Current Quests

Justice For Courbefy: Find justice for the victims of the corrupt mayor of Courbefy. Use…

Chosen Of Knowledge: Escort Hugh on his journey to becoming a fully awakened iron…

Wine tour: Vineyard wants you to try the different wines in the Megève area.

Chosen Of Hero: Enter the chosen of hero into a tournament to gain notoriety.

Honour Guard Or Under Guard: Either have a conversation with Lady Geller or successf…

Quest: Honour Guard Or Under Guard

Description

You have been taken against your will by another adventuring group to travel to Lady Tiffany Geller so that she can resolve her issues with you.

Objectives

Either have a conversion with Lady Geller or successfully avoid talking to her.

Reward

1000 iron spirit coins.

Detailed Information

Dave had already checked ‘detailed information’ of the quest. It basically confirmed what could be inferred by the wording in the more summarised version. Lady Geller had an issue with Dave and the quest would be complete when that was resolved. Either by having a conversation with him or by believing that she no longer needed to. Or, by believing she no longer could have a conversation with him. This left open possibilities like faking his own death or falling into a coma but under the circumstance of being in the company of a competent adventuring team who were in Lady Geller’s employ, Dave figured it was unlikely he’d get the chance to do anything that clever. No, he’d have to be subtle and clever, which was much harder.

He was pretty sure that the ‘successfully avoid talking to her’ win condition meant breaking out of his captivity and going on the run for a few months while he anonymously made his way to a different part of the globe which, Dave thought, wasn’t worth the thousand iron coins, let alone abandoning the connections he’d already made and the risks involved in such a plan. So, he’d committed to ‘have a conversation’ pretty early on in his captivity. That meant aura control, which was a function of the mind and the thoughts contained therein and control of one’s thoughts meant meditation. So, he’d dived into the local literature.

The people of this reality liked to bang on about meditation and while magic was actually real here, the practice was still full of childish metaphors that seemed intentionally vague. Dave was pretty sure that most of the meditation techniques that the adventuring books advocated for was mostly just honest introspection about how your behaviour lined up with the essences stuck to your soul. His bet was that a therapist could make people level up faster than a mountaintop mystic.

He was increasingly sure about this because he was already using techniques from cognitive behavioural therapy in his daily meditations very successfully while he had also removed a lot of what he thought of as ‘mystic bullshit’. Whether it was ‘take in harmony with every breath…’, or ‘be like a flower on the cusp of opening…’ it could all fuck off as far as Dave was concerned. He’d have paid good money for a single book that just said ‘achieve a calm state of mind before continuing’ on the basis that it would be evidence the author was more interested in giving Dave sensible instructions than inflicting him with another fifty pages of their personal, amateur philosophy.

Being mildly kidnapped made a calm state of mind harder than usual but Dave had also had to go to sleep the night before that organic chemistry exam he didn’t study for so he made do and let go of the present, eventually relaxing into a state of mind where he could feel his own sense of self and the magical essences that were a part of him. It was a bit trippy but so were theme parks. He’d manage.

And, so Dave began a process called ‘cognitive structuring meditation’. Did you kill Ross Geller. No, the shadow monsters killed him. Did you meet Ross Geller? I did but he scared me and I ran away. Where are you from? Down Under, but you call it Ahitereriria. What is your profession? I’m a biostatistician which means I tell apothecaries what substances are the best.

He lost track of time as he continued this self questioning and answering. He let his mind wander, trying to come up with more questions about himself. He tried to trip himself up – and succeeded – by asking the same question in different ways. It was important that he, himself, believed his answers when he got in front of Lady Geller. I did nothing wrong.

“Wait, he’s meditating, not sleeping!” growled Michaud, the leonid.

Dave was unceremoniously shaken into the present by a pleasantly furry hand. Michaud took his grooming seriously.

Well, thought Dave, Another day of magic theory in the back of a truck.

