Waking from a delirious slumber, I felt around the ground of my dank, freezing cell. Four walls--six if you counted the floor and stone top--closed me away from the outside, the only connection a barred window that overlooked a pale crescent in the dark sky. A squarish area of light formed on the cracked jail floor from the light outside, contrasting with the blackness surrounding me. I could faintly hear the sound of my own heart beating and the faraway hoots of night owls. A rank odor wafted around the space, reminding me of breads burnt to a crisp. I got up from the moth-eaten covers of my make-shift bed and my body shivered violently. Sitting near the left corner overlooking the window, I used the wall as support for my sore back and gazed out of the window, my fingers fidgeting with the cuffs of my ragged brown shirt. The moonlight illuminated the bars on the window and my eyes stayed vaguely on them for some time. However, a figure peering into my cell from the window broke my dazed state like the crackle of thunder.

“Long time, no see. Up for another job?” the figure asked, a voice like rustling leaves reaching my ears. A black cowl and an iron mask with two straight slits hid the face of the dark-cloaked figure. One had to really scrunch up their eyes to make out this shadow in the night. I gave the figure a long, hard glare.

She was the reason for my imprisonment. A month ago, we went to explore the ruins of Beleg, a dragon-priest from a forgotten, bygone era. After avoiding a dozen fatal traps in the old priest’s tomb, we found a treasure chest with a tarnished silver crown and a shattered staff with a strange red gem on one of its ends. Despite the poor condition of the two items, I knew the artifacts were valuable enough to be rare relics. If we sold them to a local auction, we would have a small fortune. However, I forgot to take into account a certain silver-tongued serpent in my company. She baited me into joining her for a “celebration” in a mildly notable inn and my monkey brain conjured up a wide array of fantasies. My last memory was her offering me some black tea before I woke up in this jail cell, charged with subversion of the local authority. Only then had I realized that she took me for an absolute fool, and like an actual fool, I proved her correct.

“If I’d known you’d hand me over to these country bumpkins, I would’ve kicked your sorry butt into the pit of spikes at Beleg’s entrance,” I bitterly muttered, rubbing my shoulders comfortingly. The thing that upset me the most was the fact that she stole both of the treasures, leaving nothing for me. I spent months mapping the labyrinth-like layout of the ruins and tomb, all for it to come tumbling down in a matter of hours.

“Sparks, you vixen--no, you are no vixen--I don’t even know how you look, since your face is always covered by that mask. Your unwillingness to show yourself to me should’ve been a clear warning of the treachery you disguised, but stupid me dared to give you a chance,” I said, despairingly holding my shaking head in my hands.

“You don’t need to see me to work with me,” Sparks replied coolly.

“Ha. That sounds like the response of an ugly woman. You must be hideous to cover yourself all the time, indeed. My previous assertion is correct,” I rebutted, taking hold of a verbal higher ground. My jail time made me feel hopeless and all I could do during this period was spend my days rebutting others. I rebutted thieves, guards, prosecutors, and even the judge at my trial. In fact, I was forced to even rebut a violent cellmate with my fists the other day.

Sparks twirled a slender object in her hand and let the moon illuminate it.

“A lockpick?”

My eyes tunnel visioned onto the key that would set me free while Sparks held it out toward me teasingly.

“You want this?”

“Sparks, if I’d known you’d come to save me from this pitiable condition, I would’ve warned you about that arrow trap that almost killed you back in Beleg’s tomb,” I replied ingratiatingly, licking my lips at the thought of inhaling the fresh air outside. She gave a cold harrumph before tossing the lockpick into the cell.

“Once you get out, meet me in the Drunken Tiger Inn if you are interested in another raid,” she replied, before turning away from the barred window and blending into the darkness beyond. Sparks was such a kind and considerate human being. I felt bad for thinking such terrible thoughts of her. Previously, I took her for a cunning and devious shrew that would lay waste to any idiots who came near. However, her actions tonight contradicted my impression of her and left me pleasantly surprised. If we ever went adventuring together again, I would put more effort in being helpful instead of being the usual loafer. Obviously, some feelings--if not romantic, then at least a platonic kind--had developed in her. Could this be the gentle and caring nature of a woman? Could this be the fair temperament of a beautiful maiden? I held the slender pick like a precious gemstone and moved toward the cell bars, surveying the lock.

“... It’s a combination lock,” I said blankly to no one in particular. I let loose a roar of rage and fury as I flung the lockpick out through the window. I’d been hoodwinked yet again by that devious, cunning shrew. I could almost imagine that silver-tongued serpent rolling on the floor, drowning in her sweet laughter, at my petty plight. She dangled a ray of hope in front of my face only to snuff it out. I was the donkey and she was the rider who held out a carrot tantalizingly right in front of my dumb snout. Sparks, I vow to repay all the misery you brought forth upon me. Mark my words.

