An Arsonist and a Necromancer Go Job Hunting

Palmira awoke to the sounds of someone singing.

Nato Cavaliere, nell'antica città del sale~

It was the woman who owned the candle shop next to her little alcove. Some mornings she left her windows open, allowing her songs to flow out onto the street.

E giuro che, vivrò come tale~

Palmira simply laid silently for a moment, allowing the music to wash over her. Sometimes, if she was tired enough, she could almost pretend it was her mother singing to her, like she'd always done back when she was alive.

Ma un giorno il Re venne da me~

"Does she sing often?"

Palmira jumped at the voice, jerking into a seated position, before remembering what had happened last night.

E mi disse, che sarei morto come tale~

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. Looks like she wouldn't be relaxing this morning.

Belatedly, she realized she should probably answer her new… weapon? …partner?

She shook her head. It didn't matter that much. "Not as often as I'd like," she settled on telling him.

Così lasciai la mia casa, la città del sale~

Getting up from her ratty sheets, she began getting dressed, before she paused.

First she pulled the burlap sack back over Morte's eyes, then she continued getting dressed.

Per trovare la gloria della mia vita~

Clothed in her best garb—a red tunic that had only been patched thrice—and clean sandals, she gathered her supplies. Her dagger went on her rope belt, her coin pouch under her tunic, and she picked up Morte's staff, before heading out.

E la gloria mi trovò rapida e acuta~

She paused at the entrance to her alleyway. She closed her eyes, letting the woman's singing wash over her one last time. She didn't know the woman's name, but her voice had been a constant companion for years. She would miss it, once she left.

Nel cuore della vecchia Parigia~

She opened her eyes and, with a steadying breath continued out onto the street, ready to begin her search.

--

"So, what are we doing?"

Palmira jumped, glancing around the street fervently. Luckily, it seemed nobody heard him, but still. "Be quiet," she hissed, "Do you want us to get arrested?"

"We'll only get arrested if you keep acting so suspicious," Morte projected his amusement at her. "Still, you needn't worry. Nobody but you can hear me. …Ah, but they can hear you, so keep your voice down, would you?"

Palmira huffed, but felt her shoulders relax. She wasn't sure he was telling the truth, but it's not like there was anything she could do to stop him anyway.

"I'm looking to join an adventurer's guild," she told him quietly. "Once I've done that, I can start taking jobs as a mage, and then I'll be able to start making some real coin."

"A guild, you say? Are there many of them?"

"Mhm."

There were dozens of adventurer's guilds in the city, each owned by a different Famiglia. The Famiglias competed for jobs, funding, and resources through their guilds, the conflicts between them ranging from backroom deals to bloody conflict in the streets.

Palmira had been witness to more than a few of them.

That said, adventurer's guilds were very different from mercenary guilds. An Adventurer's job was to kill monsters, while a Mercenary's job was to kill men. Adventurers fought demons, Mercenaries fought wars. Therefore, no matter how bad the conflicts between guilds got, they rarely blew up into something bigger. And if it didn't resolve itself within a couple days, the bigger Famiglias got involved, and the Adventurers were told to quiet down or else.

"I've never been inside one, before," she continued. "But I know they take orphans off the street all the time, so they're my best shot at getting a job right now."

"You aren't filling me with confidence about these guilds, kid. Why are you so certain they'd accept you right off the bat?"

"Well, I make fire. And I like to think I'm pretty good at it, too. There's not a lot of mages in the world, at least not compared to more physically inclined warriors, so the guild's will be more open to hiring me."

"You sure about that?"

"…Well, no. But if I start second-guessing myself then I'll just sit on my bed all day doing nothing but making myself feel awful. And I did enough of that last year. So now I'm just going to jump in feet first and think about sticking the landing later."

"Ha! Fair enough."

She shook her head as she crossed the Rozzi—the river which ran through the middle of the city—into the busier streets. The south side of Firozzi was where all the guilds, shops, and marketplaces set up, catering to all the foreigners making their way through the city. She didn't really know why that was, but it probably had something to do with the giant dragon skull she could see poking over the rooftops.

She planned to make her way down the river over the course of the day, visiting as many guilds as she could and applying to every one she entered until one of them accepted her. Optimistically, that would take about an hour and she'd join the first guild she visited.

