>
> One gold Dinar coin (or Doubloon) equals one old square pure silver Imperial coin, the most commonly used coin of the Imperial Era. The latter was valued twelve silver Dinar coins. The highly coveted coin has been incorporated by the Pirates as a secret currency or reused as passport and it is known in the criminal underworld of the Old Realms as the 'Silver Skull' or the more esoteric ‘a piece of twelve.’
>
>
>
> Coinage, a primer.
>
> Federico Mclean
>
> Circa 175 NC
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Roran, of Saeveril
Second of the Phalanx
Leader of the Main Othrim
The Shores of Rain-Minas
Part I
-The cutthroat of Shark Isles-
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Fergen O’ Mecatan had repaired Theodas Hoplite helm. He’d smoothed and polished the bronze details but the scars were still noticeable on the hardened metal. The imperial steel was difficult to dent even if it wasn’t spell-forged but it happened. Fergen had ‘revived’ it as he called the procedure of re-hardening the ancient steel keeping the old bronze decorations intact. The dents had stayed because the steel remembered its previous owner the blacksmith had said trying to justify the imperfections.
Fergen had difficulty producing flawless armour and weapons but in this he’d succeeded. Roran had named the remade helm ‘Theodas’ to remember his late comrade still living in it. Malon another one of the old heads swiped back his short blue hair once with the flat of his calloused hand, long fingers wrapping around his ovule-shaped head and then glanced at Ayas and Orym sharing a bloody cut of meat.
The Othrim was back in full strength. Anfalon had re-christened the old 2nd Othrim as the Main Othrim in a brief address before their departure. It was fittingly so as they were the last surviving units of the Imperial Phalanx. Roran stared at the sinister dark-steel of the Hoplite helm he had placed on a rock across from him.
The other three Othrim had returned to Goras with the Lord Superior and his Hallowed.
Just like the ancient helm the army had rebuilt itself.
The Phalanx had survived.
But not much else had.
He allowed his eyes to roam the wilderness reaching the edge of the desolate plateau and then the ocean beyond the beach under its full of caves sheer cliffs. Rain Minas stood a ghost town behind them. Its fort and buildings abandoned and left to the elements. Several had collapsed amongst them the famed lighthouse, others still stood partially with some even being in good condition under the overgrowth especially at the outskirts of the port city. The old docks located at the base of the overhang all but ruined from the sea, but it was the absence of the inhabitants that haunted the place.
There were animals aplenty but they had found no Zilan. Aenymriel had left them weeks back while they marched on the Old Port Canal Road and continued further south. Aquilan believed the secretive Elderblood was heading back home.
“Ever been to Nureria Elwuin?” Roran asked but the academic was busy examining the damage on the watchtower overlooking the port. One of its four sides had collapsed and the ancient Zilan had climbed the pile of debris where the hole was and gauged the cracked edges with a measuring stick.
“He’s talking with himself,” Malon rustled. “There’s a granite support beam hanging over his head I expect will come down any moment now.”
“Get him out of there,” Roran ordered and Malon murmured in protest.
“He’s impossible to get rid of Roran,” he griped getting up to go retrieve the scientist. “Like a bloody cockroach or a cursed Alafern.”
“What’s that?” a young Hoplite from Abarat named Respen asked.
“A vampire in old Imperial,” Roran replied. “They don’t live in our realm.”
“That's good sir.”
“Hah-ha,” Ayas guffawed and slapped the relieved young Zilan’s helm. “Gnomes are more dangerous fool! I’ve seen one lurking near the stables back—”
“Cut the crap Ayas,” Roran grunted stopping him abruptly and got up himself grabbing his helm from the rock. “I see Wylinor but not Aelinole, where is she?”
“She went to explore the beach with Darunia Roran,” Ayas replied and ogled his eyes, lips split in a grotesque as much as idiotic smile, all in the effort to mimic the appearance of a Gnome for young Respen.
“Darunia is not a scout!” Roran snapped not liking this slackening that always came after long marches on these low-risk exploratory missions.
“I don’t believe they are down there scouting,” Malon said returning with a protesting Elwuin on his shoulder. “Darunia wanted to clean up.”
