I meet the twins in their suite early the next morning with a bright smile and a carefully prepared breakfast tray—mostly from the inn, but supplemented with some of the fresh fruit we had stocked in my bag before leaving Oosal and a perfectly brewed, fine elvish tea blend. I was trying to suck-up, and wanted to pull out all the stops I could.
As Tyrus reported last night, their suite is quite nice: there’s a two-bed bedroom separated from a sitting area by a lovely sliding wall, and they have their own private water closet with privy and bath.
The sitting space isn’t necessarily fancy, though it might have been at one point. Its carpet is plush but a little worn, and the textured light blue wallpaper is a little faded in places. But it is certainly comfortable with a settee and two arm chairs arranged around a tea table in front of a clean fireplace.
It all fits with what I’ve seen from the rest of the tavern. The downstairs common area is perfectly pleasant, and while my own single room is small and simple, it is cozy. It’s also, I suppose, not that surprising that a place like this would have higher-end suites available: they’re probably used to wealthy and discerning (or, you know, just plain snobbish) elvish travelers coming through.
I set the breakfast tray on the tea table and prepare the tea for each of them as we exchange formal greetings and pleasantries. I serve each, allow the customary beat of silence to appreciate the first sip of tea, and then I ease into our pitch, outlining the situation and what we hope to contribute.
When I’m finished, they’re both quiet for a moment before Tamerial looks at me incredulously, an eyebrow raised, mouth drawn into a small, tight frown.
“You are looking for permission to leave us here so you can go on a hunt?”
“Oh, but that is fine. We have no timetable.” Darenia’s tone borders on enthusiastic, and their large brown eyes are wide and bright as they set a hand on their twin’s arm. “The poor people of this little village need assistance. Keira and her party are uniquely equipped to provide it. We should be glad to enable such good deeds.”
“I do not argue this, but I had not anticipated being caught in the middle of nowhere for days. What are we to do?”
“It will not be days,” I assure them. Even speaking in private they chose to use High Elvish for our conversation, and while it makes everything feel far more formal and stilted than it needs to be, it felt appropriate to keep up their weird charade—especially since I’m asking to change our contract on the fly. “We only ask for this day to see what we may discover and pass those findings on to the local authorities.”
“Are there no other adventurers here?” Tamerial asks.
“None as capable as we are, and we fear more lives will be at stake quite soon.”
“You see?” Darenia grins and leans a shoulder against Tamerial’s. “This is the risk of hiring someone so knowledgeable and good. It is merely more prestige, Tam, think how well our association will be considered by others. It is our opportunity to contribute. It will be well looked upon.”
Tamerial sighs softly but nods, tucking a piece of hair behind one ear. “I suppose we can spare a day for a good action, though I do worry what happens to us if something should befall you.”
Darenia scoffs. “That is extremely unlikely. You are merely being paranoid.”
“I am being cautious and thoughtful.”
“It is a fair question,” I admit. “We intend to avoid conflict at all costs, though we are well prepared if we have no choice. We have spoken with people in town, however, and there are several capable groups prepared to pick up our contract with you should it come to that.”
“Elvish?”
“Each of the parties has someone of at least partial elvish ancestry.”
Tamerial’s nose wrinkles slightly. “I suppose that is acceptable on the off-chance something unpleasant comes to pass.”
“I do assure you it is very much an off-chance. We will take every precaution.”
“We would not have hired you if we expected anything less.” There is a brief, thoughtful hesitation. “We will not pay the fee for the day, however, and expect the cost of the extra day’s room to come from your total compensation.”
“Yes, we anticipated as much, and that is more than reasonable.”
Darenia claps their hands and grins. “This is very exciting! I do look forward to hearing the full story on the remainder of our journey.”
“I only hope to have something to report.” I smile at them. “Many thanks for your understanding and flexibility.”
They both stand as I do and incline their heads. “We shall plan to see you in the morning, then,” Tamerial says. “Do take care and go with purpose.”
“And you.”
I set the door carefully closed on my exit and as I do a notification pops up.
[You have accepted Quest: What Big Eyes]
I sigh inwardly. It’s definitely going to be a grandma-style hag, isn’t it? Great…
After dinner I spend the night in my room reading, trying to reconcile my existing understanding of these creatures with the way my party described them. I’ve never considered that hydra or harpies could be especially intelligent, and mythology (not to mention games) generally paints both as beasts or monstrosities of some kind. Qeth grows them a little differently.
