The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  “No, no, I have to admit that you had a good point. And I haven’t been nearly as gracious as I should be. True, I don’t like undead, but I can admire your uh, Bone Horror from a design perspective. And it’s true that your ideas really are just what the city needs. I should apologize as well.”

  “Perish the thought. I would prefer to let bygones be bygones. It is rather agreeable to meet someone else with a rational mindset, not to mention a similar perspective after toiling for so long alone.”

  “Indeed it is.”

  A Drake and a Human walked through the snow around Liscor, talking animatedly. They were not headed in the direction of the Wandering Inn or back to Liscor. Instead, they were just…chatting.

  Olesm kicked through the snow as Pisces’ robe left a trail of its own. Neither Human nor Drake noticed; they were too caught up in their conversation. After the ice had metaphorically and literally melted between them, the two had realized that they were different, but alike in many agreeable ways.

  They were both young, both considered themselves thoughtful as opposed to impulsive—a choice reflected in their respective classes, and both shared a love for strategy, planning, and so on. Olesm was stunned to realize that in many respects, Pisces was like him.

  For one thing, Pisces had probably the most complete understanding of Drake politics that Olesm had ever met outside of another Drake. He was up to date on the latest world events, and could discuss issues like the Germina-Reim incident and subsequent Hellios conflict without having to be reminded of the details. He had read widely about Niers Astoragon’s historical campaigns, knew several facts about Baleros that Olesm did not, and was an expert on Terandrian culture and politics.

  He was incredible. And it was clear that Pisces considered Olesm a fellow peer, which was a compliment in itself from Pisces. But what the two really bonded over was their situations as young individuals trying to make their mark in the world.

  “It’s all politics, Pisces. Everyone wagging their tails for one side or another, and no real focus on merit. I got my job in the city because I was the highest-level, yes, but my family had to kiss a lot of claws to get me where I was. But even though I am the city’s [Tactician], everyone in the council meetings ignores me when they feel like it because I’m young. As if seniority matters that much! I’m higher-level than at least two of the council members!”

  Olesm shook his head, lashing the snow behind him angrily. Pisces nodded, lips pursing.

  “It is ever the same across nations I’m afraid. In Terandria, the issue of personal power is compounded by bloodlines. Seeking friendship with the nobility is practically a requirement. As for wealth—”

  “If you’re not rich, you won’t move a single tail your way. Yeah, I know. But it feels like to have wealth you need wealth, you know? I get paid a little bit from my salary, but if I wanted to command any respect I’d have to invest heavily into some profitable venture, or uncover a boatload of treasure—”

  “You need not explain yourself to me, Olesm. Adventuring, like magic, is similarly gated. In Wistram, the older mages controlled the access to spellbooks with an iron grip. But if they had simply shared their largely redundant collections, everyone might profit! Instead, here we are, forced to scrabble along until we are as aged and decrepit as the fools who kept us down to begin with…”

  Pisces sighed. Olesm patted him on the shoulder with a sympathetic claw. They walked onwards.

  “You really did have a good thing with that Bone Horror. I mean, it’s disgusting for me, true, but I’d love to see it tearing up a Creler rather than anyone risk their lives.”

  “Precisely the use undead were intended for! Please say that to Springwalker or Miss Byres. And you were impressed by the arms were you not?”

  “Oh, yeah! Whip-like attacks, all those barbs—it makes sense, doesn’t it? I imagine it’s a lot stronger than those bears you rode in on the other week.”

  The mage smiled slyly.

  “Actually, those were the bears.”

  “Get out.”

  Olesm stared at him. Pisces waved a hand.

  “No, no. It was just a matter of carving some of the bones, rearranging others—you see the Bone Horror is a product of my increased mastery of bones in general. In fact, the ability to create such a being directly correlates to my current level. I ah, reached Level 30 just the other day.”

  “No way! You? But why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  Pisces smiled proudly.

  “I wished to keep it a secret. Let us just say that I experienced several revelations…and for my Level 30 Skill, I obtained a greater mastery of bone shaping. However, I might add that the ability to create Draugr would have been another common Skill at that level.”

