The thorn in one’s foot is of greater concern than the knife in another’s guts.

- A Quassian Aphorism.

You have gained 1 Luck.

Such simple words, bound with so much meaning. It was a hint, as strong as any, that I was on the right path. The universe itself was bending over backwards for me.

Or a sign that I had avoided a most unfortunate outcome. Regardless, my outlook remained optimistic. I've always been the type to see the glass as half full.

Bounding up the stairs, sometimes two or three at a time, I was on the verge of whistling, my spirits high. Despite the unsettling and bewildering moment experienced upon touching the stone, I was, on the whole, quite pleased with myself. The game seemed to have presented me with what appeared to be a chain quest. Should I manage to see it through, the rewards promised to be significant. Already quite monetarily rewarding, I realized, thinking on the few valuable notes I received..

In a rather tangential, yet valuable, learning experience, the Necromancer's impromptu experiment with various holy books had shed some light on the lore of this world. In particular, I had learned something about the various gods and divine beings who vied against one another.

It proved to be quite enlightening, albeit a touch perilous at the outset. The whips of bone had been intimidating, though, I believe they served more of a distraction while the Necromancer prepared a more damaging spell. I would have to learn more tact in dealing with him in the future.

Fortune, the fickle whore of gamblers, was favoring me.

Climbing back to the ground floor, I scanned the area for a familiar face. A sudden tap on my shoulder caused me to whirl around in surprise. It was Zariyah, her expression a blend of mild concern and playfulness.

I saw a veritable armory descending the stairs and feared you might have kicked over another hornet's nest, she chided, her brows knitting together in an endearingly worrisome way.

“Worry not, all is well,” I assured her with a grin, only causing her to look even more concerned.

In truth, I wanted to lift her up and spin her around in joy. Only my reserve and society’s expectations stopped me. It could, however, not stop the stupid smile that was spreading wider across my face.

“Hey, lady… who’s that?” interrupted a voice followed by some raucous cheers.

The smile froze on my face, and my few moments of joy shattered like brittle glass.

A group of typical adventurers, looking as if they had stepped off the pages of a poorly written fantasy novel, sat drinking around a table. Raising cups, mugs, and tankards in raucous joy, they were singing some awful-sounding ditty. A grimace stole over me, as a red-haired female of their group drunk from a helm, with a spastic grin on her face. I would have found the scene amusing were it not for weapons at their belts, or the ones leaning against the table.

They would not take no for an answer, she shot at me guiltily. Was there a hint of a smile on her lips? Of course, there was.

Seconds later, she had rejoined this rag-tag group, all bright-eyed and in good cheer.

I had come from a struggle, my life hanging in the balance, as I defied the gods. Now I returned, only to find the person who was supposed to be waiting for me was instead partying with a bunch of lugger louts.

“Come over and finish your drink! But you don’t have to bring your friend!” a handsome blonde man with chiseled clean-cut features shouted out in our direction. “Just joking and yanking your chain! You can drink with us, but buy your own! You got to be a troublemaker like to have old Ezlas after you so soon! An’ let me tell you all of that time when I fought a Watcher, single-handed and the like,” he exclaimed, slapping on the table with good cheer, ignoring the chorus of forced groans from his friends.

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“Lay orf with that worn tale, Guy!” a dwarf grumbled good-naturedly with no real malice.

Jealousy danced with my natural aversion for the likes of Guy. People were drawn naturally to types like those. Like butterflies to beautiful flowers. The perfect ones. The lucky ones. Put on a pedestal by those who sought to worship them and, high on their own popularity, they soon learn to get exactly what they want. Every now and again they would dole out a kind word or a small deed, and, like Mana from heaven, people licked it up. Men, and women, like Guy, reveled in the natural order of society that bent itself to serve their whims. Insufferable.

Was I overthinking things?

Guy reached for Zariyah, grabbing her. She put up only a token of resistance as he laughed and deposited her on his lap. Hate, that irrational and constant friend, flared hot and high.

