Belle leaned against the wall, looking into the sky wistfully. Different day, same wall. She stood in front of the entrance to the Tankard, watching the clouds drift through the sky. The sun was setting once more, casting a burning red glow upon, making them look like a slowly flickering fire.

This time, however, she made doubly sure that there was nobody near her. No annoying priest, no lecherous guard. Just her, the sky, and her dragon. Her stupid, laughing dragon.

She had to give some praise to Dara for not complaining about being stuffed in her pockets for hours on end, but to her surprise he seemed to enjoy it. The dragon was lazy to its core, and even when they were alone was reluctant to leave its comfy little pocket.

At this moment, however, he had entered the outside world for no reason other than to make fun of Belle. Barely managing to suppress a chortle, he said, “I can’t believe that you’re actually running around with that two-bit priest!”

Belle glared at him. For somebody who was meant to be her eternal friend and bodyguard, he was certainly being quite judgy. “I don’t have a choice. I need somebody’s help to save the Grove, and you’re of no use.”

“Nonsense.” Dara puffed an indignant cloud of smoke from his nostrils. “I’m plenty helpful. For example, I could burn down the tavern and torture the people inside until we found the rat.”

“Shut up.” Belle’s face flushed at the suggestion. She wasn’t worried that Dara would do it by himself, but it was too terrible to even consider.

The dragon huffed, this time only letting out air. “I tell you, this is the reason that witches are going to go extinct. None of you have the guts to do what needs to be done!” He stared into the distance nostalgically. “Why, back in my day, we would have destroyed this entire town by now!”

Belle lightly smacked Dara on the back of the head. “Ever think that that’s the reason that half of the world wants to kill us?”

“I’m just saying.” Dara continued nonchalantly, as though he hadn’t even felt the blow. He probably hadn’t. “Just look at how much progress you’re making this way. You must have talked to a dozen people, and what have you accomplished? Absolutely nothing.” He gave her a significant look. “Having morals is fine, but at this rate, is the Grove going to survive it?”

Belle felt a dreading feeling in the back of her mind. Her dragon had never been one to mince words, and in this case he’d hit on exactly what the witch feared the most. She buried her face in her hands and slumped to the ground. “What am I supposed to do, Dara? I can’t hurt people. I can barely stand the sight of blood.” Her voice was slightly muffled, but the anguish in it was apparent. “Do I give up?”

Dara gave her an undecipherable look. He took a couple of seconds to ponder the question, and said, “Decisions like that are best made in the morning. No point making it now when you’re all depressed.” He crawled off of her hand and jumped back into the pocket that he’d been living in. “Enjoy the night. Have a couple of drinks, for Tree’s sake. And unless the world starts ending, don’t wake me up again.”

A soft snoring noise emitted from her pocket, and Belle sighed. As usual, nothing useful came out of her discussions with Dara. But she did feel a tiny bit better knowing that a near-immortal being didn’t know what she should do either.

The clouds in the sky dimmed as the sun finally lowered past the horizon, going from a blazing red to a light grey. Belle took that to mean that it was time for her to finally join the rest of her party.

With more than a little reluctance, she stood up and stretched to the sky. Belle walked into the door for the Cantankerous Tankard, feeling defeated and confused. She hardly thought that talking with any of the others would help.

A drink might, though.

###

Belle slammed her mug down, the table rattling on its uneven legs. She belched loudly, far beyond the point of caring. With a groan, she buried her head beneath her arms, hoping that all of her problems would disappear if they left her sight.

An unpleasantly loud laugh reminded her that that wasn’t how the world worked. “I told ya that drinking would work. Not disappointed at all, now, are ya?”

Belle glared at the owner of the voice, the guardsman that she’d been paired with on her unwilling journey. He was rude, crass, and stupid to the point of uselessness. The cogs in her head spun as she tried to retort, but the alcohol clouded her brain. “Shut up.” The words came out more slurred than she expected. That only made him laugh harder, and Belle had to fight off the urge to throw the mug at his face.

Her other problem gave her a judgmental frown. “Belle, are you sure that you should be drinking that much? I don’t think that that’s the best way to--”

Belle spun to face him, drink sploshing over the rim as she moved. “You can especially shut up!” She growled. “The only reason that any of us are here at all is because of you. If it wasn’t for you, we could have had a lead by now!”