According to the two monster manuals I carry with me, harpies and hydra do fit many of my in-going expectations: sharp claws, big teeth, and they’re generally not creatures you want to fight on your own or without preparation. The books agree that both creatures have some degree of self-awareness and are known to operate strategically—but neither go in for creative problem solving or tool making, so “intelligence” is debated. The troll we killed was more intelligent than either of these creatures, though certainly less stealthy.
Harpies aren’t necessarily that problematic on an individual basis provided you can keep your wits about you when they cast their psychic whammies. That said, they’re almost never solitary, and they approach hunting with the deadly methodical intention of a pack of Jurassic Park velociraptors. I didn’t see anything that suggested they fed on any kind of schedule, though; they seem much more the take it when you can get it type of creature.
Hydra, meanwhile, do tend to be solitary creatures, but that doesn’t mean you want to tangle with them. These things are scary, adding magic-infused natural healing (that whole regrow heads thing), the ability to both evoke and withstand certain types of nature magic, and a camouflaging capability. They do tend to have a feeding schedule of five to ten days, depending on the creature’s age and size, so that fits within our timeline—though it likely would be pretty small and young to be satisfied by a single person-sized creature.
Hags though. Hags are a different story. Both books have massive multi-page entries on them complete with citations that reference full academic volumes dedicated to trying to understand their dark origins, their strange magics, and the vast variety of their often malevolent and always ulterior intentions. Hags are individuals, each with their own power, cunning, and unpredictability; they’re extremely long-lived, too, and while they can be banished for a time, it’s extremely difficult to permanently destroy one—and I mean difficult in the way that celestial bodies have to be correctly aligned.
They’re also known to observe and manipulate their prey.
What big eyes… all the better to see you with.
I’d rather the big teeth.
I push those thoughts to the side for now and release a deep breath, glancing down the hall where Flynt lingers. I give him a nod as I approach and his shoulders relax.
“How was it?”
“Fine. It went more or less how we expected it to. We’ll be pushing things if we decide we want more than the day, though.”
He nods as we descend the stairs to the main floor. “That’s fair. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”
“You were able to find another escort in case something happens to us, right?”
He winces. “More or less.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that Mira has assured us that she will be able to help them find an appropriate group should it come to that.”
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I sigh. “I hate that I lied to them.”
“If they discover it, the lie will be the least of our worries.”
“Well, that’s true.”
The wood floorboards creak a little under our weight as we cross the entranceway to the tollhouse tavern’s front door. I glance into the dining area, which is about as active as it was last night with maybe two dozen people spread across the space. I don’t see the small group that gave us so much trouble last night, which loosens some tension in my shoulders.
Flynt and I step outside onto the large front porch. It’s very early in the day, not even eighth bell, but it’s already bright, and I have to shield my eyes for a moment to adjust. I miss sunglasses.
The weather is pleasant, a little cool but with the promise of warming up without getting hot, and a light breeze carries the vanilla scent of the large, Ponderosa-like pines that make up a healthy portion of the surrounding woods.
The daylight gives me a better look at the village. It reminds me of one of those future ghost towns you might see in an old movie western. The dozen or so buildings are fairly spread out, built mostly from white washed local wood, and they all have large covered front porches and carved wooden signs proclaiming either the business or the name of the family who lives there. The businesses all seem geared toward travel: a massive general store, a small apothecary with a sign proclaiming an in-residence healer, a “repair shop” with a saddler, carpenter, and wheelwright—all guild registered! There’s also a guard post and a postal stop.
But instead of dust and tumbleweeds, the central road is made of densely packed rich brown dirt mixed with smooth stones; it’s not cobblestone so much as it seems like some kind of rudimentary asphalt. It’s lined with lush green grasses, patches of small yellow and pale blue wild flowers, and the occasional shivering white aspen. The edges of the village slowly shift into the dense wood that surrounds it, though it looks like there’s a low stone wall marking most of the perimeter, weaving in and out of the closest trees.
Tyrus, Meg, and Jonas wait for us at the side of the road, talking low amongst themselves. All three look fairly serious if a little on edge—Meg especially. Her eyes are squinted against the daylight, which knits her forehead, and she has her arms tightly folded over her chest as she surveys the area. Her sword is strapped in its place on her back, and she has her long braid coiled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She looks like she’s expecting a fight.
