Roland and Mallory fled the inn immediately after their encounter with the handsy patron. Shocked at what he had witnessed, he didn’t even realize that he was racing down a moonlit road until he nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Mallory circled back when she noticed he wasn’t keeping up with her.
“You know,” she began. “What you did back there was insane.”
“Huh?” huffed Roland.
“You didn’t finish your beer before we left that inn. I thought you grew up around here? Don’t these southern stumps find that offensive? I mean marrying a beast of burden is fine but don’t you dare leave a half empty beer glass sitting on the table!” He stared back at her, not believing what he was hearing. She continued, “Anyways, maybe you don’t care, but that rude behaviour was pretty embarrassing for me.” She trailed off, “I didn’t realize I was travelling with such a boor.”
While it obviously had little relevance to what had just occurred, Mallory was referring to a custom that was specific to this region of Relmgard. It was considered a great insult to your host or the establishment that you were patronizing not to finish your drink. The murky origin of this cultural norm was based on an old tale that was said to have taken place during the regal period of Cantermere. A war began because a visiting king sent back a glass of lager after only one sip as he thought it was stale. This was perceived as an insult by the king that was hosting the banquet and led to an argument that eventually escalated into an all-out war. Apocryphal or not, ’Bottoms up or kingdoms may fall’ was now a common phrase when downing any alcohol in the southern parts of Relmgard. That Mallory would bring up this point of etiquette after cutting off someone’s hands was ridiculous. Roland just glared at her. The moon was bright enough for her to see this.
“Don’t get passive-aggressive with me. What happened back there was entirely your fault.”
“My fault!?” huffed Roland.
“Uh, yeah. I was the one that got molested, so don’t blame me. That’d be some really regressive shit. Also, you can’t honestly blame the warrior that was pawing at me. He was loaded. All you guys act like it’s a grab ass free-for-all after a few rounds. So not his fault, really, either. Probably wouldn’t even have been able to get hard in that state. But you — what were you doing? Watching that group of adventurers across the room like you were masturbating under the table and they were your visual stimulus. I’m surprised you didn’t ejaculate all over him when he was standing next to me.”
“You’re unhinged,” responded Roland.
“Nah, you let that happen. We’re sitting there like a couple out on a date and that pervert has no qualms about coming over to hit on me? Don’t you find it emasculating to have a complete stranger stand in front of you and start grinding against the woman he assumed was your lover? How pathetic did he think you were? All you had to do was mad dog him and he would have left.”
Roland was exasperated by this stupidity, “Why not blame the bartender as well? By your inane reasoning, he overserved that guy so he’s also at fault.”
“Fine,” responded Mallory. “The blame can go 60/40. If he were here, I’d yell at him too.”
She pointed her spear at him, “They only write stories about two types of warriors: those that can kill everyone in a room and those that look like they can. Start acting like the second because you ain’t the first.”
“Sorry,” said Roland as sarcastically as he could.
“No problem. Do better next time or I might not forgive you.”
“Oh, that would be a tragedy.”
“Not for me,” she said running her fingers over the bloodied head of her spear. “Not. For. Me.” She held her hand up to the moonlight. After staring at it for a while, she lowered her arm and brought her hand to her mouth. She then proceeded to lick her fingers one at a time. When this was done, she circled her lips with her tongue. Closing her eyes, she whispered, “Blood is all dry. No taste. Too bad.”
The sweat that was running down Roland’s face suddenly felt very cold. His perception of Mallory had transformed. She was no longer a beautiful but odd travelling companion. Now she was a vision of chaos — one whose orbit he would be trapped in if he stayed near. He slowly took a few steps away from her.
“That’s how you intimidate someone,” said Mallory as she smiled and waved her fingers at him. “Now come on. We can walk the rest of the night. No one’s following us.”
As he reluctantly continued behind her along the road, she looked back at him, “Oh by the way, that ale you recommended I order was really good. Those bright floral notes were a pleasant surprise. Can’t wait to try it again.”
***
They walked along the road all night and, as dawn rose, Roland realized that they were no longer heading east.
“This isn’t the way to Bright Port is it?” he asked. “I can’t see the Argol Ocean anymore.” The main road between Sages’ Keep and Bright Port ran along the coast, so it was nearly impossible to get lost.
“We’re not going to Bright Port,” Mallory replied. “You need some books with cantrips in them. Also, you’ll need a fake passport if we’re going to keep travelling around Relmgard. We can get both of these things at my home.”
