The walk north was not especially arduous. They were still traveling along the flatlands of Galadon, prime farming country along the wide, gentle River Obrun. However, Vash was not used to trudging long miles with a pack of all his possessions on his back. His feet ached in the unfamiliar boots, and his legs burned from the mile-eating pace that Jabez set.
How does he keep up this pace with such short legs? Vash thought bitterly after a brief rest.
After announcing that they were ‘wasting daylight’, Jabez had sprung to his feet and set off with no apparent aches and pains. The Wayfarer medallion would occasionally release a pulse of healing magic, which Vash was grateful for. But it didn’t do more than dull the burning in his leg muscles or prevent blisters from forming on his heels.
Even Corwin seemed to flag as the shadows lengthened and the sun sank towards the tops of the mountains on the western horizon. Vash was about to ask how much longer they planned on walking when Jabez stopped by a tall, weathered stone obelisk at a fork in the road. The Rivermarch road continued north while a smaller, less maintained road lead west.
The Wayfarers had left most of the other travelers behind some time ago. Now the three of them stood on the empty road, waiting while Jabez considered the obelisk. Vash looked at the western road with some trepidation. He could see that the road meandered a way through high grass fields, then plunged into marshes and swampy clumps of trees.
Jabez was jotting something down in his notebook, copying runes and numbers. He frowned down at what he’d written, like the marks had given him indigestion.
“Something wrong?” Corwin asked, sharing a glance with Vash.
“No, not really.” Jabez said, shaking his head and putting the notebook away. “This is a Waystone. The early Wayfarers put them up in places they wanted adventurers to either know about or be wary of.”
“So, which is this one?” Vash asked. “Is it ‘good food and clean water’, or ‘watch out, cannibals ahead’?”
“A little of both, actually.” Jabez said, starting down the western road.
“That doesn’t sound promising.” Corwin said as he and Vash hurried to catch up.
“The stone says it’s a mana-rich area.” Jabez continued, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “So we’ll get a bit of a kick to our Talents. But it also said that this area was once home to a Shadow Cult, worshipers of the demon lord Rasu.”
“That was a long time ago, though, right?” Corwin asked, hopefully.
“Sure.” Jabez said. “But once a Shadow Cult taints an area, it’s like a stain that’s hard to get out. It may not be easily visible, but from time to time it makes itself hard to ignore.”
“Sounds pleasant.” Vash muttered.
“Depends on how bad the taint got, and how many Wayfarers have been through to cleanse it. I doubt we’ll have to worry too much. Mossfen Hold is a pretty popular spot, since it’s on one of the western paths to the Wayward Forest and Vanan Esain.” Jabez said.
Vash tried to smother a wave of concern at the mention of Vanan Esain. The kingdom of the Vanan elves, the First Bloods, the high elves, was a place he wanted to avoid, if possible. The Vanan considered Eth Mitaan to be heretics and criminals. Few groups were as dedicated to the eradication of the Eth Mitaan as the Vanan Eth Sakara. A group of fanatics that also served Vanan Esain as spies and bounty hunters. The idea of running into any of the high elves was bad enough. The thought of encountering a group of Eth Sakara made his blood run cold.
The worry must have shown on his face, because Corwin shot him a reassuring smile. “Mossfen Hold isn’t the sort of place you’re likely to run into too many high elves. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“No?”
“You’ll see.” Corwin said.
----------------------------------------
Though Mossfen Hold was only a few miles from the Rivermarch Road, it was almost full dark before they arrived. Vash groaned in relief as he stepped off the muddy path and onto the wooden boardwalk that made up the ‘streets’ of Mossfen Hold.
“I’m not sure I’m still wearing boots." Vash complained. "I may just have a vaguely boot-shaped mud coating on my feet.”
“I told you to watch your step,” Jabez said, coming up beside him. The dwarf’s legs were also coated in dark brown mud from the knees down. “Sinkholes like that are pretty common out in the marshes.”
“So are red midges.” Corwin said, swatting the back of his neck and cursing when his hand came away bare. “Must be breeding season. I swear I must have lost a pint or two to those bloodthirsty little demons.”
Vash grunted in agreement. The red midges had swarmed from the marshes near the road, following them for the last few hours. If he hadn’t been distracted by tiny, crimson, biting insects, then Vash likely would have seen the sinkhole that Jabez had pointed out and would not be covered in the heavy clay. “I need a drink and a bath.”
