Homebrew

by Xavier P. Hunter

  Zeeto looked to his left and right, tentatively raising his little hand.

  Poor, poor Marty. He was always coming up on the short end when it came to minor XP bonuses because he couldn’t immerse himself in the game without devolving into the comic relief. Gary hadn’t even wondered, when he barely inched over the threshold to level 4, if any of his friends had been left behind.

  “Don’t mind me,” Zeeto said. “I just need to choose my Path. You guys can keep loading furniture into the house.”

  Despite Zeeto’s obvious evasion, the halfling joined back in on the moving day efforts after a surprisingly short break.

  By the time dinner crept up on them, most of the rooms had the bare essentials. Beds, tables, chairs… Zeeto had even gone so far as to procure a full array of kitchenware, eager for Gary to have the tools he needed to make them proper meals.

  As the last load of dishes was being carted in for the day’s haul, Sira pointed to the northeastern sky. “That’s a lot of smoke, isn’t it?”

  Everyone carried in their final loads and rushed up three flights of stairs to the roof of 14 Zephyr Street. Despite the presence of several taller buildings in the way, it was impossible to mistake the signs of a building fire.

  “What do you think it means?” Braeleigh asked. “Did, like, one of the cracked roads split all the way to magma or something?”

  Gary stared. Mentally, he plotted the city map in his head. Where was that fire? When he was fairly certain he knew, Gary fixed a stare on Zeeto until the halfling met his eye. “Zeeto… I’m taking bets on that being Treva’s Pawn Shop. How much you willing to wager against me?”

  “No bet.”

  They watched the bonfire smoke of the Talis Guild’s headquarters burn into the night. When dusk and then twilight hid the still-spewing plume of smoke from view, they ventured back inside.

  From the somber tone of the evening meal, Gary could only imagine the thoughts that each was chewing on along with their mutton.

  30

  Morning came and with it a check of the northeast skies. The flames and smoke had died away. The polite rumors around Durrotek held that a pawn shop had been stocking some exotic liquors from Quay Shai that had caught fire and spread out of control. But as he toured the local produce and dairy markets for ingredients for their morning meal, Gary checked around for the true story.

  d20: 13 + (Investigate +4) + (You Sent Him There +2) = 19

  A greengrocer perked up at the way Gary worded his casual inquiry, setting down a crate of winter squash. “Yeah. Brandy they said. Hogwash. Way I hear it, some foreign wizard had a bee up his nose with those Talis buggers who hung out around there. Opened the gates of elemental fire and fed ‘em in like coals on a forge.” He spat on the cobbled street outside his stall. “Good enough for ‘em. Two less gold a week out of my pocket.”

  “Protection money?” Gary asked. He’d never explicitly set up the underworld economics of Durrotek, not to that granular a level of detail, at least. It was fascinating how this place filled in the missing pieces between what he’d outlined, like mortar for a masonry wall.

  “Some protection,” the greengrocer said with a grunt. “Best bet, it’ll be a week or two before them Talis boys get their act back together or someone moves in to fill the void. Just the way the world works.”

  Gary offered a tight, commiserating smile before paying for a grapefruit and taking his leave. When he was out of earshot, he muttered a quiet “sorry” for writing the world that made life so hard for a common working man.

  Later that morning, while everyone was enjoying the breakfast Gary had cooked, the topic of Kurgath rose, carefully avoiding the cataclysm across town.

  “Something he said bothers me,” Sira said, setting down her fork to clatter on an empty plate.

  “Really?” Zeeto asked. “You can narrow it down to one?”

  “He knew Miriasa,” Sira said. “By sight alone. We didn’t bring the plaque with her name. And he claimed she was a wizard.”

  Braeleigh was taking a third helping of eggs and spoke with her mouth full. “Nothing wrong with that. Elf wizards didn’t fall to darkness as easily as humans. You can see the goodness in her eyes.”

  “Perchance thy fair-minded eye sees naught but its own reflection,” Beldrak suggested gently. The statement bordered on criticism, something largely reserved for enemies and law-bending halflings.

