The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  It wasn’t far to the gates and the streets were mostly empty. People still didn’t want to travel outside of the city for fear of Goblins—and because of the snow—and since Erin’s inn was now infested with said Goblins, no one really had business outside. Olesm waved at the Gnoll on duty as he hurried out. And Pisces was still following him.

  “So you intend to tell Erin about your success.”

  “Yeah, that’s the plan. Are you going to her inn as well?”

  “I do reside there.”

  Olesm frowned as he marched through wet snow, glad he’d put his boots on today. He didn’t exactly want Pisces to come to the inn. The [Necromancer] was staring at him with what felt like disapproval.

  “Look, can I help you? Not to be rude, but I’ve just had a bit of great news and I’d like to share it with Erin. Alone.”

  Pisces sniffed.

  “Of course. And may I add that it is an entirely deserved reward for your hard effort?”

  That was clearly sarcastic. Olesm slowed his frantic steps through the snow and glared at Pisces.

  “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The [Mage] folded his arms.

  “I would imagine my statements are self-explanatory.”

  Olesm stared. Pisces rolled his eyes.

  “Very well, if I must explain myself—I assume you are going to the inn to tell Erin exactly how wonderful the news of Niers Astoragon’s approval is. He has gifted you with his attention, a ring, and a chess puzzle for your, ah, publication.”

  “That’s right. So what?”

  Olesm glanced down at the letter in his claws. He couldn’t wait to try and solve the puzzle himself. He wondered if Erin could do it so easily. It was a puzzle from the Titan! And Niers had also written that he’d love to know more about the game of Go that Olesm had mentioned in his last newsletter. If Erin could play a few games with him, maybe show Olesm a few tips—

  Pisces’ voice broke through his rushing thoughts like a cold bar of iron.

  “And you are sure you deserve such rewards? You, and no one else?”

  The [Tactician] raised his head.

  “What? Don’t be ridiculous! Of course I do! I wrote the newsletter! Are you jealous?”

  That had to be it. Pisces was jealous of his good fortune and the ring. Olesm covered it with one claw. But Pisces’ expression had now twisted into a sneer of contempt. He stomped through the snow and poked Olesm in the chest with one finger.

  “It truly does amaze me. You have no concept of the irony of it, do you? You think Niers Astoragon cared for your newsletter? No. He cared for what you were a vehicle for—the games you so blatantly copied. He was impressed by Erin Solstice’s chess games, her expertise and abilities. Not yours. All your fleeting fame, your accolades, all stem from one person. Erin. Not you. If anyone deserves that ring and letter, it is she.”

  A hole opened up under Olesm’s stomach. He felt it drop and a terrible fear engulfed him. No. It couldn’t be. He tried to protest.

  “I—I did more than that! I added other games, my commentary. It wasn’t all Erin. I just used her games—”

  Her first games. Olesm’s throat closed up as he remembered that he’d sent copies of her chess games with every letter. Pisces sneered.

  “Ah yes, your commentary. Was it all lauding her brilliant moves, or did you copy her remarks as well? Certainly you deserve praise—for your abilities as a [Scribe]. Not as a [Tactician]. Least of all as someone with any original thought worthy of merit.”

  With each sentence, Pisces poked Olesm again. The words cut deeply at Olesm, but the shame and pain twisted in his gut and turned into anger. The Drake knocked the accusatory hand away and lashed his tail in the snow.

  “Shut up! I had the idea at first! Yes, I copied down Erin’s games, but she gave me permission, and who else had this idea? Shouldn’t I get credit for that?”

  “Didn’t Miss Solstice herself suggest to you to expand your newsletter? I heard she was familiar with the exact same concept you thought was so original.”

  Pisces crossed his arms and Olesm bit his tongue guiltily. That was right. Erin said it was like something she’d seen. Magazines, she’d called them. Monthly newsletters about chess. But he hadn’t known that!

  But now Pisces was pressing the attack. The Human glared at Olesm in the snow just outside of Liscor, his eyes filled with scorn.