----------------------------------------

Johan was struggling. The friar of Knowledge was lying to him and Sam was a necromancer. It didn’t help in the slightest that Sam was grinning guiltily up at him with an expression he’d often seen on his mischievous, little sister. In the background, her flesh golem was gently dabbing a wet ketchief across the head of an unconscious Hugh. Was she mocking him? Johan’s stomach knotted. Necromancers were supposed to be wearing dark robes under a midnight sky, speaking in fell voices and suchlike. Not happy, little runics who saved the day, revived their friends and had trouble explaining themselves in their second language.

He focused on Hugh as a mental defence mechanism from the Sam situation. How in the name of Knowledge had Hugh lied? That shouldn’t be possible. No, it wasn’t possible. Knowledge herself forbade it. Johan walked over to the unconscious friar and stared down at him. Snowball, what Sam called her flesh golem, offered Johan the damp kerchief which he waved away before he shook himself and glared at Sam who beamed with even more guilty innocence. So he glared at Hugh, who didn’t respond, and settled on glaring internally at himself.

He’d enjoyed chatting with Hugh these last couple of days. It was what he’d always imagined having a big brother must feel like. Hugh was a devout, pious man who could talk about anything for hours. Johan was humbled by his knowledge, stories of the world and had happily trained with him that morning. Hugh’s powers were a sight to behold! Nothing could scratch his skin, he was impossible to hold down, he could heal himself and change his form to the elements, harnessing their power! Hugh even spoke bashfully of his mighty deeds in battle against the Builder cult in Megève and the monsters he’d faced with Sam and Dave thus far.

Then, this afternoon had come. Hugh had filled him with confidence, speaking like the battle was over already. It was nothing but a malignity of goblins, he’d said! Hugh was going to sweep in from the sky and flame the ogre’s handlers. Free of its bonds, the ogre would turn on its captors, as like as not, and the team would sweep away the entire malignity in a mighty charge. Johan had turned to Sam to ask if she had any thoughts and she’d just smiled so Johan had nodded at Hugh who’d taken off into the sky.

Now, Johan wasn’t one to tell another man what to do but Hugh – he couldn’t believe he was entertaining so impolite a thought but – Hugh had made a real mess of things. He had run through the sky at the goblins as planned, baulked as he got close, started air walking around in circles shooting wind blasts and then, half his mana fruitlessly spent, led the entire malignity back to where Johan and Sam were watching from.

Johan thanked Fortune that Sam had the presence of mind to have already drawn the magic circles she needed for her summons and then checked himself. Perhaps he shouldn’t be thankful for the help of a necromancer. Was that blasphemy? Maybe it was. He decided to be pleased that Sam had undertaken that life saving action but not be divinely thankful for it, indeed. Just in case.

They’d fought the goblins. He and Sam had slain many, smiting about themselves mightily, but Hugh had… Well, he had not. Hugh had completed his retreat behind Sam, given a panicked shout and, as the malignity was closing in on their position, dumped all of his mana into a beam of transcendent damage against the bronze rank ogre that the goblins were leading around before he passed out. The transcendent damage not only failed to kill the ogre, but broke it out of its stupor and gave it the motivation to kill the adventurers.

The fight had been furious! But, looking back on it, even then he should have been at least a little bit suspicious of Sam’s true nature. As the enraged ogre charged Johan, the goblin malignity streaming behind it, a circle of skeletal hands had erupted behind the ogre to trip or restrain most of the goblins had a certain nature to it that he felt should have been a hint towards her affinity for dark arts. He felt, in retrospect, the same about the exploding corpses she greatly lessened the goblin numbers with.

She only truly revealed herself as a practitioner of the dark magics when a second malignity appeared and Sam began raising ghosts from the dead and made a golem from the still living flesh of their dead bodies before his eyes. He felt shame admitting it but she’d saved their lives when she’d outed herself as a necromancer. Johan had used all of his powerful abilities besting the bronze rank ogre and the second goblin malignity wasn’t rushing in behind a reckless charge like the first. They were being more tactical and had bows. They died anyway as Sam’s small wave of undead overwhelmed them. Johan felt uncomfortable that he’d joined the assault in an act of self preservation, fighting beside a necromancer but it had seemed the only sensible option at the time. Now he had to steel himself and deal with her.