  Gary stepped in. “No, she’s right. Wizards are a coin toss among our kind, but the elves weren’t as prone to shortcuts. Slow and steady, they kept their power corralled within their wisdom. It’s easier when you know you’ve got hundreds of years ahead of you. In the race against the swifter hounds of time, who can blame humans for seeking a shorter path?”

  “Their victims,” Sira said bluntly.

  Braeleigh slapped her fork down on the table. “Look. We said we wanted to help her. She’s an elf. My people. If you all want to get cold feet, fine. But I’m totally not giving up on her. I’ll unfreeze her myself if I have to, wizard or not. You know, I’ve always sort of wanted a big sister who wasn’t half my age or less. I’m not going to let some stupid human superstitions get in my way.”

  “I’ll help.”

  They all looked to Gary. It had become unusual for him to take a stand. He was their comic relief, alongside Zeeto, and occasionally a font of inexplicably on-point knowledge.

  Beldrak fixed Gary with a stern, disappointed look. “Thinkest thou on the burden of loosing yet another sorcerous power upon the world. Stomp thy foot on the side of goodness and ye shan’t over-match the wizard’s lazy finger upon the balance of ill.”

  Gary wasn’t going to let a paladin talk to him like that. “Makoy demands the faith of his servants in the cause of justice. The concept of justice precludes prejudice. You cannot judge someone on your own fears. ‘Let each be judged according to his worth of spirit and of action. No man shall suffer for crimes he hath not committed.’”

  Beldrak shook his head slowly. “Nay. ’Tis true, the word of Makoy. But the practice of sorcery is the crime upon which the wizard be judged. ’Tis not a fickle decree or abdication of mine holy oath.”

  “No, it was the fickle decree of King Dieter in 474. He had his own court wizards executed for conspiracy on flimsy evidence and ordered the murder of all others in the kingdom as pawns of the orcs’ demon god.”

  There was silence around the table.

  Sira was the first to break through the locked stare down between Beldrak and Gary. “Let’s leave aside the treasonous talk for the moment and—”

  “Truth isn’t treason,” Gary said quickly. He was hammering on the doctrine of Makoy like a boxer with his opponent on the ropes, counting on Beldrak’s piety to overcome royal dogma. “You want to know why there are so few bards in the land? Because old stories and songs often contain an uncomfortable truth, like a burr in the metal of a crown where it sits upon a king’s head. Better to buff out the burr than let a callus form and bear it.”

  The furrow of Beldrak’s frown deepened. At last, he tore his glance away and shook his head. “Thy study of lore never ceases its surprise. My mind was returned to a squire’s body, hearkening once more to the lessons of Grandmaster Hylleth. The armor of thy words hast no chink. In conscience, I cannot condemn Lady Miriasa to eternal vigil for the crime of a profession practiced ‘ere it came to disrepute. Thou hast shamed me, and in amends, I shall lend my blade to aught that aid in her release.”

  Braeleigh beamed. “Have I ever told you how hot it is when you speak human with all those pretty words?”

  Beldrak’s face went blank. Hidden well by the dark hue of his flesh, Gary still thought he caught a hint of flush on those strong cheeks.

  “I’m in,” Zeeto said. “I’m not letting this beefcake armor mannequin make me look like a sissy. But I’ve got a condition. If she grants wishes or anything, I get first dibs.”

  “I’m calling shenanigans on dibs,” Gary replied. “No more dibs-ing things.”
<
br />   “Whatever,” Zeeto said. “But any wishes, spells, or favors she can grant—whatever kind they might be—I’m getting my share.”

  With four of the five in accord, they looked to Sira. She sat, arms crossed in front of her like a shield wall awaiting a cavalry charge. The muscles of her jaw stood out.

  “Mercy,” Gary said softly.

  A finger shot out in his direction. “Don’t you start with me! I don’t know when you found time to study dwarven architecture, songwriting, and the litany of Makoy, but if you start pulling out Sevius doctrine against me, so help me Garrim, I will convert to a sect that will laud me for knocking your teeth out.”

  Zeeto brightened. “You know, the priestesses of Garrim wear skin-tight black leather that shows the tops of their—”

  The halfling’s words cut off abruptly when a no-look backhand from Braeleigh caught him upside the head and toppled him to the floor.

  “’Tis oft said that the most fervent of objections precedeth surrender.”

