That
night, I had some strange dreams, similar to the story in the book
I’d just finished. I was on this weird farm where all the crops
were massive but inedible. Well, for most people. I could eat them
just fine. I also was the only person at the end of the dream who
hadn’t gone mad. It was a little weird.
I woke up early and decided to check with Cortana about the status of the message I had her trying to send every day. “Cortana, message status,” I said.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that query,” she replied. I repeated myself. “One moment. Loading expanded language subroutines. Error. Relevant language file not found.”
I spoke again, listening carefully to the words I was saying. “Huh,” I said. “That’s odd. I seem to be speaking a language I don’t recognize.” I focused, forcing myself to speak Taldan. “Cortana, do your systems know anything about the language I was speaking?”
“Linguistic heuristics assess probability of language being real at ninety six point thirty two percent based on syntax, but language is not located in any known database. Relevant information might be found in Ranger central database.”
“After you manage to send out that message, please make your next priority contacting the Ranger database.”
“Understood.”
As we packed up our stuff, Burin came over and asked me about Radosek becoming the witchrime. I told him what I knew, which wasn’t much. But it seemed to satisfy his curiosity. “So, from now on, we should give witches a proper burial?”
I shrugged. “If we can, probably wouldn’t hurt. But at least, we should be careful about what we do with their bodies. I’d imagine we could also get away with basic cremation as well.”
He nodded. “Sounds good to me. Well, time to get back on the road, I guess.”
“Yup.”
“Nadya says we should reach Ellsprin in a day or two.”
I nodded. “At least we’ll get the kids somewhere safe. Most of them, anyway.”
The trip was uneventful, which was a shame, since I had nothing to distract me from the itching from my new tattoo. I’d drawn it on my own left arm using a one-time use tattoo gun filled with magic inks – the kind I have to use to write my spells in my spell book – as a special focus for my casting. It was an old Varisian art I’d been reading about.
I’d done a decent enough job drawing the rune for “Evocation”, but it was no spectacular piece of art. Not like the cyber tattoo on the small of my back. It moves! They’re all the rage ever since the tech was discovered five years back. I made a fake ID and got it when I was sixteen.
It’s an innocent looking angel who morphs into a flirty, half-naked demon-girl, in case you really need to know.
We arrived at Ellsprin in the mid-afternoon. As usual we showed up just in time to find something bad going on. At least, that’s what we assumed when we spotted the blood-soaked corpse ten feet from the door of a house on the village outskirts.
Burin rushed over to check on the body, as fast as his little dwarf legs would take him. We fanned out defensively and looked for signs of whoever had done it. Convinced the man was dead, Burin knocked on the door. “Hello! Is everyone okay in there?”
“Are they gone?” a voice replied from within.
“Is who gone?” the dwarf responded, just as something dropped from the roof and attacked.
Gregor and Terry reacted immediately, charging and shooting respectively. As Gregor hit the enemy – a quickling, a type of fey creature known for their speed – Terry’s bullet struck true with a burst of flame. “I LOVE THIS GUN!” the girl cheered, looking at me. I gave her a smile and unleashed a blast of force bolts, bringing down the foe.
As the quickling went down, we heard something shouting in Sylvan from one of the bushes. I moved to put myself between Nadya’s boys and the sound, but I was pretty sure whatever had yelled had run away. I also cast a spell to give myself something akin to a shield that would protect me from damage. Daddy calls the effect “Temporary Hit Points”, but I think that’s because of that strange experience he had during the battle with Karzoug. It’s really just a defensive shield.
“It’s okay, they’re gone now,” Burin called to the house.
The door cracked open, revealing a woman in her early-mid thirties. “You’re sure?”
Burin picked up the dead quickling by the ankle. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s dead. Oh, wait, he twitched.” Then he smacked the body against the side of the house as hard as he could. “Yeah, he’s dead now.”
The quickling’s skull had cracked open and was oozing out brains, so it was a safe bet. Also, I don’t think there rest of my party has the social graces God gave a single normal person between them. Not by half.