  “You are nothing more than a copycat. If Niers Astoragon knew that the sum of all your accomplishments was nothing more than an opportunistic thief stealing from someone else’s talent, he would never have sent a letter, much less a ring—”

  “Shut up!”

  Olesm couldn’t bear it any longer. He bent into the snow, gathered a handful of wet snow, and hurled it at Pisces. The mage tried to dodge, but the snow smacked him across the face and shoulder. He brushed it away, looking outraged. Olesm glared at him.

  “I don’t have to hear that from you. Yes, I took Erin’s games and showed them to people. Yes, she’s one of the reasons why people are so impressed. But I still did all this. Me! And no matter what you say, the fact is that you’re just jealous that Niers Astoragon knows my name. Whereas you’re a mage everyone hates, just a step above a graverobber!”

  He bent and scooped up more snow and hurled it at Pisces. The mage stepped away, face crimson with anger, but Olesm was too incensed to care.

  “I bet you wish you’d done what I did. Well, you didn’t. And now that someone famous knows me, me, you’d better believe I’ll use that and start making more newsletters as fast as I can! That’s what I’ve done! What have you accomplished? You—you spineless [Necromancer]! What have you done, other than steal from people and cause trouble? Ceria and the Horns of Hammerad are the best thing that ever happened to you! What have you got besides them?”

  Olesm realized he was shouting. He didn’t know where that last bit had come from, only that it stemmed from the frustration in his chest. He threw a third wet snowball at Pisces. This time he missed completely.

  The [Mage] stood in the snow, watching Olesm. The Drake was panting. Pisces’ face was white with anger. The truce that had been caused by Niers’ letter had been broken, and now their previous conversation rose into the air, making it hot and uncomfortable.

  Pisces glanced over Olesm’s shoulder. He narrowed his eyes at the Drake and adjusted something on his belt. A bag of holding? Olesm glanced at it and a small bell began ringing in his mind. His [Dangersense]. But then Pisces began to speak.

  “What have I accomplished? Turn and see.”

  There was a rustling. A sound. Olesm whirled and something burst out of the snow behind him. He yelped and fell backwards, scrabbling for his sword as a pale yellow and white creature exploded upwards in a shower of snow. It was tall, thin, ivory bones swinging into place, a burning eye of green flame staring down at Olesm—

  A scythe of bone swung down in front of the Drake’s face. Olesm froze. His eyes slowly travelled upwards. Yes, it was a scythe of bone, a curved claw sharpened to a cutting edge. But it was not a weapon. Rather, the scythe was the creature’s arm. And the long, whip-like assembly of bone led upwards to a strange, narrow body without a head. Olesm’s breath came in short, sharp bursts.

  What was he staring at? A monster. No, an abomination made of bone. The creature that stood in the snow had a thin torso but long, spider-like lower half. Four legs reminiscent of a spider’s held the thing up, but an odd, cylindrical waist connected the upper half to the lower. It had no head, but rather, a single central socket and ‘eye’ of flaming light set in the center of the torso, which was shaped like an inverted teardrop.

  The two arms with scythes on each end were long enough to trail on the ground and while the ‘hands’ were the sickles of cutting bone, the creature had wicked barbs of bone sticking out along the edges of its arms. Olesm gulped as the scythe-hand near his face slowly retracted. He watched in horror and fascination as the thing backed up a few steps, and then collapsed in
to a pile of bones.

  “Wha—what was—”

  “My worth.”

  Pisces was smiling as Olesm staggered around. The Drake felt he needed to sit, so he did. Straight into the snow. Pisces smirked at that; then his head turned to the walls of Liscor. He searched the battlements, but if the [Guardsmen] on sentry duty had seen the bone thing; no one had raised the alarm.

  So they hadn’t seen it. Because Olesm felt sure that anyone who’d seen Pisces’ creation would raise every alarm in existence, if they didn’t just run away screaming first. He looked at Pisces. The [Necromancer] turned back to him. Only now did Olesm recover his voice.

  “What was that? What in the name of scales—”

  “As I said. My worth. That is my latest creation. A Bone Horror.”

