“What is this?” Tezeno slurred, staring blearily at the glass of magenta liquor.
“I got it from Greymuck. When you said alcohol couldn’t affect you, I guessed who would be the biggest lush on the Hellions. You know, to see if they knew of something that would work on you. I guessed right, though it sounds like Reven is a close second. Grey called it Something Spectral Nectar,” Joe explained to the very tipsy archon, feeling a bit inebriated himself. Even though he had heavily diluted his own drink, the spirit nectar packed one hell of a punch. Joe felt the concoction buzz throughout his body after the first mixed swig.
“Does that mean I’m drinking ghosts?” the sentinel asked, squinting his rectangular eyes at Joe.
“Your guess is as good as mine, Bud. We should ask Grey. He was around here somewhere.”
‘I think Rosy threw him out after Zeabos ate all the clams and puked by the grill,’ Yuk stated. Their thoughts were blurry as well but from standard alcoholic beverages. The nectar would have knocked out the lightweight Yuk after one sip.
“Too bad for Muck,” the sentinel garbled. “Means more food for us. Which I’m gonna go get to soak up some of this ghost juice.”
Tezeno stood from the bench and began to pitch to the side. A golden gauntlet caught him before he lost his footing. As Joe was about to cast [Purge], Tez ducked away from the glowing magical hand.
“Ahtt,” the justiciar admonished, holding up a finger. “I got this. It’s first time I’ve ever been even a little bit drunk. Don’t you go healing it away on me.”
“Ok, but go easy on that stuff,” Joe warned. “Even after watering mine down, I can’t feel my teeth.”
‘Bring us food, please.’ the happy telepathic voice requested through the connection they had established between the members of Wild Order.
It was funny to think that a semi-drunk Yuk was part of at least three different conversations simultaneously. RC and Kay were talking with Taylyn and Myllo on the open porch. Hah’roo was with Reven and Morty, speaking and signing an animated debate at the bar with a group of the Swift Water locals.
Joe knew he had to switch liquors if he wanted to be coherent enough to meet with Margen in an hour. This is why he had glued himself to Tez. He wanted to ensure he was not late again, and the archon had a supernatural sense of time.
A sudden panic washed over Joe. What if a drunk Tez lost that perfect temporal awareness of his? Joe cast [Exorcise] on himself, removing most of the effects of the spectral drink. There was a hint of hazy-brain still left over from the portent spiritual brew, but he was mostly clear-headed. Joe hopped up from the table and headed for the bar to ask Rosy, the bartender and owner of Rosaline’s Ring, the time. He almost made it to the bar when in through the front door, walked the very man he was concerned about.
“Aw, man,” Joe sighed to himself. Turning on his heel, he trotted over the mighty swordsman. “I’m so sorry, Margen. I really thought I had more time,” he blurted.
“Oh. No worries, son. You’re not late, I came early. Heard you were having a send-off celebration, and I wanted to add my well-wishes. The whole meeting was just a chance for me to thank you again and give you a token of my gratitude for saving me. I already rewarded Yuk. I wanted to give you yours before you left.”
“You rewarded Yuk?” Joe asked, almost simultaneously sending, ‘You didn’t tell me about this.’
‘No big deal. Tell ya later. Pay attention.’
Even though they were standing only a foot inside the doorway, the tone of the whole taproom was rapidly changing. Swift Water did not see many celebrities. This relatively poor quarter never hosted city council members, let alone ones that were also living legends. Excited whispers filled the common room, and words of the great general’s arrival spread like wildfire.
As soon as Margen noticed, his face broke into a wide champion’s smile. This was a man entirely comfortable addressing crowds, be it his troopes or the masses. “Hello, everyone. I’ve heard our healer here has become something of a folk hero to Swift Water.”
Joe cringed as the room bellowed with cheers.
“This is not a reward, SIR,” Joe hissed.
In a low voice, the warrior retorted, “Oh. You are too young to be such a grouchy wallflower. Let these fine folks appreciate you.” He clapped a meaty hand on Joe’s shoulder and spoke up. “I need this young man for a few minutes, but enjoy the next round on me. Then, I’ll be happy to swap stories with you all. Be back in a bit!”
Margen steered them out onto the porch and to one of the picnic-style benches spaced around the raised bamboo decking. The closest open table was the one adjacent to where Kay, Myllo, Tay, and Earcellwen were sitting. Margen nodded to the group as he swung a leg over the bench seat. The guilders returned the greeting to the ancient hero while tossing Joe surprised looks.
“So, I thought about what to get you, and you are surprisingly tough to reward, young man,” Margen stated. Before he could say any more, Rosy slid two mugs of his best ale onto the table and departed. “You are happy living a simple life here in the Cliff District,” Margen stated, pulling a gulp off his mug. “Ooh, and I can see why. That’s good.”
“Yeah. Rosey’s good stuff is excellent. Careful though, the cheap stuff is not,” Joe replied, recalling the few times he tried the tavern’s common beers. They were really awful. The only reason Rosey sold the skunky lagers was that they were for those who couldn’t afford any better.
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“Been a while since I had a good ale. Alright, back to your reward.”
“You really don’t…,” Joe began, but the big man held a hand to stop him.
