''s no turning back. Why didn''t they turn back?!
Nobles of all colors and luxurious satin outfits gasp and stare at the two complete tramps dirtying their carpets. Some of them are in the usual European medieval get-up, powdered wigs and frills and all. Others are in more reasonably modern clothing: top hats and headdresses, yes, but the tuxedos and more typical dresses of the 1800s were familiar to Courtney. A fair few are clearly dressed in the Japanese style, with kimonos and topknots and weird black hats that Courtney couldn''t even try to name.
The obvious eyecatches are the king and the princess.
Sitting on a golden throne, with a red carpet unfurled underneath and everything, is the man that Courtney has to assume is King Charlon. The head honcho. The big man. He''s every bit what Courtney expects a king to look like ¨C big, gold, jeweled crown and scepter, flowing hair, majestic beard. He''s got crow''s feet around his eyes and quite a few wrinkles. He''s not all that old, though: he''s got salt and pepper hair and is still holding onto some musculature under all those layers of royal clothing.
The princess is also, stereotypically, a princess. Gold tiara, expensive earrings, ruby necklace. Impossibly bright gold hair ¨C Courtney''s blonde, sure, but this girl looks like she''s got a costume wig on. And wow, big, sky blue eyes, along with perfect, unblemished skin, almost porcelain in texture. Another anime girl type. The big, white poofy dress and the pink cravat only add to the effect, as well as her daintier, cuter little throne next to her dad''s.
"Hero!" King Charlon booms, his voice echoing across the marble halls of Castle Diviner. It reeks of a well-practiced spiel: just the type that grinds on Courtney''s gears. Especially after endless hours of roughing it, and especially after nursing a throbbing migraine for-fucking-ever after that goblin attack. "Welcome to the world of Septgard! What might your name be?"
She steps forward. Standing at cornfed American height, this fun-loving teenager is a lanky mess of chainmail, second-hand leather armor, and bandages. Her ponytail has dried blood caked in it, her temples are wrapped up in a headband that makes her look like she got hit face first by a pickup truck, and the only colors left on her body are the remains of her original cheerleading outfit that she tried to fit around her armor. Glorious red, white, and blue, all stained with dirt and sweat. And she feels like shit, by the way, if she hasn''t hammered this in already.
"Courtney Cross." The cheerleader bites out. "I''d like a weapon and a goddamn shower, please."
King Charlon
"Watch your tone, madam," some jackass with gold rings and pendants yaps, "hero or not, you speak to the King ¨C"
"Was I fucking talking to you, Lancelot, or is there too much shit in your ears from brown-nosing?"
"Milady!" Ronister hisses, but Courtney isn''t paying attention to him.
The court erupts into a series of murmurs and excited whispers that she is too tired and too hungry to give two shits about. The princess in particular seems suddenly intrigued by all this ¨C as though Courtney was the spice she needed in her life. Not sure if Court''s ready to commit to a rich girl, but hey, maybe she can set Ronnie up.
No response from the gold jackass himself though. Good, she can double down.
"Oh, so now you can hear me. Keep it up, I''m sure you''ll get promoted to royal asswipe soon. Anyways. We''re here for room and board and a bath and hopefully whatever a Soul Weapon is. Sooner would be better."
"I see..." Charlon leans forward, looking interested in getting on her nerves. "And why do you believe you deserve these things?"
"Why do I ¨C" Blood pressure rising. "Everyone told me to, so I hiked and busted my ass to get here on foot. Are you serious?"
"Who is this everyone?"
"Y-Your Majesty ¨C" Ronister flubs out.
"Don''t play the bullshit card on me, Your Majesty." Courtney snaps, and something in the old bastard''s eyes sharpens, but she''s too agitated to care. "I''m here to get conscripted and get the magic weapon and beat the demon lord. Simple concept, can we please hurry this shit up?"
"You still haven''t answered my first question."
"Yes I did!"
"Not quite. You said it was an expectation."
Courtney scoffs. "You want a resume?"
"Milady, we ¨C" Ronister starts.
"It would be appreciated." Smug bastard finishes.
She''s tempted to throw up double birds in response. So tempted.
"I can hike for a long time, I can cave goblin face in, and I used to do track."
"Is that so?"
"And I worked part-time at a fast food joint, so I''ve got great customer service."
"Hmph!" The king chortles, and she grinds her teeth. "Doubtful, if I was the customer in this case¡ any other skills?"