  “A Bone—”

  Olesm’s mouth gaped open. He’d heard of such things, of course. Skeletons were only one kind of undead that could emerge in mass graves or places of death. Fortunately, such occurrences were rare and the remains were usually disposed quickly, but given enough time, fractured pieces of bone, half-destroyed corpses and so on could form horrible amalgamation undead, like Crypt Lords and Bone Horrors.

  But Olesm was sure, sure that such undead were far beyond the ability of most low-level necromancers to create. Wasn’t the general rule of thumb that a [Necromancer] could only animate an undead equivalent to half of his levels? Or was it two thirds? Was it higher if he had a specific Skill? Olesm’s internal mind told him he would be reading every book on necromancy that night, but his conscious brain told him only one thing. Pisces had created a Bone Horror. It was his.

  He’d made it. And for some reason, now Olesm saw Pisces as the other people in Liscor surely had. Zombies, skeletons like Toren, even Ghouls were one thing. But that? No creature on earth looked like that. Or if they did, they were as twisted as Crelers. No, Pisces had created that himself. It was a manifestation of his ideas. He’d brought that horror into existence.

  “Why would you make something like that?”

  Pisces was walking through the snow. He passed by Olesm, and the bones floated upwards. The Drake flinched, but they were floating into the bag of holding that Pisces carried at his side. The [Necromancer] turned his head, speaking casually.

  “For combat. Why else? Naturally I cannot animate such a being for extended durations; indeed, I have not shared its existence with my teammates yet since their reactions would probably mirror yours. However, given proper time to prepare—say, before challenging a particularly dangerous monster—this Bone Horror will doubtless prove useful. What you saw was a prototype, of course.”

  “A prototype.”

  “Indeed. You noted the long arms? For mobile attacks. When used in conjunction with the four legs, this variant—what I term the Scythe Crawler—is very quick and able to attack its opponents from many angles a conventional creature would not. It is able to rotate freely about the waist, allowing strikes from improbable angles.”

  “Improbable angles.”

  “Indeed. However, this is only one variant I have come up with. Given the bones I have collected thus far—and I would like to expand that collection if I can purchase a superior bag of holding—I have ideas for a more powerful version. This one is regrettably weak against armored foes. But one with enhanced limbs and perhaps a ranged attack—”

  “Ranged attack?”

  “Yes, firing bones. It is possible to turn parts of the skeletal structure into a catapult, although obviously ammunition would be limited. But if combined with a recall spell, it could be useful. I haven’t worked out the exact specifications yet, but I am pleased with the results so far—”

  Pisces finished bagging the last of the bones and turned. He’d been chattering excitedly, but now he stopped when he saw Olesm’s face. The slight smile that he’d been wearing vanished and was replaced by his customary look of disdain in an instant.

  “Ah. Forgive me. I believe we were discussing achievements? Well, you may not acknowledge mine, but I consider it equivalent to any such letters. It is another step in my career. You may scorn it as you wish.”

  Olesm felt like throwing up. Pisces turned away. The Drake stared at his back. He realized the look on his face was probably what Pisces saw all the time in the city. And yet, he couldn’t suppress the disturbed feeling in his chest. He didn’t know if he should. So instead he asked the only question he could think of.

  “Is that why Selys was angry with you? Because you wanted to bring that into the city?”

  “Do you take me for a fool? Of course not!”

  Pisces snapped at Olesm. He looked like he regretted scaring Olesm with his creation. His eyes flicked towards the walls again. He shook his head.

  “I—was talking to her about a similar, but unrelated matter. A trifle. I simply offered her to resolve the issue of giant rats within Liscor’s sewers.”

  “What? Oh. We had a bounty on them, but no one wants to take it.”

  “Quite. It is a disgusting job with risk of infection, not to mention disease. The rats live in the drainage pipes, growing overly large due to magical waste improperly disposed of…hunting down their nests would require crawling through pipes, a task few adventurers are willing to contemplate, however low-level they might be.”

  “But you were willing to do it?”

  Olesm stared at Pisces. The [Mage] looked affronted.

