Badump.
Something… felt strange.
Where, or what... is this place?
I felt as if I were watching the world through someone else's eyes, unable to move my own hands and feet.
Badump.
Everything felt a little… blurry. I was inside someone's home; that much was obvious. A mostly bare place, with some scattered junk, likely the kind of trinkets humans loved to have. At least it was clean, with wooden plank walls and a stone fireplace with a small cauldron filled with some kind of stew. I couldn't stop myself as I walked to the pot and used a wooden ladle to fill a wooden bowl with the stew.
I carried that bowl of stew to what looked like the only bed in the home, where a woman lay with a crying newborn babe, while a tall man held her hands. They smiled at me though their faces were blurry.
Badump.
The world shifted and the woman changed. She wailed as tears stained her cheeks and her eyes rolled back into her head. She was completely emaciated and this time everything was clear. Black spots and pustules covered her body. Her gnarled hands reached out towards... us?
Why am I holding the young babe?
Badump.
The world shifted yet again. There was a cleric standing nearby and a tall man whose lips were twisted with grief. I watched the woman's corpse burn in a dirt hole before it was buried beneath the earth.
Badump.
These were clearly someone’s memories, but whose?
The tall man's bluish lips and cracked neck greeted me this time. He dangled limply from a rope hung from a ceiling beam, the stool he’d stood upon knocked aside.
The fragility of humans never ceases to amaze me. How could a single species vary to such extremes?
Badump.
The world shifted again and an angry-looking man ran past me. I was cowering with a child; we were clearly hiding from him. As she whimpered in hunger, I pulled out a neatly wrapped slice of bread from a pocket. She looked emaciated with hunger.
Badump.
“—thistle” A whisper pierced my consciousness and there was a slight pressure on my shoulder.
“HEY THISTLEMAN!” Diane shouted.
I practically fell off the horse as my eyes snapped open.
Good. At least that's over with.
“Finally, you’re awake. You had me worried, spacing out like that! So don't do that anymore, ’kay?”
How am I supposed to not do something that I don't know I’m doing in the first place?
“I’m sorry… I'll see what I can do about it.” I shrugged with a somewhat pained and confused expression.
Now that I really think about it, all those people I saw, weren't they the ones from the locket?
“Its fine, don’t worry about it. We are about to reach the gate, so just follow my lead.”
At least she adjusts pretty quickly. Resilient kid.
I wasn't in a particular rush, but I figured I would have time to investigate this locket issue later.
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The sky was overcast as they approached Njord. Massive wooden walls surrounded the city, each post in the wall looked like someone had just planted a whole tree and lopped off the top.
Rumor had it, the city itself was first founded thirteen-hundred years ago by a man claiming to be a powerful Viking lord from a world completely unlike their own. While most believed the truth behind its founder was likely exaggerated or embellished, none could contest he established one of the most fearsome raiding fleets of his era and terrorized much of the coast of Anastasia. After his death, his many children picked up his mantle, but due to constant infighting, the city never grew to be much larger than it was today. The city maintained its way of life until three-hundred years ago when Luthas the Great began his wars of unification. The city, weakened by a millennia of infighting, submitted to Luthas when his armies marched north, sparing them from destruction and allowing them to maintain their traditions in exchange for their loyalty.
As such, the men of Njord swore their loyalty to the king and his direct heirs. Luthas had granted the city a certain level of autonomy to maintain a peaceful balance, which helped it to become one of the fastest growing cities in the kingdom. The city was led by a chief minister elected by the people with the region being managed by a baron appointed by the king, directly from the noble families of Njord. This resulted in Njord being the farthest reach of royal land from the capital and one of the king’s most powerful backers. It also made the direct political influence of the other lords and ladies of the land extremely weak.
Numerous long houses filled the city, built with a mix of wood and clay. The roofs were covered with thatch, with the wealthier houses and shops replacing much of the thatch with wooden slats and clay tiles. The powerful nobles’ homes and the churches stood several stories high, adorned with various carvings of large sea serpents, carnivorous fish, and krakens.
Half the city was built out on to the ocean itself, protected from the waves by a large stone seawall with an entry gate for ships entering the port and fisherman leaving the city. Most settlements near the wilderness were eventually ravaged and destroyed by the monsters and demi-humans who would occasionally go out on raids. The survival and growth of this city was a testament to the hardiness of its people.
