by Pirateaba
The half-Elf shook her head. But she had her own life. She had something she needed to do, and she’d been putting it off staying at Erin’s inn and fighting over Olesm. She raised her skeletal hand and stared at it.
She still felt something. Ceria could flex the bone and sense the magic moving her hand, but her skin and arm…
“What a price to pay, huh, Gerial?”
For a second Ceria’s face crumpled. He was just another dead Hu—no. He’d been her companion, her friend. Now he was dead. So were Calruz and the others. She’d lost everything, again.
Could she stop? It was a tempting thought. Ceria looked around her room. It was a lovely place. Erin’s inn might not be fancy, but she ran it with care and attention. She’d offered Ceira a place to live as long as she wanted, and that was tempting.
She could become a barmaid. Maybe. At the very least, she could learn to cook or help Erin out in some way. She could abandon her dangerous lifestyle, try to build a life in the city with Olesm. She could do that.
But it would never be enough. Ceria sighed and shook her head. It still burned in her after all. No matter how much she denied it, she had more Human in her than most of her fellow half-Elves. She stared at her dead hand and felt blood pumping through the rest of her body.
“One last time.”
Her hands—both of them—clenched. Ceria opened her window and tossed the bowl of water outside. She took a deep breath of the cold air, letting it freeze and wake her at the same time. She spoke to the lightening sky.
“One Horn of Hammerad still remains. Death before dishonor.”
She turned, and strode downstairs. To breakfast, and then to glory. That was how the Horns of Hammerad lived.
—-
Yvlon woke up. She stared dully at her face in the hand mirror she’d received from her mother, a long time ago.
It was one of the few possessions that had survived the crypts. Rather, it had been returned to her when the guardsmen had discovered it and the identification magic had pointed it back to her.
They probably would have kept it; it was an expensive thing, spelled for protection and backed with pure silver with further magics that would identify curses and hexes and so on—but the Byres family had put a lock on the mirror. It wouldn’t reflect anything if it was held in a non-Byres hand. If you wanted it, you’d have to dispel all of the magic on the mirror, which wasn’t worth the cost.
And now that it was back in Yvlon’s hand, it could reflect all of her faults. She gazed into the smooth surface and saw her imperfections.
Staring back up at her from the glass surface, Yvlon saw proud features, sharply defined, fair skin, blonde hair—
And the faintest trace of a horrible scar across her left face. She grimaced and touched the faintly discolored skin lightly.
The healing potion had done its work too well. When Yvlon had downed it to regain her strength and help Selys, it had replenished her damaged skin as well. She hadn’t wanted that.
Yvlon put the mirror on her dresser in the Adventurer’s Guild and began dressing for the day. She moved quietly, so as not to disturb her neighbors. Now that she was healed, she’d been moved out of that room and into the few room the Guild kept for adventurers down on their luck.
It was a small, cramped space barely large enough to sleep and store a few items in. But it was all Yvlon needed and less than she deserved so she didn’t care. But the walls were thin and she knew her neighbors were sleeping, so she tried not to clank as she began putting her armor on.
There was another irony. Yvlon stared at the polished silver plate armor as she laboriously put on each piece. She had no coins left to her name. Not a one. But she was still rich, by any standard. Her armor, sword, and shield were the highest-quality steel, an alloy of steel and silver, in fact, a Byres specialty. It wasn’t much silver, but enough to ward off some monsters and aid in beneficial magics.
Plate armor. A longsword made by a Level 32 [Blacksmith], and a shield of the same quality. It was the armament of a [Knight], even though Yvlon was only a [Warrior]. She wasn’t deserving of the [Knight] class in any case; she was merely the daughter of a small aristocratic house with merchant roots. And she was a failure.
She’d left her people to die. She’d let them die because of her incompetence. And she’d only survived because she’d been guarding the rear. Countless Silver-rank adventuerers, good men and women who she’d known personally – had died in the crypts.
And she could not lay even one bronze coin on their graves. All her fault.