  “I would rather die. But I offered to send one of my constructs into the sewers. A creation similar to the Bone Horror, whose task would be solely to destroy any rats below. It would be mobile, created for tight engagements, and naturally advantageous given a rat’s limited physical weapons against bone. But Miss Shivertail denied my proposal without deigning to relay it to her Guildmistress, citing city laws—”

  “Oh. Right. That makes sense. We don’t let undead into the city for any reasons.”

  “So she was telling the truth.”

  Pisces’ face grew pinched. He gritted his teeth together, spoke sharply through them.

  “Nevertheless, she could have asked. But apparently her grandmother—a fine case of nepotism in practice—distrusts necromancy. So rational thought is once away done away with and my suggestion is deemed meritless before any actual consideration. Due to prejudice.”

  He glanced at Olesm and shook his head.

  “Pah. I suppose it should not surprise me. Those who would decry an entire school of magic for one or two bad examples are clearly not worthy of coherent thought. Or my time.”

  He turned away. Olesm sat up in the snow. He blinked at Pisces’ back. Olesm raised his voice as Pisces began to stomp back towards Liscor.

  “I think it’s a good idea.”

  “What?”

  Pisces turned. He blinked at Olesm. Olesm wiped some snow off of his shoulder absently.

  “I said I think it’s a good idea. Your sewer plan, that is.”

  “You—you do?”

  “Yeah. We haven’t been able to work out a good plan for clearing them for years now. We’ve tried spells—the rats just eat them or expend all the charges too fast. We try poison and they adapt. Plus, the sewers are pretty much poison as they are already, so…we try adventurers and they never get enough. We waste money on the issue and every now and then the rats swarm out of the sewers, which is a disaster.”

  Olesm shuddered at the memories. He looked at Pisces.

  “You have a good idea. I get why Selys turned down your proposal, though. Her grandmother would kick you tail-over-head out of the door in an instant. But I could authorize your idea myself.”

  “What?”

  “I am the city’s lone [Tactician]. I might not be exactly as important as Watch Captain Zevara, but I can do a lot on my own authority. Striking a deal and writing out a permit for a single undead under your supervision is within my jurisdiction.”

  As he spoke, Olesm’s tail lifted towards his mouth. He gnawed on the tip for a second before realizing what he was doing and spitting it
out. He coughed, feeling like a hatchling again.

  “How does ten gold pieces sound to begin with? We could put a bounty of…I don’t know, one copper piece per ten rats killed? If your undead works with your mana it could kill thousands over the course of weeks. That’s hundreds of gold pieces for you.”

  Pisces’ jaw dropped. He stared at the Drake [Tactician] and looked around as if he suspected a prank. He pointed at Olesm.

  “But you—I could have sworn you thought—what of my latest creation?”

  “That? That was disgusting.”

  Olesm shuddered. Pisces’ eyes were fixed on him. The mage raised his hands angrily.

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  His bottom was wet. Olesm returned Pisces’ gaze, breathing a bit hard.

  “Not liking undead is one thing, but I’m not an idiot, Pisces. Look, that Bone Horror was—horrible. I think it’s disgusting. If you summon—animate, whatever, bring it to life again, I will throw up, hit you with my sword, and run away. Maybe not in that order. I hate undead, and that probably won’t change. But that doesn’t mean I think your ideas aren’t good. Can’t thinking, rational adults like us respect each other’s boundaries and still work together?”

  For a solid minute, the Drake and Human just stared at each other in silence. Pisces was blinking, caught off-guard. Olesm was wet. He shifted and hoped that Niers’ letter hadn’t gotten soggy. But his legs didn’t want to stand just yet, so he stayed put. Pisces stared at Olesm and seemed to notice Olesm’s state at last.

  “Ah. You are sitting in the snow. You appear to be quite wet.”

  Olesm looked around. His tail was very cold and sitting in a rather deep and melting drift. He nodded slowly.

  “So I am.”

  Pisces stared. Then, slowly, he bent and offered Olesm a hand up. And after a second, Olesm took it.

  —-

  “I do apologize for my earlier comments. They were deliberately inflammatory and designed to offend. I believe the merit of your work is self-evident and did not merit my scorn in the slightest.”