"Want me to do a backflip? Maybe perform some goddamn cheer choreo?"
"If you don''t mind."
"Yeah, okay, well how about you ¨C"
"Courtney, would you please shut up." Ronster barks under his breath with a tremble, and Courtney''s head snaps to the tin can standing next to her. He''s standing stiffly, the watery whites of his eyes glinting under the shadow of his helm, but his hands are clenched tight. "Please."
Her jaw clamps shut. She''s never¡ he''s never¡
Apparently, the silence is enough for the gold-hatted shithead to keep talking, and Courtney flexes her jaw before returning her attention to His Glorious, Perfect, Platinum-assed Majesty.
"Courtney Cross. During my reign as king, I have only had the opportunity to welcome five heroes ¨C yourself included. And, most certainly, you have established yourself as quite the outlier." His voice booms, and by the way he''s expositing, Charlon is clearly sending some sort of message or code to the rest of the court. Courtney has no clue what it might be. "And who do you have with you?"
Silence. Courtney''s eyes flicker to Ronister, who picks now, of all times, to clam up instead of gushing about who he is, and why he''s here, and how he looooves heroes oh so much.
"Ronnie," she whispers, before lightly kicking the tin can in the shin.
"Ronister! Of¡ Of Smallwood, Your Majesty." The steel-covered eighth grader manages to compose himself, and bows as a gentleman would. Ah, shit, she should have curtsied. Maybe. Hard to do with a skirt and chainmail.
"Smallwood. Well, I thank both of you for making the trek here, and for presenting yourself as swiftly as you could muster. The carriages don''t travel out there often, so the journey must have been tiring¡ and dangerous, considering your level." There''s that word again. Shelf it for later. "A weapon and a shower¡ simple demands, and yet¡ well. You''ll have them, most definitely."
All eyes on Courtney. She cringes and tries to hide her embarrassment. Why does it feel weird now, even though she was making a whole-ass scene earlier? Actually, why is he now agreeing to her terms? Goddamn court politics... she''ll have to try to figure out why he went through a round of 20 Questions later.
"...Thanks." She musters, her voice reduced to a wary prowl rather than the verbal tiger mauling she was handing out. "I guess."This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
"And young Ronister ¨C you have the crown''s gratitude for escorting our latest hero here. We shall return you to your home by tomorrow, with an endowment to your family as reward."
Courtney''s bones freeze in place. She stares at Ronister. She''s never scrutinized him to the degree she''s doing at this very moment, but right here, right now, her heart tightens and her lungs coil into themselves, and she very much hates this sensation.
For a moment, Courtney considers opening her mouth ¨C casually and quickly informing everyone that no, Ronister''s staying with her ¨C but she doesn''t. Why doesn''t she? Why aren''t there words coming out of her throat? Her lips have parted, her vocal cords are making the movements, but nothing''s coming out except a brainless "uh". The moment stretches into infinity. Just¡ say no. Say he''s staying. Just¡
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Ronister speaks in his best public speaking voice, dormouse that he is, and Courtney''s heart plummets for an eternal second, "but my place is beside milady, aiding her in her quest."
Relief, from out of nowhere and for no reason at all jumps into Courtney''s rib cage. The court nobles murmur once more, this time sounding more excited and even a little enamored. She''s kind of¡ proud? Again, she''ll have to shelf these feelings for later.
"Grandstart is forever proud for sons and soldiers like you." King Charlon says with a genuine smile. It''s enough to make Courtney almost roll her eyes. Almost. She doesn''t want to ruin the moment. "Both of you shall be offered room and board, as everyone has informed you."
Again: smug bastard. Courtney shoots him a dirty look, but as befitting of a lifelong monarch and politician, Charlon doesn''t budge. She''ll just have to play along, for now. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
"In two days'' time, we shall host the Soul''s Claim ¨C the ceremony for the bestowment of a Soul Weapon and the public introduction of our newest heroine. In the interim, I beseech both of you to enjoy Castle Diviner''s amenities and to freshen up for the big day."
King Charlon stands from his throne. Apparently, this means that everyone else in court bows or curtsies ¨C except the princess, naturally. Courtney''s eyes flicker to Ronister, because he''d know what to do, but he''s not doing anything except getting excited and standing in place. So, she just shoves her hands in her pockets and tries not to fidget too much.
"Again, thank you for your presence and¡ rather colorful debut. And thank you, all else, for your service to our great nation. Good day."
