57- Pick a Path

Joe circled the stone several times, reading each of the tasks being offered to him.

“Just to get this straight, sir. I don't pick the one I want. Just the one I don’t want.”

“Correct,” the horned giant replied.

“And the swords. Do they just mean the difficulty of the quest?”

“They also indicate how many champions of the court you can have with you at any one time to assist you with the quest,” the Marchess supplied. “Common quests are completed by just the individual. Silence on the Shore would allow you to have one champion at a time with you during the quest.”

“At a time?”

“Each of the four churches will assign a champion to the trial quest. You would decide when to have which one with you.”

“So you all could assign level two hundred champions, and I could walk through even the toughest of these?”

“Level two hundred is a thing of myth, young man, but I understand the point you are making. We are guided by our gods in selecting your companions. It is unlikely you would receive a legendary figure for an uncommon quest. However, for Riddles in Blood, you would likely be assigned exceptional allies.”

Even with that knowledge, the choice of which one to reject was obvious to Joe. From everything he had heard so far, this Blood King sounded like a national-level threat. Even though his heart went out to the refugees, he knew he was in no way ready for a legendary quest against a Sauron-level big-bad, not to mention his army of enthralled champions. Joe had not even reached double digits yet. His gut was telling him that taking on the Blood King was suicidal.

It was not like there weren’t people suffering in the other two quests. A village was in peril in one. The other quest had something murdering people here in this very city. Both were still noble endeavors and more within his means.

“We are not doing ‘Riddles in Blood,’" Joe declared. “This Blood King sounds horrible and needs to be stopped, but I don’t have the skills or strength to tackle a problem that big.”

“Very well,” the crimson-armored lord accepted. “Sir Vanderaxe, as the representative of the accusers, will you take on the duty of a Hand of Fate, or will you pass it onto another?”

“The duty shall be mine, Lord Barrister,” Azbetk proclaimed. “It is a shame that the task this kingdom most greatly needs is the one he spurned. With the empowerment from the Maker of Fates, we could rid this world of that menace.” The fanatic turned his head to the west, glaring as if he were staring down the mythical BBG.

Something the enforcer said caught Joe’s attention, though. There were still more nuances to this he wasn’t aware of. “Explain that, please? What empowerment?” It was not likely he was going to change his mind, but no one had mentioned that Hawking would be helping them.

“My apologies,” Theodanus expressed. “I assumed you knew, but as a newcomer, then it is understandable that you would be unaware. The One Above does not give unresolvable quests. The impetus of the quest itself empowers the questors, making what might be otherwise impossible achievable.”

“So the quest itself makes the quest possible?” Joe asked.

“Exactly. Does this knowledge change your decision?”

It almost did. All those people on the Tide Dancer were undoubtedly a fraction of those suffering because of the Blood King. Yet the quest was still a legendary one. Legendary was still miles outside his scope of power, even with Hawking giving them a chance. He could see months, maybe even years, devoted to this quest ahead of him where he would be the weak link in a team of champions. All that time, also being bound to an Azbekt, or Groven, or someone like them from Phealti’s cadre of crackpots. No. Just no.

Joe shook his head.

“Bah,” scoffed the dwarf. “Vey well. He will receive no coddling from me, now or during the quest. I refute ‘Silence on the Shore.’ A simple uncommon task is insufficient to prove his tainted nature.”

“Then ‘Moonlit Massacres’ it shall be,” the taurian announced. “I, for one, am not displeased by this undertaking. The good people of Peregrine Bay have suffered these horrid killings haunting our daily lives for too long.”

“Now it comes down to picking champions to assist this young man,” the noble cleric of Glauri stated. “Sir Vanderaxe has accepted for Phealti. I would like to put forward my nephew for Glauri. He is a well-known nobleman and respected monster hunter …”

The Marchess’ words were interrupted by a growing mummer from the crowd around them, including a very excited small squee from the youngest member of the quadrunal. Even through her already russet fur, it was easy to see Mazsy was blushing furiously at her squeak of excitement.

“... the Count Valloc Randeau.”

Joe was dying to know why the clergyfolk around them were all smiling and whispering as if a rockstar had just walked into the room. He’d ask Hah’roo when he had a minute. He turned toward her only to find that she and the Acolyte of Onhur were staring intently at each other.

The kitsune spoke first, her eye still locked with the galeling ranger. “There is one here who has already sworn an oath in her heart to aid the accused. Such a pledge is sacred to the Lord of Honor. I ask the huntress Hah’roo of the Sapphire Coast if she will be Ohnur’s champion.”

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“I would be honored to serve the Truth Keepers. I’ve worked with the followers of Onhur in the past and have found your order to be fair with both your contracts and rates. We can discuss my fee after the meeting,” she replied with a wink to the priestess.

“That just leaves my choice,” the Lord Barrister mused. “Two hunters and a champion to aid the newcomer. I think this endeavor does not need another dose of might. I think I will add a dash of ingenuity.” He held out his massive hand, and a slip of paper materialized in his grasp. Even from where Joe was, he could see black lettering begin to appear across the parchment. After a couple of sentences, the writing ceased. The noble beastman handed him the slip. “Follow these directions to enlist my champion, Joe.”

Joe read the page.

“Present this to Ginnkellaselos es’Rueothilalliean, also known as Jink.

You will find him most evenings at Absinth Abby’s Tavern on Ivory Lane.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jink, Ekwiti requests your service.