Optimistically.

Eventually, she found herself nearer to the edge of the city, looking up at the sign for the largest guildhall in all of Firozzi. The Rovina Guild.

Rovina was the first guildhall in the city, one everyone knew the name of and the one all the tourists came to visit, spending their coin on all sorts of dumb commemorative trinkets. She'd made some good coin back in the day, selling charcoal reliefs with her childhood friend before the two of them got caught.

The only reason she still had her left hand was because scamming tourists wasn't technically theft. (And because the authorities went easy on the homeless eleven-year-old girls.)

The Rovina Guild had been founded before the city even existed by the ancient hero Ammazzadraghi, who slew the dragon Vesuvius back in the Age of Heroes, and had then gone on to facilitate the founding of Firozzi itself. It was said he battled the dragon for seven days and seven nights, before killing the beast with its own severed toe.

The guildhall itself was as striking as the story of its founding. The guildhall was built under the shade of one of the ancient Volan floating coliseums. The great coliseum had fallen sideways sometime in the ancient past, forming a massive half-circle jutting out of the ground, under which the ancient hero had founded his guild. A massive wall had then been erected to seal off the open end of the building, showcasing ancient marble carvings of all of the ancient hero's exploits. The monument was said (by the Firozzi people) to be one of the greatest wonders of the world.

Standing before it for the first time in years, Palmira felt the praise was warranted.

The lip of the ancient coliseum was so high above her head that it towered over even the tallest buildings in the city. And as she walked closer to the entrance, she realized that the carved statues she'd always seen from afar were far bigger than she'd thought they were. Stepping past the hundreds of people pouring in and out of the dozens of grandiose doors, she walked right next to a carving of the hero holding his spear high, and yet standing right next to it she could only reach up to his knee.

It was an awe-inspiring sight. Even in ruin, it was greater than anything modern man could make.

She forced herself to tear her eyes away. She wasn't just another tourist here to sightsee. She was here to apply.

Shoving her way through the hordes of people she made her way to one of the entrances of the guildhall, a set of double doors decorated with carved marble vines and flowers. They were wide enough that six people could walk side-by-side through them, and tall enough a giant wouldn't hit his head. Even then, they were barely big enough to accommodate the crowds.

Soon she found herself inside, which opened up into a grand foyer. She found herself shocked at the sheer wealth on display. Massive pillars topped with sculptures of angels held up the curved roof, with paintings by famous artists sitting between them. She even saw a work by Lenna, which was surprising, as she hadn't expected her to be good enough for the guild to buy. Far beneath those paintings, looking miniscule in comparison sat the receptionist's desks, dozens of humans and elves and others sitting behind walls of glass with endless lines streaming before them.

Despite her being a fire mage, Palmira found the hall unpleasantly hot. She tugged at her collar as hundreds of voices washed over her, the shouting and haggling and cajoling so loud it made it impossible to hear anything, becoming little more than a wall of sound that disoriented her the second she entered. She found herself being pushed along with the crowd, losing her bearings and only coming back to her senses a few minutes later when she had to slap the grubby hands of a kid half her age off Morte's staff.

Huffing, she shook her head, hoping that would help calm her mind. When that didn't work she started knocking Morte's staff against the marble floor, only to accidentally slam it into her own toes instead.

She hissed, biting down on her tongue to keep sparks from flying out. At least the pain helped her concentrate, if nothing else.

Feeling disgustingly sweaty and overwhelmed, Palmira made her way over to the shortest line she saw, which grew by ten people into the longest line in the time it took for her to get there. Three more people cut in ahead while she was waiting.

"This feels like it's going to be a while," Morte's voice was like ice in her brain, grounding her in the disorienting sea of people. "Don't worry! I have plenty of experience with entertaining people during long and boring waits. What do you want first—knock-knock jokes or obscure facts? Or perhaps you're feeling spicy, and want some impromptu-therapy? I charge by the hour, I'll have you know."

Palmira stared at the line in front of her forlornly. "…Surprise me."

And, finally, after what felt like hours of listening to probably fake facts from Morte—the one about bananas being more closely related to humans than elves had to be a lie, right?—she made it to the front of the line.