  “Whatever,” Sira grumbled. “I can’t let you lunkheads go off by yourselves. You’d be dead before your second random encounter. But like Zeeto, I’ve got a condition. When this wizard turns out to be an evil hag, I get unlimited I-told-you-sos and a double share of treasure that goes straight to the temple coffers.”

  “Sounds fair,” Gary said, unconcerned. He looked away since Zeeto’s stray comment had planted the image in his mind of Kim cosplaying as a disciple of Garrim, right down to the black leather domino mask and corset.

  “Anyone got ideas on how to thaw an elf lady?” Zeeto asked. “And don’t bother trying the Gem of Eternity. I tapped, rested, rubbed, and threw it at her, and nothing happened.”

  “You what?” Sira exclaimed.

  Beldrak pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thy judgment lieth at the fathomless depth of the sea. Wherefore didst thou liberate the cause of Lady Miriasa’s calamity? The rough handling thee tell could have left us a mismatched pair of statues instead of one.”

  “I was careful,” Zeeto replied. “Gloves, cloth wrapped all over me. Wasn’t a chance of it touching skin. And you were going to have to suggest going back to Gelzhearth if I hadn’t taken it. Weren’t you?”

  Gary took Beldrak’s silence as an affirmative.

  “Then where do we start looking?” Sira asked testily.

  Braeleigh lifted her head from feeding scraps to Caspian. The wolf pup ate noisily from a plate on the floor. “Oh, I have an idea. But we’ll need a map. Durrotek has a library, doesn’t it?”

  31

  Durrotek’s civic library wasn’t a threat to the Library of Alexandria for containing priceless pieces of history. It did, however, contain numerous hand-drawn maps of northwestern Kovia by a variety of cartographers during different eras including several that predated the founding of the city.

  It was one of those ancient maps where Braeleigh found what she was looking for.

  That afternoon, the party left the eastern gate of Durrotek behind them and ventured into the wilderness. None of them had any particular skill with art, so the copied map was badly scaled and childish in its rendition. Gary had picked up enough casual references in Braeleigh’s assurances of getting them to their destination that he worked out that the elf had chosen Overland Navigation as her Trick at third level. That alone was the only reason Gary agreed to go along with the venture without procuring help.

  “So, why’s this place called the Temple of Twilight, anyway?” Zeeto asked, turning the map sideways, then upside down, as if some new perspective might force the squiggles and notations to make sense.

  Braeleigh replied without turning back. “Because humans stuttered over trying to pronounce its real name. Château du Crépuscule sounds beautiful from elven lips but like a child vomiting when a human tries to say it.”

  Footsteps crunching on fallen leaves amid an endless expanse of oaks, Zeeto trudged onward, unwilling to let the subject go. “No. I mean the name itself. If it’s in the middle of a forest, I doubt it gets a great view of the sunset. Or maybe it’s really tall? Maybe seeing the horizon over the treetops could be pretty, if you’re into that sort of thing—which I assume most elves were. Or maybe it was metaphoric since elves are a race in their twilight to begin with.”

  Braeleigh whirled. “Elves are not dying out. We had a population crash since we were the ones fighting the orcs on the front lines. My parents, my grandparents, and every aunt, uncle, cousin, and neighbor I knew was killed so that ungrateful little sneak-thieves like you could live free and easy. But I’m not giving up. We’re going to find a cure for Miriasa Starlight, and whether or not she wants to help, I’m going to work on making sure my people have a future.”

  Cowering under her glare, Zeeto raised a finger. “Point of order, any two can tango, but it takes a mixed pair for parenting.”

  “I know that!” Braeleigh snapped. “One problem at a time. I am totally going to sort that out in due time. My future mate is out there somewhere, looking just as hard for me as I am for him.”

  As the elven ranger simmered down and returned to leading the expedition, Sira came over and spoke in low tones to Gary. “Should we draw lots to break the news to her? Elves are notoriously romantic. Raised by humans, she probably expects to find a man and have him sweep her off her feet like a storm surge after a hurricane. More likely she’ll have to woo him for decades before he’ll kiss her cheek.”

  “Since when are you an expert on elven romance?” Gary asked.