“Back, necromancer! Keep your dark arts far from this noble friar,” exclaimed Johan, waving back Snowball having finally decided that a living-dead monstrosity tending to a holy man wasn’t right.

“Noble friar? He almost get us killed!” said Sam. “Why did you forget Dave’s letter? He has fighting ghosts!”

Johan deflated momentarily. It was true he’d largely put aside the concerns Dave had expressed in that letter. It’s just that Hugh had been so righteous. So full of energy and confidence! How could he deny the spiritual health of that man? Well, he wasn’t going to let his doubts show in front of the necromancer.

“I won’t have you besmirch the good church of Knowledge! In fact,” Johan lifted his chin and set his jaw, “despite your help on this day I feel that I must turn you over to the church of Death as a restricted essence user.”

“I already been there, ka,” said Sam and fished out an amulet she was wearing beneath her armour. It had the symbol of Death.

“You pillaged the holy places of eternal rest for that, villain!” said Johan. He was quite proud of himself for having seen through this ploy immediately.

“You want to bet? How much?” Sam snapped back, taking the rug of confidence from beneath Johan’s feet with a mischievous smile that he knew from years of experience with his sister meant he was on the losing side of a bet.

“Come on, how much?” Sam pressed. Her eyes continued to glitter playfully. “Hugh can tell you I win when he wakes up. You have ten gold?”

Johan didn’t have ten gold. He’d never even seen one gold. With a visible effort he got his mind back on track. He decided to start with a formal accusation.

“Samorn Khan - Khant-”

“Khanthong,” supplied Sam.

“Yes, you,” said Johan sheepishly but rallied. “You are a necromancer and a user of restricted essences and must be brought to justice!”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why you need justice for me?”

“Because you’re a necromancer, I just said!”

“Even if I help people?”

“Yes! For you are a danger to society.”

“So are you, ka! You already cut bronze monster in half! Who is more dangerous?!”

“You, for you will inevitably turn on those around you to power your dark abilities.”

“Why I do that? Everyone gives me money for slime familiar. I like people! Maybe you cut people in half for money someday, ka? Maybe you turn?”

“You are a necromancer!”

“Then, you are crazy sword-man!”

“No, I’m not! No, you are an evil necromancer and I’m not!”

“No, I am helpful necromancer and maybe you are future, sword-carrying crazy man!”

Johan was lost. Necromancers weren’t supposed to argue back in the style of I-know-you-are-but-what-am-I. He was sure of it. They definitely weren’t supposed to make you question your own morality. It wasn’t going right.

“What’re we arguing about?” said Hugh’s voice from behind him.

Johan spun around and saw one of Sam’s skeletons kneeling next to Hugh’s place on the ground with an empty mana potion in its hand. Hugh was shifting himself up onto one elbow. The unfortunate fellow was so befuddled he was even accepting the skeleton’s proffered hand to help him sit up. Johan lashed out, shattering the skeleton.

“That seems unnecessary” said Hugh with groggy reproach.

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All of Sam’s minions gave Johan rude gestures while he tried to marshal his thoughts.

“Hugh, tell Johan I am good necromancer!” called Sam.

“No, you don’t have to!”

“She’s a wonderful necromancer!” slurred Hugh, gesturing around as he sat up.

“We can fight her, my noble friend!”

“No, tell him I am good person!”

“Wha? Why would I -? Oh, yes. She’s a good person,” said Hugh, trying to catch up. “What’s going on?” he asked, looking between his two teammates before his eyes alighted on the flesh golem. “Oh! Thank the Lady, Snowball! Sam, can I ride Snowball for a while until I have my legs back under me?”

“WHAT!?” shouted Johan in outrage.

“What?” asked Hugh in confusion.

“Told you!” giggled Sam in triumph.

----------------------------------------

Hugh was explaining Sam’s situation to him as they marched out of the higher iron rank zone and into the lower they’d taken as a shortcut proving yet again that short cuts make for long delays. He couldn’t believe the tale! He’d never heard one like it. A fair maiden from a far away land tricked into taking restricted essences? What a villain this Alani Laird was to have tricked Sam so. Johan immediately apologised to Sam and swore to help her in her quest to rid herself of restricted essences and hunt down Laird for justice. Although, he indicated the regrettable need for secrecy in the meantime.

