awke

Hawke sighed at the sight in front of him. A few hundred feet up the trail stood a herd of mammoths. They were lazing around and looking at the halted wagon a lot, their little ones nearby. He didn't want to risk them charging, but they weren't going anywhere. It didn't help things that his nose was both clogged and running at the same time.

“Road's blocked?” Mareth peered from the wagon, “shame, but there's a village nearby we can stop at.”

“Yeah? It's a bit early, but I suppose staying in a building instead of in the cold would be nice,” Hawke told the necromancer, sniffing from his clogged sinuses.

“Take the path right here.” Mareth pointed to a worn brick road that diverged from their own. “It's a bit of a detour, but woolly mammoths are known to take their time.”

“My dad told me they hang out on roads on purpose.” Avira stood next to the wagon, arms crossed. She'd occasionally been keeping pace with it on foot to get a workout.

“Why would they do that?” Hawke asked.

She shrugged. “Maybe they don't like the government. Maybe the road's more comfortable on their feet.”

“Hm,” Hawke contemplated as he turned down the road, “what's the village name?”

“Hornwood, it says.” Mareth shook the scrolled-up map. He hadn't opened it in a while, yet he had still been navigating confidently the whole trip.

“Hornwood? That's a little phallic, isn't it?” Avira asked.

“Only if you're already thinking about that beforehand,” Kalani spoke from her perch on top of the wagon, “been on the road too long?”

“Yeah yeah, piss off.” Avira rolled her eyes.

Hawke was about to mention how he was thinking the same thing, but a sneezing fit took him. He jolted forward, holding a hand over his face and sneezing hard.

“You alright?” Kalani asked, concerned.

“It's a cold... throat's scratchy, too,” Hawke took out a kerchief, wiping the snot from his nose.

Noise came from inside the carriage, Godart appearing next to Mareth. Without saying a word she took off a glove and pressed the backside of her hand to Hawke's forehead. Deciding something, she retreated into the wagon.

“You should get off the reins for a bit,“ Kalani hopped down and sat next to him. “I'll steer.”

“How's your wing?”

“Godart's been tending to it, she says it should be fine to use by now. I'm going to have to work back up to flight, though.” She extended her once broken wing out to show that it had mended.

“Alright then, just be careful.”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm supposed to be your bodyguard, you don't need to worry about me.”

“Right.” He coughed into his hand and walked into the carriage. Godart gestured to a bedroll she'd unfurled. He sat down while watching her over a small portable stove, heating water. Godart was very focused on her task, preparing several herbs Hawke couldn't identify.

She looked back as Hawke sneezed into his hand again and gave an exasperated sigh. “You shouldn't sneeze into your hand like that, it'll spread germs.”

That was one of the first times she spoke to him since he told her his identity. “Uh, okay.”

“Honestly, you royals have the immune system of a newborn. You get a cold and take a potion, then your body never gets stronger because it forgets fighting the illness. It's a miracle you haven't keeled over.”

“I guess my adventuring helps?” Hawke asked.

“Could be. Here.” She handed him a cup filled with hot liquid. The smell alone was enough to clear his nose, but drinking it was something else. Zesty, biting, sweet and spicy at the same time. It was like a shock to his system that instantly started to improve his cold.

“It's ginger and some other stuff. You should lay down,” Godart told him.

He obeyed, the thin cotton not doing much to cushion the hardwood floor, but it beat sitting up front. “Thanks. I know you don't like me for being a royal, but I appreciate the care.”

“Do you appreciate it enough to bring back the Plague Doctors?” she asked, setting a damp cloth on his forehead.

“Um, well it's a bit more complicated than that. How much did you know about what they did?”

“They were scholars who researched disease and figured out how to cure and treat them. My dad told me everything.”

“Your father, Magnus Kelly right?”

Godart paused for a moment, “Kalani tell you?”

“A bit, though I've heard his name before. I'm afraid I can't tell you much, I don't know much more than you. I do know, however, that there's much more to the Doctors than you think. If you really want to know, you'd have to ask my father directly.”

“And what's to say he'll answer if it's some big secret?”

“I'll say the crown owes you a favor. Father thinks of favors as important things, so he should answer. Will that help ease the tension between us?”

She gave a huff. “Alright. Thanks. Sorry for how I've been acting towards you.”

“Oh, don't be. It's refreshing to have someone treat me as normal. That's why I like this group.”