If she had been weaker, Yvlon would have considered falling upon her sword. But that wasn’t the Byres way. Honor mattered to them, and it would be a dishonor to the memories of the fallen if she didn’t continue.
She needed coin. Not just enough to survive on; enough to make the smallest of amends to the families of all the deceased. That was why she had to keep going.
Yvlon bucked her sword to her belt and picked up her shield. She walked towards the door, barely feeling the weight of the armor she bore. That was not what was heaviest.
“I am weak.”
She whispered the words as she pushed the door open. There was no time for breakfast at the Guild; she didn’t have any money to pay for it anyways, and she didn’t want to indebt herself to Selys or the Guildmaster – Selys’ grandmother – any further.
It was time. She’d lain in bed, grieving and dwelling on her failure, for too long. She had to act. Yvlon only hoped she could rise where she had failed once before.
She stroke out the Guild doors, through the streets, towards the southern gates. She had one more chance. The Silver Spears were dead, even their Captain. But perhaps she could start again, humbly, in a group that would accept her despite her sins.
She could only hope.
—-
Pisces woke up, looked around the small den he’d made for himself in what had been a bear’s cave and scowled. He had few concerns, but money was one of them.
He hated the smelly, cramped den. Even though he’d reinforced the entrance and warded it with a few spells, it was horribly exposed. And it was a miserable place to study magic. That was why he needed money, and hence the reason why he’d decided to become an adventurer.
Pisces scowled as he stood up, brushing at his dirty robes vaguely as he looked for something to eat. He vaguely recalled taking a few sandwiches Erin had made last night, but he must have forgotten where they were because he couldn’t find them. Another irritant.
If only that annoying Drake – Selys, that was her name, wasn’t it? – would recognize his talents! He had far more important things to do than clear out sewers or erase insignificant threats.
Pisces stumbled outside, glaring up at the sky. It was too early for this, but he’d promised Springwalker, and she got snippy if he was late.
Pisces stomped through the snow, wiping at his nose and sniffing, and grumbling under his breath. Part of him still hated everything, and resented everything. But another part of him was still the same young man who’d dreamed of greater things. Maybe that was why he’d agreed to her proposal.
Or maybe it was because he’d lost his way. Just a bit. Pisces had labored for years, sacrificing everything—and he’d created what he’d always dreamed of. Toren, the skeleton Erin had taken and named was a pinnacle of magical achievement. But he was…wrong.
Pisces couldn’t explain it. Only that he no longer felt the same burning passion in his breast when he looked at his skeleton. Toren was powerful, adaptable, and by the looks of it, he’d actually managed to assimilate some of the magic in the gemstone he’d been storing in his head. All of that was beyond the mage’s expectations, but…
It was just that he was lonely, sometimes. He’d forgotten, but for the last few days—well, ever since she’d arrived, really—he’d been sitting in Erin’s inn. The girl was unkind to him of course, and the food she served was often substandard – except for the hamburgers. But there was something there, s
omething that drew Pisces back again and again.
He didn’t know why. But he sometimes wondered what would have happened if he’d pursued other fields of magic besides Necromancy. Maybe then the annoying Drake at the Guild wouldn’t turn her nose holes up at him. Maybe then—
Pisces sneezed, wiped his nose on his robes, and walked on through the snow. Enough, enough. He’d do his job. That was all. He was a [Necromancer] to the core. But he couldn’t help remembering the past as he walked through the snow. More spells than just ones revolving around the death flowed into his mind. [Flame Rapier], and of course [Flashstep] for backup. Once he’d been different. If he’d taken a different path—
The mage tripped and fell in the snow, but his mind was burning with memories of the past. He was no adventurer, no great hero. He was despised, and his magics were unappreciated. He had no friends, not even in Springwalker, not really. Not anymore. But it hadn’t always been this way.