“Let go of me you overgrown gorilla!” Elwuin protested smacking the Hoplite’s head with his stick a couple of times until a grimacing Malon deposited him on the ground. Elwuin went to return to the ruined tower but Malon stopped him grabbing him by the collar.
“Elwuin,” Roran intervened and the frustrated academic turned to glare at him. “What happened to the citizens?”
“Eh,” Elwuin crooked his mouth and then his eyes cleared some. “I don’t believe it has been documented Roran,” he replied.
“So we don’t know?”
“Of course we do. Well, it’s a hypothesis but it can be clarified easily.”
Roran nodded and Malon shrugged his shoulders and went to sit at his rock, a hand rubbing at his hurting head.
“The poisoned clouds were driven west towards the ocean,” Elwuin continued his diatribe finding an audience this time. “That saved Lo-Minas and much of Goras, but doomed Rain-Minas.”
“So everybody died?”
“They got sick first, then died,” Elwuin elucidated indifferently. “Some might have even survived only to be killed by the wildlife that migrated here. Now the actual numbers… hmm.”
“That’s a lot of souls lost Elwuin,” Roran noticed.
“Mmm,” Elwuin murmured his mind elsewhere.
“Witch-loving,” Malon commented sourly from his spot. “Othoniel amongst them.”
“We can’t condemn the mother for the actions of her son,” Roran countered.
“Someone helped Lord Sulynor get away with the witch’s spawn,” Malon insisted. He always held a strong dislike for the sorceress. Not that he’d met her or anything. Malon was just parroting the army line. No one really knew Edlenn’s kin but the higher ups those days. “It’s an old story Roran. We were briefed on the matter.”
“More than a millennia old paperwork,” Roran reminded him. “A lot has happened since that time Malon,” he added not wanting old gossip dribbling down to the newer recruits.
“We could get some of the bones out, look for markings or color. The poison seeps deep afore one expires,” Elwuin suggested looking about him, apparently still working on the previous topic. “Examining some intact remains might give us an even better understanding of what happened.”
“Forget it! I’m not digging about for corpses and old bones Elwuin. Colored or not!” Malon grunted and Elwuin furrowed a pair of washed-out blue brows unsure on the reason for the Hoplite’s outburst. In the meantime, Roran’s eyes drifted towards the old road heading towards the docks and the edge of town. Wylinor with Gorwin of Lo-Minas were still searching the ruins there about two hundred meters away from Roran. Gorwin was Aelinole’s pupil. He’d noticed them because Wylinor had stood up and waved his arm to get their attention.
Roran started marching that way leaving Malon to argue with Elwuin about the dead. He felt the solid granite tiles of the old road under his hobnailed boots, despite the dirt and old grass covering it. Both rangers stood up to salute the imposing Hoplite leader when they spotted him approach.
“What did you find?” Roran asked brusquely cutting to the chase.
“Tracks sir,” Gorwin replied and stepped away. The floor of the building, part of a hall really, was in good condition as the roof still stood over it. Roran stared at the covered in dirt marble tiles.
“What am I looking at?”
“These are dog tracks,” Wylinor explained although Roran could see that for himself. “It carried mud from outside during the rain-season and brought it in. Left it on the floor.”
“So?”
“There are different footprints mixed in with it sir,” Gorwin explained. “Well, one set really.”
“A one booted… human? Zilan?” Roran grunted and knelt to see it up close. He could spot it now amidst the animal imprints. The bottom of a leather boot with a bit of heel.
“That’s a nail,” Gorwin said. “He stood inside the hall and sent the dog towards that door,” Gorwin continued with Wylinor agreeing with a nod. “Then got out. The dog went another way, but he followed stepping over the old prints. Which is why we didn’t see it the first time.”
“A master scout hopping about?” Roran rustled through his teeth.
“It doesn’t matter how he did it,” Wylinor replied. “This is fresh mud that has dried up here.”
“Tastes of grass and dog piss still,” Gorwin agreed and knowing their weird training Roran was certain the ranger had munched on some to make sure.
“How long ago?”
“Less than a month during the last rains,” Wylinor replied. “The summer has just arrived.”
Roran grimaced and stood up. He walked to the door of the large building, the sheets missing. As did the windows and much of the furniture inside the Hall. It was shaded and something should have been left over, he thought.