“We’re going to your home?” asked a surprised Roland. “So where are you from? Or is that another mystery I need to solve on my own?”
“Dire Fortress,” said Mallory.
“What? Are you serious?” asked a stunned Roland, but Mallory wasn’t interested in continuing the conversation.
From reading accounts of the Heroic Age, Roland knew that Dire Fortress was the Archfiend’s initial base of operations. Beyond that, though, details on the location were scarce. No major battles took place there and the Archfiend abandoned it fairly early into the conflict. By mid-morning of the next day Roland had his first clear view of the structure itself. It was nothing like he had imagined. There were no actual fortifications, it was just a large stone house.
“That’s Dire Fortress?” asked Roland. “It’s just a country house”
“Uh yeah. What did you expect?” said Mallory. “Do you know what walls, a portcullis, and a moat would do to property value? How exactly would the Archfiend conquer Relmgard with such a weak real-estate portfolio?”
Inscribed on a stone monument in front of the house were the words: DIRE FORTRESS
Underneath, equally imposing lettering read: FARMERS MARKET FIRST SATURDAY OF EVERY MONTH
***
The interior of the house was as unassuming as the exterior. It had all the trappings of a cottage and would certainly never be mistaken for a fortress. At the end of the entrance hall, Roland and Mallory were greeted by man with a trimmed beard and glasses. He looked to be only a few years older than Roland.
“Hey, Mal.” The man said as he put down the cup of tea he was drinking. “Glad you’re back. Do you know where the keys to the garden shed are? The bird feeder is almost out of seeds and could use a top up.”
Mallory sighed, “How many times has this happened? Dad installed the key rack for a reason.”
“Oh well, I’m sure they’ll turn up,” the man said.
“Sorry, do you two know each other?” asked Roland.
“Yes,” said Mallory, “This is Nick, my brother. He runs the monthly Farmers Market here. Clearly he’s the more ambitious sibling.”
“You should come to the next one!” said Nick, “Bring the whole family. Kids love the rock painting activity.”
“Anyways… Nick, this is Rol,” said Mallory.
“Yo,” said Nick as he pointed at Roland.
“Rol and I are in the middle of a quest to murder all of the Chosen,” said Mallory. “You know, as foretold by Elikar the Accursed, Seer of the Unholy Prophecy?”
“Sounds swell. But also, a bit made up.”
Roland didn’t know what to make of that last comment, perhaps Nick had the same penchant for inanity as his sister.
“Yeah, it’s very contrived,” continued Mallory. “But as Rol is the prophesied one, we need a fake passport for him, so it won’t be obvious that he’s from Sages’ Keep.”
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
Nick put down his tea and smirked, “If only you knew a great artist who was toiling away in obscurity and willing to take on any job.”
“And here I thought Dad was being sarcastic when he called you the savant of Dire Fortress,” said Mallory. “Yes, Nick, make us a counterfeit passport.”
“Well, I’ve got a pretty full schedule. But I suppose I could make time for my little sister. Although I really wouldn’t call myself a ‘savant.’ I think a term like ‘polymath’ would more accurately describe my many talents and serial creativity.”
“I guess dad wasn’t being sarcastic when he called you a self-fellating narcissist.”
“Hey Rol,” said Nick. “Doesn’t the prophecy state that you’re supposed to be some sort of wizard? Can’t you see that my sister needs to be blasted with an ice bolt?”
“Huh? Well, I can’t —”
“Because she’s definitely got no chill,” said Nick as he clapped his hands together.
“Groan,” said Mallory.
When Roland processed Nick’s corny joke, he grinned and snorted.
“Seriously, though,” said Nick. “What really happened was that I accidentally let one of dad’s favourite dryads escape. Mal must have misheard him yelling at me when he said, ‘That nymph may have been an irritating narcissist, but since self-fellatio isn’t physically possible, I can tolerate it!’ Easy to understand how you could get ‘self-fellating narcissist’ from that sentence.”
Roland now stared blankly at Nick. Was there any truth to that anecdote or was it simply meant to be another joke?
Nick patted Roland on the shoulder, “Anyways, you want some tea before we head over to my art studio?”
***
The trio went down to the basement of Dire Fortress. They then entered a large open room that was surprisingly well lit given that it was completely underground. There were dozens of paintings both hanging on the walls and standing in upright stacks. Despite what seemed like plenty of natural sunlight, the ventilation was terrible. The fumes of whatever paints and solvents were kept down here made Roland feel dizzy.