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“HALT! State your business in Njord, travelers!” a male guard commanded in a stern Njordic accent.
A large, burly man with blue eyes and blond hair marched forward to address Diane and Thistleman as they arrived. He wore well-maintained fur armor, and his arm rested calmly on his sheathed sword, likely made of cold iron, a specialty in the region said to rival steel mainly due to its effectiveness and durability against monsters, although far weaker when used in dealing with people.
The two children stopped their horses, the pitiful creatures snorted and shook their manes, thankful for a break.
Before Diane could answer, a female guard stepped forward and chastised the man.
“Bjorn, give these kids a break. Just look at them and the condition they are in! Come now, you’re safe from any trouble here.”
The woman had a slim build but was more defined than the man, and she had a large scar cutting across her face. Instead of furs, she wore a cold iron chain shirt over leather armor and a cold iron helmet with fur ear guards. She used her long silver spear as a walking stick; the soft thuds of its base hitting the ground became clearer as she approached. Her long blond hair was curled in to a bun behind her head, and her silver eyes shone with a kind expression.
“My name is Brunhilde, please forgive Bjorn for his stiffness. He is a new guard here and I am overseeing his training. Now, I know this may be hard for you, but please tell me about what troubles brought you here in such a manner?” Brunhilde emanated a disarming demeanor, and she asked her question while reaching up to pat Diane on the head. Meanwhile, Bjorn’s face winced at the critique, but he quickly resumed his stoic behavior.
“My name is Diane. Diane Culaine. I was coming here with my… servant, Thistleman, and our coachman when we were assaulted by bandits. I… I managed to kill most of them before we were able to flee. I don’t know if there are any more. Also, can you please stop patting my head? I’m not a kid!”
“Wait… you were assaulted by bandits? And you both killed them?” Brunhilde's eyes widened, as she looked between the two disheveled kids.
“No, she killed them. I only ran around. Oh, and here, they had these tokens on them!” Thistleman chimed in, and tried to pass over the tokens to the guards.
He had smiled quite pleasantly at Brunhilde, or so he thought, but the fact he talked about killing people so nonchalantly really threw her off. Diane’s pained reaction made sense, even if the fact of the kid killing bandits did not. But Thistleman… that cold, emotionless smile just gave her the chills.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“No… you should keep those to turn in to the Adventurer’s Guild. Those are Thieves’ Guild tokens and you will be able to claim a reward for turning them in. Also… are you sure you were the ones who killed the bandits? How many of them were there? Ah… wait, never mind.”
Brunhilde quickly changed her line of questioning as Diane tightened her fists on her horse’s reigns, her eyes boring holes into her.
“Just… let us see your identification then, and you can head on over to the guild.”
In response, Diane pointed at the crest on her bloodstained dress.
“This is all the identification I have with me.”
Brunhilde sighed. She looked carefully at the crest, and nodded. “House Culaine. Well, it will have to do. When you head into the city, make sure you swing by the city’s government office for new entry permits. An adventurer’s card works just as well, but I think you are a bit young to get one of those.
“Also, try to avoid the Brahmoun District. That area can be quite seedy and wouldn’t be safe for you kid,” Bjorn chimed in, trying to sound useful.
“Thanks, we will try and take your advice,” Diane responded, trying to regain her noble bearing before riding into the city. They could hear Brunhilde chiding Bjorn again about not scaring kids as they rode deeper in to the city, although this time with notably less energy than before.
Diane and Thistleman rode slowly through the city. Diane’s exhaustion was starting to catch up with her, but she remained focused and continued looking for the Adventurer's Guild.
Thistleman acted as if he was tired as well, even though daemons weren’t particularly known to need sleep. Still, he had to play his part. Even if it was a… peasant's role. However, Sen—Thistleman never failed at anything. If he was to be a peasant supporting Diane, his "bestest" friend, then that meant he would be the best damn peasant friend she’d ever had! As a best friend, he would be just as tired as her, and persevere just as long! Except he wasn’t tired. At all. He tried not to think about that part.
At least trying to figure out how to fulfill his new role was absolutely fascinating, particularly because it involved concepts so absolutely foreign to him. He’d had ten thousand years of study on annihilating things, all things, everything. He was probably the foremost expert on the topic in the multiverse. But… how the hell did being a friend work?