  Sira flushed. “I… It’s just… It’s none of your business what I like to read in my own free time!” Their time walking side by side ended as the priestess veered wide of Gary’s path.

  Times like this were when Gary wondered how much he was seeing of the player beneath the character. Somehow, he had a hard time imagining Kimberly Tanaka sitting curled up on her couch under a blanket reading steamy romance novels. She played Counterstrike. She blogged about whitewashing in anime. To the best of Gary’s knowledge, she’d had one boyfriend and one girlfriend in the eight or so years he’d known her and ruled out both genders.

  Was Sira the woman beneath Kim Tanaka or an artfully constructed mask? It wasn’t until that accidental near-admission of reading elven romance that he’d even questioned it. Aside from possibly Beldrak, the rest of them were all so much like his friends that Gary didn’t bother drawing the distinction.

  Although, for once, it was fun being able to make fun of Marty for being short.

  Night fell, and the party set up camp around a crackling fire. Sira had lit it from a holy flame, yet another new power revealed from character sheets Gary couldn’t see.

  “Need me to take a watch tonight?” Gary asked. He held up a quarrel for his crossbow, Hair Splitter. “I’m armed.”

  “How about that Lullaby thing you can do?” Zeeto asked. “This frozen turf is made of horseshoes and doorknobs.”

  “Thy heft o’er-match thy bedroll as thy stomach o’er-match thy sense,” Beldrak said.

  “Easy for you to say, sleeping in a tin can,” Zeeto said. “You could sleep on a bed of nails and the nails would come out the worse for it.”

  “Maybe you just need a friend,” Braeleigh suggested, squirming into her own bedroll. If her sly comment was enough to raise lewd hopes in the halfling’s mind, they were dashed as Caspian curled up for the elf to rest her head upon. The wolf pup was just large enough to make a proper head pillow and seemed to relish the role.

  Sira sighed. “I’ll take first watch with Gary.”

  As everyone else settled in, Gary and Sira sat side by side on a fallen log within close reach of the fire. Gary strummed out a makeshift lullaby to the tune of Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters,” hoping that he could at least get his heavy metal fix indirectly on a song that was anything but edgy.

  d20: 4 + (Music +8) = 12

  Sira sighed and rested against Gary shoulder to shoulder as the song finished. Yawning, she shook off her lethargy once freed from the bardic mag
ic. “That one wasn’t so bad. You are getting better.”

  “Thanks,” Gary said softly, though the chorus of snores suggested his caution against waking the others was misspent.

  “I don’t read that tripe anymore,” Sira said. “It’s all written by humans, anyway, so who knows how accurate it is? For all I know, Braeleigh might be right, that every elf out there is looking to fill cradles and start a new generation, romance or not.”

  “It gives her hope, either way,” Gary said. “Thanks for agreeing to come with us.”

  “Mercy,” Sira muttered. “It’s hard, sometimes, following a credo when you know it’s leading you down a dangerous path. Thanks for reminding me that the challenges of the Path of Piety are the reason it’s worth pursuing. And thanks for not being like I thought bards all were.”

  “What’s that mean?” Gary asked.

  Sira fought back a yawn. “You know. Slick talkers. The kind who untie girls’ undergarments with their tongues.”

  “Nice trick,” Gary murmured.

  Sira elbowed him playfully. “You know what I mean. I expected you were all songs and seduction. You’re certainly pretty enough. I see the effect you have on Braeleigh. She wants full-blooded elf children in the worst way, but she’d fall like an autumn leaf into your bed if you half tried. And you haven’t made a single move on me.”

  Gary tensed. “It’s not that I—”

  Sira placed a finger over his lips. “Don’t ruin this. I’m not offended or jealous or anything. I wanted to adventure to shape the world for the better, not be a bedtime playmate for greater heroes. My elder sister dropped out of acolyte training to bear her first child. Now I have five nieces and nephews and no sister in service to Sevius.”

  “It doesn’t have to be one way or the other,” Gary said. “Not that I…”

  “No. I get it. You’re not good with women. That’s probably half the reason I’m willing to tell you this. Beldrak seemed safe enough when we first met. And who can’t blow off a halfling’s advances? Braeleigh seemed fine chasing fantasy men of her own kind. I was against you from the start because you felt dangerous.”