As evidence of this, while Burin was talking to the woman about the attack on her family, Terry was busy trying to steal her dead husband’s pocket watch off of his corpse. At least Gregor stopped her.
The woman, whose name was Maret, told us that the fey were acting out of some misguided sense of friendship with her son. Which only prompted more questions. “Why would fey be helping your son?” Terry asked.
“Perhaps he’s a witch?” I suggested.
She shook her head. “My son, my eldest son, Garen, is a faun. He’s not a bad boy. He’s just been hanging out with a bad crowd.”
“A faun?” Terry asked me.
“The child of a human and a satyr.”
“OH!” the girl shouted in realization. “You fucked a goat!” she exclaimed at the woman. “Fuck these goat people,” I heard her mumble as she walked over to keep an eye on the bushes.
Yep. Social graces. My group has none.
At least I had the courtesy to be quiet enough that Maret couldn’t hear me when I said, “I’m pretty sure that’s how you get more goat people,” to Terry.
“Wait,” Burin said. “He doesn’t look like a satyr.” He indicated the body.
“No, he’s not Garen’s father. I married Borvald some years after Garen was born. Please, you have to help my Garen. I’m afraid that the other fey will hurt him.”
“How many are there?” Gregor asked.
“At least one more like this one. And there was another, but I didn’t get a good look at him, so he may be something different.”
“We can follow their tracks in the snow,” the fighter said. “They are likely not far.”
“You and the boys stay with Maret,” Burin suggested to Nadya. “You can keep them safe while we’re gone, if something manages to break into the house.”
“We’ll be fine,” Nadya replied. “Please bring Maret’s boy home safely.”
We followed the tracks to an abandoned barn. From within, we heard the high pitched shouting of a female quickling. “How much abuse will you take before standing up for yourself?! Why won’t you stand up to those inferior humans?! And now my husband Faernip has been captured or probably killed! FOR YOU! We did all of this for your sake!”
“Hello!” Burin called out. “We’re probably the ones who killed your husband!”
There was an incoherent shout of rage as the fey charged out and was met by Gregor. The fighter hit her twice, once with each fist. She reeled from the blows. “What are you people?!” she demanded.
“‘How much abuse will you take before standing up for yourself?’” Burin asked ironically as he brought his axe down and slew the quickling.
Another fey – a tiny creature known as a twigjack – leapt from the bushes and charged at me, spear in hand. Thankfully, my magical shield protected me long enough for Burin and Gregor to rush over. “There’s someone else in the barn,” Terry called out. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
The twigjack, which is a cat-sized creature that looks like a man made of twigs, fell quickly under the assault by the boys. Burin even picked it up and slammed it against a rock to make sure it was dead.
I’m not sure which is more annoying, ingénue Burin or crazy bloodlust Burin.
“It’s all good over here!” Terry called to us. “This guy’s half-goat, half-pussy!”
Oh, for the love of god. I walked over and saw a terrified faun. He was so terrified he’d messed himself, and was now rocking back and forth with his head between his legs. I could hear him whimpering. I looked at Gregor. “Get his mom. She might be the only one who can calm him.” I approached carefully. “Hello Garen,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “It’s okay now. We’re not here to hurt you. Your mom’s coming. She’s very worried about you.”
He looked hopeful. “Mom’s okay?”
“Yes,” I said. “She’s just fine. Now let me cast a spell and get you cleaned up. We don’t want her to see you like this.” He nodded and I cast my cantrip, cleaning the mess from his white fur.
And then Burin spoke and undid all progress I had made towards calming the boy. “Yeah, you don’t have to worry. We’re not here to kill you. We were just here to kill your friends.” The faun wailed, returning to his cowering position. I glared at the dwarf.
Hatch peeked out from the pocket in Terry’s guitar case he’d staked out as his new home. Upon seeing the faun, he walked over. “Yeah, if you were their target, you’d have died painfully already. They’re really good at killing goats…” and then he spent over a minute describing – in explicit detail – all the times we had killed goats or goat-men. I was so flabbergasted by the matter-of-fact nature of his statements I couldn’t even react, though I tried. Desperately I tried to get the domovoi to just shut up.