“Have you found anything inside the buildings that are still standing? Sick people don’t pack up everything and leave. Who takes the doors with him?”
“Wood rots away,” Gorwin said with a shrug. “We found no significant amount left behind.”
Not all wood.
“How about gold? Tools? Weapons?” Roran grunted.
“The city has been picked up clean sir. At least where we looked so far,” Wylinor replied with a knowing smile. A stray living in the woods that had raided a lot of abandoned Imperial homes in his youth. Probably does it still.
Who would steal a door though? Strip the furniture off of a dead city?
“Come with me,” Roran snapped and walked outside.
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“Ayas, Respen,” Roran rustled. “We’re going scout finding. Malon get the troops up. What’s with the singing? This isn’t a gods darn vacation!”
“Sir?” Ayas queried and got up wiping his mouth. “Scout what?” His eyes on the two rangers following him.
“We have to look for our female ranger and the doc,” Roran explained and Ayas smiled until he saw the look on Roran’s face and cut it short.
“Lady Aelinole needs no help sir,” Gorwin said probably unfamiliar with Roran’s history with Lord Suraer’s daughter.
“Let’s at least make sure that’s the case ranger,” Roran grunted and marched down the coastal road that led at the base of the upland and its sapphire-colored pebble beach next to the old docks. In the old days working a mule wagon or carriage from the docks to the slopes of Rain-Minas was a lucrative endeavor that required minimum skill and was greatly enjoyed by the rich Cofols visiting the Imperial port.
Roran and his small group reached the ruins of the old harbor twenty minutes later, some of the dock’s buildings and wharfs still visible, and probably still semi-functional with a bit of repair despite the damage done by a couple of centuries of abandonment to the elements. Chestnut trees had grown down the canyons of the rocky plateau that stood forty meters above them. The many ravines were alternate routes to reach the city but while some were usable in the past, nature had claimed them now. The seaweed covered pebble beach littered with the sea urchin looking type of fruits, dark nuts hidden under the thorny thick green skin.
“Unless I’m mistaken, there were some fishermen docks beyond that copse,” Roran rustled after they wandered up and down the beach without finding the females.
Ayas nodded crunching on a cleaned nut he’d picked up that must have tasted like a salted turd.
“What?” The hoplite leader asked seeing his censorious stare. “Good fibers source if one disregards the taste sir.”
“If,” Respen agreed with a grimace.
A refresh course in discipline is needed, Roran decided sourly.
“Wylinor, I want you to hop into those woods and have a look,” Roran ordered the ranger curtly. The last thing he wanted to talk about was Ayas’ culinary palate.
The Hoplite had none.
“Right away sir,” Wylinor replied. Maeriel’s pupil was extremely skilled and solid in almost everything they had faced in their journey, Roran thought. Then again Maeriel’s tutor with all his faults had been a legendary ranger himself.
“I’ll come along,” Roran decided. “Ayas spit that shit out afore you get the runs and stay with Respen. Gorwin sweep the docks again lad,” he added and hurried after the fast moving young ranger. Wylinor reached the first of the trees, the pebbles under their feet turning into a dark brown soft earth, as mud coming down from the plateau with the rains had completely covered up the edges of the sheer cliffs.
“Squirrels,” Wylinor informed him and pointed at some of the tall tree trunks. “Yellow viper,” the ranger added warningly and Roran stopped to allow the hissing snake passage.
“You think there’s a black bear roaming about?” Roran asked after a moment of walking inside the woods. The trees growing quite apart from each other, the salty waters preventing overgrowth and leaving luscious paths under the shade.
“Not likely,” Wylinor said, his large pointy ears turning to listen to different sounds. “Lady Aelinole is extremely skilled to fall prey to a predator.”
Yeah she is, Roran thought pressing his mouth tight. He didn’t want to think about her, but she had wanted to come along and Hardir had caved to her demand without hesitation his mind elsewhere.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“Nia isn’t,” he murmured.
“Sir?”
“Darunia,” Roran corrected himself hoarsely. “This lovely shade. This forest… she wandered off for sure.”