“We can likely manage the drink.” Jabez said, scraping the soles of his boots on the edge of the boardwalk. Mud sheared off the bottom of the boot like sculptor’s clay. “The bath you’ll have to find on your own.”
Trying to knock some mud off his boots, Vash frowned at Jabez. “Are you telling me that people stop bathing when they’re not even a day’s ride from the city?”
Jabez shrugged. “It’s the midges. The cleaner you are, the more likely they are to swarm and bite you. The folk that live out here would rather be a bit muddy than covered in midge bites.”
“I can understand that sentiment.” Corwin groaned, slapping another midge and looking satisfied at the tiny red splatter on his forearm.
“According to the Duke’s quest, we’re supposed to meet our contact at the tavern here.” Jabez said, removing the quest sheet from a pouch and unfolding it to double-check.
Vash looked around the holding’s high street. Several squat, mud-walled and thatched-roofed buildings stood on pylons a short distance above the sodden ground. Locals went about their business, sticking to the boardwalks between the buildings. They gave the Wayfarers quick glances of curiosity, but largely seemed to try to avoid notice. Vash watched as a few men closed up a building, likely a general store from what Vash could see through the cloudy glass windows, and headed up the boardwalk towards one of the few two-story buildings in the village.
Bright lanterns hung from the awning over the large front door. A crudely painted sign on oilcloth hung from a pole affixed to the side of the building. The sign appeared to have a strangely proportioned green figure in mid-song painted on it. Vash nodded towards the building. “I think that may be our tavern up there.”
Jabez glanced at the quest, then back up at the tavern shingle. “We’re looking for the ‘Singing Frog’. That could be a frog.”
“Looks more like a goblin with indigestion.” Corwin muttered.
“It’s close enough.” Vash said, heading towards the tavern, still trying to scrape excess mud off the bottoms of his boots. “And if it’s the ‘Goblin’s Heartburn’, then they likely can tell us where to find the ‘Singing Frog’.”
Corwin and Jabez did not raise any arguments, following Vash down the boardwalk towards the tavern. A young boy scampered past them, a lit twist of wicking on a long stick in one hand. The boy rushed to the lanterns that hung from tall poles along the boardwalk. The lanterns lit with a soft bluish glow, giving the village an eeiry, cold feeling, but Vash noticed that almost immediately the midges stopped biting him. A cloud of the tiny bugs formed around each of the lanterns, probably drawn by the light.
More people were coming out onto the boardwalk as the lanterns were lit. Some set up on chairs outside of homes or on the stoops of buildings. Women clustered in little knots near a large stone cistern close to the tavern, chatting while waiting with buckets to draw water for the evening. Several men made straight for the tavern doors, most in mud-spattered ponchos and high-waisted oilcloth trousers.
The three Wayfarers drew looks of interest from the townsfolk, especially Jabez and Vash. Trying to ignore the stares, Vash pushed through the slatted door to the tavern. A wave of sweet redleaf smoke washed over him, followed by the smell of close-quarters, unwashed bodies and stale beer. By the dim, smoke-clouded light of the tavern, Vash could see several men with pipes and the pleasantly bemused expressions of redleaf smokers at a trestle table. They ate some sort of roasted peppers, laughing and joking with one-another. A dice game was going at another table, and a line of men crowded the bar, holding up copper coins to get the barkeep’s attention.
Vash scanned the crowd, not sure what he was supposed to be looking for.
Maybe I should have asked more about this quest? Vash thought, feeling the hazy, light-headedness that came with redleaf smoke.
He was about to ask Jabez about their contact when he spotted a trio of men at a corner table. All three wore plain gray robes, though one wore a leather harness with a variety of straps and buckles. They had small clay cups in front of them, but they left them untouched. At first, Vash mistook the one in the harness for an old man, but on further inspection, saw that he was just extremely thin. The two men that flanked him, however, were large and doughy. Their robes stretched across their shoulders, and they had a dull, vacant expression, like cows out in a pasture.
The thin man noticed them at about the same time, turning to regard the trio of Wayfarers in the doorway. He gave them a smile, which did nothing to improve his countenance, and beckoned them with one long, spindly hand.
Jabez brushed past Vash, speaking to him and Corwin in a low voice. “Let me do the talking. You two hang back.”
“Fine by me,” Corwin said. “I didn’t want to talk to him.”