I looked more closely at the lock and began fidgeting with it, trying out some combinations to no avail. Meanwhile, a night guard walked by and saw me messing with the lock. He gave me a brief backhand to the face through the bars, which set me straight. My body still trembled from the delirium I experienced in my sleep from the previous day. However, since I had nothing to do, I decided to go back to sleep to recover from my fever.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

I woke with a start and noticed another person in the cell. He looked to be a man in his early sixties and his white beard and thinning hair gave him an avuncular quality. His eyes were glazed over and he faced one of the walls in a dazed state, as if he’d been like that for hours. The grey robes he wore gave him a dignified quality. When I sat up, his head swiveled toward me and he grinned. Since the dimples on his face deepened further, his expression seemed forced and even sinister.

“Greetings, my friend. I am called Arvell of the Moonlight Cult. What is your name?” he asked, his voice light and fluid. He held his hand out in a handshake.

“You are a cultist?” I asked, my eyes widening.

“Not just any cultist, my friend. I am the cult leader of the Moonlight Cult.”

“My name is Riverton,” I replied to his previous question.

“Ah, a fine name, that is. Are you interested in joining Moonlight, perchance?”

“Were you thrown into this jail for proselytizing?”

“Why, yes. How did you know, my friend?” he asked in a shocked manner.

After the initial surprise, Arvell began listing out all the merits of being a Moonlight follower. Unexpectedly, Arvell managed to persuade twenty-three fools into joining his cult and their religious duties consisted of them gathering during every new moon to bow down to the sacred “Moon Source.” Arvell was vague in his descriptions of this so-called Moon Source. All he mentioned was that it allowed him to employ some minor magic. However, the ruling body of Red Hollow, the town I was currently in, did not like the fact that some random old man was converting its inhabitants to another religion and imprisoned Arvell as a result.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

The cell’s condition hadn’t improved from the previous day, which meant Arvell and I shivered from the dank floor. Arvell grabbed the hem of his sleeves for a moment before he snapped his fingers. Nothing happened the first time, but his sixth finger snap brought a tiny flame on the tip of his index finger. I looked at it in disbelief, astonished by the fact that he could do magic. When he talked of the Moon Source’s bestowal of magic on humans, I thought that was his standard opening line to getting others to join his cult. Arvell drew the flame close to his chest and closed his eyes, as if finding pleasure in the warmth provided by the candle-sized flame from the coldness permeating the cell.

“If you can use fire magic, we might be able to get out of this jail,” I said, excited at the prospect of freedom.  

“Oh, no, I can’t possibly claim to do something as extraordinary as fire magic. I’ve only grasped the basics and can summon a little flame here and there,” he replied humbly, which contrasted with his routine braggadocious self. I let out a breath of disappointment before I stood up and began to pace back and forth in the cell. Gradually, an idea began to appear on the horizon. I’d noticed some wooden furniture beyond the bars of my cell. It was a simple chair and a large round table where the guards usually spent their time playing card games when they should’ve been standing guard. If I could use Arvell’s flames to set those furnitures on fire, it could spread and become a raging inferno. While the guards rushed in to free the prisoners and herded them into groups outside the burning jail, I could make myself scarce. The only problem was getting Arvell’s flame to the round table. The table was several feet beyond my cell and Arvell couldn’t possibly reach it with his arms alone. With a grimace, I began to take my cotton shirt off and pull down my trousers. Arvell looked at my actions with vague interest before shooting a quizzical look at the only apparel I currently wore, which was a thick undergarment.  

“Let me see that flame of yours.”

I motioned toward the little spark in his hands and drew my clothes close to it, catching them alight. While my cotton garments burnt, I walked toward the edge of the cell and threw my shirt at the table. It landed roughly on the ground, no where near my target. Taking a deep breath and adorning a look of concentration, I tossed my pants in a high arc. This time, the burning garment landed on the wooden table, setting it on fire, too. After a few moments of time, the inferno spread quickly, encapsulating the area beyond the cell. As the smoke wafted over, Arvell and I began coughing violently. My stomach dropped as I realized a thought. What if the guards didn’t even bother to come get the prisoners out of their cells? Wouldn’t this be a convenient way to rid the town of the violent criminals? Even through the coughing and tears, I managed to facepalm in despair. We were all going to die due to my idiocy. I reached the lock and began trying as many number combinations I could think of, my hands trembling in the process. My vision began to swim and I felt it easier to just lay down for a nice nap.

The sound of frenzied footsteps caught my attention as I saw a youth in the Night’s Watch uniform head toward us, grabbing the lock and making some swift motions. A click signalled the unlocking of the door. The youth, his strange purple eyes, locked onto me in curiosity before he rushed toward the other cells. As grateful as I was to him, I hurried out of the jail, with Arvell following quietly behind me. A quick few turns and some sharp weaves led me out into the clean fresh air. It was evening time and I was almost naked in the open at town. At any other occasions, I would be immediately apprehended and incarcerated for public indecency. However, the local jailhouse resembled a flaming tornado and the local citizens began to take action, forming several bucket-lines toward the lake in the east.