Tyrus looks over at us and spreads his hands in an unspoken question. Flynt smiles and gives him the thumbs up signal, glancing at me as he does so, and I mirror him to confirm that he did it right.
“How’d you guys do?” I ask as we meet them, forming up in that loose conversation circle that small groups tend to fall into.
“We got the locations,” Tyrus says, holding up a large, rolled-up parchment. “Or, er, Jonas got the locations. Meg and I were asked to stop talking.”
“Do we want to know?” Flynt asks.
Tyrus winces—though his eyes gleam—and glances up at Meg who continues to look as if she’s trying not to appear uncomfortable. “Probably not.”
He hands the map to me and I unroll it. It’s a detailed map of the area. There’s small embossed stamp on the bottom right corner: the stylized ‘Q’ that dominates the Chronicles of Qeth marketing materials in my world. It’s encircled by writing that notes the map as having been produced by the National Surveyor’s Guild. You can’t just buy these at a general store—they’re official, highly detailed, and only available to authorities.
Someone has marked the last known locations for each of the missing people and penciled in the approximate paths from the point of abduction to the Crag, where all trails apparently went cold. The suspected abduction points are widely spaced from one another, and they jump between the eastern and western sides of town, but they never go north of the road. The termination points, however, are all within about a kilometer of one another in an almost straight line along the geographic formation.
“The guard captain gave us some reference points for around the Crag. I wrote them on the back.”
I awkwardly flip the wide parchment over to glance at the scribbled notes. Bird tree. Orange bush. Stone circle. Rock pile. Murk.
I frown. Murk? “Maybe they’ll make sense when we see them?”
“That’s what he said,” Tyrus agrees. “Here’s hoping.”
“The most recent disappearance is about half a bell west of town,” Meg says, squinting over at me. “That feels like as good a place as any to start. Probably the freshest tracks.”
I find the circle on the map. The marker is a bit south of the road, edging toward the foothills. “Maybe…”
I don’t expect anything helpful, but I think up my [Map] anyway. The overlay opens in my vision with the view zoomed-in to a thousand-foot radius around me, which, in this case, encompasses a large chunk of the village. The [Map] fills in the details I know, but also includes a rough sketch of the area on the other side of the toll gate, which is something new. That area is hazy and looks more like a story board sketch from the pre-viz marketing materials I work with in my normal life. It must be because of the physical map: I have an impression of the area, so it’s not really behind the fog-of-war anymore, but I certainly don’t have experiential knowledge of it.
Impatiently, I direct the [Map] to zoom out a few steps, enough that I’m able to see the [Pin] I dropped in the area where I got the weird vibes. Doing so reveals that the same kind of storyboard appearance has filled in the immediate twenty-five kilometers or so in any direction, with only the area immediately around the turnpike to the east showing detail. That storyboard effect definitely wasn’t there yesterday.
There’s something else: shaded blotches appear at specific points around the little village. I may not be the world’s most devoted MMO player, but even I recognize areas of questing interest—though I’ve never seen them through the [System] before. We didn’t even get something like this during our early fetch quest collecting floral spell components, and it really would have been helpful there.
I rub my thumb over the stamp in the map’s corner again. The maps we get from the Oosal adventurer’s desk are often less maps and more a list of scribbled directions, the type that go into such clarity as “turn right at the third large oak after the Everly’s kyttle pasture” (what counts as a large oak? Who are the Everlys? We wondered too). Even the map we got from Nyssa when we were sent to find the missing party was something drawn from a person’s memory, not from professional and detailed survey work.
Is this map able to interact with the [System] differently from the rest of the world?
A familiar prickling sensation fans over my scalp as I study the shaded areas and cross reference them with the notations on the physical map, and I try to keep the cringe out of my posture. In the real world, that sensation means sensory overload—it’s my nervous system telling me to get somewhere quiet, somewhere controlled, and it’s something that I try to push away, to put on an imaginary leaf and send silently down the river of mindfulness with as little fanfare as I can.
In Qeth, though, I don’t have any of that. It’s one of the best things about being here. I don’t even have that sourceless general unease that has followed me through everything I’ve done for the vast majority of my life. There are still doubts and hesitations, sure, but it’s not a constant droning thrum that shakes my every thought and decision.
