Thanks to the assistance of the knight commander Medivar, Anastacia and Gilbert only had to spend a little over an hour reciting their night for an official copy at the guild office. With everything written down in black and white, the weary adventurers were allowed to keep their reward and leave for some well-earned rest. They offered to take Medivar along for a quick drink, but the knight captain declined, saying that he needed to file a few more quests and then return to his duties of keeping the residents of his town at bay.
Though it was only a couple of hours past noon, Anastacia was more than done with the day. She ate a hearty meal in silence and disappeared into the second floor of the inn to take a bath and sleep for the next couple of decades, according to her own words.
Gilbert was still extremely sore from everything he had to deal with on their trip and wouldn’t have been able to sleep even if he wanted to. So instead he borrowed Emilia’s aid for the more acute aches and pains, and simply sat back for the rest of the day.
“Don’t tell them I said this, but thank the gods you two are back!” Xamiliere exclaimed and floated past Gilbert. Despite having visited dozens of mages, shamans and druids, the spriggan was still under Vilja’s spell of weightlessness. No counter spell, hex, curse, trick or miracle seemed to aid her situation in the slightest, and it truly seemed like nothing besides the will of a god could help her. “Those two become absolutely insufferable when you and Anna aren’t around. I swear no one here would have gotten any service if it weren’t for the lamb.” She whispered and nodded towards the counter, where the innkeeper was happily ignoring her job to talk with the priestess.
“I can imagine.” Gilbert laughed and grabbed the lead hanging off Xamiliere. “Still as floaty as ever? There hasn’t been any changes to your situation while we were away?”
The spriggan groaned in agony and tried her best to get some of the mead out of her bottle, both of which had turned weightless in her hands. “None. Emilia says I need to either find the goddess herself or a more powerful one to get my weight back. Apparently, Sylvia or whatever divine tart she goes on about doesn’t have the muscle for it and doesn’t want to meddle. So I’m really starting to consider heading back home and see if there’s a nature god that can pull it off.” She said and bumped against a wall.
“Knowing how much you hate the mother grove, you must really be desperate to even mention it.” The old adventurer said, slightly surprised by the spriggan’s serious tone.
“Yeah, not a fan of the winter either, but the thing is, I’m essentially ageless and losing a few months of my life being weightless is basically nothing – heck, I could lose a century and not be bothered by it. But all of you adorable little fleshy bags of meat and blood are not, all of you will be gone before I even realize it. Max probably has a couple of hundred years on him, but even that’s peanuts really. If a family reunion is what it takes to get me back out there with the lads, so be it.” The floating spriggan lamented, getting slightly agitated in the process.
Gilbert took the bottle from her, allowing it to regain its weight and then poured some into Xamiliere’s mouth. It was simply getting painful to look at someone struggling with drinking of all things. “Sounds like you’ve really put some thought into it. You only need to ask if you need help with it.”
“I need Anna to take me there.” Xamiliere blurted out without a moment’s hesitation.
The old adventurer put the bottle back on the table and stared at the spriggan, looking extremely disappointed. Her request was beyond predictable and not in the least bit amusing to Gilbert. While he didn’t dislike the nature spirit in the slightest, he definitely thought that she was a terrible influence on the necromancer.
“Don’t be like that, there’s an actual reason I need her to come along. I can’t tell you what it is, but there is a reason. Just trust me on this.” The spriggan pleaded and tried to look as sincere as possible.
Gilbert took a long, grumpy draw off his pipe and blew the smoke out of his nose. “Not a chance… Is what I’d say if it was up to me in any way. She’s free to do her own mistakes, that’s the whole reason she’s here in the first place. I’m just here to advise her.” He grunted disapprovingly. Gilbert knew that Xamiliere was probably what Anastacia considered her best friend, and nothing he could ever say would make any difference if the spriggan asked help from the necromancer herself – and that if Rosie ever heard of the whole matter, she would physically prevent them from leaving together, allowing him to keep his hands supposedly clean. “That said, have you seen King? I have business with him.”
“Washing dishes in the kitchen, I think. What’s up with him anyway? I’ve seen him go out there at night.” Xamiliere asked and kicked a wall to send herself towards the kitchen door. Soon enough, she was swatted back by the simulacrum, who approached Gilbert’s table.
Gilbert greeted King with a nod and pointed at the chair across the table with his pipe, telling the simulacrum to sit down. After waiting for King to comply, he took out the glass ball he had received from the cloaked simulacrum, held it up and peered at King through it. He could see the simulacrum perk up and lean forwards, probably to grab the pearl if he got the chance.
“So, you know what this is? I got it from your cloaked friend and was supposed to give it to Anna.” He said and placed the bead on the table while still holding on to it. “I’m not going to waste time trying to get you to pantomime the answers for me, so it won’t delve into your business further.” He continued and flicked it at the simulacrum.
