A Dying Ember

Sinbad was not a man prone to flights of fancy.

Perhaps, had been younger, he might have dropped what he was doing to party up with other young adventurers for no reason other than for the fun of it. He'd been capricious in his youth, and even after becoming a paladin much of that youthful energy had stayed with him.

But now he was old, and tired, and dying, and he had better things to do with his time than walk some children back to their guild.

So why was he doing that right now? He couldn't really say. It was just—the moment his eyes alighted on the young girl's staff, he knew in his bones he had to speak with them. And they were even going in the same direction he was, which just made everything easier.

And so he found himself running alongside the young adventurers on their way to Firozzi. The girls rode together on the back of a crystal horse, while the boy rode on a massive bear, and Sinbad himself followed along on foot. Or perhaps it would be better to say that they followed him—as each step he took was soaked in divine energy, causing him to launch forward meters with each bound. The children, despite their animals, were barely keeping up with him, and he was forced to slow down enough for them to catch up multiple times.

It was as soon as the City of Riposa faded into the distance behind them that he turned to the girl and asked the question that had been burning in the back of his throat for hours now. "I must say, it's strange to see a girl so young with such a… unique staff. If you don't mind me asking, where did you come across it?"

Sinbad was also not a subtle man.

He recognized that staff. He did not know how—he did not even remember it until he had chanced upon them outside the city gates—but the moment he did he suddenly knew exactly where he'd seen it before.

It was not that recognition that brought him to them, though. It was the fact he recognized it at all. The staff was irrelevant—it wasn't the only cursed staff he'd come across, and not even the only one they'd looted from the Lich-King's Palace. So how had he recognized it?

An enchantment of some kind, obviously. Cast on him or on the staff was the more important question.

The girl's face changed to that of resigned annoyance. "He was on sale," she told him, in the voice of someone who'd answered that question many times before.

"…I would have thought that whatever guild was selling it would have simply destroyed such a cursed object, rather than selling it."

"We tested him," she told him. "And he's not cursed, unless you count the curse of having to explain why I'm holding a creepy staff to everyone I walk past."

Sinbad frowned. That… that wasn't right, was it? The staff was cursed. It was obvious.

His frown deepened, and he raised his hand up to his eyepatch. Fluid had begun to leak from beneath it.

"Are you alright?" the girl frowned worriedly at him. The other two children looked similarly concerned.

He blinked his one good eye, realizing he'd stopped moving.

"I'm fine," he gave them a strained smile. "Just an old injury acting up."

They didn't look convinced, but they didn't know him well enough to push and so left it at that.

Sinbad shook his head and continued their journey. "Anyway, I apologize if I offended you. I've come across a great many cursed objects before, and the aftermath from people using them is never pretty. I know you believe it is safe, but please, be careful."

"He's right, newbie," the older girl nodded along. "Just because nothing bad's happened yet doesn't mean it's safe."

"You know," a voice suddenly echoed in his head, "some people might say it's rude to talk about someone like they're not there."

Sinbad tripped.

Pulling off a panicked cartwheel to recover, he was back on his feet in an instant. "It can talk!?" he yelped, stumbling back into a run.

"Of course I can!" The staff almost seemed to be laughing at him. "I have a mouth, don't I?"

"You don't have a tongue though," the girl frowned, somehow not bothered by the fact her staff talked.

"Have you checked?"

The girl raised her staff over her head, squinting into the underside of the skull. "You don't have a tongue."

"Shame. You know, I'd always wondered."

"Wait, back up," Sinbad cut in. "You have a possibly cursed, definitely talking staff, and nobody told you you were better off destroying it!?"

"Well, they did," the young girl shrugged self-consciously. "But it felt kind of wrong to kill something sapient just because of what it was."

"Indeed!" the staff bemoaned melodramatically. "I could not help being born as I am! Why, my mother was a warlock's staff and my father was a skeleton! How could they have known the monstrosity they would produce?"

Sinbad gave it a dry look, not appreciating its sarcasm. Cursed objects were far too dangerous to leave in the hands of children, especially ones who were cunning enough to deflect suspicion with humor.

"Ah, I get where you're coming from," the young man on the bear nodded sympathetically. "My mother was a tree. I don't even think father new she was pregnant before he left."

Everyone, the staff included, stopped to look at the young man.

"…What?"

Sinbad shook his head. "Look, I know I am a stranger, but please, take my word for it," he implored her. "Be careful. Though it may not seem like much now, a sentient staff is arguably more dangerous than a cursed one. You can never know what they're truly planning."

He would know. His sword had once been one of those very weapons.

The girl frowned, but nodded. "Don't worry," she told him. "I'll be careful. I even have regular check-ups scheduled with our local Crusader just in case."

Ah. That relieved him more than she could know.

Conversation petered off after that. The children all seemed too intimidated by his presence to talk as they normally would, and with his own worries addressed he didn't feel the need to fill the silence.