“Yeah, the little adventurer's party we've gathered is nice. I just wonder how much longer we'll have together.”

#

Mareth

Valisa floated at the top of the wagon, looking ahead to the village as they pulled towards it. It was hard to say what the expression on her face was. The bittersweet feeling of seeing your family for one last time, yet being unable to talk to them while they were unable to see you was hard to imagine.

Mareth focused ahead to the settlement, taking it in. The forest around the place was thicker than the sparse gatherings of trees they'd passed on the way. Some of it was cleared away for crops and fallow.

The structure of the village was simple, three roads with a central paved area. The houses were well-kept, white paint on the walls and some were shingled. Mareth could see a large manor he assumed to be the lord or mayor's, a church, a tavern, a blacksmith, and a mill set up next to a creek.

Everyone in town seemed to be busy on the street hanging banners and setting out crates and hay bales. In the very middle of the intersection where all three roads met was a large common area where people gathered. The smell of booze and sound of revelry drifted on the wind towards them.

As the residents saw the wagon rolling down the road a small group made their way down to greet them. They wore bright colors and warm linen clothes, cheerful looks on their faces.

Kalani had the horses stop as they got close, one of the villagers raising a hand, “hail, my good man!” he spoke to Mareth, despite Kalani having the reins. The one speaking was a tall, dark-haired young man with brown eyes. He looked well off compared to the ones around him, so it was safe to say he was in a position of authority.

Valisa floated next to Mareth. “Hunter. My brother. Kind of a prick.”

“Hello,” Mareth greeted Hunter, the other peasants circling to check out their horses and wagon. “My name's Mareth, this is Kalani. We're a group of five, hoping to stay the night. There's a mammoth herd on the road, and one of our group has a cold so we thought sleeping in a building would be best.”

“Well, the name's Hunter Hornwood. The lord's son, if you couldn't guess from the name of the Village. I'm sure I could help you out with storing your wagon and finding a place to stay. It'll take some money though... especially if you want the mutts housed with you.”

“Pardon me?” Avira's voice came from inside the wagon, and she quickly appeared next to Mareth and Kalani. “You wanna repeat what you just said?”

A few of the people he was with chuckled to themselves, but Hunter didn't react. He simply acted as if she wasn't there and continued to focus on Mareth, “I'd say ten gold will cover it.”

“Don't you ignore me, asshole!” Avira yelled.

That was exorbitant to say the least. So much so that Valisa rolled her eyes. “As if. He pulls this shit all the time.”

Mareth glanced at Avira, who was fuming, before continuing, “that's enough to buy another horse entirely,” Mareth spoke. He was going to continue, but he noticed an elderly man shakily making his way over.

He approached Hunter from behind and whacked his head with a cane, hard enough to make Hunter stumble. With a rough voice the old man spoke, “you damn brat, trying to rip guests off today of all days.”

Valisa was notably happy to see him. “Grandpa Hornwood! He's great. Those burns on his back are new,” she tilted her head, hovering around him. He was bald with a large white beard. He had a thick, muscular build, even in his old age. Standing with a noticeable hunch, his entire body trembling slightly. His eyes were sharp despite his age, and a large burn mark covered the back of his head and traveled down his back.

“Ow!” Hunter exclaimed, cradling the back of his head and looking back at the old man. “Grandpa, you don't have to hit so hard!” the laughs of the peasants around them ringing out.

The old man responded by whacking him again, then turned to Mareth. “Archibald Hornwood. I'm the Lord's father.”

“Ah, Mareth Morsum. Sorry, we didn't mean to make a scene,” he chuckled, trying to disarm the situation.

“I did. Damn kid should put his fists where his mouth is.” Avira crossed her arms.

“You'd be right, there. Hunter, apologize to the lady.”

“Why should I apologize to a drainer mu— OW!” Another hard whack in the head. “Okay, okay, I'm sorry!”

Avira couldn't help but laugh. “I suppose the lumps on your head will be enough punishment.”

“Go along now, boy. The grown-ups are about to talk,” Archibald told Hunter, who complied, rubbing his head and trodding off while grumbling to himself.

“Uh, thanks for that. You don't seem to find many people in the Kathan lands who are kind to my folk,” Avira told Archibald, hopping off the wagon and offering a hand. They were a similar height, though he'd likely shrunk with age.

Archibald clasped his hand over hers and gave a firm shake, “it's no bother. The younger generations need these lessons hammered into them.” He took a moment to look at Avira's calloused and scarred hand. “You seem like you're a hard worker though, eh?”

