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Guess I'll Play Healer
Chapter 15 — Rangers Remain Overrated

Chapter 15 — Rangers Remain Overrated

Look, I’m just gonna be straight with whoever is reading this. The record of my adventures can often look something like ‘travel through forest, walk down this road, fight some bandits or goblins, sleep at this inn, repeat.’ And you’d be correct that, bar some other strange monster like that deer or an ogre, that’s basically what a lot of my life after reaching Vesperalis was like.

But there is plenty of adventure and strangeness to be had. I’ll get to it soon, trust me.

At any rate, after that first night in the forest we got back onto the road, and made some headway. It was much slower going than I’d like because we had to take frequent breaks for Bernadette. I wanted to head back to Brindletree and see if we couldn’t convince Darlara to part with her fabulous elven sword, but Rachel wanted to get a head start on finding NPC help for us.

So, we headed for a small village called Afon-Alun, to the east.

We’d just started our third day of traveling together. We’d only fought one group of bandits, who were also marked by a black lion medallion, weirdly, and we were starting to settle into our identity as a party.

We’d actually killed the whole bandit group to a man before we even really knew what we were doing, so maybe we were too good. We got some new crossbows and some bolts out of it along with 44 gold pieces and some change.

Bernadette made a group chat for us called “The Kill Crew.” Why it needed to be separate from the other chat, and when we would ever split up so as to need it, was anyone’s guess, but I was keen to make her happy. She still wasn’t back at a hundred percent yet.

“So,” she started, marching cheerfully next to me while Rachel brought up the rear, “Rachel seems to agree with you that the NPCs here in Vesperalis are people too, with souls and everything. And I’m not gonna argue with her given everything she’s been through lately. But do you really believe that?”

“Of course. We have no real evidence that anyone has a soul. We just have to act like others have them. And in acting, it doesn’t really matter if it’s true or not, functionally it is because we make it so.”

“Hmm.”

“Here. Think of this. You met one of Caleb’s kids, right? And we agree that Caleb has a soul.”

“Well, if we didn’t, that would make us super-mega-racist.”

“Definitely. So, if Caleb has a soul, and parents can create children who also have souls, why wouldn’t his son have a soul?”

“Yeah. Right. So when Prince Xander passed through Brindletree, he hit on me immediately. Which, sure, I’m hot, whatever. But when I let him down gently, he called me ‘short.’”

“You are short.”

“That’s not the point!”

“What is your point?”

“My point is, that if I had a kid, even if they were an insufferable twat, I’d believe they had a soul.”

“See?”

“But he’s not my kid, so fuck ‘em.”

“I feel like we’re off track.”

Rachel caught up to us.

“What are you guys talking about?” she asked.

“Whether Prince Xander has a soul,” I said, nonchalantly.

“Oh, god, that guy sucks. But even spoiled brats have a soul.”

I gestured to Bernie, and she spread her hands out in defeat.

“Here’s the real head scratcher,” Rachel said, grinning like she was about to drop something on us, “do you really believe that we’re the first people here? That our gaming group is the only people that made it here?”

“Huh,” I said.

“Wouldn’t we see more slates?” asked Bernadette.

“Not if they got here before cellphones. Little twelve year old Percival from World War Two era Britain ain’t bringing a cellphone.”

“You could be onto something,” I said. “I mean, it would explain why everyone speaks English.”

“Everyone speaks English!” Rachel said, excitedly.

“That’s weird!’ I said.

“I never thought about that,” Bernadette admitted.

“But if they had just visited once,” I continued, “accents would have drifted so much that we’d have a hard time understanding them. Like cockney. But they sound perfectly fine! Like, maybe they come here all the time!”

Bernadette looked between us with an expression I couldn’t place.

“You two are cute when you get excited about stuff.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean when you get like this,” she repeated, “you’re hella cute.”

“Thanks,” Rachel said.

I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure what she meant by that.

The road led us out of the forest and across an expanse of rolling hills. The grass was an uncanny green that I had only seen in pictures, the kind of green that only happens in far off places. Certainly not in Texas. And the sky was just pure blue from one horizon to the other.

A ways off the road was a small camping spot under an oak. Someone had placed a couple of thick uprooted tree stumps around a ring of stones just big enough for a nice fire. I welcomed a little bit of shade, and a place to sit.

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We didn’t bother with a fire because we didn’t plan on staying long. Our slates said that Afon-Alun was just a couple hours down the road, and daylight was plentiful.

“Other than the chance for a warm bed,” I said, “what else do we hope to find here?”

“Well,” Rachel said, “rumor has it that every couple of weeks a ranger stops in for a bit of booze, and to pick up work, then heads back into the Kingswood. Having someone who can track, and shoot wouldn’t be a bad addition to our party.”

“Agh, rangers suck,” I said.

“What do you know about rangers?” Rachel asked sarcastically.

“Rogues do better DPR and druids do better spells. And if I wanted a pet, I’d get a fish. Rangers basically suck at everything.”

“Okay,” Rachel offered, “well, how else do you expect us to find this dragon? And once we find it, if it starts flying around, how are we going to fight it?”

“You’re starting to have a point.”

“We need a hunter. Hopefully this ranger is high enough level for the job.”

We also needed food. Bernie had killed some rabbit and squirrel, so we had dried meat. Rachel was a pro at that, and showed us how it was done. But we were very low on freshwater and other food.

Also, it would be nice to sleep in our own beds. We all smelled pretty rank at this point, and piling into the same bedroll was losing its novelty.

Soon, we were done eating, but I could tell that Bernadette needed a little longer before we continued on, so we started up a song from a play we knew. Rachel’s voice was a bit pitchy, but sweet. We sounded pretty good together.