—-
Erin flipped pancakes and yelled at Toren and Lyon. She couldn’t tell which one bugged her most some days, but at least Toren was efficient. When he was around. The skeleton disappeared too much for her liking, and he kept wearing that stupid armor. It was cool-looking, sure, but what was the point when you were serving food?
She burned herself on a pan and yelped. Maybe that was the reason. She really, really wanted some maple syrup. At least she had butter.
Mm. Butter.
—-
Three adventurers walked into a bar. To be more accurate, a [Necromancer], a [Mage] specializing in ice-magic, and a [Warrior] walked into an inn. Actually, the [Mage] had been there the entire time.
But they sat close to the bar, at one of the tables as a sulking Level 1 [Barmaid] brought them food. The adventurers eyed each other.
“Why are you covered in snow already, Pisces?”
The [Necromancer] sniffed. He stared hungrily at the stack of pancakes in front of him and licked his lips.
“Never mind that, Springwalker. I assume you’re paying for breakfast? And since we are gathered here, I would venture that we are indeed set upon this course of action…?”
Ceria scowled at him at Yvlon raised one eyebrow.
“You never pay for anything anyways. Eat. I guess I can trespass on Erin’s generosity a while longer. That goes for you too, Yvlon.”
“You’re too kind.”
The adventurers looked up at Lyon flounced over. They weren’t alone in the inn, but somehow they’d been unlucky enough to have her visit her table. Two tables over, Halrac was sitting at a table, staring at Toren. The skeleton was holding up a menu – a few items on a piece of parchment – and pointing to it.
Lyon was more direct.
“What do you want?”
She stared—glared, really—at the three adventurers. Pisces sniffed, Yvlon politely met Lyonette’s eyes and nodded, and Ceria stared until the girl looked away.
“I will have this pizza dish, a hamburger, the pancakes, a glass of milk and any alcohol on tap—”
“Erin says you can have what she makes. The half-Elf has her food. What about you?”
“Pancakes for me as well, I suppose. Thank you.”
Yvlon watched Lyonette stomp back into the kitchen as Pisces sank back in his chair, sulking. Ceria sighed as she began to cut into her pancakes. Her stomach was already growling happily.
“That’s a charity case if I’ve ever seen one. I don’t know how Erin puts up with her.”
“She reminds me of children of the aristocracy.”
Ceria eyed Yvlon.
“Like you?”
Yvlon shrugged.
“If you want to put it that way, yes. My family isn’t as rich so I never grew up that way, but some of the richer houses…I wonder where she’s from.”
“I don’t particularly care, so long as she brings us food before I starve to death.”
Pisces grumbled as he saw Toren walk over to another table and point to the menu so the startled Drakes and Human could order. It was rare to see other people in Erin’s inn, but she’d been having more and more customers of late. Not many, true, but he supposed she was earning something.
Yvlon had noticed Halrac now. She stared at the [Scout], who looked over at her and then back at his drink, expressionless.
“Is that…?”
“Don’t stare. I think he’s got a Skill that can tell him when he’s being watched. Yeah, that’s Halrac of Griffin Hunt. Apparently he likes this place and Erin serves some kind of drink he loves.”
“Will wonders never cease?”
Yvlon shook her head in amazement as the innkeeper of The Wandering Inn came out herself, balancing a hot pizza on a platter.
“Pizza? Which one of you wants the pepperoni? How about the sliced fish…?”
Pisces raised his hand, but Erin ignored him and went over to her other table of customers. He scowled, but then Lyon was walking towards them, holding a plate full of pancakes awkwardly.
“It’s heavy. Here. Take it.”
She nearly spilled the plate on the table, but Pisces and Ceria both pointed, and the dish stabilized before it could spill its precious cargo. Lyon sniffed.
“There.”
She walked off. Pisces and Yvlon began to eat, and then there was silence for a few minutes. Ceria looked at the two, and after she’d eaten her second pancake she cleared her throat and spoke.
“I’m not sure if it’ll work. That’s all I’m saying.”
Pisces snorted into his meal. Yvlon eyed him with a frown.