"The royal court is adjourned!" A guard bellows.
Charlon walks away from the court as all the nobility start to clump together in their cliques and alliances. His daughter follows behind him, but stops to spare one last look over her shoulder at Courtney.
Courtney raises an eyebrow at her.
The princess''s face grows red and she rushes out of the room all the quicker. Ah.
"Milady, sir, the maids will escort you to your rooms." The bellowing guard says to the dirt-covered, sweaty-looking duo, before Courtney realizes two maids teleported from out of nowhere and to their sides. Given the whole magic schtick, they might have actually teleported.
"I ¨C shit, where''d you come from?" Courtney says to the concerningly young, concerningly beautiful uniformed woman next to her. If that wasn''t a recipe for a royal scandal, she didn''t know what was. "Well, okay, sure. At least I''ll get half of my demands met."
The instant that Courtney Cross and Ronister of Smallwood leave the court, the audience bursts into sound and gossip.
"Ohmygosh, did you see how scary she looked, yelling at His Majesty like that?"
"No wayyyy, I thought it was sooooo hot!"
"Do you really think she''s an actual hero?"
"Well, if the King thinks so¡"
"I bet ten gold that her soul weapon weapon will be a mace."
"Hah! I take your bet. It will be a hammer, surely."
"Or perhaps her cutting words, more like."
"By the gods! Are we meant to entrust our lives to such rabble? Why, she wasn''t even of proper descent¡"
"Lord Fujiwara, I do implore you to have some respect for those serving, heroes or not."
"Mmm. It''s true she''s not Japanese."
Anyone within earshot of that last comment falls silent, looking at the elderly statesman in the corner of the room.
"At least, not from what it sounds like." As he speaks, he takes his square glasses off and wipes them with a handkerchief, slightly rumpling his well-worn suit and tie."We didn''t wear uniforms like that: I''ve only ever seen them in movies."
"A foreign hero, then?"
"What could this mean¡?"
Murmurs and whispers, whispers and murmurs. The statesman just grins cheekily ¨C the same grin that his wife fell in love with, that she''s still in love with, even as they grow old and gray and wrinkled together. Seeing the teenager¡ wow, he never thought he''d see one in real life, but¡
"That''s an honest-to-goodness American," he chuckles, vividly remembering all the action movies and dramas and chick flicks that he''d been dragged to, all those years ago, "which means things are about to get very interesting."
Holy shit, Castle Diviner has functional plumbing.
Granted, Courtney should have expected it from the fact that they had elevators (and she''s pretty sure she saw a fax machine on that paperwork floor), but still. Hot water! And water pressure! And free shampoo! And the toilet flushes too, which is a huge upgrade from the latrines (or, worse, the outhouse) they had in Smallwood.
Felt nice to no longer have dried blood caking her forehead and sweat in her eyes and chainmail chafing in places she didn''t know it could get into. And wow, the clothes ¨C they gave Courtney some nightgowns and even casualwear so that she wasn''t lumbering around in her full combat gear all the time.
¡Well, casual for the setting, Courtney guesses. The however-many decades of heroes coming from her world had clearly affected the local fashion industry, such that it sorta mixed together. In the closet, there''s even what could be called a medieval seamstress''s attempt at a white t-shirt with jeans. Sounds easy, but it looks like a V-necked medieval tunic with billowing pirate breeches¡ made of denim.
Yeah, Courtney''s gonna need her skirt back from the laundry maid sometime soon. And skirts in general, with some tights. She hates pants.
Massaging her eyes and letting her back plunge into the soft bed behind her, Courtney''s brain finally leaves survival mode¡ after three days. Three days of trekking through the woods, and limping out of a fight, and god dammit, that sucked. They need a horse! And more spells to make shit easier, and maybe a third party member.
New party member would be good. Need a wizard. It''d be so useful to have someone like those movies ¨C where you can put a million things into a bag, or light a fire with a flick of your wrist, or make food and water by saying the magic words. Hell, Courtney wants a genie, if she can manage to find one. But still, even just a basic wizard¡
In the middle of the afternoon, Courtney sleeps a dreamless sleep, the tiredness in her body finally catching up to her.
When she wakes up, it''s the middle of the night. The otherworldly moon hangs above the Qliphoth Bastion of Sanguillon in the distance, the silhouette of bat-winged creatures flocking through the misty darkness visible from the window of Castle Diviner. Her bed is warm, comfortable, warm, and a little too warm.