"Hello, and welcome to the Rovina guild," the receptionist gave her a practiced smile that didn't hide how empty her eyes were. "How can I help you today? Are you looking to post a job, or are you perhaps a freelancer looking to sell us something? In that case, could I point you to the desk at the far right of the hall, and Gustavo will speak with you shortly."

"Actually," Palmira cut in, "I'm here to apply."

"…Ah," the receptionist pursed her lips, her eyes roving up and down Palmira's dress. "I see. In that case, would you please make your way off to the side? I'll send someone over to talk with you in a moment."

"Oh!" Palmira shuffled out of the way, "Of course. I'll, uh, go over there now. Thank you."

Pushing her way off to the side (and smacking away the hand of a Vagabond that tried to steal her coin purse) she sat at one of the benches lining the side of the room. Holding Morte's staff between her legs, she settled in to wait.

And wait she did. For what felt like hours she zoned out, nervously rotating Morte between her fingers as he regaled to her the story of the time he killed a hydra (something she doubted, as the him in his story was both divinely handsome and had hands).

Before, finally, a person arrived bearing the crest of the guild.

It was an elfish mage, with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. "Right," she grunted, barely loud enough to be heard over the crowd. The elf gave her a once over, scowling. "I can't believe I have to do this. Right, girl, how much experience do you have?"

"Oh, uh, I'm Palmira," Palmira bowed her head awkwardly. The Elf made a 'get on with it' motion with her hands. "I don't have any experience adventuring, but I'm a capable mage and I've spent a lot of time traveling between cities in the past."

"A mage?" the elf sounded like she'd really rather be anywhere else but here, something which was starting to annoy her. "What magic do you use?"

"I'm a fire mage," Palmira stated confidently, using the budding anger to steady herself. "I've been practicing since I was young."

"Of course it's a fire mage," the elf scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, I've heard enough. We aren't hiring you, girl. Just because some holy fire mage went and became famous doesn't mean all fire mages have what it takes to work with the big leagues. If you wanted a chance, you should've been a water mage instead—because Lady knows we could use one of those…"

With that the elf turned and marched right back out of the room, leaving a spluttering Palmira behind.

"Hot damn," Morte sounded just as shocked. "I don't think I've seen as fast a rejection since the time Słońce got rejected by that busty elf in the Hausa."

Palmira saw red, a puff of smoke pouring out of her mouth. "I'm leaving," she declared, standing up. She couldn't stand being in this damn guildhall any longer.

Morte, perhaps sensing her mood—or hopefully even agreeing with her—didn't do anything but hum in agreement.

As she pushed her way out of the guildhall, she was hit at once by how quiet it was. The echoing of hundreds of voices still spilled out of the massive doors, but now she could at least hear herself think. The sun hung high in the sky above, showing it to be far past noon, and yet it felt cooler outside than in.

She took a deep breath, luxuriating in the smell of fresh air. She'd lived in the city all her life, but she'd lived out in the open streets and open skies. Even in the busiest markets, there were at least sights, sounds and smells beyond sweaty people waiting in endless lines.

She'd never take the mildly polluted air of the city for granted ever again.

"I don't think I would have wanted to work there anyway," she said out loud, feeling her shoulders relax.

"You're telling me!" Morte huffed. "Please tell me you noticed the—at least—three separate people who tried to steal me while we were shoving our way through that crowd."

She had. "They were probably hoping to sell you for some quick money. I wonder if that's a common thing, in big guilds like that?"

"Oh, it is," the staff scoffed. "Granted, it's normally by the less moral guildmembers than strangers off the streets. I mean sheesh, what's their security like that they just let random criminals steal from their clients! At least back in my day, it was the guilds themselves that were robbing you."

Palmira snorted, remembering the days she was one of those criminals. "They probably knew it was happening, they probably just didn't care."

"Well that's even worse! What kind of business do you run where you just let vultures like that hang out on your front porch!?"

"I dunno. Probably a pretty bad one."

"One that's let it's fame get to its head, that's for certain!"

"Whatever," she shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Let's just move on—surely the next place won't be as bad, right?"

--

"I'm sorry," Drowned-Man in front of her frowned apologetically. "We aren't hiring any mages right now. We've had a glut of them coming in recently, half of them even fire mages like yourself."