However, as the day progressed, he noticed the girl was giving him strange looks. At first he thought it might have been hero worship like her companion, or perhaps she simply found him handsome. She wouldn't be the first. But as he caught sight of her face, he recognized not awe or embarrassment, but confusion and recognition.

"…Have we met before?" she asked at last, a confused frown on her face. "It's just… I swear I've seen you somewhere before."

"Ah, perhaps," he gave her a neutral smile. "I've been around quite a bit. We are both adventurers, so we may have met in passing before. There's also a statue of me in Firozzi—maybe you're thinking of that?"

"Statue?" her frown deepened. "Are you some kind of bigshot?"

"Hey, newbie," the silvery girl sitting behind her hissed. Sinbad mentally filed that information away. So the girl was either new or at least newer than the silver one. "How can you not know who he is!? That's Sinbad the Indomitable! He's one of the three heroes who killed the Lich-King! He's more than just a simple 'bigshot.'"

"One of those heroes?" The girl's eyes suddenly widened, before she turned to glare at him. "Are you the fire mage?"

Sinbad raised his remaining eyebrow. "No, that would be my old partner, Rosalina. Why do you ask? Has she done something to upset you?"

The girl's glare lessened, and she almost seemed to sulk. "Nobody wants to hire fire mages anymore," she muttered, a frustrated scowl on her face. "And it's all her fault. It's like every mage in the world wants to copy her, so now everyone and their mother is a fire mage and it made it so much harder for me to get a job!"

Huh. He hadn't considered that. He wondered if paladins and buccaneers were also having similar issues.

"…Wait," the silver one frowned. "I thought you were emulating her as well? Are you telling me you just happened to be a fire mage? In the era when fire mages are at their most popular?"

The newly revealed fire mage turned around to scowl at her companion. "I was wielding fire long before that woman killed the Lich-King! I've been one since I was a child! I bet I've even been one longer than she has!"

"Okay, that I can't believe," she scoffed. "You're what—twelve? Thirteen? There's no way you've been a fire mage that long."

"I'm fifteen you elven—!"

Sinbad turned to the young man, tuning out the two arguing girls. "Are they always like this?"

"They haven't known each other that long," he admitted. "But yes."

Ah. How nostalgic.

Sinbad let the argument flow over him, leaping ahead a bit with the young man to chat and leaving the young girls to trail behind. It was a pleasant conversation, but not much else. He asked the young man simple questions about his guild and his bear and his magic and the young man replied earnestly. He learned much about his guild, but it wasn't anything new to him, so he didn't bother memorizing anything but the guild name.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

A guild was a guild was a guild.

Still, it was nice to know old Ósma was still around and kicking. He may not have known him as well as his brother, but in their profession it was always a pleasant surprise to hear that one of your acquaintances was still alive.

After a few more hours they eventually reached the Montibus Range, the end of the Grand Aqueduct, and that was where they returned to the normal roads.

"Wait," the young fire mage looked around in confusion. "Where are we? I thought we were going back to Firozzi?"

"We are," the young man told her. "We're just taking the mountain route back—it's faster for us, but the caravan would have never been able to come this way. We'll be cutting off a whole day of travel taking this road."

They followed the normal mountain roads from there, making good time back to the city. They stopped in a village in one of the many secluded valleys, small enough that none recognized him by face. They bedded down in a farmer's barn for the night, before continuing on in the morning.

The mountains eventually petered out into hills, before becoming almost flat after that. By midday they'd arrived at the outskirts of Firozzi, and that was where he decided to part ways with the young adventurers.

"It was a pleasant journey," he smiled at them, taking some wry amusement at their fidgeting. Well, at least the silvery girl and the boy's fidgeting—the fire mage had accidentally set her friend's skirt on fire and was trying to subtly put it out before she noticed. "And I hope to see you once more, when you are older and experienced enough to join me in my incursions into the Demon Lands."

"Of course," the silvery girl sniffed haughtily, which might have had more impact if she wasn't a full head shorter than him. "In fact, I believe I'm nearly there already!"

She wasn't, but Ósma had a good head on his shoulders and wouldn't be sending his adventures on quests they couldn't handle.

"Thank you for taking the time to speak with us," the young man gave him a smile. "It was enlightening."

"Oh," the young fire mage jerked up, having finally put out her accidental fire. "Um, yeah. It was fun, I guess? Hey can I get down now? My legs feel fine, I can walk by myself!"

"Absolutely not," the silvery girl huffed, urging her crystal horse on. It barely had a face, but what little was there looked exasperated. "You aren't walking again until tomorrow at the earliest. Back me up here, Lorenzo."

"Come on," she whined. "I promise I won't hurt myself like that again! It's not that far to the guild, we're already in the city!"

"Chiara's right, you really shouldn't be putting pressure on your legs yet," the young man shook his head, following after them. "I know it's annoying, but you should really just let it…"

Sinbad waved at their backs, feeling a nostalgic smile grow on his face as their bickering faded into the distance. He'd contact their guild about the staff later, but for now he had a more important issue to deal with.