The city had a very different vibe than Versailles. Other than the architecture, the people themselves behaved vastly differently. There seemed to be less entitlement and a stronger focus on community than business amongst the residents. People were also notably much poorer than in the ducal capital. And more heavily armed. Probably due to cultural traditions and living on the edge of a violent wilderness?
Eventually, the pair reached the Adventurer’s Guild. It was located at the last patch of shoreline before the road was replaced by wood-plank pathways, expertly built to rise and fall with the water and preserved with magic. The pathways connected all the different buildings and districts out on the water. Kids could be seen diving off some of the buildings into the water, clearly undeterred by the colder temperatures. Some of the sections had old men sitting in chairs, with their rods in hand and a line in the water. Others had bridges between sections, and people paddling around them in small boats… for fun?
Diane didn't bother to look around as she quietly plodded onward. She was here for the Adventurer’s Guild, and she would need to collect the money so she could get a place to sleep.
Get in the guild. Get some money. Find an inn... then... find work? People usually just give us money... so who gives them their money?
They dismounted and hitched their horses by the water trough near the guild. The horses were all too happy to finally have a break, and slurped up the water ferociously before nodding off at the first opportunity.
Diane hauled herself up the small set of stairs that led to the front porch of the guild, covered with a nice plank roof. The double doors were made of a solid dark oak, with a deep red border around them and golden handles. On one door was a large gold plate with the image of the known world, Anastasia and Ebenheim, surrounded by a great serpent, known locally as Jormungand, the World Eater. This was the crest of the Njord branch of the Adventurer’s Guild.
As Diane started reaching for the handle of one of the enormous doors, it was jolted inward. A group of rough looking individuals barreled out, not paying any attention to Diane or Thistleman as they sauntered past. The inside of the guild was noisy. Apparently, a lot was happening around the world.
Various adventuring and mercenary groups gathered around tables with flagons of ale, debating and arguing over posted requests and hearsay.
A large band of mercenaries boisterously bantered over a new posting that had found its way to their table, with only criers recruiting for other missions able to shout above them.
“Have you heard? The Frost Queen has declared war on the dwarves of Moeria again. Seems they weren’t prepared this time. They have posted some pretty hefty mercenary recruitment ads.” A balding, steel clad man with glasses stared at the posting, while nudging a stout bearded fellow in the seat next to him.
“How hefty? I hear those snow elves are an extremely violent lot. If you don’t die by their hands, living as their slaves is arguably much worse…” The bearded man grunted thickly, guzzling an entire pint to himself.
“Five hundred gold coins for participating, and a dwarven crafted weapon if you do especially well.” The entire table lit up like a beehive.
“Damn, they are desperate to offer that much! But… to get my hands on a dwarven weapon? I think it might be worth the risk.” A dark cloaked man on the other side of the table tossed a particularly keen dagger in the air and caught it again, smiling with a hint of greed.
“Plus, I hear that Frost Queen is quite the beauty. I wouldn’t mind dying if it’s by her hands.” A younger lad, barely a day over seventeen gawked over the bald man's shoulder.
“This is why you never get any girls. You really need to stop coming off as so desperate!” Another young lad jabbed his elbow into the side of the first kid, while his eyes wandered over the poster all the same.
“Philistander’s Hunters are currently looking for a healer! We are hunting the mighty sabretooth, and promise an equal share in the reward!” A well-dressed ranger leapt atop a table, his green hood pulled black while his cloak swished elegantly behind him.
“How would we even get down there? I hear piracy has gotten even worse in the Treacherous Isles, and the land route is so far the war might be over by the time we reach there.” Another bald mercenary slammed his flagon onto the table and leaned in incredulously.
“That is a fair problem, but it can also be a boon. I hear there is also an extra reward for capturing pirate bounties. We can make a quick buck on the way to our next job!” the glasses-wearing man responded, as he leafed through a few other pamphlets.
“Hahaha, now that is thinking with your noggin!” The bearded man laughed heartily.
“Captain Morgan is looking for several groups of adventurers to provide security for his ship on a voyage to the Empire of the Sand. Meals will be provided, as it is a round-trip we are willing to accept adventurers for security on one or both directions.” A well-dressed sailor with a particularly nice feathered hat contrasting his rough features shouted well above the din as he read off his announcement, much to the chagrin of the ranger.
He ignored the scowls from the green-cloaked man, as a pair of men in clerical robes patted the ranger on shoulder before walking over to speak with the feathered-hat crier.