Avira grinned. She liked this old man. “Yeah, I'm from the tribes to the west. Everyone works hard for the tribe.”

The old man smiled back. “I used to have a hybrid friend from there,'' she said as much. We could learn a lot of lessons from them, least of all respecting their elders.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but we do need lodgings,” Mareth spoke up.

“Ah, right, my apologies. I'm curious, how much did Hunter try to scam from you?”

“Ten gold. That's for five people.”

“Shameless.” Archibald shook his head. “Well, if you didn't know, it's the harvest festival today. If you lot stick around, take part in the festivities, and do some work around town with us I'll host you at the manor for free.” He pointed his thumb back to the large house at the edge of town.

“Really?” Mareth asked, surprised, “we don't want to be in the way.”

“For one day, on the day of the harvest festival, it'll be fine,” he waved his concerns off, “if you'll allow me onboard I can direct you to the stables next to the manor.”

“Need a boost?” Avira asked as Mareth made space for him.

“I'm not— hng!— that old,” he grunted from the effort of pulling himself up, exhaling as he sat next to Mareth and started to direct Kalani, yelling occasionally to clear the road of drunkards. Valisa was floating around in as wide a radius as she could, taking in the sights. She seemed to be having fun.

Mareth noticed that a lot of the younger women were pregnant and the men were either young or had old wounds. Most were just scarred and missing a finger or two, the unlucky few had missing limbs or eyes. Serving in the military was probably the cause, though he still wasn't sure how Archibald got his burns.

He was about to bring it up, but Godart cut him off as she peeked her head out of the back. “third-degree burns, do those hurt?” she asked

Archibald jumped when he saw the beaked mask that appeared next to him. “Careful girl, you'll give me a heart attack!” He held his chest. “It hurts a bit, aye. I didn't use to shake.” He held his trembling hand up to show her.

“Uh, when we get to the manor I should be able to help. I have some ointment I use for my burns, and I'm something of a doctor,” Godart told him.

“Well, if you're something of a doctor you should help out some of the other townsfolk first. A lot of them still struggle with their war injuries.”

“I can treat them, but third-degree burns are no joke. How'd you get it?”

“Ah, that...” Archibald scratched his chin, “they found me in a deep slumber one day just a few months ago. Thought I was dead, made to cremate me. The heat woke me up after my whole back was on fire.”

“Damn, grandpa...” Valisa spoke, listening, “if I were here that wouldn't have happened.”

Mareth raised an eyebrow at her.

“What? Just slap him a bit and he'd have woken up. The rest of my family were too stupid to try, I bet.”

“Wow,” Avira spoke up, still walking next to the wagon, “you must have quite the strong will to survive the shock.”

“Strong will, indeed! I gave them all a good tongue lashing before I jumped into the creek!” Archibald boasted.

Avira laughed imagining that. As they approached the manor and the private stables near it, she went quiet as she noticed some hybrids working. Narrowing her eyes, she looked to Archibald. “Slaves?”

“My son would like that, but no. I make him pay them. It's not too much but it's better than working them for free, and we house and feed them too,” the old man spoke, waving to one of the workers.

Mareth let them talk about the merits of slaves versus servants while he climbed off the wagon. After that long riding around he had to stretch his legs. Valisa hovered next to him, slightly more opaque and pink instead of red. Clearly the emotions flowing in the town were affecting her. Red typically meant rage, while pink was more indicative of passion or happiness.

“You feel different at all?” Mareth asked her.

“It feels good to see the town again.” Valisa had a smile on her face. “I grew up here, know a lot of the people.”

“Knew, you mean.”

“Right, being dead does put a hamper on the reunion.” She rolled her eyes.

“Speaking of, you didn't tell me you were the lord's daughter.”

“You never asked. And I wouldn't have said anything because people tend to make fun of my last name.”

“I'm sure all the male soldiers around you were very affixed to it.”

“Ain't that right.” Valisa smirked. “I had this one dude, Moren, wanted in my pants so hard. I never got the chance to accept.”

“Hm. So, did you want me to let your family know about you?”

Valisa thought about that. Gazing to her grandfather behind her and towards the town, she shook her head, “it's probably better they hear from a military official if they haven't heard already. More likely to accept and less likely to get hostile.”

“Good point.”

“You talking to yourself over there?” Archibald and the group were walking over, the carriage taken care of.