He turned north and made his way through the city, past the Duke's Quarter and deep into the New Quarter. Here seemingly endless apartment buildings loomed overhead, the work of the Capparelli Famiglia's desperate attempt to house all the city's refugees.

It hadn't really worked, despite what the guilds liked to tell you. This part of the city was still run down and poverty-stricken, even if things were better than before.

But he wasn't here to reminisce about the Bad Old Days. Instead he made his way down alleyway after alleyway, eventually arriving at an old worn-down house. What paint it had once had had long since peeled off and its shutters had nearly fallen off the windows. Some rats were sniffing around overturned garbage cans out front, and the door had been defaced with messy slurs and gang signs.

He sighed at the sight. He'd been gone two weeks.

Pushing the door open—she forgot to lock it again—he entered, his mood souring further as he saw the inside was just as bad as the outside. Moth eaten cushions, stained tables, piles of wine and beer bottles piling up in the corner—the place looked like it had been abandoned for years.

He glanced in the kitchen and let out a sigh of relief at the still-warm bowl of half-eaten pasta sitting on the cheese-stained counter. At least she was still alive.

How unfortunate for her.

He made his way deeper into the house, coming across a heavy stone door. Shoving it open with a grunt of effort, an explosion of noise suddenly exploded from behind it. He huffed, pushing his way through before closing it behind him. Walking down the staircase hidden behind it, he made his way down into the hidden bunker buried deep below.

BANG BANG BANG

Sinbad reached the bottom of the staircase, arriving at the hidden forge. The rhythmic banging of hammer on metal blasted his ears, and he grabbed the mufflers hanging on a nearby shelf before making his way further in.

Making his way to the center of the forge, he couldn't help but grimace in distaste at what he saw.

Bodies of all races and genders hung from racks throughout the room. Some were carved open and still bleeding with their organs carefully taken out. Others were missing limbs or had been so thoroughly dismantled only a few scant bones remained. Beside them were tables covered in everything from blacksmith's hammers to surgeon's scalpels. Successful and failed experiments alike had been piled into corners, great works of steel and bone that would have been worth centuries of jailtime had she tried to sell them.

And in the center of it all was the woman he was here to see, the Last Artificer, Tintinnia.

She was a dangerous, unhinged woman. But she was also a competent woman. And right now she was more useful alive than dead.

His right hand clenched and unclenched in memory, the metal of his prosthetic fingers creaking as he did so.

Tintinnia raised her hammer over her head, slamming it back down on her current project. Sparks exploded as the metal was shaped around pink slithering tendrils. Right now it looked like a lump of iron and tongues, but he knew by the end it would be something worthy of the stories you told to terrify children into behaving.

Then she noticed him, and she paused her work. The sudden lack of noise was jarring, but he was grateful to be able to take off the muffler.

The artificer rose from her work, lowering her hammer carefully onto the table. She carefully stood from her table, stretching her arms over her head. Long and fuzzy white hair fell to knees, held safely behind her head in two large thick braids. What little skin he could see from behind her protective leathers was a bright pink, which he knew faded to black at her fingers and toes. She was short enough that he'd always assumed she had dwarf blood in her, though she'd never admitted to it one way or the other.

She pulled up her goggles, and where eyes should have been burned golden stars.

"Sinbad!" she smiled, revealing unnaturally straight teeth. "You're back early! Did you get me anything?"

"I wish I hadn't, you damn slob," he huffed, reaching into his bag of holding. He pulled out the heart of a hydra-goose he'd found dead on his way to the city. He didn't know who killed it, but given it was such a weak monster he doubted it mattered. "Here," he plopped it on a spare table. "It's the heart of a hydra. It was all I was able to fit in the bag, so you'd better be grateful."

"Oh, sure, sure," she smiled, skipping over to the heart. As he watched it began writhing, and a featherless goose-head tried to form from one of the veins, but Tintinnia just grabbed it by the neck and tore it off carelessly. "Hm, a goose? I didn't know those could be infected by Hydram Languorem. Ah well, the more you know."

He grabbed her shoulder before she could run off with it. If he let her go now he wouldn't be able to get her attention again for days.

"Hold on," he told her. "I'm going to need your help with something these coming weeks."

"Eh?" she tilted her head cutely. "You need a new weapon or something?"

"No," he shook his head. "I need you in a more… active role."

She frowned. "That wasn't part of our deal, Sinbad."

"I'm aware," he winced. This would burn some of his goodwill, but he needed her help with this. "However, I learned something important in Riposa. It's about David—when he disappeared, I thought he'd have headed south to Illioucilia. But I was wrong. He's here. In Firozzi."

Tintinnia's eye sockets widened, and the stars set within them churned merrily. "Ah, finally," she grinned, her teeth straight and immaculate.

"I would so love to steal his heart."