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

This guild, the Prateria guildhall, wasn't anywhere near as busy as Rovina. The building was a quarter the size and sat on the corner of the street next to a bakery, overlooking the river. The Drowned-Man was the only receptionist, and there'd only been one person in line before her. It made her feel much more confident as she walked up to the counter, only for the rejection to shatter that confidence right then and there.

"Oh," she deflated. "I see. …Are you sure? I'm fine working part-time, if possible…?"

"Again, I'm sorry," the Drowned-Man shook his head, the light reflecting off his scales blinding her as he did so. "I know it's not what you want to hear, but we can't make exceptions. Ever since the Lich-King died the guildmaster's been wanting to cut corners on the staff, so I've been forced to turn away more people than we'd like. You know how it is, I'm sure—adventurers live off of supply and demand like any other artisan, and when too many monsters start dying and too many newbies start applying, the demand goes way down."

"Damn," Morte's shock flooded into her mind. "I didn't think we'd ever live in a world with too many adventurers, but it appears I've been mistaken."

Palmira just sighed and, after thanking the receptionist for his time, left to check out the rest of the guilds.

There were dozens in the city. Surely at least one of them would accept her, right?

--

"So yer a fire mage, eh?" the old dwarf of the Vero Piombo guild scoffed. "Then we ain't gonna take ye, sorry kid."

Palmira slumped against Morte's staff, wincing. "Oh. I'll, uh, I'll get going then."

The dwarf sighed. "Look, kid, it ain't anything against ye. But fire mage's are ah ducat ah dozen these days. 'Specially after that one fire mage went and killed ah Lich. We've already got three in our guild and, I'll be straight with ye, ye ain't even the first fire mage te apply this week."

That didn't make her feel any better.

"I don't know who that famous fire mage is," Morte hummed, sounding disgruntled. "But she sounds like a right bitch."

--

"Oh, I'm sorry," the receptionist to the Mela guild plastered on a fake sympathetic smile. "But we only accept applications for starting positions from adventurers who have at least three years of experience already. But we do have a position for an internship with the guildmaster, if you're interested! It's not paid, but you'll get a lot of real-world working experience, and we here at Mela value that more than gold!"

Palmira grimaced, declined, and checked another guild off her list.

--

"Why are you so adamant to join a guild, anyway?"

Palmira glanced at Morte, before turning her eyes back to the street. She didn't really feel like talking right now, her pride smarting over the constant rejections.

But she also needed a distraction, so with a sigh she responed, "Isn't it obvious? Adventuring on my own will only get me killed. If I'm lucky."

"I get that. But surely you could find a job elsewhere? You have some aptitude as a mage. I know I saw you create that fire last night, even without my help! That must be worth something, yes?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" she growled, tightening her grip on the staff. "You don't think I tried other jobs before? But connections are everything and there were only two people who were willing to give the dirty street rat a chance—one of them just so they could have a slave in all but name that they paid in nothing but crumbs, and the other was just stringing me along so they could sell me as an actual slave! After that I realized I wasn't going to take my chances with people ever again."

The staff hummed, shuddering lightly in her hand. "And so you'd throw yourself into the only government sanctioned job you can get. I don't agree, but I do understand. However, I hope you understand, getting a job at a guild isn't going to be all looting treasure and seducing dragons. There's a lot of combat involved. A lot. The reason the homeless child Palmira can get a job at a guild isn't because the Famiglias are kind enough to just hire people off the street, but because the powers that be see you adventures as expendable. Whether you live or die, it's all a statistic to them."

Palmira grimaced, but didn't disagree. "I don't care. This is all just a means to an end, anyway."

"Oh? Pray tell, what ends are you looking to achieve?"

She took a deep breath, buying time to find the words for what she wanted. She'd never actually spoken her goals aloud before, she realized. "…Once I make enough money adventuring, I'm going to pay for a tuition and get a degree at the Università, and leave adventuring behind forever to go become the family mage to some rich Famiglia somewhere out in the countryside where I can sleep in a fluffy bed and get fat off pastries and never have to worry about starving ever again."