Vash followed Jabez, a step or two behind, and approached the corner table. The thin man nodded to them companionably. Up close, he wasn’t any better. The man had over-large and slightly bulging eyes. The whites had taken a yellow tinge that looked unhealthy.
But when he spoke, his voice was firm and commanding. “Hello there. I assume you are the Wayfarers that Adolus sent to assist in my little project?”
On a first name basis with the Duke, that’s alarming. Vash thought, carefully keeping his expression neutral.
“We are, if you’ve got the Marker for the quest.” Jabez said.
“Ah yes, quite forgetful of me.” The thin man gave Jabez a tight smile, then made a show of searching through the pouches and pockets on his harness and robes. Finally, he produced a bronze coin, stamped with the Wayfarer mark. He placed the Marker on the table and slid it across to Jabez, withdrawing his hand quickly once the coin was within Jabez’s reach.
The dwarf ignored the oddity and retrieved the Marker. He checked the number on the reverse side, comparing it to the one on the quest. Nodding, Jabez pocketed the Marker and regarded the thin man. “All right, you’ve got yourself a party of Wayfarers. I’m Jabez. Anything you need from us should go through me. These are my apprentices Corwin, and Vash. They work for me, and take orders from me, understand?”
The thin man’s smile slipped slightly, eyes showing a flash of irritation. “I understand how your guild operates, Master Jabez. My name is Zakarias Meng. I am a fifth circle artificer of the Nosraval Collegium.”
“Uh huh,” Jabez grunted, not quite managing to keep the skepticism out of his voice. He waved to the two larger men on either side of Zakarias. “And those two?”
Zakarias looked at his companions as if realizing for the first time that they were there. “Them? Oh, they’re unimportant. Porters for my equipment, good for lugging heavy things and not much else.”
“I see,” Jabez said, “Well then, I suppose we had best discuss what you need us for and work out our fee.”
“I thought the guild let you know all those details when you took the quest?” Zakarias said, making a show of confusion.
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Jabez shook his head. “All I know is that you need Wayfarers to help you explore a ruin.”
“Well, there you go.”
“I’m going to need a bit more than that.” Jabez said. “What kind of ruin is it? Do you need us for protection against monsters? Do you know what kind? Is there something specific you are looking for and is it something you are willing to tell us about? We need to answer those questions to prepare and also to formulate our fee.”
“You mentioned your fee before.” Zakarias frowned, then glanced up at Vash. “I thought that had already been taken care of.”
Jabez followed his gaze and then looked back at Zakarias. “Nah, that’s not how Wayfarer contracts work. The contract only covers what’s specifically outlined in the quest. You’ve already paid for us to accompany you to this ruin and explore it with you to your satisfaction. For us to do things like fight monsters, disarm traps, look for hidden passageways, well, that’s outside the scope of the quest. If you want us to do any of that, then we will have to discuss an additional fee.”
“Ah.” Zakarias said, a note of displeasure in his voice. “Then I suppose you’d best sit down so we can discuss an equitable arrangement.”
Jabez pulled out the chair opposite Zakarias and took a seat. Vash moved to sit next to him, but Jabez held up a hand. “Why don’t you and Corwin go get a drink and something to eat? It’s been a long day, and you two don’t need to be here for this.”
Vash frowned down at Jabez, then glanced up at Corwin to get an idea of what to do. Corwin nodded and motioned for Vash to follow him. After hesitating for a moment, Vash followed Corwin across the common room, taking a seat at the end of one of the trestle tables.
“What was that all about?” Vash asked once they were seated and comfortably out of earshot.
“Jabez doesn’t like our employer.” Corwin said, fishing for coins in his belt pouch. “He’s trying to get some information about this quest out of him and get us some more money at the same time.”
“So…we don’t renegotiate contracts after accepting the quests?”
Corwin fished out a pair of copper coins and held them up like other patrons had done. “Normally the quests are pretty clear: destroy five bandit camps between Sathsholm and Kharboc’s Twins and get twenty gold. Return fifteen goblin totem bags to a Guild Lodge and get a reward of ten silver each. That sort of thing. When the quest is more vague like the one Zakarias put together, that’s when we negotiate.”
A pair of clay cups thunked down on the table in front of Vash. A young man with a wispy beard and sullen expression poured a light-colored ale from a pitcher, sloppily moving from one cup to the other and splashing some on the table. He grabbed the coins from Corwin’s fingers and started to walk away.
“I usually like my ale in my cup rather than around it,” Vash muttered, lifting the cup out of the spreading puddle of spillage.