  “Draugr? That would be impressive. Those are like super-undead, right? I remember hearing about how a hundred of those could smash through most formations—”

  “True. But I consider Bone Horrors superior.”

  “What? No. Why? A Draugr—”

  “Think about it, Olesm. True, a Draugr is impressive, but it requires a body, nay, relies on the strength of a deceased for full potency. In addition, it is harder to store such corpses, whereas a Bone Horror…”

  “…Can be reanimated at will! And kept in a bag of holding! Of course!”

  Olesm snapped at his forehead. Pisces nodded, smiling happily.

  “In addition, I believe I can make such creations far stronger than typical examples. Consider my variant—it is far better structured than the default amalgamation the spell produces. Indeed, my ability to specialize such undead will allow infinite forms for any contingency. Plus, if I create a few custom undead rather than mass-animate them, they will be far superior. That is my belief.”

  “Really? You hear about [Necromancers] raising undead in big armies all the time. Isn’t that more mana-efficient?”

  “It is. But that is hardly conducive to secrecy or positive relations with other groups, is it? Moreover, the inefficiency of mass-produced undead…”

  Pisces shook his head, looking troubled. He grumbled to himself under his breath.

  “It is strange that legends fail to see why vast armies of largely similar creations are flawed. Whereas if the designs for undead were altered en masse and used as the template for future spells, the potential of a zombie or skeleton would be far greater. How can someone not see that? Experimentation is the key to growth, not—”

  He broke off and eyed Olesm for a moment before laughing lightly and shaking his head.

  “Forgive me. It seems I am the only [Necromancer] who believes in the total assurance of quality over quantity.”

  “That’s too bad. Or rather, good, I guess. If other [Necromancers] were like you, we’d be in a lot more trouble when they appear.”

  Olesm grinned at Pisces. The [Mage] looked surprised, as he always did when Olesm paid him a compliment, and then laughed.

  “True.”

  They walked a bit more through the snow when Olesm cleared his throat. He’d had a thought while walking with Pisces. Their conversation was excellent of course, but it occurred to him that the [Mage] could allow him to check up on his theory at the same time.

  “Do you mind if we head this way while we walk?”

  Pisces glanced in the indicated direction, away from Liscor and up a snowy hill. His eyes flicked to Olesm’s face for a moment, but he only nodded.

  “Not at all.”

  He’d already figured out where they were going based on direction alone. True, it was an easy conclusion if you thought about it, but Olesm still admired the way Pisces had come to it so flawlessly. He coughed, and brought up another subject on his mind.

  “Er, Pisces. I know you and the Horns of Hammerad have been doing a lot of missions together.”

  “We have enjoyed some success, yes. Although right now we are simply keeping busy rather than aiming at one goal. Our tasks are by and large simplistic.”

  Pisces waved a hand. Olesm nodded. H
e cleared his throat again, feeling extremely embarrassed.

  “Right. So you spend a lot of time with Ceria. And you’re old friends from Wistram.”

  “Old friends. I suppose you could say that, yes.”

  “Uh huh. So she talks to you I bet. Does she…does she ever mention me at all?”

  The Drake halted in the snow. Pisces turned his head, looking amused and trying to cover that amusement at the same time.

  “You wonder if Ceria harbors feelings for you still?”

  “No, no, I was just curious if she felt—yes.”

  Olesm hung his head, tail drooping. The sympathetic look in Pisces’ eye told him all he needed to know. Pisces hesitated before cautiously patting Olesm on the back with one tentative hand.

  “I regret to say she does not mention her feelings to me in that regard. In other regards, yes. But in this…she may still be receptive.”

  “No. No. I just wondered if—I mean, we weren’t a couple long. We didn’t actually do much couple-like things, actually. We just uh—but I thought—”

  Olesm’s cheeks were flushing. He blinked at suddenly painful eyes. Pisces averted his gaze and cleared his throat tactfully. After a long pause, he spoke.