“He's always doing that, don't mind him,” Hawke spoke, walking with Kalani. He still looked sick, his nose red and eyes puffy.

“Yes, yes, just a crazy mage here.” Mareth waved.

Archibald paused and narrowed his eyes. “I'd keep the fact that you're a mage to yourself. The townsfolk hate your kind more than hybrids. Can't say I'm too fond either.”

“I'll keep it in mind then.” Mareth eyed Valisa, who shrugged.

“You lot did basically destroy the world by breaking death,” Valisa told him, “I always hated you damn soul suckers too.”

Mareth understood why, though he personally had nothing to do with that. He was doing his best to fix the wrongs of his fellow mages. Not that he could say that to Valisa right now.

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

The old man ushered them all into the manor, where a hybrid servant was. It was a middle-aged rabbit woman dressed in a maid outfit, a bonnet and long dress. She was tanned, had brown eyes, and a lopped ear. Archibald smiled at her. “Hello Suzie, be a dear and fetch Terry, would you?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Hornwood,” the rabbit girl smiled back and hurried off. She was a bit too cheerful for a servant.

“Suzie's been around forever, since I was a kid. Grandpa always treated her well.” Valisa explained to Mareth. She shrugged. “Never knew why he was so fond.”

Waiting in the lobby, they looked around at all the art that dotted the walls. A lot of portrayals of fair maidens, wildlife, and a few paintings of heroes fighting mythical beasts.

Avira approached a painting of a knight facing a colossal black wolf. She seemed taken with it. Mareth joined her in appreciating it. “Is this the titan wolf of Rannok?”

“Aye,” Archibald joined both of them, stroking his beard, “the Bulwark Knight with his godborne mace, He dueled the wolf for a fortnight before slaying the creature and throwing him into the ocean.”

“Huh. I heard the story a little differently,” Avira muttered.

“It's probably exaggerated. These legends always are.” Archibald shrugged.

The sound of a door opening preceded a large, rotund man walking into the room. He had a large mustache, monocle, and curled hair. He scanned the group, skimming over Avira and Kalani like they weren't even there. Then he spoke, a haughty and uptight tone to his voice, “I do wish you wouldn't summon me like a common servant, father. Why do you need my presence?”

“I'm extending my hospitality for this group. I'd like to get them a warm bed to sleep in for the night. On the house considering the season.”

He looked offended at the suggestion. “I can't afford to put up a bunch of ragamuffins off the street! It's bad enough I have to pay the servants.”

“Oh, shush. Your 'fortune' is my hard-earned money anyways, so it's my decision. I'm just informing you.”

The lord's face went red a moment, but he calmed down and turned away. “Fine. I'll generously host these travelers in the spirit of the harvest,” he grumbled before storming out.

Archibald sighed, shaking his head. He gave the rabbit servant from earlier a nod. “Well Suzie, could you lead these travelers to the guest rooms?”

“If you have guest rooms, why was he so mad?” Kalani asked.

“He likes to pretend he has more power than he does. He's technically the lord, but this settlement doesn't really need much management,” Archibald spoke, “I tried to raise him to be kind, but after he came back from his mandatory military service, he changed.”

“Hm,” Hawke said, “I suppose war can change you.”

The old man shook his head, “I never changed, even though acclimating back was hard. Something must have changed since Argos took over. I just hope my granddaughter comes back fine. She's a little brat, but she's nice where it counts.” He gestured to a portrait above the main door they hadn't noticed before. The immediate Hornwood family were painted together: Archibald, a slimmer version of the lord they'd just dealt with, a young Hunter, and Valisa.

Mareth saw Avira turn cold as her eyes went wide. She pursed her lips and looked away. Only her and Mareth seemed to recognize the girl in the painting.

Valisa's spirit was staring at the picture, “I remember posing for this... stood there for hours in this room. I kept poking Hunter in the back and getting yelled at for it.”

“Well, hopefully your daughter's doing fine wherever she is,” Hawke said, “military service is hard. Moreso if you're a woman.”

“Aye. I didn't want her to go, but since we found out she was incapable of conceiving a child, she had to go. Her husband was deployed before that, too.”

Mareth didn't know she'd been married. From the look on Valisa's face it wasn't a very happy one.

“Anyways, follow Suzie to your rooms. She'll set you up,” Archibald told them. They all filed behind the rabbit girl and let her lead them away.

#

Godart

“I think I'm fine, really,” Hawke spoke, laying in bed. Kalani stood next to it, looking at Godart as she felt Hawke's forehead. He had on a cloth mask now.