The young server’s head whipped around. “What’d you say?”
Conversations around Vash died off suddenly. The villagers didn’t look at Vash and Corwin, but they were listening intently.
Vash bristled, guessing what the young man’s problem was. “All I said was I prefer my drink to be in my cup, not on the table.”
The young man stood straighter, hands balling into fists, but Vash could see he was trembling slightly. “If you don’t like it, there are plenty of other taverns.”
He’s scared. Vash thought. What the hell is going on?
Corwin, ever the peacemaker, held up one hand in a placating gesture. “No problem, accidents happen. Just be more careful on the next round. That’s all.”
“His kind weren’t all that careful when they went chased that dire boar across my pa’s fields.” The young man said, with an aggressive jerk of the chin in Vash’s direction. “They trampled half the fall crop, then expected him to thank them for ridding the forest of a shadow-touched creature.”
“What kind do you think I am?” Vash asked, knowing the likely answer and keeping his voice carefully neutral.
“Vash—“ Corwin began, but the boy had his blood up and interrupted.
“Them highborn knife-ears.” The tavern boy spat, genuine anger in his voice now. “Call themselves the Emerald Stags. I’m sure you know ‘em. We all know how elves stick together.”
There were some mutterings from the patrons. The boy was riling up the small crowd. Vash scowled at the youth and saw him flinch, but still he didn’t back down.
“I don’t know any stags, emerald or otherwise.” Vash said, calmly. “Since I’m only a half-blood, I don’t know many high elves at all. They mostly think we’re impure, dirty, and don’t like to associate with us.”
The boy looked confused, unsure of what to say next. At that moment, the barkeeper, a rotund man with a thick brown beard and shaved head, noticed what was going on. “Cal? There a problem?”
“No problem,” Corwin called back, keeping his eyes on Cal, “Your serving boy here has just never met a Wayfarer, and doesn’t know they come in all different flavors, including half-elf.”
At the mention of a Wayfarer, Cal’s confused look became startled. “Wayfarers?”
Corwin pulled the bronze medallion out from beneath his shirt, then nodded encouragement to Vash. Frowning, Vash lifted his own medallion up so that Cal could see the Wayfarer sigil engraved on the front.
“I…um…I didn’t know.” Cal stuttered, face going a deep crimson.
The barkeep emerged from behind the bar and approached Cal, putting a fatherly hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go wash some cups for me, lad? I’ll take care of things out here.”
Cal nodded and darted off through a curtained door behind the bar. The patrons watched him go, then with a last judgmental look at Vash, they turned back to their own business.
The barkeep shook his head, drying his hands on his apron. “Sorry about that. We get a group of Vanan Rangers through here every couple of months. They say they’re hunting shadow-touched creatures in the Wayward Forest, but every time they come through, they cause some sort of trouble.”
“I’ve got no love for Vanan.” Vash said, taking a sip of his ale. “But he should know that there’s more than one type of elf out there.”
The barkeep winced. “Yeah, last time the Emerald Stags came through, they caused a ruckus out at Cal’s family’s farm. Seriously damaged the crop. When Cal’s pa confronted the leader of the group, the elf took offense and shot him in the leg. Now the crop’s ruined and Cal’s pa may not be able to work the farm the way he used to. Cal’s been working here nights after working all day at the farm to keep money coming into the family.”
“That’s awful.” Corwin said. “The Duke’s men don’t do anything?”
“The Wayward Forest is technically the territory of Vanan Esain, so it’s the elves’ domain. Those rangers are all highborn as well, so they’ve got ties in Sathsholm.” The barkeep said. “We could raise a ruckus, but it wouldn’t go well for us. Better just to keep our heads down and hope that the Stags find a different area to hunt shadow-touched.”
“Well, we’re supposed to be working with a Collegium mage to explore a ruin near here. Once we clear it out, it should lessen the impact of the shadow on the area.” Corwin said, sympathetically.
The barkeep gave a weak smile and a nod. He glanced over to where Jabez was in deep conversation with the frail-looking mage. “I’m sure it will be a great help. Enjoy your evening, sirs.”
“That’s encouraging.” Vash muttered, taking another drink. The ale wasn’t as strong or hoppy as he was used to, but it had a nice, smooth flavor with a hint of berries in the aftertaste.