“I want to. And I really think I have something you’ll like. I recall you were struggling with the martial school you had chosen. Is that still the case?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “You got me past where I had been stuck for the longest time. Thanks for that. But a few ranks later, I hit another wall. I just don’t understand what this school is supposed to be doing for me. I’ve seen a few improvements in my fighting style but nothing that is worth the amount of frustration the damn discipline is giving me.”
“That is what I thought. I don’t think you understand what a martial school actually is. You are treating it as something separate from your training rather than something that should be part of it. I also think part of the problem is the discipline you picked. The Sparrowhawk School is not well-known for a reason. I had to have someone look it up for me, and I’m very well-versed in dozens of martial schools. It is an extremely challenging school, even if it’s a solid match for your mobile combat style. I think if I were that Count, I would have steered you to a more traditional school.”
“So, should I dump the Sparrowhawk style and pick another one?” Joe had been considering this idea for a while now. If he couldn’t make progress with the discipline, why keep fighting to train it?
“I don’t think so. The discipline is an exceptionally good fit for the way you fight. You just need some help getting you into the right frame of mind to learn it. This is where I can help. I have another trait for you. Your lady friend said you should be able to learn a new one now.”
“I did level recently, so I can use my ability again,” Joe remarked, suddenly feeling a bit excited. New traits were one thing he would be happy to gain.
“Perfect,” the man exclaimed, and Margen’s perfect character scroll opened in front of Joe. A trait called [Deft Adept] pulsed, drawing his eyes. Seeing the warrior’s impatience due to the approaching aide, Joe accepted it without question.
[Deft Adept] You can only fight the way you practice. +1 to Dexterity. 20% insight bonus to martial training.
“I have [Mighty Adept], too, but since you can only take one trait per level, Dexterity will help the Sparrowhawk school better than Strength would. This will not remove your need to train, but it will allow you to better understand your training and, in doing so, remove many of the obstacles that you have been encountering.”
With the long voyage ahead of him, this might be just the thing he needed to keep active on board without becoming insanely frustrated by his inability to master the discipline.
“Thank you, sir. This is great. It has been annoying me to open my sheet and see my abysmal progress with the gift from Count Randeau. This is great.”
“You’re quite welcome, and what have I said about calling me sir.”
Using Margen’s tone and words against him, Joe replied, “Oh. You are too infamous to be so informal.”
Margen threw Joe a mock scowl, which deepened into a real one as the warrior looked over Joe’s shoulder. Following his gaze, it was easy to spot the green-garbed sight of Sir Naeqen striding toward the patio.
“How does that man keep finding me?” the founder muttered. He stood up and moved to intercept the elven adjunct who was coming up onto the porch. “Sir Naeqen, good to see you again so soon. I thought we had finished for the day.”
The elven knight leveled a disdainful look at Joe before his gaze slid away. He was about to reply to the swordsman when suddenly his jaw dropped open, and his face turned almost as white as a sheet.
Earcellwen had left the other two and was now standing at Joe’s side.
“P … P .. Princess Rhuival,” the knight stammered, dropping into a deep bow. As the man unfolded himself, his gaze flickered between RC and Joe, and his face twisted into an ugly expression. “You should …”
“I should what, fair knight?” Earcellwen spoke in the ancient-sounding voice she used with Naenaeon and the pups. “Think carefully lest ye further lay insult at the feet of a dear ally.”
“But he is chimeric and infused with baleful traits, Highness. What would your father say?”
“We shall find that answer anon as we sail toward his verdant hall with the morning tide. Whilst there, shall I pass along thy concern of my judgment, Sir Naeqen?”
“Nay, Highness. Please forgive me,” the haunty man groveled. “With your permission, I wouldst withdraw lest I compound my grievous err.”
“You may,” Earcellwen commanded. Joe and Kedna, who had followed RC, stood and stared at this brand-new woman at their side. As the knight beat a hasty retreat, the implication of what this meant slammed into Joe’s brain.
“We are going to see your father? Your father, the elven king? That is your father, Princess Rhuival?”
“Well, yes. But don’t worry. I really think he is going to like you,” RC stated, reverting from the empowered noble lady back into the woodland ranger he had always known.
“You’ve been a bloody princess this whole time and didn’t tell me,” Kay exclaimed, clapping her hands to her temples. Looking at Joe and shaking her head, she stammered for a second. Finally, that determined look Joe loved crossed her face. “Ok. You have her for the next month. I get answers before you two leave.”
Dragging RC away, Joe stood beside Margen and tried to wrap his head around how a simple family visit had turned into something completely different in a matter of seconds.
----------------------------------------
The party went deep into the night. Tezeno turned out to be a happy but very emphatic drunk. As the archon would be taking care of the Haven while they were away, Joe managed to get him to the houseboat after a long and weaving walk down to the piers.
Skipping a night’s rest, Joe spent the rest of the pre-dawn hours walking the city that was now his home- the three spectral hounds at his side. They all watched the sun rise over the ocean from the beach, Joe sitting his back against the big black and white akhulut’s shoulder.
Joe knew this journey was the right thing to do. At the same time, he had gone seven years on Earth without a home before finding his way to this world. Now that he had this place, leaving it was not as easy thing.
When the sky began to lighten in the east, the group stood and headed for the purple-sailed ship. Joe had cycled through the same several emotions a dozen times. He was excited at the adventure to come, heavyhearted about leaving, and completely bewildered and a bit terrified by the bombshell Earcellwen had dropped on him.