Sitting up and cracking her back, Courtney figures she has two options: go back to sleep, or wander around the castle looking for something to do.
Courtney yawns and wipes the tiredness from her eyes.
"...Might as well see if Ronister''s awake," she grumbles to herself, before standing up to go get her shoes. Should probably talk to him about that outburst during their meeting with Charlon¡ egh, if she feels like it.
Probably not, she''s hungry and she wants a turkey leg, for some reason. Probably because Castle Diviner reminds her of Disney Castle.
Wonder if the princess can talk to birds and mice¡?
Princess Charlouise
Ronister groggily opens his eyes as he hears a rapping upon his door.
No doubt lies in his heart that Lady Courtney stands across from the threshold. A spike of fear thrusts ''pon his heart: will she scold him for his behavior before the throne? And yet, to show such bald-faced audacity to the crown itself¡ Lady Courtney''s title as hero is the only reason their twosome were not yet drawn and quartered before the noble masses.
Hero. ''Tis a strange title for Lady Courtney. When the girl first descended from the clouds, he had no doubt in his mind that she was a chosen soul of legend. And yet, as time goes on¡ no! Ronister must hold onto his loyalty and honor still.
The rapping grows wilder.
Escaping his too-large downy bed, Ronister flies swiftly to the door before cracking it open the barest of inches.
"Milady¡? It''s quite late in the eve¡"
"..." Lady Courtney squints down at him, the distant candlelight barely illuminating her face. "Ugh, I forgot how cute you are without the armor."
Cute?!
"I-I''m not cute! I am a man, not a doll!"
And, besides, his bowl cut has grown long and shaggy during his time away from a proper barber ¨C his bangs now hang over his eyes. ¡Which they usually do anyways, but they now reach his nose!
"You have a little button nose and a natural blush and a face that grandmas want to pinch. You are literally ka-yute." Lady Courtney ruffles his hair, to his utter dismay. "Like a teddy bear."
"I¡!" Ronister tries to fix his hair, before attempting to hide his face under a pout. "...I''m not cute. ''Tis folly, surely."
Lady Courtney rolls her eyes.
"Anyways, so. I figured we could, like, wander the castle, see where everything is." She explains, jerking a thumb behind her. "I''m also hungry, so if we could find a pantry to raid, that''d be sweet."
"Ah! You were absent from supper ¨C it was a quiet affair, and the maids would not wish to wake you unduly, I suppose." Ronister says. "I believe I know where the kitchens are. Fate willing, we can ask a night guard if we see one."
With that, Ronister dons his new, royally-gifted sandals and takes a candlestick holder from its sconce, shuffling out of his room in his new, royally-gifted pajamas. The silks of his clothes are unbelievably smooth and luxurious¡ and somewhat unbearable, in their disharmony with his humble, Smallwood origins.
The earlier dread rises upon his aching heart once more ¨C the fear of Lady Courtney and her simmering temper. As they meander along the castle halls, no amount of kingly threads could provide solace to Ronister ¨C when would she mention it? What would she say to him about it? He''d told her, in her region''s verbiage, to still her tongue lest the king cut it off. But what manner of squire was he, to bark at a hero thusly? What right did he have?
Even as Ronister avoids gazing upon it, as any sane person ought to do, the heavy weight of the Bastion in the horizon presses down on his shoulders. They were in court, of all places, and Lady Courtney was acting so uncouthly¡ but His Majesty was asking her those questions, she simply answered¡ but could she not have answered some modicum of decorum¡?
"Ronister." Her voice calls out, and his eyes snap to her. "You''re supposed to be leading me, right?"
He''s tarried a few yards behind her, now, bathed in the cursed moonlight of the Bastion while Lady Courtney stands before the entrance to this castle wing''s staircase. Gulping and muttering his apologies, Ronister hurries back to her side.
As they begin to descend down the cobblestone stairwell, though, Lady Courtney pauses in her step.
"Hey." The candle''s shadow mars her frown. "You look like someone shat in your corn flakes."
Another strange and unduly euphemism. "Pardon?"
"You look miserable." Lady Courtney says, cutting the chaff. "Is it because of our meeting? With the King, I mean?"
"I¡" Ronister trails off into silence, debating the boons and banes of confessing his dilemma. What would she think? Would her ire grow? Would she dismiss his woes? Would she leave ¨C
"That''s a yes." She sighs. "I dunno what Charlon''s goddamn problem is, honestly."