“If a Wayfarer comes to town, it usually means something has gone bad, or it’s about to get worse.” Corwin said, looking around the tavern while nursing his ale. “Things look a little off, but not too bad. Though the Vanan hunting shadow-touched across the border is disconcerting.”
Vash merely grunted, taking in the furtive, curious glances of the patrons, as well as their disheveled appearance. His only experience with hold folk was from back in Durron’s Ford, so couldn’t say if they were ‘normal’ or not.
If this lot were back there, Vash thought, I’d think a blight hit their crop.
He saw many unfocused stares and forced smiles. Something was going wrong in this town and the populace was trying to put on a brave face in front of strangers.
“I don’t know the Emerald Stags.” Vash mused. “But if they’re one order of the Vanan Rangers, then they’re likely to cause as much harm as they do good.”
“Oh?” Corwin asked, trying not to appear too eager to start a conversation. “Why is that?”
“Vanan are extremely xenophobic. They rarely leave the Wayward Forest. In fact, they mostly prefer to stay in their own holdings and cities far from the border.” Vash said, setting his cup down and gazing into the wheat-colored liquid. “Vanan society considers Rangers highly suspect because they actively interact with other races and outsiders. But they are tolerated because elves need protection from those same outsiders. Rangers who leave the forest, for whatever reason, are dangerous.”
“People leave restrictive societies for all sorts of reasons.” Corwin shrugged.
“Not Vanan,” Vash shook his head. “The ones who leave the forest are zealots. Either hunting the shadow or enforcing elvish standards on the rest of the world. Like with Cal’s father. Vanan think they’re better than all the other races, blood purity and all that. Anyone daring to challenge a Vanan’s right to do whatever the hell he wants…well they see that as a threat and an insult.”
Corwin frowned in concern. “In that case, I hope we don’t run into them.”
“So do I. They aren’t fond of half-breeds.” Vash’s lip curled slightly. “Even though they’re responsible for more than a few of them.”
“Responsible for what?” Jabez said, approaching the table and tucking a folded paper into a belt pouch.
“Nothing important.” Corwin said. “Just talking about the elf situation in the area.”
“Emerald Stags.” Jabez made a sour face. “Yeah, I heard of those buggers. Useful when fighting shadow-touched, but damn annoying every other time.”
“Think there’s been an uptick in shadow activity because of the dungeon we’re helping skinny over there with?” Corwin asked.
Taking a seat, Jabez shrugged. “According to him, it’s an old ruin, not a dungeon. It’s possible that something is using it as a lair, but apparently it’s not really open to the outside, so I’m not sure how much residual effect it might have on the area.”
“How old?” Vash asked. He’d always had an interest in ruins and ancient structures. The really old stuff was on the other side of the mountains, in the shadow-pact lands, the ruins of Old Malconia. Close to the mountains, however, there were plenty of outposts, temples, and towers.
“Didn’t say.” Jabez shrugged again. “Just old.”
Vash struggled to keep his face calm. Knowing how old the ruin was might give them some idea of what they could be facing. Malconian outposts were the favorite haunts of shadow-touched. Abandoned towers from the Mage Wars attracted hybrid creatures, magical constructs, and fae. Ancient temples housed undead and unhallowed creatures. He knew this just from sharing drinks with adventurers on Traveler’s Row. The fact that Jabez brushed it off was concerning.
“From what Zakarias said, it’s a ruin of ‘historical significance to the area’, not a place of power or dungeon.” Jabez continued. “Said to be cautious of traps. Maybe some beasties from the area found their way inside, but not the nastier monsters.”
“Pay?” Corwin asked.
“Talked him up to ten gold, for delving expertise and as bodyguards.” Jabez said, signaling the barkeep for another round of ales.
“That’s pretty good,” Corwin said. “Even after the Guild cut, that would get us pretty far.”
“Figured we could head to Amical Falls after this, get Vash some more serious Delver training and take a short breather for me to work with you on some defensive Talents.” Jabez said, handing a few copper coins to the barkeep and taking the proffered ales.
“Any food, gents?” The barkeep asked, still wary, but hopeful for some more coin.
“I could eat.” Jabez said. “We’ll take whatever’s on the menu for tonight.”
“We got fried reedfish. It’s pretty good. My missus bastes it in butter and herbs.” The barkeep said.
“That’ll do. Bring enough for me and the lads. We’ll also take a room for the night, if you have one.”