The two of them went silent after that, as Morte took in her words. Palmira found herself looking away, wondering if perhaps he'd expected something… more.

Finally, after a long moment he spoke up. "…What a wonderfully sane idea!"

"…eh?"

"Oh, don't 'eh' me! I've met a great many adventurers in my time. Most of them were idiots! In fact, all of them were idiots! Adrenaline junkies, the lot of them, hoping to find adventure and riches in some dank, dark cave as far from civilization as possible! But you know what they found instead?"

"Um…"

"Death! Even the best adventurers die eventually. The average retirement plan for adventurers is to cash in their life insurance by thirty! Fools, the lot of them!"

Palmira stayed silent. She felt this was something he'd wanted to get off his chest for a while now.

"But you. You! You're choosing not to be a fool! To get an education! How could I be anything but supportive of that!? Sure, you're getting the money for that by adventuring, but it's not like you have many better options. It's not like you're some rich pampered baby throwing all that away to play at being a knight, after all. Yes, yes! I, the great and powerful Morte, shall support you in this wholeheartedly!"

Palmira stared at her staff for a long moment. "…Uh, thank you?"

"You are welcome!" Morte's skull seemed to grin at her from beneath the canvas bag covering it. "In fact, in order to help achieve your goals, I shall start tutoring you! You may thank me again, my young apprentice, for I shall grant you knowledge far beyond what anyone in this world could possibly teach you!"

Palmira blinked, her eyes opening wide. "That…!" her eyes darted back and forth, before finally landing back on her staff. "What do you mean by that? What would you even teach me!? You're a staff!"

"Ah, is that skepticism I hear? You wound me, my apprentice, but I shall ignore it for now! You know nothing of me, after all. However, I believe a demonstration is in order, so that you know I am not all talk. Very well, we shall begin our first lesson now!"

"Wait, now!?"

"Yes, now! You can use fire magic, yes? In that case, tell me, what is fire to you?"

"Um, it is—"

"Wait! Wait wait wait! Calm down and think about your answer. A gut response is good, but I will not accept one today. So, my apprentice, answer truly; what is fire to you?"

Palmira took a deep breath, calming her racing heart. That conversation had been moving far too fast for her liking.

After taking a moment to calm down, she began to consider Morte's question.

What was fire to her?

She knew instinctively what it was. Fire was death. Her first memories were of that blaze, of everything she knew burning down around her. The flames claiming everything they could and leaving nothing but ashes as they passed. Fire was death and destruction that consumed all. It was an end.

She opened her mouth to answer, but something stopped her.

Because she never thought of any of that when she used her magic.

She closed her eyes, centering herself again. Fire caused death and destruction, but a man who killed wasn't death itself, just an avenue for death. So what was fire? Not what is caused, but what it was.

What did she think of, when flames danced across her fingers? What did she think of, when the rats she skewered popped and fizzled above her hands? What did she think of, when sparks dripped from her fingers as dewdrops, lighting up her alleyway with her own little fireworks show?

What was fire, to her?

"…Fire is movement." She said at last, the words spilling from her lips without conscious thought. "Fire is the constant flickering of flames, their burning tendrils constantly reaching for the heavens. Fire dances and it jumps and it flies. Fire is the billowing breath of a dragon that scatters armies, the crumbing of logs into the firepit that sends sparks into the air, the inevitable changing of this into that. Fire is Movement, for a flame cannot be still—for in stillness is death, and fire is life."

And as she finished speaking she felt something click into place. An instinctive understanding of her magic suddenly becoming conscious.

She raised her hand, watching in awe as flickering flames danced across her fingertips in a way that she could always instinctively do—but now she understood how it did so in a way she never had before.

The invisible world shuddered, and movement turned to heat turned to flame.

"How—" her voice cracked, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. The flames caressed her fingers, its crackling and popping almost sounding like purring. "How did you—?"

She more felt than saw Morte's grin. "Such is the first lesson of magic. The first of the three P's!"

"…Three P's…?"

"Indeed! Magic can be divided into three aspects—Philosophy, Precedent, and Physics! Remember those three P's, and you can learn any type of magic with ease!"

"…I think I see," Palmira whispered, clenching her fist to snuff out the flames, "and… thank you."