Priest Damian looked offended by the remark, but Belle felt no sympathy for the man. “What, are you offended?” She asked mockingly. “You should be. We talked to over a dozen different people today, and none of them said a word. Wonder why?” She downed the rest of her drink and slammed it down on the table again. “Because we had an absolutely idiotic priest with us. The one that everybody in town hates.”

Genuine hurt floated onto Damian’s face, quickly replaced by defensiveness. “Well, everybody who hates me is a heretic!”

“Exactly!” Belle raised her arms dramatically. “You think that this man knows anybody who isn’t a heretic? I’d bet ten drinks that he’s a heretic himself.”

A tear grew on Damian’s face, rolling down his face. Belle rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Drop the whole victim act. It’s almost as annoying as whatever this man is trying to do.” She vaguely gestured towards the guardsman. He didn’t respond, except to wave the waitress down and order another round for all of them.

Apparently the comparison was the most insulting thing that Belle had said, since Damian physically recoiled. “What did you just call me!?” He stood up, looming over the others with eyes filled with hurt.

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“You heard me,” replied Belle. She also stood up, and almost immediately fell down. She managed to catch the table though, and continued glaring like nothing had even happened. “You’re a stupid, useless, uh…” Her mind was too cloudy to think of any more complaints. “You’re bad at your job!” She finished lamely.

“Here you go.” Alan proffered her another mug of mead, which she took gratefully.

“I can’t believe this,” said Damian, as Belle started chugging her fifth drink. He seemed to be on the brink of a mental breakdown. “I… I thought that we were friends.”

The witch looked at him in disbelief. “I met you yesterday. You accosted me in the middle of the street, and then you tried to take on half of the city in a fistfight. It feels like you’ve been a nuisance to me my entire life, and I haven’t even known you an entire day.” Not to mention that if he knew she was a witch, he would kill her, although she didn’t vocalize this particular complaint.

Damian grew quiet, and the light in his eyes dimmed a little bit. He sat back down, his back hunched and his face glum.

Alan slid a mug of mead towards him cautiously, as though offering food to a bear. The priest frowned, but sighed and took a sip from it. “I’m sorry. I suppose that I can be… a little bit overbearing at times. I’ll try to be better tomorrow.”

Belle wobbled her way back down to her seat, barely managing to find it. She suddenly realized that it was possible that she had, in fact, had too much alcohol. “‘S okay.” The words slurred out of her mouth, and the world was ever so slightly spinning around her.

She finished her drink, as if that would help.

It did not.

Her mind floated away, her thoughts slippery and hard to catch. She almost cast an anti-inebriation spell out of instinct, but she still had enough rational thinking to realize that that was an awful idea. Instead she shook her head and put the, now empty, tankard down on the table. Belle tried to re-orient herself, and looked around the tavern again.

The clientele were as strange and diverse as ever. They spanned all ages and builds, with the most common being a young man. There were still a decent amount of women, however, and even quite a few people who seemed like they would have trouble walking without a cane. Belle felt a little bit more depressed as she realized how much these people needed money.

If she wanted, she could help. She had the money. She wasn’t entirely sure how much, but from Barky’s reaction to it, it was a lot. But that would at the very least raise questions. Questions that she couldn’t afford to answer right now.

Belle was knocked out of her gloomy thoughts as she realized that the entire bar had gone silent. The door creaked open, and a shorter, more portly man entered the tavern. His clothes were silky and smooth, cut from a richer cloth. Wrinkled with stress and age, he managed to strut into the Tankard with confidence.

Even Belle’s alcohol addled brain was able to realize that that was difficult. Within a second, every conversation silenced, and every pair of eyes swiveled onto his face. The newcomer paid no mind to the attention and observed his surroundings.

After a second of deliberation he walked directly to the bar, and put an arm over the counter. In a voice loud enough for the rest of the bar to hear, he said, “I’m here to renegotiate the Church’s contract.”

Murmurs sprouted out of the silence, uncertain and suspicious. Even when the most of the bar had thought that she had used magic, she hadn’t seen them be so… cautious. “Psst,” she whispered to Alan, who didn’t turn away from the unfolding scene, but leaned a little closer to her. “What’s going on?”

