Ciridor manages to arrange the carriages, modifying the seating arrangements so that the more contentious women were in one spot, the more contentious men were in one spot, and his group of academics were in nice little groups so he could keep an eye on them. He usually tries not to separate or mark people in such a manner, constantly switching seating arrangements so no factions formed, but this is a delicate matter. He doesn't want to take the chance that he'll lose track of one person and then the Mystic College has a powerful enemy for life.

He keeps his head down, pretending to go over his notes and reports, work he'd been pulled from to perform this asinine chase. Who steals a seer's corpse? So blatantly? Even if the king doesn't respond, neighboring powers might attempt to retaliate. He sighs, keeping an eye on the living wagon and the plague bearing maiden ensconced within.

"You think you've got it tough?"

Turning he spies the Historian. She'd come up behind him then made a joke in very poor taste. Although he supposes she has a point. He sighs, barely resisting a flinch as he realizes that they don't have the proper equipment to purify her undead aura. They weren't prepared to do the reawakening ritual for a week or more, depending on how long it took for them to gather the proper supplies. And the plague maiden did the ritual, no, a ritual in the middle of a battle, no preparation? And she's a purifier?

"I'm afraid that these concerns are a bit out of my fort," he offers a tired smile. "This is a job better handled by the speakers, but they were left behind..."

"It was supposed to be a simple retrieval," the Historian smiles benevolently. "'Best laid plans of man' and what not."

"As you say," he offers a small bow, lowering his head slightly.

It could be worse... Ciridor resists sighing as he goes over his reports.

A powerful caster who is also a purifier, and willing to join the College? A Historian so soon after the death of a Recorder? And proof of the Baron's misdeeds. Technically... The trip has been very productive. But it's such a hassle. Now... Will there be an introductory period before or after scheduled events? The events are scheduled ahead of time to allow people time to get their schedules set in time to participate. So... Schedule an introduction a week from now...

That taken care of, how do they prevent contamination? A troll? In town? And people know about it? Why hasn't the baron sent word to the king to have the threat eliminated? Or, if he's trying to hide the fact that there's such a threat, why not hire adventurers? Surely this is another strike against the bloodthirsty bastard? Unlawful expansion, interfering with the Trinity, raising a force loyal to the barony, not the kingdom? If he's not planning insurrection, surely he's planning treason. But how does he plan on sustaining the small town as a kingdom?

That's not his concern right now. Dealing with a powerful, feral, sacred maiden, educating Outsider's, ensuring the peace of the College. That is his concern. It's almost more than he can handle, why, when he's already nearing his limits, would he ever push for more? For the same reason he's bound to the College. He chuckles at himself, looking up as the few exit the brothel in a dour mood. They're not his problems either.

"Dude, Leila fucked everything up for all of us," AErin sucks his teeth in annoyance, glaring with his eyes turned towards the brothel even though he doesn't turn to see it.

"How so?" Ashley turns a cold glare on him, her unshielded undead aura actually damaging his life force.

"Hmm?" AErin looks at his weakening limbs in confusion before Serah stands between him and Ashley, hands set to draw her blade. But she doesn't.

"Please. We abandoned Leila and she made it so far without us. She didn't do anything," Serah says sadly. "The lady in charge would've responded the same with or without any connection to Leila. She doesn't like Outsiders, or can't you see that either?"

Ashley's gaze warms, although it doesn't undo the damage, as she turns to Serah.

"Exactly right," she nods to the smaller woman. "We've just got the knowledge to see it. Leila didn't. And she still worked hard."

Ashley sighs, the temperature dropping and a dark cast falling over everyone within 20 feet. She tells herself not to do that again in the future.

"We can't invite you to join us at the College, you don't meet the requirements, but it's not safe for you to stay here either..." she explains, heart unmoved, but she remembers how she would have felt.

"Wait, what?" Serah stares at her, wide-eyed as AErin waits patiently for an explanation.

"The College is like that cursed horn. It kinda has a thing for killing non-virgins. Only reason I'm safe is because I'm already dead. And a Seer," she admits with a self-effacing roll of her eyes in a "what can you do?" manner.

"Then... Where do we go?" AErin finally catches on, eyes wide and hopeless, and not just from the life drain.