“Why wouldn’t it work? You have two mages and a competent warrior. We should be able to deal with any number of monsters.”
“You say that, but you’ve never been an adventurer, Pisces. Yvlon and I have, and we both know that a good team needs more than three people.”
“Safety in numbers? Bah.”
“Silver-ranked adventurers are often called on to clear entire infestations or caves by themselves. You want to fight an entire pack of Carn Wolves with only three people?”
Pisces stopped chewing and eyed Ceria with momentary concern.
“That’s a Silver-rank threat?”
“Surprised?”
Ceria smiled at him, although privately she considered that it would be rare for a single Silver-rank team to try that alone. The Horns of Hammerad would have stocked up heavily and maybe even teamed up with another team or a few independent adventurers before trying that.
The Human mage swallowed and looked thoughtful.
“Ah, well, perhaps you have a point. But increasing the numbers is by no means a guarantee of success. Smaller parties do better, they have less loot to split, and they can perform the same task as a larger group if they have the prerequisite levels.”
“That’s a bold statement to make.”
Yvlon looked at Pisces skeptically, but he only sniffed.
“Not at all. I attended a class in Wistram which looked into adventuring trends among other things. Smaller groups of higher leveled warriors are better than a large group. Why do you think most Gold-rank teams are comprised of six adventurers of less?”
Yvlon opened her mouth, and fell silent. Ceria sighed.
“Assuming you have a point, I still say the optimal number of people is four. We need another party member. Someone who doesn’t rely on magic, preferably.”
Pisces shrugged.
“You may be right. But who—”
He broke off as Erin bustled over, this time carrying several mugs. She beamed at the table, or rather, at Ceria and Yvlon.
“Hey, it’s great to see you all! Here’s water, Pisces. Do you want something stronger, Ceria, Yvlon?”
“I’m fine, Erin.”
“I as well. Thank you, Miss Solstice.”
“Oh, call me Erin. Just call if you need anything, okay?”
Erin smiled at Yvlon. Then she looked towards the stairwell and her tone altered.
“Lyon, I told you that you can have one break. One. And no
t for an entire hour!”
She bustled off. Pisces glumly looked at his hot water but drank it anyways.
“As I was saying, very well, a fourth member – assuming they are able-bodied and sound of mind – may be useful. But unless I miss my guess, aren’t we in more dire need of arms and supplies?”
Both of the other women nodded reluctantly. Yvlon tapped the table with one finger.
“That’s a serious concern. We might have the levels, but I’ve never gone on a mission without healing potions, and I don’t have the coin to buy even a poultice. And Ceria, I know you broke your wand—”
“Not an issue any longer. Turns out I can still cast magic.”
Ceria held up her skeletal hand with a rueful grin. Pisces stared at it with interest.
“Any reduction in magical ability? You were using quite a cheap wand before, but it was attuned to ice-type spells.”
Ceria glared at him.
“Hardly. I can cast at the same level of efficiency—possibly even higher. There’s no latent boost to the mana I can draw on without a wand of course, but I can still cast with the same speed.”
“Fascinating. But of course it would also help with the backlash on direct-contact spells, wouldn’t it? I imagine you wouldn’t have to incorporate the shielding effect when using [Icy Grasp] for instance…”
“That does help with the mana, but I can still freeze my skin. It’s not something I’d recommend freezing your skin off for, but you’d never believe how useful it is to have five digits. You can actually simultaneously cast the [Icy Shard] spell among each finger and the mana cost—”
Yvlon cleared her throat politely as the two mages began to engage in magical discussion. They looked at her, and she politely nodded.
“I’m sure this is important, but if we can stay on focus?”
Ceria looked abashed and even Pisces nodded reluctantly.
“Sorry, Yvlon. You’re right. Well, like I was saying, I can still cast magic.”
“What about you? Ah, Pisces, was it?”
Custom dictated that Yvlon would use Pisces’ last name, but he didn’t seem to notice the invitation to introduce himself fully. He nodded.