I meandered my way through panicked inhabitants as I tried to recall where the Drunken Tiger was located, the one Sparks mentioned. After crossing to the outskirts of Red Hollow, I found a rectangular building, green with ivies hanging from its walls. This was the place. I entered the building with Arvell, still wearing only my underwear. I don’t know why Arvell followed me, but I thought it rude to tell him to beat it since he was partly responsible for our jailbreak. Plus, the “deranged cultist” card could prove to be useful in predicaments. As we roamed the dining area of the inn, some brows shot up. However, the patrons would quickly look away if I stared at them and only shot furtive glances if my back was turned. In the corner, I saw a cowled figure hunched over, a faint golden tint to the mask covering the wearer’s face. The shadow was using goose’s quill and ink to write some words onto some fine yellow parchment.  

“Oh, you actually managed to escape? I heard the jail burned down a couple hours ago and assumed you died in the ensuing flames. Ah, I guess even a dog has its days,” Sparks said, not looking up from her writing.

“Ha, your humor is so scathing. Speaking of scathing, it reminds me of that sword storm trap that you got us caught in a few months ago. I demand reparations,” I fired back, snapping my fingers to one of the servants of the innkeeper.

“Get me your finest dish and some nice goat’s milk cheesecakes. The tab is on my heavily-clothed friend here.”

Sparks gave a snort before she stopped writing and took a hard look at me.

“Fine, I’ll pay now. However, I’ll deduct it from your share in the next dungeon raid.”

“Amendment: I would actually like some bread,” I meekly muttered to the servant.

Next, Sparks turned toward Arvell and slightly tilted her head quizzically.

“Oh, him? He’s Arvell. Cult leader or some sort. He’s a good friend of mine that wants… wait, why are you following me, Arvell?” I said, switching from an explanation to an interrogation.

“I’ve decided to spend my efforts to convert you, Riverton. I can feel some extraordinary characteristic within the depths of your eyes. I won’t quit until you join my cult,” Arvell flattered.

“Some characteristic? Tell me more,” I said, my inner narcissism flaring up. I looked toward Sparks. “He knows how to do some minor magic. He could be really useful in our next suicidal run.”

Sparks’ shoulders dropped and she gave an irritated sigh, which indicated assent. I marvelled at the great change that took place. Before Beleg’s tomb, she fooled me with an angelic disposition and words so sweet that I could taste honey on the tip of my tongue. However, her prompt betrayal made it impossible to deceive me once more. So, all pretenses were dropped and I could see her true nature. It had a straight, no-nonsense type of atmosphere. I liked this quite a bit. I took my time eating the bread, a far cry from the the loaves given out in jail that sported the hardness of a biscuit. Arvell was also given a plate, but he seemed to maintain his silence. It seemed that Sparks’ demeanor left him feeling uneasy. In addition, we were still strangers to each other, who banded together to obtain great riches. My acquaintanceship with Sparks spanned a few months while Arvell’s consisted of mere hours.

“So, I could do with some nice clothes and a weapon. I’m getting tired of all these people shooting disapproving glares at my naked body,” I remarked, a roll of butter in my mouth.

“You aren’t going to ask me what I did with Beleg’s staff and crown?” Sparks asked, cupping her cheeks.

“I can guess the type of person you are. There is probably no chance in eternity I’ll see those items ever again, let alone actually enjoy the profits. I’ll let this one slide. You are probably a very ugly woman and I sympathize with the plight of very ugly women,” I replied with a backhanded insult.

Sparks gave a cold harrumph before she went back to her writing. I could see she had absolutely beautiful handwriting, a cursive style that seemed to come out from a master calligrapher. Impressed, I looked at her writing in a daze for some time before I deemed it appropriate to speak.

“Oh, you are literate? That must indicate some intelligence, eh?”

However, Sparks ignored me, showing disdain for my little bait. After half-hour passed, she stood up and gathered her belongings. Her iron mask, bare except for two slits for eyes, gazed at me.

“You’ll have to stay like this until tomorrow. I’ll go to the flea market in the afternoon and see if I can find some used rags. Oh, and you use a bow, right? It’s a fine weapon, especially for a coward who likes to snoop around in the back-ranks. I’ll see what I can do,” she said, stalking off toward the rooms in the inn, presumably to retire to bed.

“Hey, what about my room? You can’t expect naked ol’ me to hang out in the cold with this crazy cultist?” I called out after her, standing up. She didn’t seem to hear and I sat back down in my wooden chair, indignantly kicking at the table’s leg. Arvell and I milked our time in the inn as much as we could before we were thrown out by two buff, brawny men.

We spent the night fighting stray cats for food in trash alleys.