What felt like mere seconds of shuteye, Anastacia was woken up by the sun shining through her window. Completely unrefreshed and already in a foul mood because of it, she cursed the light that would have usually provided her with a comfortable, gradual awakening, but for whatever reason felt like it was now burning her eyes. The sun being far too bright was but the beginning of her list of complaints from the first minute of being awake. The room was too hot, the bed creaky, the noises from downstairs too loud and the scent of breakfast too tempting.
The yellow dress she had used last night was crumbled up on the floor where she had tossed it after coming back to her room with her tea. Anastacia groaned, picked it up and forcibly pulled it on herself without bothering to open any of the buttons. Since brushing her hair, looking for a matching pair of socks and putting on a belt seemed like completely impossible tasks at the time, she chose to give up on then and instead headed downstairs without so much as a glimpse in the mirror.
In the tavern, she stumbled into the first empty seat she could see and collapsed on it, ignoring whoever she happened to join for breakfast.
Xamiliere and Maximillian stared at the wreck of a necromancer that had tossed herself to their table and reached over to make sure she was still alive after not moving at all for over ten seconds.
“Your appearance leaves something to be desired, is something amiss?” The elf asked. He had so far considered Anastacia as someone who puts at least a bit of effort to her looks, a trait not as common as one would think among the adventurers, and he was surprised to see her in such a ghastly condition.
The only answer he received was a short, miserable wail that sounded like a small animal dying.
“I still think you’re cute, so all is not lost.” The spriggan smiled warmly and pinched Anastacia’s cheek.
Rosie appeared from the kitchen, coincidentally with Maximillian and Xamiliere’s orders of various breakfast foods, including sausages, fried eggs and salad. She tried to greet the necromancer with a pat on the head, but the answer to it was much like the previous one, though a bit longer.
“Is she okay? Her dress is on backwards.” The innkeeper asked and shook Anastacia gently.
“Am fine!” The necromancer yelled and suddenly sprung awake. “But I think I may have died at some point during the night. Maybe a coffee and a ham sandwich will fix that?”
The tigress quickly did what she could to Anastacia’s hair and returned to the kitchen to prepare her order.
As soon as the innkeeper had disappeared to the kitchen, Emilia slipped into the tavern from the staircase, where she had very clearly been waiting until Rosie was gone. She quickly peeked into the kitchen and wandered to her party mate’s table.
Though the priestess herself looked a bit frumpy, as she often did in the mornings, it was nothing compared to the state Anastacia was in. Noticing this, Emilia warily tried shaking the necromancer and looked at the other two adventurers for answers. “Why is she like that?” She asked and sat down.
“She’s dead.” The spriggan shrugged while moving most of her salad to Maximillian’s plate, and in return, taking most of the meat on his.
“Ohh! I’ve been there! Anna, how much did you have and when did you even get the chance to drink? I mean, you shouldn’t be drinking in the first place – is what I was supposed to say. At least wait until- “ The priestess started but immediately fell quiet when Rosie returned with Anastacia’s order.
“Here you go, kitten.” The innkeeper said and pretended to only then notice Emilia. “Uh… Good morning, miss priestess. I hope you had a good rest.” She continued awkwardly.
Emilia pulled up the collars on her uniform and avoided looking directly at the innkeeper. “Thank you, Rosie. Could I maybe get a cup of coffee… please?” She mumbled and stared at the table in front of her.
“Of course, you are a patron here after all.” The tigress responded stiffly and fiddled with the beads on her hair.
Xamiliere had immediately picked up on the curious tension between the two and leaned closer with the smuggest of grins on her face. “You two fu-“ Was the only thing she managed to say before Rosie hurled her across the floor into a corner, where the spriggan kept laughing uncontrollably.
Maximillian, and probably everyone else who had overheard the awkward conversation, had come to the same realization as Xamiliere, but unlike her, the elf knew better than to say anything about it and simply kept eating his breakfast in silence.
The first couple of sips of the strong, dark coffee had revived the necromancer from her death-like state, but she had missed everything that had happened around her during it. Taking a bite from her sandwich, she failed to read the situation at all and simply wondered why the spriggan was on the floor all of a sudden.
Anastacia’s mood had been salvaged by caffeine and ham from absolutely awful to just somewhat terrible, and by the time Gilbert joined them in the tavern, she had woken up to a point where she almost noticed her dress being on backwards.