“Here’s the studio,” said Nick. “Dad used to have this space set up as a torture chamber, I believe. Maybe it was just a simple snake pit? Not sure. But the energy in here is great. Really gets the creative juices flowing.”
“Yeah, I always associate your art with painful screaming death so I can definitely see the synergy with the room,” said Mallory.
“My drafting table is just over there,” said Nick pointing across the room. “That’s where the magic really happens. But not literally magic.”
“Judging by the paintings that are hanging up in here, there’s no metaphorical magic happening either,” Mallory added.
“I’ve been told my art has a certain kitsch appeal. Probably not meant as a compliment, but as a fresh face on the art scene, you take what you can get.”
Roland examined several of the paintings, he thought they were all quite good to excellent. Certainly, better than any of the illustrations he’d seen in the few books at Sages’ Keep that had colour plates.
“Anyways, this forgery will take a while. You want me to give you a hackneyed pun-based name? Jack Goff? Craven Moorehead? Or how about something that even a twelve-year-old would roll their eyes at? Maverick Thunderstrike? Edge Giantkiller?”
Mallory sighed, “Those are all terrible. Just use Balzac T. Bagger.”
“Mal, this is my kitchen, so let me cook.” He turned back to Roland. “How does ‘Dante Rainbowchaser’ sound? Let's really lean into the cringe.”
“Fine,” said Mallory as she started to leave. “Just make the damn thing. Then Rol and I can leave, and you can go back to huffing paint thinner.”
***
Mallory and Roland left Nick to his work and returned upstairs. They then headed to the library, where Mallory had told Roland that there were actual spell books. There were several large bookshelves, and they were all completely filled. This room wouldn’t be out of place in Sages’ Keep, Roland thought. He began reading the spines and quickly realized all of the books were decorative.
“Those came with the bookshelves,” said Mallory. “All of my books are in here.”
She grabbed what looked like and empty bag that was hidden behind the one of the shelves. Reaching inside, she started pulling out books three to four at a time.
“How can that small bag hold so much?” asked Roland.
“Bag of holding. I thought you were well-versed in dungeon crawling? You seemed ready to ask those ‘adventurers’ at the inn the other night for their autographs.” She paused. “Actually, maybe you should have asked gropey the warrior to sign your notebook. I have a feeling his signature is going to be a rare find going forward.”
Roland began looking at the covers of some of the books that Mallory was pulling out the bag. They were all ‘Sex Books’ as Master Wiburg had angrily called them.
Journey of the Blue Balled Hero
Harem Warrior: I’m Glad my Vitality is Maxed!
Boner Quest V: Handjob of the Heavenly Bride
“Huh, there’s a whole series of those,” mumbled Roland.
“Hands off — this isn’t a public library,” said Mallory as she snatched some books from Roland’s hands. “Most of those are one of a kind.”
“Yes, The Magic Ingredient is Cum seems like it would be irreplaceable.”
“Actually, it is — all of the other copies are in the World of Darkness which is currently sealed off by the Twinned Barrier. So for all practical purposes, it is one of kind.”
After several minutes of going through the bag of holding, Mallory had assembled a large pile of books for Roland.
“All of these were written by an actual mage,” she told him. “When magic stopped working, she pursued a higher calling to make her living. The art isn’t great and it’s pretty vanilla stuff, but the cantrips should be authentic.
“Take your time, I’m going to get some equipment ready for Bright Port.” She paused. “Also, if you rub one out, don’t finish in the bag of holding. It’s not washable and for some reason liquids get everywhere in there. So just use one of my bras — you seem like you’re into that.”
After Mallory left, Roland sat down at the desk that was in the library and started to go through the books in detail. The first one he grabbed was part of the Romantic Mysticism series, which sounded like quite a pretentious name for a sleaze book. However, the title of this particular volume was Learning Magic with a Partner is a Real Grind! and any notion that Roland had about this being a great piece of literature was dispelled.
The premise of this series was that the most effective way for young wizards to learn magic was under emotionally and physically intense situations. True to the genre, this meant using spells during foreplay and sex. The story was non-existent, and the amateurish art didn’t do anything for Roland. Intentional or not, though, the drawings in the book did illustrate how a mage casted a cantrip. And it was actually pretty easy. The mage would visualize the result of the spell while simultaneously thinking, rather than saying, the power words. The spells themselves didn’t seem very useful as they could all be done easily enough without magic. Nevertheless, Roland hoped that they were authentic, so he began carefully summarizing each one in his notebook.