After we’d cleaned up camp, we headed out.

In not much time, the bridge over Afon-Alun — the town’s namesake river — came into view. It was a beautiful stone built arch, and the entrance had a twelve foot tall statue looming over it. The statue seemed to be of an elven man with a forked beard, with his fist raised as if he had once held something that was no longer there.

A small guard shack held three guards. After some questioning about our business, and paying a copper for the toll, we crossed the bridge into town.

The village seemed quaint, with beautiful cobblestone streets, and thatched roof buildings. I could also see one large elven-styled building, looming like an upturned birdnest at the end of the square. We entered the place, the sign of a fish leaping from a foaming mug, marking it as the tavern.

The tavern held many people, including my first look at a dwarf. Stocky and bearded, he lived up to my expectations, and seemed to be the proprietor. He’d built some kind of railing behind the bar so that he could run around behind it, and still see over it, while still being sized for tallmen.

I also noticed a painting above the bar. It was a beautiful woman in profile, with a date in a plaque on the frame notating a date ten years previous. The figure had an elegant aquiline nose, and sparkling blue eyes. Her lips were pulled up in a slight smirking pout. It was Sofia. How? Ten years ago. And she looked exactly as I remembered her. Maybe even more beautiful.

What was going on with her? What was her portrait doing here?

Bernie walked up to the dwarf and conversed with him for a bit, before heading back to us.

“His name’s Bruthur. Nice guy,” she then motioned with a thumb behind her, “man in the corner is our ranger.”

The man in the corner was as handsome, and rugged as one would hope a ranger to be. His dark skin and pointed ears showed him to be of mixed heritage of some sort, and the skin of his scalp showed from a head whose stubble had yet to fully grow back from being shaved. In fact, it matched his stubbly beard, but for a thick well kept mustache.

He had a green cloak thrown over his chair next to a nice pair of travel worn boots, and he sat forward gazing at a map, brushing ash from it as he sucked on a thin hand rolled cigarette that smelled of something sweet. I didn’t see any weapons but for a beautiful black longbow, unstrung and leaning against a post.

When his gaze fell on us, I saw his eyes to be a honey brown flecked with gold. They were elven eyes, but I couldn’t help but feel like I had seen something like them before in someone else.

“Are you barefoot?” I asked him, donning the monocle. It said ‘Cal of the Kingswood, lvl 6 Ranger; 52 hp.’

He smiled and replied, “it’s one of the simple pleasures of civilization. How might I help you fine folk?”

“We’re looking for a hunter of monsters,” said Bernadette, leaning on the table.

Concern creased his eyes, and he stood. He set his cigarette in a bowl, and held his hands out asking, “may I touch you?”

“Yeah,” Bernadette said, startled but intrigued.

The man turned her hand over and placed his fingers on the pulse in her wrist, gazing at her intently. He then brushed a finger across the skin of her brow.

“You shouldn’t have let her get like this. She needs water,” he said to me. “I’ll be back.”

I pulled out my waterskin as he led her to his chair then whisked off to the bar. He bent over the bar to talk to the dwarven bartender, who got down from the rail and came back with a kettle that he placed over the woodfiring stove. The ranger then grabbed a mortar and pestle from behind the bar and began crushing something into one of his cigarette papers.

“You okay?” I asked Bernadette, as she drank from the waterskin.

“I mean, I’m a little thirsty.”

I looked to Rachel, apologetic. Who just raised her eyebrows in bemusement.

I glanced back at the ranger who’d plopped the homemade sachet into a mug, before carefully pouring the boiling water over it. In moments, he was back with a steaming mug of tea.

“This, young lass, should ease your exhaustion,” he said, placing the tea carefully on the map in front of her.

“Ah, thanks,” Rachel said. “We knew she was hurting still, but we just had to get here quickly.”

“And would digging a roadside grave be more or less a damper on your travel plans, than a stop to take care of your companion?” the ranger accused, a hint of scorn hiding below the cool waters of his civility.

“Now,” I started, taking a step forward, “just you wait—”

“We never—” Rachel began.

“I’m fine,” Bernadette said.

The ranger threw up his hands. My hand went to the sword at my waist. The ranger quirked an eyebrow at me, but seemed unbothered. I stepped back and crossed my arms.

“I think we should sit, and reintroduce ourselves,” the ranger said, then pulling daggers from his sleeves, he slammed them into the tabletop. He then sat next to one dagger, and gestured to the other, “in case you may need it.”

“I’m not knife fighting you,” I said, but sitting next to the dagger anyway.

“Yeesh,” Rachel said, then sat.

“A shame. I love a good knife fight,” the ranger said with a fox’s grin.

Bernadette reached across the table. The ranger slid the mug of tea out of the way just in time.

She pulled first the one dagger, then the second from the tabletop, launching them both across the bar simultaneously. They flew with incredible speed and precision, before thunking straight into a post.

“Boys,” she said with not too much derision, “nobody’s fighting tonight.”

The table was silent for several heartbeats.

“I think I can be too quick to defend a young maiden, when I should remember that some maidens are capable of their own defense,” the ranger said.

“I think we may have pushed her too hard,” I said.

Both apologies were unsaid, but understood.

“My name is Shade,” she said before taking a sip of the tea. “And this is delicious, thank you.”

“You are quite welcome Lady Shade. I am Cal of the Kingswood.”

“Just Cal?” I asked.

“Just Cal.”

“I am Breznik,” I said, offering my hand. He took it and we shook.

“Oriana.”

“Ah, like the constellation,” Cal said. “A strong name for a strong woman.”

“Thanks,” Rachel said, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.

“So tell me friends,” he said, taking his cigarette and lighting it anew. “Let’s start over. What need of you for a monster hunter?”