Instead, here, that prickling sensation tends to lead me places. It helped me get us out of that situation with the frost giant, guided me to the book with all that research about the Stone of Ylaura, and alerted me to the hidden magical room where we found the dead Stormbringer and the not at all foreboding note about the artifact—not to mention a way out past the necromancer and her army. I’ve come to interpret it as an indication that the [System] is activating one of my [Stats] or [Abilities], and that I should pay attention and listen to my instincts. It’s something I’ve been trying to retrain myself to do rather than pushing the sensation aside so I can just get through the day.
“Keira?”
I blink, reflexively dismissing the [Map] as I find Meg frowning at me.
“Sorry. My Ranger Sense is tingling again.” That results in a raised eyebrow from her, while Tyrus folds his arms across his chest and Jonas cocks his head; slightly behind me, Flynt draws a slow breath. “I think we should backtrack east to where we felt like we were being stalked, then hike up to the Crag from there and follow it back west to the different terminus points. I think that’s going to tell us a lot more than the places of abduction.”
“That’s gambling a lot on the assumption that what we felt is connected to this. It’s a plausible—maybe even likely—theory, but end of the day, we don’t know for sure.” But Meg doesn’t sound like she really believes her own argument. “If we go to the most recent disappearance, at least it’s somewhere that we know is connected.”
“It’s also somewhere that’s been pretty well gone over. By the guard, by the search parties, by the local adventurers, and probably others. Anything new we find is as likely to be from one of them at this point. But, if everything here is marked in the right order, I think there is a pattern to it: the first is to the east, second to the west, third and fourth to the east, fifth and sixth to the west… I’d bet that number seven will be to the east again, which lines up with the weirdness from when we were coming in.”
Jonas shakes his head. “Couldn’t that just be coincidence? What would be the point of making a pattern of it?”
I can’t help but think of a friend from back home and her obsession with serial killers. Isn’t there something about locations having meaning or indicating a comfort zone or something?
“No idea. But it looks like a pattern to me. Maybe there’s a psychological compulsion to it or some kind of magic ritual requirement? Or it could be that whatever this is, it’s trying to make its hunting ground seem larger than it actually is.”
“Or it may be a lure,” Flynt says, his voice low.
We all look at him and Meg makes a face. “Well. I don’t like that.” She leans in to inspect the map I still hold unfurled in the middle of our huddle. “Do you think you can find the area again?”
I nod. “Definitely. It was right around here.” I point to a correspondent area about ten kilometers in from the eastern edge of the map.
“By foot it will take us two and a half, maybe three bells to backtrack there,” Meg says, thoughtfully. “And maybe another two to hike up to the Crag, depending how dense the woods are. It gets dark later now, but it’s still going to limit our investigation time, and I’m not sure how long past sunset we’ll want to be out there.”
“Kyttles would speed all it up,” Tyrus points out.
“Sure,” I reply. “How’s your High Elvish? Because I’m not going back to ask about borrowing them. Their enthusiasm is going to have its limits.”
He sighs. “You’re right. It’d be too big a risk anyway. ’Specially if it ends up being fucking harpies.”
I glance around the group, and everyone’s expression has darkened, suggesting we’re on the same page as to what we can most expect to be approaching here.
“Right,” Tyrus says, grimly. “Yeah. We all know it’s not going to be harpies. Just… promise you won’t get too far ahead of me, alright? I haven’t the stride length of the rest of you, and I don’t want to find myself isolated on this one.”
Meg nods. “Agreed.”
“Agreed, you say—like you’re not the worst about it.”
The rest of us chuckle, but it ends awkwardly in an abrupt, uncertain silence.
“We’re losing time,” Flynt points out after a beat. “What’s the plan? Are we following our ranger’s tingles?”
I grimace. “Please don’t phrase it like that.”
“I’m just repeating—”
“I know, and believe me, I have regrets.”
Tyrus shrugs. “My thinking? Why have a ranger in the party if we don’t follow her instincts? She’s not that good a shot.”
“Hey. I’m an excellent shot.”
Tyrus smirks and makes a so-so gesture with one hand. “You’re getting there.”
I scoff and bump his shoulder lightly with my hip. “Okay, then. East?”
Jonas just nods agreement while Meg frowns into the middle distance for a moment.
“Yeah, alright,” she says. “Keep those elven senses on alert. Let’s see what we can find.”
We exchange re-confirming looks with one another, then I adjust my bag on my shoulder and take the lead.