“Good morning, everyone.” The old adventurer greeted his friends and sat down with them. Thanks to the years of waking up at a moment’s notice when on the road, Gilbert was one of those strange people who both looked and sounded about as good as they could only seconds after rolling out of their bed – much in contrast to the rest of his party. “Since you’re all here, I’ve got something to discuss.” He said and made his order by simply waving at Rosie as she passed a nearby table. “Dammar found a quest that pays well enough for six people, he wanted to know if we’d be interested in joining forces.”
The necromancer perked up immediately after hearing the word ‘quest’. “Yes! What kind of a quest? Is it another monster hunt? I had fun on the last one.” She asked and grabbed Gilbert’s arm.
“Basically, there’s a machine fortress a couple of day’s walk from here. Some goblins have been amassing around it and are trying to get inside. No idea why, but some scholar from the north thinks it’s worth checking out and is willing to throw quite a bit of gold at us if we figure out why the goblins are there.” The old adventurer explained while tracing a crude map of the trip they would take on the surface for the table. “The reward alone is almost fifty thousand gold per person and those machine fortresses are full of artifacts and doodads that sell well to collectors.”
Her eyes shining with childlike glee, Anastacia buried her nails into Gilbert’s forearm in excitement. “Actual ruins to explore?! What are we waiting for? Let’s go!” She exclaimed and was ready to dart up from her seat.
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Gilbert winced and pried the necromancer’s hands off his arm. “Calm down, Anna. Emilia hasn’t said anything yet, and even if she’s on board, we need to prepare and accept the quest at the guild offices.” He said and took out his pipe. “For starters, everyone needs camping equipment, food rations and an assortment of other gear. We’ll spend at least two days on the road just to get there, and I’m not carrying you this time.”
Though not even a third of the trip from Mournvalley to Valor, walking for two days straight would definitely be taxing for the necromancer, who wasn’t used to such feats and had spent most of her first trip to the city of adventurers complaining and whining about her legs hurting – even though she was carried for almost the entire time so she wouldn’t fall behind.
“Sounds exciting.” The priestess nodded with a slight glimmer of gold in her eyes. “I could certainly use the money.”
“And here I thought you found alternative means of paying for your stay.” The spriggan laughed from the corner she had been tossed into.
Emilia adjusted her armor slightly and ignored the comment. “I promised to look after you two anyway, so count me in if you’re going.” She nodded.
“It would be interesting to see both miss priestess and Anastacia in combat. I only have limited experience from people like you.” Maximillian wondered out loud and moved the conversation back to its original rails.
This made Anastacia realize that she was actually interested in seeing how a regular party without necromancers or divine assistance handled things. She had already seen Xamiliere’s capabilities and understood why she hadn’t been kicked out yet, but the two other members were still largely a mystery to her. She remembered reading something from what was likely a firmly outdated book about elves often favoring bows whenever they could, and she had even seen Maximillian with one. Dammar seemed similarly stereotypical, and according to the same book, dwarves favored heavier weapons like axes and maces.
Maximillian was also intrigued by the purpose of the quest. “Why would goblins care about a machine fortress? Those poor critters can barely sharpen sticks and stones, much less find a use for ancient technology.”
“It’s probably something idiotic like always.” Xamiliere scoffed with an obvious taint of disdain in her voice while getting up and wiping the dust off her clothes.
For spriggans that hadn’t abandoned their original job as guardians of nature, goblins were the bane of their existence. They hunted down all wildlife around their camps, damaged the trees irreversibly and occasionally burned entire forests whenever a goblin tribe discovered fire. Even now as an adventurer, she held no affection or pity for them.
“I hope the fort’s traps have taken care of them by the time we arrive and all we’ll find is dismembered bits of those green bastards.” She continued and returned to the table. “Actually, now that I think about, it’d be great if they hadn’t – I’d go there just to watch the traps tear them apart, you wouldn’t even need to pay me.”
Everyone looked slightly worried when hearing about the spriggan’s sudden thirst for blood, and Gilbert decided that it was time to change the subject.
“Okay… Make sure all your gear is in good condition, we’re departing early in the morning. The terrain on the way there is pretty pleasant, but we won’t be able to travel on roads. We can however follow a river most of the way there, so water shouldn’t be a problem.” He listed what he knew of the route they would take to the fortress. “I can carry some of the heavier pieces of gear someone might have, if that’s a problem. It shouldn’t be too cold even during the night, so as long as everyone has a cape or a cloak, it should be fine.