Alack, her disregard pierces his heart once again! Does it not register that the leader of his nation stood in front of them? Were the attendants and lords and ladies simply a mirage, was the throne and scepter and crown merely shaped air?
"Milady, he''s¡!" Ronister''s voice raises, but his tongue finds no words. His silence is borne of both his consciousness of the night, and also¡ of trained behavior. He''s grown used to being cut off.
"He''s what?" Courtney prods, sure as steel and barbed as a bed of thorns. "Finish the sentence."
"He''s¡ he''s the king," Ronister follows weakly, uncertain of what other argument can be made, "he levies taxes, and raises armies, and¡ I just don''t understand, milady, why¡?"
"I could care less if he was the god of reincarnation, I was tired and dirty and hungry, and he pissed me off with his stupid riddles." Courtney glowers. There''s an animalistic simplicity to her words ¨C the type that gets wolves hunted by yeomen. "But I''ll say I was impressed, at least."
"By what?" Ronister wracks his brain for what might impress the irascible Cross daughter, if not King Charlon himself. "The court? The throne¡?"Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
"No, by you."
Ronister''s heart beats backwards for a moment, and he gazes upon Lady Courtney as though she''d grown a second and third head. What? "I beg pardon? Me? I ¨C I did nothing ¨C"
"You told me off for being an asshole. Most people don''t have the balls to do that, I guess." She shrugs, her expression perhaps a bit softer than before ¨C but perhaps ''tis a trick of the light. "That''s it."
"...I see." Ronister swallows again, this time choking down a pride that he''s not certain he deserves. "Should I, ah. Do it¡ more?"
"I mean, for being a fully-armored ankle-biter, you kinda fold like a cheap suit for literally everybody. So, um." Lady Courtney pauses. "Yeah, I guess so. Keep up the good work."
"I¡" Feeling a burst of light and giddiness in his stomach, Ronister salutes, nearly smacking himself in the skull as he does not register the usual sheet of helmet steel donned upon his head. "Yes, milady!"
"Alright, whatevs. Let''s get a sandwich or something already."
Eventually, they do stumble upon the royal kitchens, where the nightly staff bear the task of shelving new stock and preparing any meals for the evening guard. Despite the witching hour, they are active in their efforts, albeit more relaxed and less heavily staffed than their daytime counterparts.
"Oh! It''s the hero!"
"The one who silenced Duke Dequeed?"
"Yes, hello, ''tis I, your glorious hero," Courtney waves them off, "could I get a sandwich, please? Oh, and whatever Ronnie wants."
Later, while Lady Courtney devours her long-awaited sandwich of hams, greens, and cheeses, Ronister helps himself to an extra dessert of scones and jam ¨C thank goodness his mother is not here to scold him.
As he takes his first bite, it is warm and buttery and tart, and tastes a bit more sweetly than he expected. It is delicious.
Returning to their quarters, stomachs satisfied, Ronister licks the last of the jam from his fingertips while Courtney sips on a beverage. Although they did not have the ''soda'' or ''lacroy'' that she requested, she did appreciate a porcelain cup of tea in ice.
"Can''t believe they wouldn''t give me booze," she complains into her drink, "they''re just as bad as my mom, I swear."
"Gran Tidel does have a reputation of teetotalism, even among other townships in Grandstart." The explanation flows out of his mouth easily and happily ¨C it''s become almost second nature, now.
"Teetotalism?"
"Not consuming hard liquor?" Ronister offers, doubting his own understanding of the word for a blink''s time.
"Oh. Sober, got it." She looks at him. "Have you¡?"
"Only once or twice," Ronister blushes, "In truth, I rather despise the taste, and the rabble in the beer halls are¡ not kind to me. I assume you partake, milady?"
"If I''m at a party or when I can sneak it into the house, sure." Lady Courtney confirms. "If my parents catch wind of it, I''ll be chewed out on the spot, which, ugh."
"Are they teetotalers, as well?"
"Nah, it''s actually illegal before the age of 21, where I''m from?"
"Forgive my assumption," Ronister makes a face, "but that number seems rather arbitrary."
"I think there''s some history behind it ¨C I dunno, I didn''t pay attention during ¨C"
"Hero?"
A melodic voice calls out from behind both of them.