“You've still got a fever. It's better, but you should rest. Colds can be deadly if you don't let your body recover, especially on the road,” Godart told him, “Kalani, you'll keep him company, right?”

“I kind of have to. I'd better not get sick from you though.” Kalani glanced at Hawke, then looked to Godart. “You have more of those masks?”

She nodded, digging through her supplies and handing Kalani one. “Uh, so as long as you don't share drinks, don't let him sneeze on you, and don't kiss or anything, you're fine.”

They both seemed embarrassed by her last suggestion, looking away from each other quickly. “Won't be a problem,” Hawke muttered

Kalani looked a little offended by that. Godart saw that she'd accidentally started something, so she quickly packed her supplies and left the room. Honestly, she thought they were already dating.

Avira was chatting with Suzie, the maid, when Godart entered the hall.

“Yeah, they treat me well. Well, Archibald treats me well. The rest of the family just ignore me until I'm needed or do something wrong, like the other servants,” Suzie said, “when the little ones were young they used to tug on my ears, though.”

“Oh yeah, kids will do that.” Avira smirked. “Even in the tribe's ear and tail yanking is common. Saw a kid get chased off once cuz he yanked on a bear hybrid's tail.”

“Doesn't seem like a smart move to anger one of those...” Godart approached.

Avira gave a smile to Godart. “Damn right. Tried to fight a few, they're strong as the real thing. Shame they don't have a tribe though. Too solitary.”

“I wouldn't know. I was born in Hornwood,” Suzie spoke, “apparently my mother was from the wilds, but I never met the woman. The maternal curse got her.”

“Oh. My mom died from the curse too,” Godart said.

“Mm. I never met my mother personally. Dad told me she's alive though,” Avira said, “I was always a daddy's girl anyways.”

“I guess I was too,” Godart said.

“At least we all had good fathers, then,” Suzie smiled.

“Who's your father?” Avira asked, “he in town?”

“Oh,” the rabbit woman got a serious expression on her face as if she'd revealed something she shouldn't have. She considered it for a moment, looking around to make sure nobody was around the overhear, then leaned in to whisper to the other two, “Archibald is my father. I'm not supposed to tell anyone that though.”

“Wow. I guess that friend he mentioned earlier would have been your mom then...” Avira muttered, “that horny devil.”

Godart didn't fully realize the implications of that for a moment. “Uh... so are the rest of the Hornwoods hybrids?”

“No,” Avira was quick to say, “well, maybe in the distant past there was a little in there, but I think the Hornwood family is the so-called 'legitimate' one.”

“Yeah. The rest of the family don't know about it. So, uh, don't tell them,” Suzie fidgeted with her ear nervously.

“We wouldn't rat on you.” Avira grinned, then elbowed Godart lightly. “right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Godart stuttered out, “the rest of the family didn't exactly make the best impression anyways.”

“They usually don't,” Suzie did her best to hold in a chuckle, “unless you're a Kathan noble. Now, I'd love to chat more, but I have to go tend to Archibald's burns. He needs it treated daily.”

Godart dug into her large rucksack and pulled out a small jar, “this might help. Ointment for burns. Made it myself.”

“That's very kind, thank you,” Suzie did a little bow and took it, then left Avira and Godart in the hall.

Avira turned to Godart with a smile. “Wanna hit the town?”

She really didn't have anything better to do, and a walk with Avira sounded nice. She gave an affirmative nod, but when Avira suddenly took her by the arm and looked at Godart expectantly Godart couldn't help but freeze up.

“You alright?” Avira raised an eyebrow.

“Uh... yeah. Let's go.” Godart smiled under her mask, leading Avira away.

“So the old man told me that the whole village gets together in this season and does a competition to hunt moose. Whoever gets the biggest one wins,” Avira told Godart as they left the estate and began down the road to the town.

“Not mammoths? Seems like you'd get more meat,” Godart asked. Despite a few weird looks at Avira and Godart's mask, the people seemed friendly enough. The bonfire that was roaring in the town square looked very inviting the closer they got.

“Moose are apparently a bigger problem this time of year. Not enough wolves around to cull them. That, and mammoths are way too big for a village alone. Smarter to have huntsmen go after them for larger cities.”

“The elder Hornwood tell you all that?” Godart asked.