"You guys will have to figure it out like the rest of us," Ashley gives a weak and shallow shrug with one shoulder. Barely more than a twitch. "If I can find a way for us to get back I'll contact you, but I have to go now. I'll try to keep in touch, okay?"

"You can't just leave!" AErin stammers incredulously.

"If I don't leave you two are gonna drop dead. Kinda undead and slowly killing everyone here," Ashley gives another slow eye roll. "It's one of the reasons the College is gonna need her so badly. There's supposed to be tools and things in place, but usually the Historian is brought back with those things on hand."

"So you're saying she fucked us," AErin lets his hands fall heavily to his legs, inadvertently striking out, but not hitting any of the dangerous figures around him.

"She didn't fuck anyone," Ashley jokes. "We've gotta go. I'll try to keep you guys in the loop."

Giving a small wave that futzes with their memories a little, Ashley tells herself not to do that again. So many casual gestures and actions that now have such serious consequences. She'll shoot them a PM later to remind them of the recent events. Just in case.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

She climbs into a carriage with a rarity. A half-elf the only other occupant, and the driver, the rest of the Collegiates crammed into the other transports to lessen the chance of sudden death in their number. But still, she'll have to be careful. As they take off, Beryl explaining the use of the mystical device, knowledge and practice are two different beasts, Ashley does her best to put her two friends out of her mind. She really can't help them right now. Not without completing her acknowledgement ceremonies. She's not at full power yet.

Ashley laughs as she realizes that the vehicles are little more than glorified golf carts. Perhaps they're new devices, this world hitting its Industrial Age at the same time they were drawn over in their vehicle. But are they the only ones? They awoke, alive and uninjured, their items mostly converted to something equivalent in this world, some things even upgraded. Ashley sighs, wanting to go over this with someone, but Leila's not ready and it's too dangerous for the others. Soon enough...

Beryl's heart stutters. She resists the urge to grab at her chest, trying to hide how quickly her health is failing. She cannot give in to fear. To give in is to let the undead win. To give in might corrupt the Historian, making it a true monster unbound by the Mystic College and the oaths that keep its powers in check. She will not be the reason the world falls! She just has to hold on.

She's only half dark elf, but if there's a chance she's been granted even a quarter of their long lifespan it's better for her to deal with this threat, this slow death, rather than the others. And what does she have in this world? Born from a consensual union between a handsome dark elf and a bold human woman, who would believe her when no one believes her origin. It wasn't a relationship, just a quick fling, and her, the miracle no one wanted. Secluding herself had been no simple task, but it was better than the alternative.

She'd gotten off easy compared to her siblings. Raped. Kidnapped. Sold into slavery. Her family, her human family, had suffered so much, the guards unwilling to help because of a simple tryst her mother had had when she was younger, never mind the fact that the guards had engaged in trysts of their own.

No. Her family had to be punished. It was okay for them to suffer. Thank goodness she'd managed to make it to the Mystic College. The initial distrust she had encountered had nothing to do with her dubious heritage. They just couldn't believe she was still a virgin. A pretty young girl like her? If she wasn't willing, then surely...? But she'd made it. She was safe.

She casts a quick glance at the undead, the future Historian, wondering if this is why she'd been allowed to make it so far. Was the culmination of her life to help reinstate a member of the Trinity? Would she be remembered in the history books? Wouldn't that be wonderful? From outcast by birth to savior of the Kingdoms of Man! That wouldn't be so bad...

Her heart stutters again, the pain squeezing tears from her eyes and a groan from clenched teeth. She just has to hold on.

Ulsuf Truth Speaker, former King's Ranger, is livid. Not because he'd been tricked. Lord Venril had been quite clear that he was going to hold a funeral for the Seer. He'd been honest about those intentions. But Ulsuf hadn't dug deeper. To be told, to learn through common rumor, the truth of the situation? Humiliating! To be so blatantly manipulated without a single clue? Infuriating! And to be called a liar by the one orchestrating this great comedy? Unacceptable.

There's a chance that Lord Venril will try to have him killed before he can make his report, this he acknowledges. This he knows he will prevail against. He's a King's Ranger, not some pampered lord. He's fought, he's survived, and the only reason he was sucked into this nonsense is because he'd awakened the ability to discern truth from lie. And yet he'd been so easily led about. No... He'd get to the capital. He'd give his report to the king. And nothing will stop him.