  “I do not believe the fault was yours, if there was any fault to assign for the demise of any, ah, relationship between you two, Olesm. Springwalker—I mean, Ceria is a half-Elf. They do not value long-term relationships with other species, by and large.”

  “I know that. But I thought she and I had something.”

  “Perhaps you did.”

  There was a sympathetic look in Pisces eyes as he shook his head.

  “Ceria is used to mobility, travel. She is an adventurer and a half-Elf. She is used to persecution for simply existing in Terandria, and I do not believe she is looking for a long-term partner. Speaking as one who has also had a relationship with Ceria, I think she seeks temporary solace, not love.”

  “Someone who—what? You and Ceria were—you two?”

  Olesm’s head snapped up. Pisces blinked, and then he looked the other way.

  “I ah, misspoke. We were only together for—”

  “You two used to be together? When? In Wistram? Wait, is that why she hates you now?”

  “Ahem. It is long past, and it would be inaccurate to call our connection anything more than a brief passing of ships.”

  Pisces shook his head, but Olesm refused to let it go. The Drake walked in front of Pisces.

  “Come on. Tell me. How close were you two? Why’d you break up?”

  The [Necromancer] halted in his tracks and looked away. He bit his lip, and then replied.

  “I don’t believe we were ever together, Olesm. Not truly. There was a time, once—but it never came to be. I misspoke earlier. Please do not repeat that to Ceria. I think she would take it amiss if she learned what I said.”

  Olesm hesitated. He knew he should drop it, but he couldn’t.

  “Why’d it never come to be, though?”

  Again, the Human hesitated. When he looked back, it was with concealed pain in his eyes. He really wasn’t that good a liar if you looked past the sneer he was always wearing like a mask.

  “She learned the truth. Who I am. Before I could explain. That was all.”

  The memory of the Bone Horror resurfaced in Olesm’s mind. He stopped, and his tail drooped.

  “Sorry. I’m uh, sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Pisces shrugged, covering up his emotions with indifference. He glanced past Olesm.

  “It is no matter. The memory only troubles me at times. And it appears we have appeared at another memory. Tell me, why are we here?”

  Olesm turned. He hadn’t noticed it, but they had come up on a large, excavated hillside. He cautiously ascended a few more steps and found himself staring into a dark, stone doorway looming amid the half-excavated stonework. This was not the dungeon’s entrance. No. This was the crypt.

  They had thought it was the dungeon at first. Olesm remembered Klbkch delivering the report to Zevara and all the speculation it had caused. He remembered the expeditions of adventurers going in, and then the fated one that had included the Horns of Hammerad. And then the night when Skinner had overrun the gates with an army of undead—

  The night he had been down there. In the darkness, fighting for his life, hiding from the undead with Ceria in the coffins. Olesm shuddered. He felt terribly afraid of the crypt. Pisces stared at the dark opening, and then at the Drake.

  “It was clear you intended to come here. The reason is what I cannot fathom.”

  “It’s a…hunch. Look, I’m realizing this might be a bad idea more and more, but you’re a powerful [Necromancer]; I feel like I’d be safe with you if we went inside, right?”

  “To do what, exactly?”

  Olesm patted at his pockets.

  “Follow up on a hunch. Remember the report I asked for at the Adventurer’s Guild?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I noticed some discrepancies in another file a while back. I never had time to check it out—and I wasn’t confident enough to ask Zevara for an escort before now. Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you about it. Unless you think it might be dangerous?”

  Pisces eyed the dark opening, and then shrugged. He reached for his bag of holding and poured the bones onto the ground. Olesm shuddered as the Bone Horror rose upwards. It scuttled into the large opening and Pisces motioned towards it.

  “My creation should attract any monsters inside, and we will be forewarned in case of most threats. Moreover, I believe the crypts were cleared recently, so I don’t anticipate any true danger. Unless you do?”

  “Not danger.”

  “Then let us enter.”