“The first part. My dad taught me a lot about hunting styles of various people. Told me I should adopt what I felt most effective from each culture,” Avira said. She always had a glint in her eye whenever she talked about her father. It almost made Godart jealous.

“That's good advice,” Godart said, “what'd you decide on in the end?”

“A little bit like a hybrid hunt, though they use bows and spears and such. I go with the mindset of a wolf, try to sneak up on my prey and bleed them out. I use traps sometimes, which I took inspiration for from all over. My actual fighting style is similar to Kathan fistfighting with some Bethel wrestling thrown in. Some techniques I learned in the northern tribes too.”

Bethel, the western continent. Avira was way more well-traveled than Godart thought. “You've been to all these places, or...”

“I've been up north and as far east as the Deadlands and a little of Vakia. Never been in the Kathan lands, but I learned from the tribe in the Deadlands. Bethel wrestling was mainly me reading about it and trying it with, uh, 'volunteers',” Avira said.

They stopped when they were finally feeling the heat from the bonfire, the sound of music barely rising above the roaring flame. There were three people playing music near the fire; a drummer, a lutist, and a violinist. They looked to be having a good time.

“Music is a welcome change... if I hear another sea shanty I think I'm going to lose it,” Avira said.

“The shanties weren't that bad,” Godart chuckled.

“That's cuz you were there longer. Heard it so much your brain made you like it.”

“You might have a point there.”

It was still daylight, so it was easy to look around and see everyone. Kids running around and giggling, A lot of pregnant women. She'd have to offer her services to them and the men with old injuries later.

A woman approached them with a basket of bread and a smile. She had the wrinkles of a woman who'd experienced a lot and the body of a woman with a lot of children. She also had a dog following her around. It sat and wagged its tail as she spoke, “you're the folk Archibald escorted in, right? He doesn't do that for everyone.”

“Does Hunter bother every traveler?” Avira asked.

“Only hybrids like yourself, unfortunately,” she said, then looked into her basket, “I was gonna offer some food, but I only have bread. I hear you lot were carnivores, ate meat raw and whatnot,” she looked at Avira.

Avira looked a little annoyed, but understood the misunderstanding, “we cook our meat like anyone else. We'll also eat bread, we just need a little more meat than most.”

“Oh, my apologies then!” she smiled, offering a loaf of bread, “take a loaf then, it's homemade.”

Avira took the loaf. “You can't help what you've been told I guess. Thanks for the bread. This village is a lot nicer to my kind than the city, at least.”

“City folk are bred mean,” the woman said.

Avira handed the bread to Godart and knelt to pet the dog, a grey and white dog with thick fur. Avira and the dog's tail were both wagging hard. “You'd be right there. Got a few rocks thrown at me. Cute dog, by the way.”

“That's Scruff. My husband took him in for the meat and tallow, but liked him too much and kept him. Looks like he likes you. Maybe the wolf in him.”

“He's got a bit of that in him, yeah.” Avira smiled, scratching the dog's chin as it wagged its tail and licked her. “Good boy.”

Godart cleared her throat and spoke up while Avira was busy with the dog, “um, thanks for the bread in any case. I was wondering though, I'm something of a doctor. Do you know anyone who needs any medical attention?”

She stopped and scratched her chin. “Well everyone's got old war wounds, but I can think of a few people you might want to look at. I'd check the pregnant women, myself. Too many deaths in labor lately.”

“That's the Maternal Curse at work for you. I suppose I can go set up shop in the church, so if you don't mind would you spread the word about it?” Godart was a little nervous about asking. It felt like she was imposing on the woman, but this was the best way to see everyone.

She looked very happy to hear it, however. “Why of course I'd be willing to ask around! Just ask the priest for permission, of course. He's probably passed out in one of the pews.”

Godart wondered why that would be, but she nodded regardless. “Thank you so much. I'll head there now... Avira?” She looked over to the hybrid, who was now hugging the dog, tail wagging furiously. Godart cleared her throat again, which drew Avira's attention away from it.

She stood up and wiped some slobber from her face. “You going to do your thing?”

“Yeah. Here,” Godart handed the bread back to Avira.

“Thanks. Good luck.” Avira smiled and gave Godart a hug.

She was surprised by the sudden gesture, but returned it immediately. “Thanks, I'll be fine though. This is the thing I'm good at, right?”

“Heh, yeah. I'm gonna do the thing I'm good at and get ready for the hunt tomorrow.” Avira broke the hug, a devilish grin on her face. “Haven't been on a real one in a while.”