Upon leaving the shortcut they practically tripped over an out of season caravan that was transporting stone through Sauvabelin to a buyer in Champel. The wagon master was kind enough to let Executive Services join the wagon guards.

Johan waited until Hugh was chatting with the other guards that evening when he approached Sam.

“Sam, I must apologise again for ignoring everything that both Dave and my swordmaster told me about who to trust,” said Johan.

“Good!” chirped Sam and stood on her toes to pat him on the head.

“I - ahh - I actually need to talk with you about Hugh,” said Johan in a low voice.

Sam smiled and nodded up at him. He took that as acquiescence.

“His ghosts, are they what make a man of Knowledge, like him, speak untruths?”

Weirdly, Sam smiled wider. He didn’t understand this girl.

“I think,” she said in a quiet voice, “the ghosts make him believe what he says.”

“How did it start?”

“Umm, you know how he tells the story of Dave and he fighting the Builder cult?”

Johan nodded.

“Well, just before that story, the Builder cult kill all his friends at monastery, ka.”

It was a pretty big hole in the story, now that Sam had pointed it out. Hugh always told it like he was the only monk there at the time.

“And, he is always having big plans,” continued Sam. “Plans that are too big? Too Much? Like today? When he plans for the big sky entrance and big battle? Dave never made plans like that. Dave always made plans like… Like recipe, you know? Plan that makes something. Hugh makes plans like story book.”

“He must make plans of amazing complexity!” boasted Johan on Dave’s behalf.

“No! That’s why his plans are good,” Sam insisted. “They are always simple. Like today? There were so many? Dave’s plan might have been the same as mine; just hide!”

“Your plan?” said Johan.

“Yes!” said Sam sadly. “I tried to tell you but you told Hugh to start instead.”

“You tried to tell me?” Johan had no memory of this. “You just smiled and nodded?”

“No, I tell you to come close, like this,” said Sam. This time, over her smiling head he noticed her hands gesturing in an upside down ‘come here’ motion.

“Oh!” said Johan. “I didn’t notice! Well, why were you smiling and nodding?”

“I wasn’t smiling,” said Sam, smiling.

“Like you’re not smiling now?” asked Johan carefully.

“Yes.”

Johan was trying to line up his thoughts on how to broach this new madness when there was a massive crash and the sound of splintering wood.

“OY!” a voice barked out. A big, heavyset leonid woman. “You boys are so dead!”

“NO!” roared Hugh, coming out of nowhere and tackling the woman to the ground. She grunted in deep pain as Hugh landed on top of her and started raining down fists. “NOT AGAIN! NOT AGAIN!”

Sam and Johan rushed towards the scene at the same time as other wagon guards did to restrain the suddenly wild Hugh but the other guards were closer.

“Calm down, friend” said one, advancing with his arms raised defensively.

“No! Not this time,” shouted Hugh, pure terror on his face as he batted the man’s hands aside with one arm and slapped the other into his chin with the force of a hammer, instantly knocking him unconscious. “Leave us alone! I’ll win this time, I’ll win! I’m not afraid this time!”

Hugh charged the other guards but Johan used Shield Ally to take the brunt of it. Hugh crashed into the giant, blond statue and looked up into Johan’s face.

“No,” he said, not recognising Johan. “Dave killed you. He killed you!”

“I am Johan Schmidt of Forel!” announced Johan in a powerful voice, his strength ability allowing him to take Hugh’s frenzied, pummelling strikes on his shield. Eyes widened as all present noted the noise Hugh’s strikes made against the shield. “You are Friar Hugh Abberton and you are possessed by ghosts of battles past!” boomed Johan, unyielding behind his shield. “I am not your enemy.”

“Not again. Not again,” cried Hugh over and over, eventually pulling on Johan’s shield to open his defence.