“Aye, you’ve only been a Burner fer a day or two, right?” He took a sip of his ale. Belle realized that despite ordering more, he’d been nursing that one mug the entire time. She put that back in her mind, and hoped that she would remember it in the morning.

“There’s an entire thing each month, ‘tween the Church and the Mayor.” He gestured towards the new man. “Some strange Northern thing, but it’s damn good entertainment.”

“Whazz it?” Belle tried to prevent her words from slurring, unsuccessfully.

Alan gave a deep-bellied laugh. “It’s a staring contest, that’s what it is!” He frowned. “Not literally. Basically, the city gives the Church the right to operate ‘round these parts, ‘s long as they follow some rules that the Mayor puts out. Now, the only people who really care ‘bout that sort of stuff are the old fudgies that lead the Church.”

“Wait, wait.” Belle felt her head spinning as she tried to take in all of the new information. “Are you telling me that the Mayor decides what the Church can do in the city through a staring contest?”

“I said not literally, din’t I?” Alan shrugged. “That’s what it comes down to, though. They sit down in the middle of this tavern, they get a couple big guys behind them, and then they hash it out. Whoever looks scarier gets the better end of the deal. You ask me, that’s the way everythin’ ought to be done.”

“Why do you even know all of this?” This was the first time that the guardsman had shown even a shred of inclination to help her out. She had assumed it was just because he was too stupid to even try, but this clearly showed otherwise.

Alan shrugged again. “Haven’t ya been looking ‘round? This place’s packed to the brim with soldiers.” He gestured towards the corners. Belle looked closer, and indeed, many of the patrons were wearing the drab blue uniforms of the Guard. “‘S the closest we’re ever gonna get to being paid to watch a show.”

Belle fell silent. It was hard to believe that the Empire, who had shown to be overly-disciplined in so many ways, was so… barbaric in its contract signing. She looked back to the center of the Tankard, where the screeching of tables and chairs being moved began to diminish. The mayor sat down in the new arrangement, a simple round table with two rather squeaky chairs on either side.

To her surprise, Barky the bartender sat on the other side. “Was he always a higher up?”

Alan gave a non-affirmative grunt. It looked like he hadn’t committed to being fully helpful.

Barky started off, leaning in towards the mayor. His voice projected to every cranny of the tavern, deep and ever so slightly growly. “Well, Mayor Mekter. I see you came alone.”

The mayor looked back at him, no fear in his eyes. “And I see that you still wash glasses for fun. Have you not grown bored yet, Paladin Barky?”

Given the lack of shouts and yells, it appeared that the only person that was news to was Belle. “That man is a paladin?”

“Yeah, he is. Now shut yer yap. We’re about to get to the good part.” Alan leaned in, excited.

The bartender-- or paladin, Belle supposed she should refer to him as-- didn’t flinch at the insult. “It’s a management position. Gotta do something while all the lackeys are out hunting, don’t I?”

“Yes, I suppose you do. Maybe you could even do something productive, like keeping them from burning down the city.” The tension that had been lurking beneath the surface of the conversation flared suddenly, and the Tankard went silent once more.

Barky raised a single eyebrow. Without saying a single word, he signaled for a large group of men to stand behind him. Even Belle had to admit that they looked terrifying. Their weapons were clearly displayed, just short of being drawn, and they loomed over the mayor. “Now, Mekter,” the paladin said with a smirk that fit his face perfectly. “I know that the one man that’s agreed to stand behind you for the past two months left you. If you expect this negotiation to go your way, I’m afraid that you’re sorely mistaken.”

“I beg to differ,” Mekter said with a smile. “While brave Mr. Teeger cannot attend today, he made sure to find himself a replacement. And I think that he will more than make up for it.”

The paladin frowned, trying to make sense of the statement. He opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by the creaking of the door before he could.

A cold wind flooded the room, despite the tavern being well underground. Belle turned her head to see who it could possibly be, and gasped.

It was a dead man. A man that she’d killed what felt like a lifetime ago, back in the Grove. Gleaming armor covering every inch of his body, stature as straight as a tree.

And he looked angry.