“You have fun,” Godart told her and made her way to the church, set near the central plaza.

The building was old, though the bell tower erected out of it looked newer. Colorful stained glass depicted Immortals across the pantheon, Guardians in their angelic splendor, and various depictions of the Fragmented hierogram. The symbol looked like an upside-down letter Y, apparently called the Triad. Godart didn't really know what it was supposed to mean: she'd never paid much mind to religion.

Pews lined the sides of the room with an aisle clear down the middle. The altar stood empty. The red and purple Argokath banner hung on the wall behind it, an illustration of a spear piercing a crown. Godart continued down the aisle while she looked for the priest, and finally found him lying on one of the pews. He was passed out, the bottles surrounding him half full of what was obviously liquor.

She wasn't sure if they were a priest at first, but his brown cloak and the triad hanging from his neck confirmed it. That and the fact that nobody else was around.

“Pardon?” she spoke softly, trying to wake him gently. When he didn't react she raised her voice, “hello!”

Nothing but a loud snore. Giving an annoyed sigh, she plopped her bag down and pulled out the smelling salts. A few waves in front of his nose were enough for him to bolt up.

“GET BACK!” he yelled, knocking a few empty bottles over as he darted off the pew.

Godart nearly tripped over her bag while backing away from him. She almost ran, but noticed the priest relax and look around the room. From the momentary look of panic, the fact that he seemed to have slipped into a past memory, and his drinking problem, she guessed he had some lasting harrow. Most people, including other doctors, saw the symptoms and called it cowardice.

He calmed down with a few breaths, holding onto the pew in front of him to steady himself. The priest looked around the room until his eyes caught Godart. A strange sight she must have been. He looked weary as he spoke up, “sorry if I startled you, child.”

“It's okay!” Godart was quick to respond, “sorry for waking you. I'm Godart. A doctor.”

“Hm.” He straightened up, stepping away from the bottles. His face was red from drinking, and he had a sway to his steps. Other than that, he was holding his booze well. “I'm Brutus. A priest for Argos. Well, I guess technically I'm a paladin.”

He was friendly enough. That was reassuring. “A paladin? I've only heard of those coming out of Nidara. You, uh, fight while channeling an Immortal's power, right?”

“That's right. Same one the church is for. I haven't fought for years, but you never stop being a paladin.”

There were very few paladins in the world. Not only because the Immortals traveled to the land of men so little that many didn't believe in them, but also because you had to impress one personally and physically receive their blessing. And considering that Immortals were able to change their appearance, you couldn't just find them.

Godart knew that citizens of Argokath worshiped Argos and thought their leader was him, but she was skeptical. “You actually met the Immortal of war?”

“Not war, conflict. And yes.” He pulled the collar of his robe down to show a massive scar down his chest, likely from a deep slash. “He gave me this before he killed my king.”

“Your king?”

“Yes. I was standing guard when Argos came. He walked through the steel doors like they were paper, made a beeline for the throne.” Brutus paused for a moment, a bad memory playing back in his head. “After... the King was disposed of and Argos took the throne, he waited until we stopped stabbing him before speaking.” Another pause. “When he made me a paladin, it's because he said my spear was the only strike that actually hurt. The spear was stuck through his chest as he told me that.”

Godart looked again at the banner hanging on the wall. A spear through a crown. If he was telling the truth, Argos really was an Immortal. And Avira was going to oppose him?

The priest continued to speak, “as powerful as he is, though, he's also a force for good. Unifying these many nations was not an easy task after Vakia receded to the north. Especially over such a short span of time.”

“Isn't unification kind of antithetical to conflict?” Godart asked.

“Conflict isn't limited to war among nations. Inner conflict, competition, even being a doctor and fighting disease is a form of conflict.” His demeanor changed now that he was actually preaching. Godart wondered how he could have so much passion for the one who killed his king.

“Well, if you place such a wide definition on the term, doesn't that devalue it? Why worship the Immortal of Conflict if everything counts?”

“Ah, but the fact that it's an ever-present facet in all manner of life is what makes it so worthy! It's why we hold the hunting competition annually, it's why people can improve themselves and address their flaws.” He gestured to her rucksack as he spoke. “It's why people like you heal the sick and wounded.”

She didn't exactly buy it. Avira might be interested, but Godart was skeptical. “Speaking of healing, I came here because I wanted to use your facilities for medical examinations. Would that be alright?”