“A lot of other adventurers are also heading south, but I hear it is for different mercenary jobs. Some other groups still in the kingdom are hiring adventurers left and right,” the only canian in the group barked, his dog-like snout dripped with froth from his mug.
“Yeah, it seems they are paying well enough and there is no fighting involved. Definitely a lot safer than hunting monsters up here.” One of the youths jumped back in excitedly.
“That crier for Captain Morgan sounds pretty interesting. I always wanted to visit the Empire of the Sand. I don't trust a damned soul who recruits adventurers and mercs for ‘peaceful jobs’, but I hear the drow are pretty close to the humans up there. I also know from very reliable sources that they are much better to deal with than the snow elves! I say we check up on that job instead, eh boys?” the bearded man demurred.
As he stood up to go speak with the feather-hatted man, he yelled out to one of the serving girls, "Aye, lassie! Another round for me boys over 'ere!"
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Diane and Thistleman made their way through the crowd of adventurers to the front desk, occasionally dodging a spilled drink and the feet of heavily armored paladins and knights. They arrived just as a man in full-plate mail armor picked up a small purse of gold from the attendant and walked away.
“Next! Nyah!” A fuzzy catkin called out to the group. She had silk black fur, round cat-like eyes, and pointy cat ears. Long whiskers poked out from a small patch of white fur around her nose, and a pair of small, sharp teeth protruded from her mouth. She was absolutely adorable.
“NYEXT!” she called out again. Someone behind Diane and Thistleman pointed down to the two kids at the foot of the counter.
The catkin looked over the edge at them in surprise, before speaking.
“Nyah! Sorry, I dyidn’t see ya there! I’m Elsie! How cyan I help ya?”
“We heard we can claim the bounty on some bandits if we turned in their Thieves’ Guild tokens here?” Diane said.
“Nyah? You’re claiming the bounty on some bandits? Nyow how did ya myanage that? I byet these aren’t even going to byee real tyokens. If it’s a scyam, then scram!”
Thistleman passed the tokens up to the catkin, quieting the laughter of some of the adventurers behind them. Elsie looked at the tokens for moment, then back at Diane and Thistleman. Then she looked back at the tokens. She then pulled out a monocle from her green vest, and looked at the tokens through the monocle.
“These are indyeed legitimate tyokens,” Elsie said, clearly dumbfounded.
“Then I would like my pay for them please.” Diane was quite tired, but she still maintained her professional business sense.
Even if her family despised her, she’d still had a proper noble upbringing.
“Hymmm, nyormally we don’t pay non-adventurers for quests, but syince these byounties were posted by the town guard, they asked us to pay anyone who cyollected on thyem. Syince the byandits hyadn't byeen myuch trouble, the reward is oynly forty silver cyoins and thirty-eight cyopper cyoins. Anything else I cyan help you wyith?”
“I would also like to register to become an adventurer with my servant, Thistleman.”
Elsie’s tail immediately stiffened. The other adventurers nearby became deathly silent, before erupting in laughter.
“First, this girl claims a bounty on bandits, and now this child wants to become an adventurer?!” A beady-eyed man grinned incredulously.
“Hahahaha, come back when you are old enough, kid!” A gruff man wearing a metal hat chortled.
Thistleman stared daggers into the crowd of adventurers.
These pathetic ingrates dare to laugh at her? She is my master, and that alone puts her leagues above these worthless pissants!
At the catkin’s shocked silence, Diane continued, pointing at her crest and spoke with more determination. She was desperate, and after hearing the other adventurers’ gossip about what they could earn and seeing what she just made, she knew she would have no better choice if she wanted to survive.
“I am Diane of House Culaine. I am pressing my right as a noble to register as an adventurer.”
Some of the poorer noble houses would send their children to prove themselves as adventurers as a way to increase income, build status, and reduce their expenses on hiring people to train them. While it would normally be considered dirty for a great noble house to do the same, it was not entirely unprecedented.
Diane’s declaration brought silence to the crowd, before an even greater round of laughter.
Thistleman was downright furious. His anger was overflowing into Diane, who barely managed to contain it herself.
“Well? I’m waiting.” Diane puffed out her chest and placed her hands on her hips, staring with absolute determination into Elise’s eyes.
The catkin sighed.
“Fine. Nyah. But when you regret it, dyon’t come crying back to mye.”