Wylinor grinned and nodded. A rare grin as he was a quiet character, probably grieving someone close already, but Darunia had this effect on people of all races and classes since she was a little girl. With the 2nd Othrim stationed in Lo-Minas and Darunia being close friends with Aelinole, Roran had come to know both Elderborn females real well.
“There’s talk—” the ranger started but Roran stopped him with a glare.
“We don’t gossip about a Lady’s affairs Wylinor,” he cautioned him. “Especially when she’s above us in station.”
Wylinor grimaced. “Yes sir. I wasn’t going to.”
“Don’t let him bully you around,” Aelinole taunted unseen. “You’re standing next to a tree Wylinor,” she added coming out of the shade, clad in her dark green leather outfit. “It blocks the wind for you,” Aelinole added at the embarrassed ranger.
Roran scrunched his jaw this way and that annoyed at her teasing stare. He pushed his chest out and straightened the leather belt carrying his Kopis.
“Roran,” Aelinole said tauntingly.
“Lady Aelinole,” Roran grunted.
“Cut the crap Roran,” Lord Suraer’s daughter admonished him. “What are you doing here?”
“We were looking—” Wylinor started but Aelinole stopped him hurling a small stick that smacked him on the chest. The ranger gasped not expecting it.
“I asked him,” Aelinole hissed.
Roran smacked his lips in frustration. “We found tracks inside some of the buildings. Probably human.”
“Hmm.”
“So we came to see if you…and Darunia. See whether everything is under control,” he managed to say after a couple of tries.
Aelinole raised a cobalt eyebrow mockingly. “Unfortunately for her and me, we’ve seen no human lately.”
Ouch.
Your words are full of venom lass.
Roran pursed his lips to keep a caustic retort in. He’d avoided talking to her for the whole journey and that meant he sort of avoided Darunia as well, which made him look like an unrefined savage to everyone.
“No more comments from the First Hoplite… oops wait, that dropped back to second again no?” Aelinole taunted and then paused, her elongated ears turning west towards the unseen sea. A frown appearing on her familiar face. “You heard that?” she asked. Roran was so frustrated he hadn’t noticed anything.
“What?” He grunted seething.
“It sounded like… distant ship’s bells,” Aelinole murmured and turned around as if to pierce with her eyes the trees between them and the ocean. “Must have been mistaken.”
“Where’s Darunia?” Roran asked hoarsely, the sweaty ranger’s scent messing up his senses and her words sawing at his nerves.
“She wanted to dive for algae, you know how she is,” Aelinole replied fondly, slipping for a moment in her tone to the girl he'd grown up with. She stared at him intently. “I wasn’t going to get myself wet. Salted water ruins leather.”
Roran nodded in fake agreement since the reason was probably something pettier and less practical knowing them, like Darunia’s generous bosom which was always a hot topic or Aelinole’s imperial physique. “How far did she went you think?”
“You fear she’s in danger?”
Yes dear. We're talking about Darunia.
“You don’t?”
“She doesn’t need saving Roran,” Aelinole said dismissively then narrowing her eyes added. “You are part of the problem. All these rusty old world views is what makes her unhappy.”
There was no epoch and no era in the old world or the new, where Olonelis would allow Darunia to bed an adventurer after all that had happened with Aelinole.
She was probably talking about herself here. The elusive half-breed bastard and con-man that got away.
For crying out loud.
“I’m part of the blasted problem?” Roran grunted angry. “Old world? Your father wasn’t part of it? What? Suddenly you get what you wanted from the new Monarch and everyone else is the enemy?”
“What I wanted?” Aelinole hissed and pushed him back. “What I wanted was a bit of support from my friends!”
Roran grinded his teeth, blood rushing to his face. “We were much more than friends,” he rustled, a tick appearing on his right temple. “Until that son of a mule came along and you got all—”
Aelinole’s abrupt backhand almost knocked him out. Roran stumbled back breathing heavy and set his feet.
“Don’t do it again,” he warned her.
“Ahm,” Wylinor interrupted them. “What about Lady Darunia? She’s still missing,” he asked treading carefully.
Allgods, Roran cursed snapping out of it, his face flustered and hurting. “Get out of my way,” he grunted and pushed the angry ranger aside to march towards the edge of the forest. “I need to find Nia.”