The priest considered it for a moment. “Well, my battlefield medicine only goes so far and not many people here know much about the mending...” he searched for the word, “arts. So go ahead.”

“Thanks!” She smiled under her mask. “I'll try not to bother you too much.”

“Don't worry about it. I tend to the hearts of warriors. You're a warrior yourself, in a way.”

Godart simply nodded. As nice as this ideology was on its surface, something about it felt hollow. Still, it wasn't her place to try and change it.

#

Avira

What was she thinking, walking into the middle of town? The moment Godart left, Avira realized just how many people were around. Her heart practically sunk into her stomach as she squeezed her way out of the crowd and backed as far away from the revelry as she was comfortable with.

The fact that it was similar to the celebrations her tribe had helped calm her down a little. That and the bread she was nervously nibbling on. It was a shame the hunt wasn't starting tonight, though. That would have helped a lot, but unfortunately humans couldn't see well in the dark.

“Afraid to join the festivities, mutt?” Hunter approached her, looking like as much of a prick as ever.

Avira was not in the mood for this. She crossed her arms and glared him down as he stood in front of her, a smirk glued to his face.

“Makes sense. They're human festivities, after all. You could always go play with the dogs. Better yet, we're in need of new servants. Head back to the manor with me, spread those legs of yours, and let's make some new ones.”

That was it. Without a word, Avira stepped in close and swung hard into the side of his head. The surprised look on his face followed by the light immediately leaving his eyes was the most satisfying thing she'd seen all day. She couldn't help but smile as Hunter crumpled to the ground, head cracking against the stone brick.

She shook out her hand and watched many faces turn towards her. People emerged from the crowd and made their way over.

One of them she recognized from when they entered the town, a lanky young man with a brown bowl cut. “What did you just do?!” he spoke loudly, loud enough to draw a few more eyes their way.

“He's breathing.” Avira placed a hand on her hip. “That's better than he deserves. He wants to insult me, he can deal with the consequences.”

One of the women knelt and checked, and was relieved to see his moving chest. Noticing blood on the cobble road, she had some people help take him to the church.

“How dare a mutt like you attack the son of a lord!” Yelled one of the crowd, a few murmurs of people agreeing sounding out.

“The son of a lord is the same as the son of a smith. Except the latter might not be as much of a prick.” She had a taunting smirk on her face. The angry look on many of the crowd's faces pleased her a lot. She could do without the slurs being yelled at her though.

Three men split from the crowd and began to approach, to which she raised her fists. “You want to go? Come on, I can take all of you.”

They paused as they saw the look on her face, a wide-eyed grin full of bloodlust. Unfortunately, before anything could happen, a voice yelled from the road.

“What are you lot up to?” Archibald yelled, causing everyone to pause. “If you want to fight, either find a ring or settle it with the hunting competition.”

They stiffened up a little, though Avira didn't let her guard down. The lanky one spoke first, “but sir, she attacked Hunter unprovoked!”

“I know Hunter well enough to know he can't help but provoke.” Archibald stroked his beard then looked at Avira. “You didn't kill him, did you?”

“No,” Avira shook her head.

“Then there's nothing to be upset about. Now move along, for Argos' sake.”

They stood there for a moment before begrudgingly heading back to the crowd, grumbling all the while.

“Thanks,” Avira told Archibald, relaxing.

“Don't mention it. I was mainly trying to spare them, though. I saw the look in your eyes. You being out here, your green sash... we've gotten a few of your type before.”

Her type? Avira was guessing he meant ferals. Her sentry sash would be a dead giveaway. She had a guess as to how he knew. “Suzie's mom tell you about this? She was another one, right?”

“Aye, she passed through a long time ago. I was still lord then. I didn't like hybrids then, but something about her... we hit it off, and well, I assume you can guess the rest.” Archibald was looking up to the night sky wistfully, leaning on his cane.

“She succumb to it? The... wildness, before Suzie came?”

“No.” Archibald shook his head. “After a year with me there was barely a sign of it.”

“Oh. What was her name?”

“Loppa Swift-Rabbit. She was a great woman.” He took a breath and pat Avira on the shoulder. “Thanks for hearing the lamentations of an old man.”

“It's no problem. I hope your spirits can meet again.” Avira said.

Archibald smiled. “Thanks. That aside, I'm off to enjoy the festival, unless you have any questions?”

“Just one. Are you sure you don't just like bunny girls?”

The old man laughed again and slapped her on the back, “you might be onto something there, girl!”