Ronister''s hand twitches for his weapon, but he finds no purchase, grasping at the edges of his silk shirt instead of the old warhammer gifted by the good folks of Smallwood. His instinct falls flat, however, when he glimpses their third party.
Princess Charlouise III ¨C daughter of King Charlon I and the late Queen. Even in the unholy glow of the Bastion''s moon, her golden locks and her heavenly blue eyes are as legendary as the rumors confess them to be. Her skin shines as flawlessly as a mirror, and oh, her rosy cheeks¡! And even her voice carries the soft whisper of the most gentle, kindest soul to ever grace the whole of Septgard¡
These are all, of course, objective observations that Ronister makes. Completely objective. As Lady Courtney would say, totally, literally objective. Ignore how Ronister fidgets, how his knees knock against one another! All that is unimportant! Balderdash, even!
"Huh?" Lady Courtney says, displaying her usual reverence and courtesy towards royalty. "Oh, you''re the princess, right?"
"Your Highness!" Ronister immediately bows, as deeply as he can muster, as befitting his station underneath hers. He has no time to worry about whether Lady Courtney bows, he must make a good first impression! "It is my greatest pleasure to meet you! I am ¨C"
"Ronister of Smallwood, yes." She smiles, and oh, his heart flies with cherub wings! "I do not believe I introduced myself properly: I am Princess Charlouise, but please, call me Charlouise in private. It is a pleasure to meet the both of you."
"Oh, you too," Lady Courtney says casually, as though an incredibly beautiful woman isn''t standing right in front of her, "I, uh¡ sorry if I had an attitude with your dad, I guess?"
"We will do anything you ask, if it would make it up to you, Your Highness ¨C er, Princess Charlouise!" Ronister blurts out, wanting desperately to make her happy ¨C before getting suddenly and roughly kicked in the shin by Courtney. "Ow, milady?!"
"What did I say before, Ronnie?!"
Before they can devolve into further hysterics, they''re cut off by Princess Charlouise''s adorable giggle ¨C just Charlouise in private, and how Ronister shall struggle to follow that command. "Worry not. My father''s methods are strange, but he means well, even if he is unconventional."
"Uh huh," Courtney deadpans, in her usual flavor of disdain.
"In any case, I, ah, I simply wished to meet with our newest hero, even if it meant staying up late. The last hero departed rather quickly when I was younger, so I''m ever so happy to meet one properly." Her Highness, er, Charlouise smiles, blushing and toying with a lock of her hair. "Especially one with such ferocity..."
"I''d argue against being ferocious, but I did make a pretty strong impression," Lady Courtney says, "so sure, yeah, girl power, woo. For real, though, it''s nice to meet you, too. Did you have any¡ specific questions or¡ something?"
"So many. For both of you, really." She mentioned Ronister! Her Highness has questions for Ronister! Oh, what a blessed night! "But I understand it''s late. If you are willing, I can send notice once I find time for an appointment between us, sometime before the Soul''s Claim?"
"Of course, Your ¨C Charlouise! We shall be ever punctual." Ronister nods enthusiastically.
"I mean, we''re just sort of faffing around until then, so sure." Lady Courtney shrugs.
"Hmm¡ you make a good point. I shall ask about possible ways to fill your time, as well. Our court mage should be available to provide an introduction to Septgard and the hero''s journey, I think." Princess Charlouise ponders, before smiling and curtseying. "I shall allow you to your chambers, then. Have a good evening, both of you."
"Farewell, Charlouise." Ronister bows again, smiling like a loon.
"Yeah, see you."
As they part ways and their duo makes their way further down the hall, Ronister replays every moment of the conversation in his head, reviewing his actions and ascertaining that he did not fumble his first impression with Her Highness.
"...You liiiiiike her." Courtney whistles, and a red-hot blush burns on Ronister''s face.
"Hold thy tongue!" He yelps, hoping to silence her as he did in the royal court.
"Oh, Charlouiiiiise! I''ll do aaaanything for you! Let me kiss your hand, like a trrrrue gentleman!"
"Silence!"
"Don''t worry, Ronnie. Court''s gonna teach you the Declassified School Survival Guide of how to pull women way above your league. Just don''t be surprised if she dumps you for a political marriage with an ugly rich bastard, okay?"
"Shut uuuupp!"
The next morning, Courtney''s eyes shoot open.
"Did I sign myself up for school last night?"
Three firm knocks sound at her door.
"Son of a bitch, I did!"