“Huh,” Aelinole let out a scoff behind his back, but then rushed after him. “She’s not ten Roran,” she griped hoarsely. “Darunia can take care of herself.”
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The human standing by the large boat moored at the abandoned beach surrounded by the chestnut trees forest turned his head their way. He wore a large brown hat with white pearls adorning the leather band around its crown. A black leather vest over a mail shirt and baggy hemp pants. The Cofol had a sword strapped on his waistband.
He blinked once unsure at what he was seeing and then reached inside the boat nervously before Roran’s voice stopped him.
“Halt right there!” He boomed in rusty Common and the man showed him two decayed rows of teeth in the pretense of a nervous smile of compliance. Roran walked up to the grimacing Cofol that kept glancing at Aelinole and Wylinor. Roran had his helm on. It is the ears, he thought. Got him all spooked.
“We’re Zilan,” he told him unsure on where they stood with Sinya Nore given the recent developments. “Imperial army.”
“Abrakas rusty locker,” the man grunted in shock and made a circle afore his chest. “Begone ye devils!”
“You are standing on Imperial land,” Roran reminded him patiently, the man nervously glancing at the other two Zilan and even beyond them towards the edge of the treeline not ten meters behind Roran. “Best you get back on that boat and go back to your… where are you from Sinya Nore?”
“Where’s your ship? Why did you anchor so far from the shores?” Aelinole asked in a caring manner and in much more fluent Common than him, which rubbed Roran the wrong way for some reason. The strange man looked at her with a lecherous smirk in response.
The Ranger was shamelessly flirting with him.
Why?
“We hail from the Shark Isles lass,” he told her, then paused in alarm at the slip of his tongue.
Alright then.
Damn you Lin.
She had played that trick on him as well.
“We?” Roran queried and Aelinole twisted around, a hand on her quiver, the other getting the carved out of whispering wood bow over her head in a timed and extremely fast reaction. Roran turned around as well to glance back and towards the treeline, the helm restricting his vision somewhat. The whoosh of something flying towards him made the Hoplite to flinch aside instinctively and the small throwing axe smacked Roran on the left shoulder denting the plate and mauling the upper part of his chest.
Roran groaned in pain and faltered towards the edge of the shore, water splashing on his boots. Three men came out of the trees. Dressed similarly to the first one but carrying different weapons. Two more Cofols, a tanned bearded Lorian and an Issir. What in Allgods is this weird gathering, a hurting Roran thought and then snapped his head towards the first man.
It was good that he had.
The sneaky Cofol had gotten a harpoon out of the boat and thrusted it towards his midriff. Roran snatched it behind the hooked blade, the sharp point grazing his plate. A yank and he took it out of the snarling Cofol’s hands, flipped it over his head and smacked the dodging shorter man on his back with the shaft.
“Gaah!” the Cofol groaned and hit the side of the boat dropping on his knees. Roran turned his head around, saw two of their opponents already dead and the third legging it for the trees. He made it about five meters away and then Aelinole’s arrow exploded out of his right eye after penetrating the back of his head. The Lorian span around spreading gore in a round arc and collapsed on his face.
Roran turned to face the first Cofol again and the man, now holding his cutlass, took a step back grinding his teeth like a trapped animal. The Hoplite unsheathed the Kopis with a clench of his jaw and stepped forward to finish him off. He had given him a chance to surrender and the human had spat it back in his face. The Cofol swung his blade high to cut Roran across the face but the veteran angled his helmed head enough to deflect the blow and carved him up with a vertical slash from groin to jaw.
The Cofol’s entrails spilled out of the cavernous gash on his abdomen and he toppled backwards to end up half-in half-out of the boat. Roran stumbled back dazed, his head ringing and Aelinole’s hand grabbed his elbow to stabilize him.
“Are you hurt?” She asked worried.
Roran shook his head and her expression changed.
“What were you doing?” She admonished him angry.
“Was looking out for you,” Roran admitted with a grimace. Aelinole hissed and moved away.
“You have such a thick head Roran,” she said through her teeth, watching as Wylinor went to pick up their arrows.
“Thank the gods I do,” Roran groaned and removed his helm to check on the swelling. “Didn’t think that short fuck would come at me.”