The barkeep glanced at Vash and looked apologetic. “All I got right now is the bunkhouse. Communal bunks, and with the tensions with the Emerald Stags, I’m not sure the other guests would…ah…that is…”
“Do you have a hayloft?” Vash sighed.
The barkeep looked relieved. “Aye, we do. It’s a bit small since we aren’t a big place.”
“I’ll take the loft and you two can take the bunks.” Vash said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
“No, we can all take the loft.” Corwin said in solidarity.
“I’ll be fine,” Vash said, “plus the two of you snore like Tauroc with head colds. It will be a blessing to be spared from that for a night.”
“Very good.” The barkeep said. “No charge for the hayloft, for the inconvenience.”
Vash nodded, but said nothing. Jabez settled up for their food and beds, then he and Corwin began chatting about some tavern they had stayed in up in Aladur. Vash thought that their time would be better spent discussing strategies for the next day, but he didn’t feel up to pushing the issue.
Their meal was simple, but quite good. The herbs and butter masked the overall earthy taste that reedfish commonly had, and it paired well with generous portions of rice and vegetables. Vash ate methodically, turning over thoughts in his head. He should have expected to run into Vanan elves out in the world, but this close to Sathsholm was a surprise.
The su’sodla, or pure-bloods, hated part-elves even more than humans did. Kaeleshi, in Vinya Esain to the far north, were relatively tolerant. The Vanan, however, were almost homicidally obsessed with purity. Some of the high elves visited Sathsholm, and the nobility even maintained estates in the city. They rarely left their enclaves, but when they did, they went out of their way to cause trouble for half and part-bloods. A common game for Vanan youths in the city was to find a tavern, search out any part-elves, then lure them back to the estates with promises of ‘telling them about their heritage’ or ‘helping them find their ancestors’. If the poor rube was lucky, then they left the estate in the morning with only a bad beating. Vash knew more than a few part-elves who’d had their ear-tips cut off in a Vanan ‘game’.
His general demeanor must have showed on his face. Corwin looked at Vash with concern. “Something wrong?”
“Just a long day and I’m not used to that much travel.” Vash said. “I think I’m going to go seek out that hayloft.”
“All right.” Jabez said. “You might want to take a look at the chapter dungeon delving in the Gideon’s Guide before turning in. I’m not expecting this being anything more than keeping a scholar from choking on too much dust, but it’s best to be prepared.”
“Sure.” Vash said, pushing back from the table and shouldering his pack.
“Be down at first light.” Jabez said. “This place is a good distance out into the wilderness, apparently.”
Vash nodded, then left the table. He could feel Corwin’s eyes on his back. Where was this concern when I was telling you how Nyx was an idiot and going to get us killed?
Shrugging off the painful memory, Vash sought the barkeep and got directions to his ‘bed’ for the night. Around the back of the tavern stood a small, three-stall stable. An off-white, swaybacked farm horse, and a cantankerous mule were the only residents. Vash ignored the irritated brays of the mule and the placid stare of the horse as he stumbled through the dark stable. A small alchemical lantern hung on a peg on the wall, giving the stable a weak, cold light.
Vash took up the lantern and found the ladder to the hayloft. Since I’m the one sleeping here, I don’t think anyone will mind if I take this.
He carried the lantern up into the loft, grateful that it was alchemical and not oil. The idea of burning to death because he accidentally kicked a lantern was not appealing.
As haylofts went, the Singing Frog’s was pretty standard. It was just big enough for a few bales of hay and some bags of oats. Vash prodded the loose straw into a makeshift pallet, laying his bedroll across it, then settling down himself.
Lying on the bedroll, Vash suddenly felt every mile he had walked that day. It would be so easy just to wrap himself in the bedroll and drift off. But the thin scholar and his off-putting smile, coupled with the promises of an ‘easy’ quest, had him on edge. Duke Adolus would never make a simple quest part of a condition of my release.
Sighing, Vash opened his pack and rooted around until he found his copy of Gideon’s Guide. He turned to the chapter on dungeon delving and found the page helpfully dog-eared. A scribbled annotation next to the chapter introduction read:
‘Go straight to the Detect Traps formula and thank me later!’
Vash chuckled to himself, again wondering who made these notes.
Another rogue? He thought, The annotations certainly seem helpful to someone like me.
Flipping through the chapter, Vash found the Detect Traps formula. Here he found the original formula marked through with an ‘X’ and an improved diagram sketched next to it, with instructions on mana flow and maintenance. Smiling at his good fortune, Vash settled in and began to read.