Einry loves fruit juice. Especially aged. Well. Fermented. Specially. Wine, not vinegar, although he's not against ales. But Einry really loves his fruit juice.

He's not supposed to drink it, but it's the only thing that consistently makes him happy. His wife didn't make him happy. They got along well enough, but he couldn't say that he was ever happy. Happy about the prospect of being happy, but never actually happy. They'd had kids. He'd thought it was neat, but they didn't make him happy. If anything they made him feel worst about himself and his ability to raise them. He was still figuring out how to be a husband, he was nowhere near ready to be a father on top of that.

Work never made him happy. He liked getting the money. He liked spending it on drinks. He didn't like people trying to tell him how he should spend his money that he earned working. No... The only thing that makes Einry happy is nice fermented fruit juice. The only time it makes him unhappy is when it's gone.

So he'd made a wish. He didn't have wine and he was almost out of ale. He just wanted to get enough money to buy more juice. But there's always work and not all of it is worth the time and the pain. He wants there to be work. He doesn't want to work the garbage jobs, but unless someone else takes on the tasks he'll have to do them. Until they're clear he might not be able to get to the good jobs. The easy jobs. So he'd wished for more work and someone to take on the jobs he didn't want.

But wishes don't work that way. When he'd gotten a job loading crates he was pleased. It hadn't been pushed to the back of the queue or done while he was drinking. That's nice. And the other jobs, the worthless jobs, the jobs that weren't worth walking to get them much less completing them? Someone was doing those. Whether it was someone who didn't know better or if his wish had been fulfilled and the loading job was a coincidence...? Well... It doesn't matter all that much. The jobs are done and Einry has more fruit juice.

What he doesn't understand is how those other people came in. When he and his group had shown up they'd all been dropped into the middle of nowhere. They'd had to learn how to be self-sufficient before they came anywhere near a town. And here these people are, on the remains of a coach which could be repaired, with clothing and what appeared to be starter gear. This new group had things easy compared to him and his. Are the others even still around?

If things turn out the same as last time there's gonna be a lot of death. The world drags in fodder and problem solvers, and there's no way to tell who it considers worthy of the job. Nikolaus had been brilliant. He'd died to exposure, but Kevin, worthless sack of shit... Kevin had lived. Why did the world help Kevin and let Nikolaus die like that?

He'd gotten so sick. It'd taken nearly a weak of pain and fever for the infection to finally kill him. And Nikolaus hadn't fallen for the fever. No. Nikolaus had been fully aware of how hopeless his situation was. But he'd given them hope that maybe, since the world wanted them there, since the world needed them there, that they'd find something to help. He'd died with a smile. Poor, sweet, brilliant Nikolaus.

And where was Marta now? She wasn't good, she wasn't brilliant, she was just another party girl sobering up to the great big world. She's the one who taught Einry the value of a good drink. If only he'd listened sooner. Could've saved himself some trouble. She'd been taken, hadn't she? On an early raid, before this shithole was founded. He and Gavin had tried to look for her while Kevin, fucking piece of shit Kevin, had run and hidden himself off somewhere.

And Gavin. Gavin was going to get them back home. He was so earnest. Einry hopes that he made it, even if he couldn't help the rest of them. Gavin was a good one. Unlike Kevin. Unlike Einry...

Einry looks around, bewildered. Was he crying? Was he dreaming? He's almost out of drink. He'll need to find work to get more. He hasn't eaten in a few days, does he have any money left? Ah. He needs to get more work anyway. He leans forward, no longer slumped against a building in an alley, the filth of the world unable to stick to him even as he sinks in it. With one finger he draws. Coin. Bread. Bottle. Priorities. If he has money he can get wine. If he gets money and food he can get wine. If he gets money, food and wine? He'll be set for a few more days.

Tynan approaches him, the baker's son without a miller's daughter. He should probably be a scholar or an academic but he's stuck in the middle of nowhere, baking. Tynan has work for him, if he's interested. Nothing he hasn't done before. Just a trip to the mill to bring over supplies the bakery has already paid for. Simple enough. Easy.

And to think. The new group had spawned right on the edge of town, with supplies, when there's easy work to be found. No. They're not like his group at all. They have it so easy. Well, off to work.