“Why did they attack?” Aelinole asked now worried. “Where’s Darunia?”
“Obviously not with them. They seemed way too surprised. She would have softened them up.”
“You think that was funny?” Aelinole snapped. “Our friend could be in danger!”
“Goddess give patience,” Roran retorted in frustration. “I was the one worrying first remember?”
“Eh,” Wylinor gasped interrupting them. Roran and Aelinole immediately stopped arguing. Their attention now drawn to the ranger. Wylinor had stopped retrieving their used arrows out of the corpses and was now staring at a wiry, blood-covered Issir that had come hobbling out of the woods as well. The disheveled grey-haired man had a pair of woolen socks on but no shoes, tattered pants and a plain shirt with no sleeves. A neat bandage covering his left arm made out of them.
He carried a Zilan dagger in his other hand. His ashen-green eyes went from the knelt Wylinor to the standing six meters away from him Roran and Aelinole, right next to the boat. He stared at the boat itself, then paused on the gory fresh corpses.
With a shrug of his shoulders the newcomer dropped the dagger very near his right foot and grinned broadly showing as many bad teeth as the Cofol earlier, with the difference the Issir had his repaired with gleaming gold.
A lot of it.
“To the heavens above,” the Issir said in broken Imperial (although now that they could see him better he looked more like a half-breed and given his strange hair color) and Roran glanced at Aelinole, the ranger returning his stare amused. “Our greetings,” the man added that lecherous smile plastered on his weathered face. “Name’s 'Piece of Twelve' noble spirits.”
“What manner of name is that?” Roran grunted eyeing him with suspicion.
Aelinole perceptively going another way.
“Where did you hear that?” She queried frostily. “You don’t look the learned type human.”
‘Twelve’ hesitated then raised a finger and pointed at Aelinole. “Ye be the Lord’s daughter,” he said amazed and shook his braided head as if not believing what he was witnessing. “The noble Hoplite,” his eyes then rested on Wylinor unsure. “An unknown bow carrying person? Eh, be that as it may, who of ye good lads ‘n lasses cleaved ‘Sneaky’ Zaine to the brisket?”
Roran frowned.
“It must be ye,” the Issir decided and breathed out, afore smacking his lips once. “I took a guess,” he explained at the silent Hoplite. He scratched his medium beard with a dirty index finger sporting a large bloody gold ring on it, sucked another gulp of air in and sighed deeply. “Damnit, dis ain’t good,” he cursed a little disappointed.
“Have you seen a female Zilan around?” Roran grunted, extending his muscular arm out to stop Aelinole that had raised her bow to kill the weird Issir.
“Eah, lets engross ourselves in a bit of trading,” the Issir offered and Aelinole raised her bow again. “Right,” he puffed out and placed both hands on his waist, head hanging forward in disappointment. “I have no connection wit these bilge-sucking scallywags,” the Issir started. “Let’s just get that out of the way. Do I hear an aye?”
“Didn’t you just say you know one of them by name?” Aelinole asked and Roran nodded quite impressed. He’d forgotten how sharp she was.
“I have minimal connection wit these conniving ruffians,” the Issir amended his previous statement.
“How minimal?” Roran grunted.
“Trifling. Why, we be practically enemies of sorts.”
“How can you be an enemy to people you don’t know?” Aelinole asked narrowing her eyes and the Issir pursed his lips at her query.
Then gave her a lewd wink that expensive smile forming on his mouth. “I see yer a smart one lassie. Arr, too smart perhaps, ayup. Can I start again?”
Instead of replying, Aelinole shot an arrow in his bandaged arm.
“Wow,” Roran gasped thoroughly impressed while the half-breed rolled on the ground groaning a bit too loud. “That was really remarkable Lin. I’ve forgotten what a great shot you are,” he told her truthfully and walked near Wylinor who helped the moaning as if he was getting his nails pulled out Issir back on his feet.
“Ah, not where I aimed,” Aelinole admitted with a blush. “But he pissed me off and I lost it?”
But Roran wasn’t listening to her. He had stooped down and picked up the dagger the bemoaning his luck half-breed had dropped earlier.