While the phrases associated with each spell appeared to be nonsense, the words that formed them were all written in Ralsh, the most common language in Relmgard. For instance, in one scene a male apprentice undoes the bra of his female partner. His thought bubble contained a drawing of a bra strap unhooking and the words below were ‘Spring Thaw.’ In another panel, the woman poured candle wax on the man by taking an unlit candle and melting it with a cantrip. Here, the words that were tied to visual of a candle melting were ‘Broken Handle.’ This particular panel also confused Roland because he had no idea what pleasure could be had by being burned with hot wax.
As Roland read through more of the books, the game behind the cantrips became clear to him: the words for all of the spells were simply childish rhymes that had some loose metaphor to the action that the spell was performing. Some of the metaphors were certainly a stretch, but maybe precision isn’t that important for weak magic like cantrips.
The afterwards to one of the books also explained that now that magic no longer works, the actual mechanisms for spells are no longer tightly guarded secrets. However, not many were being written down because they no longer have any actual use. The author decided to use real spells in her work to give them an authentic feel.
Roland practiced the melting cantrip with a few candles in the library and, amazingly, it seemed to work without much difficulty. He was even able to invent his own cantrips. Thinking ‘Inside Explore’ while visualizing a drawer being opened worked as expected. However, when he tried tasks like moving the massive bookshelves in the room, the spells never seemed to work, no matter what rhymes he came up with. The limit to the strength of cantrips was fuzzy but they were definitely limited.
Yet, in some of the books, there were more powerful cantrips but they required reagents. I guess the magic ingredient really could be cum, Roland thought to himself. These allowed for things like breathing underwater (in a book where the main character wants to fornicate with a mermaid) and body swapping (this was a theme in multiple books). He had never heard of these types of cantrips before and, as the author explained in one of the prefaces, the use of a consumable reagent was not considered elegant spellcraft and would offend the sensibilities of a true mage. This was perhaps why these spells were not widely discussed. Unfortunately, it was completely unclear what the connection was between the reagent and the action of the spell. Nevertheless, Roland made sure to record all of them.
***
After several hours of studying, Roland looked up and saw that Mallory had returned.
“So can you cast Lara’s Minor Douching yet?” she asked.
Roland stared at Mallory for several seconds. She had cleaned herself up and changed into a blouse and skirt. He was stunned by how beautiful she looked. Feeling mischievous and, perhaps, subconsciously turned on by the lewd books that he’d been pouring over for hours he thought about the ‘Spring Thaw’ cantrip.
“Would you like me to try one on you?” he said with a playful smile on his face.
Mallory took a deep breath, “Yikes.” Roland regretted his creepy attempt at flirting. He tried to move past it as quickly as possible and return to the matter at hand.
“Yes, uh, they aren’t too complicated,” he said, stuttering from his embarrassment. “But maybe you were, uh, right.” He regained his composure and continued, “I don’t really see how these will be helpful, even if I am the only one in Relmgard that can use them. They really are —”
At this moment, Nick walked into the room and interrupted Roland’s rambling.
“Mr. Butz? Mr. Howling Butz?” he said, holding up the passport he’d made for Roland.
Roland inspected it and it seemed like Nick had managed to make what looked like an authentic passport with the pseudonym of ‘Howling Butz.’
“Should be passable,” said Mallory. “Guards usually only single out minorities anyways.”
“For sure,” said Nick. “We should get going then.”
“Wait, what?” said Roland. “Nick’s coming with us?”
“You’re heading to Bright Port aren’t you?” said Nick. “I have bunch of Farmers Market flyers I’ve been wanting to put up in the great square they have there. So I’ll tag along.”
Mallory sighed, “Yes, some of his old frat brothers live in Bright Port and know ‘Big T.’ I’ve been planning this out for a while and we’ll need their help.”
“Sorry, what exactly are we doing and who is ‘Big T’?” asked Roland.
Mallory explained, “We’re going to Bright Port to assassinate one of the weakest members of the Chosen — Talon Tabor. Or ‘Big T’ as he likes to be called. An arms merchant during the Heroic Age, he’s since expanded into other ventures like gambling, prostitution, drug trafficking, and, even, slave trading — truly a renaissance man.”
“Sounds like more of a serial entrepreneur to me,” said Nick.
“Anyways,” said Nick. “The whole murdering people thing seems like a nice change of pace too. Things are just so hectic around here that I could use a relaxing diversion. I’ve earned it.”
As Nick and Mallory started to prepare for the journey, Roland had a thought that should have occurred to him after his first encounter with Nick: If Mallory and Nick grew up in Dire Fortress, who exactly was their father?