“We were just leaving,” I delivered flatly through gritted teeth.

“Come now… you are in the company of friends! We could all meet our end tomorrow. Best to live it now!” wheedled Guy, catching my eye in challenge as he bounced Zariyah on his lap. The girl coyly covered her mouth, stifling a silent giggle. The man knew exactly what he was doing.

If it was not one thing, it was another.

“You know better than be a causing trouble again. Your silliness has been costing us our proper place up the ranks… stuck on Bronze for far too long because of the likes of you. Leave things be an’ let her go, you moon-kissed loon,” warned the dwarf grumbling.

Thank you master dwarf, I whispered to myself. Thank you.

I took the time to look over the group, trying to ingrain their features upon my memory. The temptation to use Identify was there, but I was still leery of it since my encounter with the Necromancer. It would do me well also to keep in mind that not all conflict should be solved with the simplest of methods, though tempting it was.

I weighed my options.

A group of five, the first was the current object of my ire, the blonde man, Guy, in a heavy coat of chain. The redhead was wearing civilian clothing, a tight yellow-stained blouse, and a pair of garish loose blue trousers. Her clothes were stained, recently doused in fresh drink, and I could see the wet cloth clinging to a rather muscular frame. If I was in a generous mood I could have admitted she was vaguely attractive.

The dwarf was black of hair, a long braided beard trailing down past his portly waist. His demeanor, typical of his race, added a certain gravity to his presence. Even garbed in thick gray robes, I still noticed the telltale hints of armor underneath.

The remaining three were enigmatic, their features so common it was challenging to remember them. Perhaps siblings, they shared the same dull brown hair, dull brown eyes, and average nondescript features. I found it hard to commit them to memory. Like the sotted redhead, they were in civilian attire, garbed in dull reds with the loose clothes of the local cut.

“Perhaps the lady wants to stay a bit longer?” ventured Guy, as he downed some more of his drink with his free hand.

“And perhaps you would like to make an enemy of a Magister of the Guild,” I tried to say, coolly, of course.

Before he could splutter a response, the trio decided to add their opinions on the matter.

“We saw…” one of them started.

“…him go down,” continued another.

“Ezlas not soon after…” said the last one.

“A stormcloud of anger is Ezlas. Scary man,” the first again commented.

“Old man Ezlas was thunder,” added the second one.

“This one is not afraid. We think he is a friend of the dark one. Do not press. Do not,” they begged together, at last, their voices in disturbing harmony.

Though their speech was annoying and disjointed, I still couldn’t help but sneer as they made my case for me.

“Oh Aye, let it be, Guy. I’ll treat ya lad later for a tumble and turn at the best house in the Flower Quarter. S’not worth it mate,” rumbled the companion dwarf in warning.

“That is rather an insult to the lady, comparing her lovely company to a common whore. We have just met, but I certainly must say I feel a certain something for this one. The eyes are of an enchanting shade,” he drawled, tracing a line down her inner thigh. As his fingers sought their destination, she met my gaze with a challenging look that was most irksome.

A provocative, coy smile then played across her lips, acting like a matador's flag taunting a bull. It was clear. She was goading me, daring me to react. The woman was enjoying this.

Making eye contact with me, he pantomimed a whisper loud enough for all to hear, “Like the taste of something forbidden. This one doesn’t make a sound. Sets the imagination on fire.”

Faux shock played with girlish shyness on Zariyah’s features.

“Bit of a challenge to make this one scream. I can see why some develop a taste for the crimson sluts,” Guy guffawed, showing some of his true colors. The girl visibly stiffened in real shock. She had not expected this. Zariyah overplayed her hand, I noted to myself with a small sense of satisfaction.

My face colored with held-back rage. Despite the clear childishness on her part, he had said too much. Too much. Provocation or not, it had been a long time since I felt anger for someone other than myself.