Anastacia made a mental list about the things she needed before leaving; a cloak, something to make fire with, a pan or a pot to boil water and make food in and a lantern were some of the things Gilbert had suggested earlier and probably all she could carry. Her armor and weapons were still in good condition, so those had to do for the time.
While she was deep in thought, Xamiliere snuck behind her and grabbed her tightly. “Don’t you worry, my dear. I shall keep you very safe from those horrific creatures.” She reassured the necromancer with an uncomfortably friendly whisper.
“I’m starting to regret not letting you bleed to death.” Anastacia sighed and wiggled herself free.
After quickly popping by her room to fix her shaggy appearance at least partially, the impatient necromancer headed out to find what she needed for the quest – particularly a cloak. Gilbert had said that he needed to resupply as well and could get most of the gear for everyone while he was out.
On her way to the nearest shop with a decent selection of cloaks and capes that had been pointed out to her, the necromancer mused on the best color for her new apparel. A lightly colored one would always look dirty, so something like dark forest green or deep blue would be better. She wasn’t a fan of brown either, but the only thing she was completely, absolutely, one hundred percent sure was that she would not get a black one.
Barring some special cases, black was the color of nearly all uniforms and clothes in her home country, and she felt it would have led to some stereotypical implications combined with her otherwise pasty appearance.
By the time she reached the shop and could take a gander at the display window, she had gotten so caught up in her thoughts that she had begun talking to herself. “How does Emilia keep her white cloak so damn clean? She was literally sleeping outside just a few days ago! Does Sylvia or whoever, do her laundry too? That seems like a waste of a miracle.” She rambled without noticing the slightly worried looks she was starting to gather.
The couple of cloaks on display were rather promising with their colors and patterns, so Anastacia figured there was a fair chance that she would find something suitable.
Immediately upon entry, the scowling young, smartly dressed elf with sleek dark hair sitting behind the counter gave her a piercing glare. “What do you need? Are you sure you should even be here? You look like you belong on the streets.” He mercilessly insulted his potential new customer.
“Wh- I… I’m looking for a cloak.” Anastacia stuttered, baffled by the rudeness.
The tailor put down whatever he was working with and rolled his eyes. “Hmmhm… Yes, I would try to hide that hideous dress as well.” He mocked the attire Anastacia had carefully selected among her first few outfits after arriving to Valor.
He then got up from his seat and began perusing the stacks of folded cloaks behind the counter and kept shaking his head. After a while, he decided on three and dropped them in front of the necromancer before returning to his work, which appeared to clearly interest him far more than whatever business Anastacia could bring.
“Why are all of these black? I had something more colorful in mind…” Anastacia wondered and pointed at the more colorful piles of fabric.
“Colors are for people who can handle them, you have all the stylishness of a stale biscuit. The nice thing about black is that anyone can look at least decent in it – or in your case, at least it helps to hide you in the shadows.” The elf said curtly, clearly annoyed by further questions.
As she went through her options, Anastacia couldn’t help but to wonder if she could make it far enough from the shop before someone discovered a certain elf with every single bone in his body broken, and whether they would actually care if this asshat was in agony. Either way, she came to a conclusion that it wasn’t worth the trouble, and she got the feeling that the tailor and his attitude were living on borrowed time regardless.
Trying on the first cloak, Anastacia almost tripped on it, which probably meant that it wasn’t ideal for traveling on foot. The second of the dreadfully colorless cloaks was the complete opposite, barely reaching her knees. It was disqualified after the necromancer figured that it was almost pointless to have, even with a dress or a skirt.
Forced to settle on the third one, she threw it on herself and moved around a bit. Though the color was not what she was after at all, she couldn’t deny that it sat rather well on her, and that the material was warm and comfortable. The hood was somewhat large and blocked her vision entirely when pulled up, but it would have to do, as the necromancer was far too anxious to leave for another quest, to bother finding a shop with a less hostile atmosphere – that could wait until she had the money to have a cloak made specifically to her, in whatever color she damn well wanted.
“Guess I’ll take this one.” Anastacia said and took out her purse.
The elf begrudgingly accepted the payment but not without one last insult. “Just keep the hood on, you look better when I can’t see your face.”
The necromancer clenched her fists and bit her tongue to fight the temptation to teach the tailor a lesson. She truly had no idea how someone like him wasn’t dead already.