"Of course, of course! You're my apprentice, are you not? It is only natural you'd be getting the best education in the world! Now, raise your head with pride and show those guilds foolish enough to reject you how incredible you truly are!"

With a nod, Palmira gathered herself. Squaring her shoulders she set out again, ready to find some guild that would accept her, no matter what!

--

The elf at the receptionist desk glanced up from the book he was reading, gave her a single look, and then turned back to his book.

"Get out."

She got out.

--

Palmira groaned, slumping down against the Ponte Mattoni, one of the many bridges spanning the Rozzi. Laying Morte across her lap, she leaned back, closing her eyes as she let her head rest against the cool brick.

Not a single guild had accepted her. Barely any had even given her the time of day.

"I'm shocked," Morte murmured, the staff having grown quieter and quieter as the day went on. "I would have thought at least one of them would've accepted you. Since when have the guilds grown so picky? It may have been decades since I last stepped foot in one, but the guilds I remembered accepted anyone and everyone to their banners."

Palmira huffed, rubbing at her eyes. "Then maybe I should've been born a century ago—I might have had a chance, then."

"Perhaps," she had a mental image of Morte nodding his head. "But if you had been, then we might not have ever met! And really, what are a thousand guilds compared to the glory of moi?"

"I would've taken one over meeting you."

"Ack! You take that back! Or at least up the amount of guilds! I'm worth at least three, yes?"

Palmira chuckled wetly, taking a deep breath. Reaching into her knapsack, she dug through her few coins to pull out a stale chunk of bread. She began to gnaw on it as she considered her options.

There weren't that many official guilds left in the city. Maybe a dozen, unless she'd missed some somewhere. She'd spent the last month searching the city for every government sponsored guild she could find, visible by the coat of arms of one of the city's powerful Famiglia's stamped on their doors. When she'd set out this morning she'd expected—she'd hoped—that at least one of them would be willing to accept her.

Apparently, that had been too much to ask.

"Crackaw!"

She jumped, startled from her own thoughts by a sudden cawing in her ear. Snapping her head to the side, she came face to face with a drakeling. The miniature dragon's rusty red body squatted low on the railing next to her head, while its slitted eyes were wide and begging.

She snorted, relaxing a bit at the sight. A distance behind, she saw two more yellow drakelings waiting patiently for their leader to bargain.

She glanced down at her stale loaf, before sighing and tearing off a small chunk and holding it out in her hand.

The red drakeling squeaked happily, before spitting out a small gout of flame, toasting the bread and warming her hand pleasantly. It then leaned down, gulping down the charred crumbs.

She giggled at the feeling of its tongue across her palm, and then giggled some more when the drakeling's yellow compatriots suddenly showed up, boxing it in on either side and causing it to squawk angrily as they shoved it aside to get at the food, only to slump in disappointment at her empty hand.

Biting her cheek to hold back her laughter, Palmira pulled off another chunk of bread, holding it out for them to toast themselves.

Popping the last of her loaf in her mouth, she smiled as the three tiny dragons licked the last of the crumbs from her hand, tickling her hand with their tiny forked tongues.

Once her hands were clean they looked back up at her again, their eyes wide and begging, but she simply raised her empty hands to show she was all out.

"Sorry," she smiled ruefully at them. "That's all for today."

The drakelings whined pitifully, before the two yellow ones turned and scampered off, running along the railing of the bridge for a few bounds before leaping into the air, flying off, probably to find someone else to beg food off of.

The red one however stayed behind a bit longer. It sneezed, letting off a small gout of flame, before it choked once, twice, and then spat something into her waiting hand.

Its duty done the red drakeling snuffed, shook itself, and then gave her a parting squawk before flying off after its friends.

Palmira smiled after them, before glancing down at the half a coin the drakeling had left in her hand.

Half a piccoli, more than enough to replace the crumbs she'd given. But not enough for much else.

'Another decade of feeding the drakelings, and maybe I'll be able to buy a real wizard's staff.'

She snorted, shaking her head. As if she'd even make it that long on the streets.

Still, she always felt somewhat lighter after those encounters. So, with a smile on her face and a spring in her step she rose back to her feet

She'd check out one more guild today, she told herself. Just one more.

This time, it would be different. It had to be.