Johan tried to envelop Hugh in a bear hug but Hugh, displaying a hitherto unknown retention of Dave’s wrestling lessons, threw Johan across his hip to land on his back with a classic judo throw. Being no stranger to Byzasic folk wrestling, Hugh stayed connected, taking Hugh to the ground with him through the pain of the slam. Seeing their chance, the onlookers piled on to restrain Hugh.

“NOOOO!” wailed Hugh, taking to air form to escape and activating Project Elements at point blank range, blowing back all the guards except Johan even further away from him.

Johan got to his feet, raising his shield as Hugh aimed another frenzied blow at him. Hugh shifted into earth form as the blow came in and the force of the hit knocked Johan over. Another blow came down, crashing into Johan’s raised shield and pounding him into the earth with the force but Johan grasped the wrist of Hugh’s rock form and held him.

“Stay your hands, good people,” called Johan, still in his powerful, golden voice with no hint of strain. “He is not himself. Come to your senses, Friar! Listen for your Goddess. She cannot advocate this madness!”

Sam had thrown quick heals on everyone involved in the situation, receiving respectful nods all around and kept the situation from feeling urgent. Thankfully, the large leonid woman Hugh had first brought down appeared to be some kind of leader among the other guards and was gesturing rapidly for peace from her people.

“Just restrain him! Just restrain! Use control abilities if you have them,” she growled into the crowd. “Keep it up in there you, Schmidt of Forel. He’ll burn himself out soon.”

Connected to the ground via the wrist that Johan held, Hugh took to water form and splashed across him, wriggling out of Johan’s grip as they sloshed across the encampment. People were calling their friends over now and one used a freezing ability that began to slow Hugh down. Hugh shifted into fire form to dispel it but another used a control flames style ability to magically wrestle with Hugh.

“Where are you, Hugh? Hugh?” Johan said calmly as he stood in front of Hugh. Hugh hesitated for a moment and Johan dropped his shield showing Hugh open palms. “It’s over, Hugh. It’s over. It’s in the past. Ask your goddess, it’s over.”

Hugh stood, back in flesh form, sweating and trembling in the firelight.

“Nothing is over! Nothing! You can’t just make it better!” Hugh cried with a broken voice. “It wasn’t my fight! I didn’t ask for this war! I was just doing my job! I did everything for Her but She didn’t want my work!”

Johan kept his hands raised and just nodded while Hugh shouted.

“And I get out and I run. I run for two days without sleeping and they just pat me on the back and say ‘good job, get back in there’,” Hugh rasped, sobs entering his voice. “And all I wanted to do was keep running but they’re calling me a hero and pushing me back into the fire and the screams and the bleeding and it’s all over my hands. And, I’m trying to smile because they want me to smile but they don’t know! They don’t know what it’s like! Being scared and in pain and they’re just smiling and waving and giving you things!” He grabbed his Adventure Society badge and threw it on the ground like it burned him.

“Why me? What did I do to survive? Where are my friends, Johan? Where’s my friends? In there I was a brother, we were together like family. We were working on something! There were all these guys. There were all these great guys! Out here there’s nothing,” Hugh shrank down onto the ground. “All my friends. They’re all gone, Johan. Dan Favier. There’s nobody left who knows Dan! They cut him up, Johan. They cut him up. He was always talking about how one day he’d get a little parish and make apple cider and they cut him up.”

Johan kneeled down next to Hugh and put an arm on him while he wept. The crowd just stared silently.

“They smashed through the doors and they just killed him. Cut off his arm and gutted him. I held him and all he could say as he died was ask me how he was going to make cider with one arm? He just kept on asking! I didn’t know what to say, man! He just died, waiting for me to say something and I said nothing! And then I ran!”

Hugh sobbed uncontrollably into Johan's shoulder.

“I just ran, Johan. They call me a hero and I just ran,” Hugh mumbled as Johan held him. “I’m a chosen, I’m a hero but I just ran. Why? Why’s it me? Why couldn’t I say anything to Dan, Johan? I see him in the fire, Johan, the campfire while you’re all asleep but every time I try to say something his face is gone. What does it mean? What does it mean? Why won’t She tell me what it means?”

Hugh’s face sank into his knees and Johan was the only thing keeping him sitting up. The leonid woman came forward and draped her cloak over Hugh’s trembling shoulders. She was quiet for a few seconds before she spoke.