  Slowly, the two walked into the darkness. Pisces conjured a ball of light and Olesm shuddered as he looked around the crypts. Yes, it was just like he remembered. The excavated rooms, still full of dirt and tracks, the haunting echoes, the temple decorations…

  Pisces walked next to Olesm, looking around, frowning ahead, monitoring his creation’s progress probably. Olesm remembered that Pisces had also come here, to rescue Ceria and Olesm both a lifetime ago. He closed his eyes on the thought and nearly tripped.

  “Careful.”

  The Human caught him. Olesm shook his head.

  “Sorry. I’m just—memories, you know?”

  “Yes.”

  Pisces’ eyes were sympathetic. He looked around.

  “Now would you enlighten me?”

  “Yeah. Let me just collect my thoughts for a moment.”

  The two walked onwards, through narrow corridors, towards the tunnel sloping downwards to the second level. Olesm felt his scales tingling, but told himself there was no danger. If there were undead, Pisces would have sensed them. This place was nothing more than a grave now. It had always been a grave, but now the occupants were silent.

  “So like I said, I noticed something when looking through one of the old reports. It’s my job to file a lot of paperwork and I remembered this one. So I was looking…you know that all of the adventurer’s possessions were confiscated by the city afterwards, right?”

  “Yes. I do recall. Everything but what Ceria, Yvlon, and the few survivors carried were taken. A group of guardsmen cleared this place of the last of the undead. What of it?”

  “Well, we did an inventory. Naturally. Weapons we didn’t need were sold and we repurposed the magical artifacts, potions, and so on. We also did a tally of the dead. A…rough count since so many were—were attacked by Skinner. Identification was impossible, but we knew they were Drakes, Gnolls, Humans, and so on from the bones, right?”

  “Yes. Was there something wrong with your count?”

  “Just one.”

  Olesm’s breath came in short, sharp bursts as they descended the ramp leading downwards. He remembered. A group of running zombies had come up the corridor. And beyond that, the ambush—Pisces gripped his arm and Olesm caught himself.

  “What was I
…? Yeah, I found one discrepancy, but I had to make sure. This report is from the Adventurer’s Guild. I didn’t really need it; I already had the one the Watch filed. But I had to make sure both were the same. And they were.”

  “And who was missing?”

  Pisces’ gaze turned to Olesm’s. The [Necromancer] walked through the darkness, his face illuminated by the soft yellow light of his spell, calm, waiting. Olesm looked at him.

  “You already know.”

  After a second, the mage nodded.

  “There is only one individual whose remains would stand out enough to warrant positive identification, regardless of loss of skin.”

  The two came to the intersection. Olesm felt his heart pounding in his chest. Pisces looked left and right. He spoke one word.

  “Calruz.”

  “Yes. The guardsmen never found his remains. Not his bones, nor his axe. And they should have found something, even if he was torn apart. His body wasn’t listed among the undead that attacked Liscor—not that he could have been reanimated that fast. And there’s no way he would have escaped and not gone to Liscor, so I thought—”

  Olesm trailed off. It was stupid, now he said it out loud. He looked down the corridors. He remembered hearing the screaming in the distance, hearing the others wonder aloud where the other Silver-rank teams were. The sound of something dragging itself closer.

  But there was nothing here now. He tried to reassure himself. Pisces stared around.

  “You think he’s still down here. But it has been months. He would not have survived.”

  “Right. Obviously.”

  Olesm bit his lip. Pisces glanced at him.

  “So you want to find his remains? You believe his corpse was overlooked?”

  “Yeah. Maybe in a crevice or some secret door. It’s—look, I know it’s silly, but he fought with us, with me. I might be dead if he hadn’t charged Skinner. If I can find his body—”

  “I understand. But it is a vast space. Do you really think we can find where he fell?”

  The Drake hesitated.

  “We can try.”

  —-

  It was dark. The light of Pisces’ magic was the only source of illumination in the darkness, casting long shadows and making everything seem just as frightening as it was. Olesm was glad for the light, though. Without it he might have panicked. The memories here were too strong.