> Darunia stopped working the silver pestle, the mortar filled with a green smelling paste and turned her clear green and silver eyes on him. A small smile at the corner of her pretty mouth.
>
> “Does brooding Roran want something?” She asked and gathered a loose blue curl behind her graceful long ear. “It’s a salve for insect bites.”
>
> “Piss is what they are advised to use,” Roran grunted sitting next to her on the ruined stairs of the old villa. “It actually smells better than this,” he added in a softer tone.
>
> “Oh,” Darunia furrowed her brows and stared at the mixture. “Wait, I have jasmine seeds! That’ll fix it he-he,” she gasped and started looking about for her large leather bag. Roran reached and picked it up for her.
>
> “Anything else?” He asked the riffling through the packed bag female.
>
> “Sweet grass. I’ll shave a bit from that corner. This was a garden once you know.”
>
> “I know,” Roran replied and reached on his harness for the dagger Fergen had made for him. A gift for the dents on the helm, he’d told Roran. The Hoplite didn’t mind the dents but he had accepted the nicely engraved dagger. He gave it to the comely Healer hilt first. “Here. Use this.”
>
> “Really?” Darunia asked unsure and came to kneel next to him. “What if you need it? What then?”
>
> “I’ve a bag full of weapons Nia.”
>
> “Aww, you’re so foolish,” Darunia chuckled and accepted the dagger. “I don’t care about all that Roran. Nor does Aelinole. Not anymore.”
>
> Roran nodded his face sobering.
>
> “Apologies,” Darunia said seeing his expression and touched his hand. “I misspoke. For this I care,” she added in a hushed tone.
>
> The gesture was her meaning.
>
> Roran’s eyes had dropped on her soft hand covering his.
>
> When he raised them, Darunia was examining his face.
>
> “I’m not sick,” Roran croaked feeling her energy flowing through his body like warm honey.
>
> “Roran of Saeveril,” Darunia chuckled, her cheeks a fierce crimson. “I don’t believe you are,” she added and then retrieved her hand. “Are you mad?”
>
> “I can’t be mad at you,” Roran admitted with a smile and got up.
>
> “Eh,” Darunia said with a deep sigh and got up as well. “I wish you would,” she added and walked towards the edge of the overgrown ancient garden.
>
> “Why?”
>
> Darunia paused and turned to stare at his confused face.
>
> “What does Lord Suraer’s daughter have that garners everyone’s attention?” She asked him sadly. “Even the Monarch had forgiven her.”
>
> Roran stood back surprised.
>
> He didn’t do it for her, Roran thought. This was a favor for her father.
>
> “Darunia you were always the center of everyone’s attention,” he told her instead not wanting to touch that subject. “No one ever came close.”
>
> “Aelrindel is still much praised. Eons pass and people remember her,” she argued with a pleased smile.
>
> “Aelrindel was a crazy witch,” Roran murmured channeling Malon shamelessly.
>
> “Mmm. By the way, I used the term ‘everyone’ to not make this awkward for either of us Roran,” Darunia said and stooped to gather some of the vanilla smelling wild grass using his knife. “But I appreciate the compliment.”
>
> Ah.
>
> He stared at his muddy boots for a moment unsure. “Your mother—”
>
> “That’s your reply?”
>
> “I thought… what about this adventurer?”
>
> Darunia pointed at the door of the ancient yard. “Go find your ranger Roran. Sometimes you need to listen even if it’s hurtful,” she paused and cleaned the knife on the grass. Then picked up a handful of it and got up. Seeing him still standing there Darunia smiled and added. “Not every relation works out. It is true for me and it is true for you Roran. You’re just too stubborn to let go.”
>
> “Darunia,” Roran protested.
>
> “My heartfelt gratitude for the gift Roran,” Darunia had replied evenly.
“What is it?” Aelinole asked sensing his anger, her tanned face paling when she realized what Roran held in his shaking hands.
A scowling Roran got up and glared at the still complaining stranger, his voice a menacing growl.
“Where did you get this dagger?”
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read it at Royalroad : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/46739/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms
& https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/47919/lure-o-war-the-old-realms
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& https://www.scribblehub.com/series/547709/the-old-realms/
The chapters are re-edited and re-posted regularly at both places