Theodanus, Lord Barrister of the Hall of Justice”

When Joe finished the short message, the minotaur cleared his throat and announced. “Very well. This quadrunal has come to its conclusion. The fate of the man known as Joe is now in the hands of the Maker of Fates. May Ekwiti bless you and justice be your guide.”

The great head dipped to a courtly bow, causing many to instinctively slouch down as the mighty horns swung their way. Joe returned the gesture and then added a similar bow to each of the women who had presided over the small public court. He even gave Azbekt half a nod, which was about all he could muster for the bully.

“Can I get this thing off then, please?” Joe asked, holding up his manacled wrist.

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An hour later, Joe and Hah’roo were walking the streets of Peregrine Bay. Mazsy had decided to join them, indicating her presence was there in case there were any questions regarding the legal proceedings. Joe was ninety percent sure the real reason was the chance to meet the dashing monster-hunter that the fox girl had been gushing about for the last two blocks.

This wander was far more enjoyable for several reasons: the company, the unforced pace, and probably most of all, the return of his footgear.

Once it was made clear to the dwarf that Joe was the actual quest-bearer and no longer his prisoner, the fanatic’s brutal hostility curled into a surly sulk. He poured Joe’s item onto the street and had lingered only long enough to make plans to meet in Telemont Square late the next day.

The three nights of the full moon would begin tomorrow night. He had today and tomorrow to prepare.

“So what do you think we should do first?” Joe asked the older galeling woman at his side.

“Train. We need to get you capable of surviving this quest. Let’s get you a new weapon, and then I will teach you how to use it.”

“Good thing staves are cheap. I have a few coins, but I might need them. Mazsy, where do you think would be a good place to set up a mini healing station? I earned most of my money so far with healing.”

“I wouldn’t do that, Joe,” Mazsy expressed. “You need a basic service license to charge for services inside the city limits. While you are legally quest-bound, I’m not sure you can get one.”

“Great. I’m almost broke and unemployable.” he huffed.

“Not exactly. Being quest-bound does come with certain rights. One of which is funding. As one of the judges, I can approve small purchases without having to bother the other three churches. It won't be much, but it would easily be able to buy you a new weapon and cover your food and lodgings for the next week. Beyond that, we’d have to make a more formal request.”

“Thanks, Mazsy. Sustenance sounds like an excellent place to start. I burned through every calorie I possessed during the fight, and then I sweated myself dry during the trial.” Illustrating his point, Joe's stomach growled loudly right on cue for him.

The kitsune chuckled. “Come on. I know just the place if you want something good, fast, and filling.”

She led them away from Telemont Square, along a few blocks before entering another open area, this one was another marketplace.

Now that he was not being hauled through the city, the sight of the kaleidoscope of people around him swamped his focus. Here, he was able to witness the fantasy world of Illuminaria so much more clearly than he had in sleepy Crowfield. People of every race from those first index screens wandered around the plaza, talking, buying, selling. Giantfolk towered over the mid-height races such as humans and elves. Broad-shouldered aresa and wide dwarves had to push their way through the crowds while the small gnomes and lithe catfolk slid through effortlessly.

They eventually reached Mazsy’s destination. Even before they got there, the smell of savory food had reached Joe’s nose, setting off more rumbles. The chef was a flexible-scaled man who made Joe think of a jeweled gecko. The color of his scales across his chest and on the inside of his limbs was a brilliant aqua blue that transitioned into amethyst purple across his backside. The vendor was whirling around using both hands and his long, prehensile tail to stir pots, fill bowls, and take coins nonstop.

The busy lizardman looked at the priestess and gave the fox-eared girl a welcoming nod. Without stopping his service to the customers in front of him, he hissed, “Heyo Maszy. Usual?”

“Yes, Dubbie, but three today, please. Got hungry folk here with me.”

She dropped some silver coins into a box bolted down to one of the countertops. The scaled cook snagged three bowls off a stack and filled each first with a large scoop of some steaming gray-green mash. He then ladled on a thick gravy, topping it all with hot meat and a hefty pile of weird-looking vegetables. It looked like a rice bowl, except the rice was one of the least appealing colors for food Joe had ever seen.

Hah’roo must have noticed his face. “That is Marsh Sorghum. Despite its unpleasant appearance, it is actually quite tasty.”

“I’ll take your word for it. It really couldn’t look much worse,” he muttered as he received his bowl.

The smell coming off the dish was completely contrary to its appearance. Joe took a tentative bite of the sickly tobacco-colored grains and instantly understood why Mazsy had brought them here. The flavors were incredible. He dug in, finding wonderful new tastes he had never experienced on Earth. After a few mouthfuls, he closed his eyes; the putrid color was a distraction unworthy of the meal.

Once they had polished off the bowls, they followed their guide toward where she stated the best drinks in the market could be found.

On the way there, she had them stop at a small, crowded print shop. It appeared to specialize in small booklets of a dozen or so pages. Mazsy dashed in, returning a moment later with the Illuminaria equivalent of a few penny dreadfuls. She passed one to Joe and Hah’roo each. On the cover of his, a dashing hero was battling a tentacled aberration, entitled ‘Count Randeau, Monster Hunter versus the Hissing Horror.’

“That one’s my favorite,” the red-furred priestess exclaimed with a squeak in her voice. “I also got you, Count Randeau versus the Bats of Blackfell and Count Randeau versus the Grave-Graft Gargoyle. Those two are really good, too.”

Looking at the sensationalized booklets, Joe wondered about the man who inspired them. Meeting one’s heroes was often a huge disappointment. He really hoped that would not be the case this time.

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