“After last monster surge,” she said, “I had to quit adventuring. I just freeze up when I hear that noise that trap weavers make.” She shuddered. “Can’t stand the sound of knitting needles either.”

“Johan Schmidt,” said Johan, offering her his hand.

“Emeline Charon,” said Emeline, shaking his hand and then deftly scooping the same arm around Hugh. “Why don’t you come over there to the fire with us, Friar? It’s warm and there’ll be some kind of food in a pot if you’re feeling up to it?”

Sam stood back as the three of them moved Hugh next to the fire and the crowd started to go back about their business. She wished Dave were here. Maybe he wouldn’t know what to do, like she didn’t, but at least he’d be able to clean everything. Trying her best, she released Slimy and tried to clear up the mess that fight had made.

“Wow!” said a teamster, noticing. “Is that an all eating slime?”

“Yes!” said Sam, her little voice barely carrying to the man. “Please feed him many things!”

“Oh, you bet,” said the teamster who walked over and scraped the food scraps off his plate onto slimy. “These things are great familiars. The old lord where I’m from had one. You could practically tip the garbage into the thing and it’d only get stronger.”

----------------------------------------

Hugh was settled into a group of the wagon guards who’d been trying to stop the fight. They all accepted that without comment.

“I’m sorry. Sorry!” Hugh apologised, over and over. “So sorry. I’m such a bother. Sorry…”

“Enough of that Friar,” said Emeline. “Plenty of us here understand. Hang around and you’ll find that battle ghosts haunt more of us than you think.”

One of the others in the circle around the fire ladled something into a bowl, stuck a spoon in and passed it to Emeline who firmly placed it in Hugh’s hands.

“I have to quickly go and let the wagon master know what happened,” said Emeline. “But, I’ll be back.”

Johan looked around at the strangers, not sure if he should introduce himself.

“Johan Schmidt, right?” said the one who’d operated the ladle. “Yeah, sorry, I heard you earlier. Nicolas Romilly.” They shook hands. “And you’re Friar Abberton.” He looked awkwardly at Hugh for a moment and half turned away. “You… you see your friend’s face in fire, hey?”

“Yes. Yes! Oh, I’m sorry,” said Hugh.

Romilly didn’t even acknowledge the apology.

“I see my wife’s in the waves,” said Romilly to his shoes. “You know? At the ocean? She loved the ocean until the day she… Tide troll. Dragged her in.” Romilly swallowed hard and looked up at Hugh. “Anyway, it’s… it’s tough, you know?” He nodded jerkily at Hugh while breathing too shallowly. “I, you know… don’t go near water anymore.”

Romilly went back to where he was sitting and stayed silent.

“It’s pigs for me,” said someone else. A blue-haired celestial woman who looked like a librarian except for her hard stare, off into the distance. “I don’t want to say what happened but… Yeah, I throw up if I hear pigs squeal now.”

“My brother didn’t use cutlery right for years before he died,” said another, a heavily tattooed man with tangled red hair who was drinking from a bottle. “He never said what it was but he only ever used one piece of cutlery at a time up until he… we found him already gone in the wash tub.”

Hugh and Johan just sat and listened until Emeline returned. Others came over to share a quick story or offer Hugh support.

“Hey, Friar?” said a young teamster. “Just so you know, you don’t need to be a hero. It’s like my pa always says, some days just aren’t made for trying, you know?”

“Yes, yes, thank you,” said Hugh, taking in the words with a great, shuddering breath.

The young teamster nodded encouragingly and ran off.

“Everything alright?” asked Emeline.

“Actually, no,” said Johan. “I had no idea that one could be so…” He floundered for words gesturing around at the confessions Hugh’s plight had elicited from the group.

“Broken?” supplied Romilly.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” said Johan.

“It should be,” said Emeline, sitting down. “Something breaks inside you and you can’t live the life you used to anymore.” She nodded into the fire. “Not in a big way. It’s just, you can’t do certain things anymore without shaking or whatever. Happens to most of everyone who chooses the fighting life. Eventually.”