Once Hatch finished, Terry spoke again. “Oh, and your step-dad’s dead. Thought you should know.” The faun whimpered more. What the hell is wrong with these people?! I gave Terry a withering look. “What? You think I made the situation worse, but blunt honesty is usually best.”
“NOT. WHEN. THEY’RE. ALREADY. PANICKING.” I spoke slowly and clearly in hopes that someone, anyone, would learn something from this.
Gregor and Maret arrived before anyone else could make it even worse. Upon seeing her son, Maret rushed over to him. “What did you do to my poor Garen?” she accused us.
I looked at each of the others in turn. “They hurt him with words,” I apologized.
I helped Maret escort Garen to her home and put him in a bed. We then met the others in the common room, where Nadya’s boys were playing with Maret’s children. “How did all of this happen?” Nadya asked.
“When I was a teen,” Maret started, “I had a tryst with a satyr who had come to our village, leaving me pregnant. Upon learning of my condition, he left me. Not long after, I gave birth to Garen. The townsfolk were not kind, so I moved to the outskirts of the village. This home was a gift from my parents that I suspect was only given to get my child out from under their roof.”
“That’s awful,” Nadya said.
Maret nodded. “When he was old enough, Garen realized that he was the reason the villagers shunned us, and ran away. Not long after, I met Borvald. We were married and had other children. I only saw Garen on rare occasions, when he would come by to make sure I knew he was okay. I tried to convince him to stay, but he said he would not put me through that again.”
“Mjoli! Stop hitting your brother!” Nadya suddenly shouted. “Excuse me a moment.”
“Of course.” A few moments later, when Nadya returned, Maret continued. “Last time he visited, he told me he’d made some new friends. I told him they were welcome to visit, but he said they didn’t like humans much.”
“They came to visit anyway,” Terry noted.
“Yes,” Maret replied, bowing her head.
“Your son’s an idiot.”
That was it. The last straw. I stood up. “Maret, does this town have a tavern?”
“Yes, just off the village square. But I was going to make supper. You’re all welcome to stay.”
“I’m not hungry. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Should someone not go with you?” Nadya asked.
“I’ll be fine. You all should eat.” I didn’t want to leave poor Maret alone with Terry and Burin. Thus far, Gregor hadn’t said anything horrible, but neither had he made any effort to bring them under control. I knew Nadya wouldn’t let them go too far, and I was sure Gregor would back her up if she had too. At least I hoped.
I stepped outside and saw Burin digging a grave for Borvald. At least he was being useful. Still, I didn’t want to talk to him, so I told him I’d be back and headed off without waiting for a reply.
In town, I quickly found the bar. People treated me well enough, less like an outsider than the people of Waldsby had. Perhaps the changes to my outfit had been successful.
The serving wench – a flaxen-haired girl perhaps a year or so younger than me – was fairly attractive. I was suddenly aware of just how long it’d been since I’d last shared my bed with anyone. I was determined to see what that girl’s cute dress looked like on the floor.
It took me less than a half-hour to seduce her. A lavish tip, a lot of charm, an “accidental” touch here or there and just the right amount of innuendo, and she had offered to show me the tavern’s “finest stock”, which could only be found in the cellar. A fine display of my skills, I must confess. I slammed down my glass of mead – they didn’t have any wine – and followed her.
We made it to the cellar door before her father caught us. “Ulla, what do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“This woman wanted to buy several kegs of mead from us for a party,” she lied. Well, tried to lie. She had dozens of tells.
“Go back inside, Ulla.”
“But father –“ she protested.
“BACK. INSIDE.”
The girl ran off. The man looked like he was about to thrash me, but I was sure I could take him. Whether I could win without killing him was the real problem. I hadn’t exactly prepared non-lethal spells today. “There is no need to blame your daughter,” I said. “I’m sure we can work this out.”
“There is nothing to work out. You will leave, stilyagi. You aren’t welcome in my tavern. If I see you again, woman or no, I will throttle you.”