“This never happens when the bards sing about the heroes of the realm protecting the people from monsters and such,” said Johan.

“Heroes of the realm, Schmidt?” Emeline chuckled deeply. “That hay in your ears is cute. You hear about how the Lancey estate fell in the last monster surge? Lancey’s last stand? Something of a hit with the bards a few years ago?”

“Oh, yes!” said Johan, lighting up and giving two lines of verse in a sing-song voice. “And old Lancey fought with the bravery of ten, until his arms grew tired and his shield buckled in.”

Emeline waved for him to stop.

“I hate that song. I was at the cleanup,” said Emeline flatly. “Lancey was a fire mage, didn’t use a shield, and he only fought inside the compound after the monsters already breached the walls and he killed just as many refugees with his fireballs as monsters. I overheard the investigators saying that it looked like he panicked, dumped his whole mana pool and the fires it started burned down his own estate’s shelter with everyone inside. Bloody waste.” Emeline shook her head as she stared into the fire. “So, neither shield user nor brave. How about that, huh? But it’s what isn’t in the bard’s song that’s the worst.”

“What could possibly be worse than the lord of a house betraying his oaths and slaying his people like that?” asked Johan, aghast.

“The hay in your ears,” smirked Emeline. “What’s worse is that the Montoire manor and their family refuge were asked for reinforcements and they refused. ‘Making emergency repairs’ was their official response when they were called in front of the baron to answer for their absense. It’s bullshit. They hadn’t been attacked in two days. Everyone knows that they let the Lanceys die because the Lancey land produced their only competitor for plant quintessence in the area. The Montoire family has made a lot of money since the monster surge.”

“They wouldn’t,” said Johan, his eyes wide.

Sam, who had stopped cleaning up and was now making tea over the fire, pat Johan affectionately on the head and smiled for his attention.

“My family lost the farm because my friend Nat rejected son of a noble,” Sam shrugged. “Well, not just that but it was the start.” She smiled at Johan but her eyes were sad. “Hay in ears!”

“But… why do the bards sing of valour and glory?” asked Johan. “There must be good people too. Strong, wise leaders who bring justice throughout the lands?”

“My guess?” said Emeline. “Bards like to eat and uplifting songs of valour and glory bring in more coins than songs about how lords and barons don’t care about anyone else. It’s probably also safer to be a bard who sings nice things about the nobles.”

Everyone who was listening murmured in agreement.

“This is how it really is, Schmidt,” continued Emeline. “Bard’s tales are just tales. They’re just a story to please the soul. In life, you should make plans based on facts, not stories.”

Johan remembered Sam words from earlier, Hugh makes plans like story book.

“You should make plans like a recipe,” said Johan, repeating a turn of phrase Sam had used earlier about Dave as he stared into the fire.

“Where did that come from?” chuckled Emeline. “That sounded almost useful.”

Johan glanced at Sam who just smiled back.

“It’s something that an insightful person said about my team leader, Dave,” said Johan. “He makes good plans that sound bad. Except - well, like you said, plans in stories are bad but sound good? But I’m told that he makes plans like… Like how a recipe isn’t interesting but it’s good, you know?”

Johan’s struggled explanation was met with confusion by Emeline.

“Nah, I get it,” said the red-haired man with the bottle who was just sloshed enough for insight to come rushing through his mind. “’s like… beer has a recipe. Yeah? And ’s jus’ barley, water, hops and yeast, right? But ’s like… You know? You can write it down and ’s jus’ there an’ ‘s boring, right? But it makes beer.” He smiled and held up his bottle. “An’ the beer’s great! I love beer! But, you see… you see that’s it. Nobody’s happy for barley, water an’ all that, yeh? Bardsh shing about drinking the beer but… but your man, the team guy, he’s… He’sh the man with the recipe.”

The man grinned knowingly at his audience and took a swig from his bottle as they turned his words over in their heads.

“By Lady Knowledge herself,” said Hugh. “That actually made sense.”

Welcome back, my friend, said Knowledge inside Hugh’s head. I missed you while you were lying to yourself.

Hugh smiled. For the first time in days.