Well, at least I’d avoided a fight. I pulled out a gold coin and tossed it at his feet. “For the mead. Use the extra to visit a surgeon and see if he can remove the metal pole you’ve got shoved up your ass.” I spun on my heel and strode off.
So much for that. I hadn’t even had a chance to drink a second glass of mead. But at least my disguise had worked, so it wasn’t a complete loss. There was nothing left to do, so I returned to Maret’s home.
Burin greeted me as I returned. “You weren’t gone long,” he said.
“I just had a glass of mead. I didn’t want to have to try finding my way back here through unfamiliar territory while drunk.”
“Good thinking.”
“Almost done with that hole?” I asked.
“It’s slow going, but not much longer now.”
“Okay. Well, I think they’re probably going to have dinner ready soon. Don’t take too long.”
We buried the body – we didn’t really know what to say, so we did a generic prayer to the gods – and then took up Maret on her offer to stay the night. In the morning, we headed into the village to meet Nadya’s cousin Quorin Sans and his wife Tina. She asked him to take care of the boys for a while, which he agreed to once she produced a sack of gold coins to cover their needs while she was gone.
Before we left, Terry gave the boys each a knight – apparently she had picked up more than one – from the broken toys she’d found back at the monastery. She had spent some time restoring them. The rust was gone and they had a new paint job.
Orm thought she was hitting on Mjoli, which seemed to irritate her. She is twelve, after all, so any insinuation that she has feelings for anyone is almost definitely going to lead to a tsundere reaction.
A couple days later, in the early afternoon, we reached a bridge a mile or so from our destination. There were a number of skulls adorning it, so we were wary. A trio of merrows – twelve foot tall, freshwater-dwelling cousins of ogres – standing at the far end of the bridge certainly added to the wariness.
“Halt!” one of the giants called out. “Present your papers!”
“We don’t have any papers,” Burin said.
“No papers?” one of the giants asked. “Then you’re going to have to pay the toll!”
“How much is the toll?”
“You pay in meat!” the third said. I noticed he was looking at Terry.
I sighed. From the beginning, it seemed like they were lying. But that clinched it. Official collectors would have demanded coin first, only asking for goods if the person they were trying to collect from claimed to have none.
After the constant grind of dealing with my own band of weirdos and sociopaths, I didn’t have it in me to deal with this. I mean, we could likely bluff our way through – I was still wearing my stilyagi clothes, after all – or maybe even bully our way. But Burin hadn’t been briefed on the plan, so he would just mess it up. Assuming Terry didn’t realize that they wanted to eat her and start shooting at them anyway.
Screw it. If a fight was inevitable, then might as well start strong. I cast a spell and unleashed a pair of fire rays at the closest merrow.
To their credit, my companions reacted immediately. We had two of the giants down in less than ten seconds. Gregor managed to explode one with a single punch. The third jumped into the river below to escape. I tried hitting it with my beam spell – I had used my arcanist skills to alter it from fire to lightning – but missed. In my defense, it was hard to see.
Terry had no such trouble. She fired into the water several times as the shadow of the merrow moved up the river. After the third or fourth shot, the merrow’s form floated up to the surface and was carried back by the current.
I have to admit, that was impressive. Back during the time I was studying with the Mystic Knights, we learned that without specialized rounds, bullets lose kinetic energy rapidly when firing into water. To the point that diving eight to ten feet is usually more than enough to render the shooter unable to hurt you. And she’d managed to take out a merrow who had to be around that depth. Even with a magic weapon, that was a significant feat.
And after all that, I still don’t think she realized that they had wanted to eat her.
As we watched the body floating by, we spotted another body under the bridge. So we looted it. And Gregor skinned the two giants still on the bridge. And Burin quickly buried the body we’d found as well as all the skulls he’d pulled off the spikes on the bridge.
As we set out again, I realized it was likely to be only a few hours til nightfall when we reached the fishing village where Nadya’s uncle-in-law lived. I could tell that this trip was beginning to take its toll on my nerves. I wasn’t afraid, just irritated.
Hopefully this village wouldn’t be nearly as annoying as the last.
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