In a blink of an eye, king grabbed the glass pearl and crushed it in his hand. He turned back to Gilbert and nodded slightly, as if to say thank you. He was about to get up and discard the shards of glass, but the old adventurer wasn’t done and kicked the table so that it hit the simulacrum.
“Just one more thing. Whatever you’re doing is doomed to fail. She will figure it out no matter how hard you’re trying, assuming she hasn’t already. I’m only doing this because I think you’re right, and Anna doesn’t need any extra shenanigans in her life right now. And when this all goes down, make sure she comes back unharmed.” Gilbert explained with an unusually threatening tone and pointed at the simulacrum with his pipe.
King nodded and somehow seemed nervous when he pushed the table back and disappeared into the kitchen.
Xamiliere had witnessed the entire one-sided conversation from the ceiling. “This is all wildly fascinating, but I have no clue what’s going on.” She commented and gently floated back down, waiting to be let in on the secret.
On the day following their return, Anastacia had woken up early and figured she might as well put the freshly earned reward money into some good use. By noon, the necromancer had already gotten herself a nice and warm, bright red scarf that was long enough to reach all the way to her knees even after being wrapped around her neck a few times; and placed the order for some more spears to replace the ones she had lost.
With quite a bit gold left over, Anastacia wandered idly among the merchant stands on the square near the inn. By her reasoning, if someone was willing to sit around in the freezing cold weather, whatever they were selling must be amazing; but to her disappointment, the items for sale were mostly the same as always. A seemingly random assortment of odds and ends adventurers had picked up when clearing out bandit camps or looting corpses they happened to run into in the lairs of monsters and beasts, including but not limited to: slightly enchanted jewelry, worn small weapons, clothes and cheap ornamental trinkets. Anastacia already owned a decent collection of useless items she had bought on a whim, but this time nothing caught her attention.
However, what did intrigue her, were the sugary, greasy treats that were conveniently offered alongside some fresh coffee. As if the scent of pastries and coffee wasn’t enough to pull Anastacia over, the warmth emanating from the enchanted portable stoves sealed the deal – though to the necromancer’s credit, she was far from the only one being tricked by it.
“Anything for the young lady? Perhaps a cupcake?” The slightly wily looking elven baker standing behind the stand asked.
Something about him seemed off to Anastacia, whether it was the obviously too expensive clothes under his apron or the jeweled rings on his fingers, absolutely nothing about the elf made him seem like a chef of any kind. Though looking off was considerably more common in Valor than not, so Anastacia didn’t put too much thought into the elf’s appearance and instead focused on the baked goods arranged in front of her. Each one looking more tempting than the last, she had to make a conscious effort to stop herself from just buying a few of everything – at least until her eyes happened upon a small tray, hidden behind a pile of profiteroles.
“What are these?” She asked and reached over to point at the two relatively unassuming lumps of fried dough that had been covered with sugar and cinnamon.
The elf squinted and scanned his would-be customer from head to toe, as if she needed to fill some criteria to get granted the knowledge she asked for. “They… are exactly what you’re looking for!” He said and grinned. “Filled with nothing but dreams, hopes and miracles, one bite into this and it’ll change your life for good!”
“Ohhh! I’ll take both then. I can give the other one to Gilbert as an apology for almost getting him killed.” She figured and took out her purse.
The elf was quick to shake his head and gestured Anastacia to put her money away. “These are on the house! I have great faith in returning customers. Trust me, you’ll use that gold here sooner or later.” He smiled, hastily wrapped the pastries and handed them over.
Anastacia wasn’t one to refuse free treats, so she simply thanked the elf and took the pouch before running away to tell Gilbert about her find. “What a nice guy.” She muttered to herself and headed back to the inn.
As per usual, with the lunch rush dying down, the inn was mostly crowded by the residents of the inn, and among them were Anastacia’s party. Gilbert, who had finally managed to force himself up from the comfort of his warm bed; and Emilia, who had begrudgingly left the innkeeper’s side and allowed her to return to her job, were sitting at the party’s usual table. King was probably hiding in the kitchen again, but Anastacia didn’t want to see him yet anyway, so that suited her just fine. She yelled her order for some coffee from the door and pulled up a chair to sit down with her friends.
“…Anyway, that’s why we took so long to get back.” Gilbert finished his story just as Anastacia joined them. “Morning, Anna. Looks like you found a scarf?”
“Yeah, I also got some buns from the market square. The weirdo selling them only had two though, but I can split mine with Em.” Anastacia said and emptied the package on the table and handed one of the pastries towards Gilbert.
Emilia shook her head. “No thanks, you can have it.” She said as Anastacia started to pull apart the remaining one. It wasn’t that the priestess didn’t want any, but she knew that the necromancer wanted it more and was in a good mood anyway.
“These are a bit weird looking.” Gilbert commented and took the one offered to him.
“I think he was testing a new recipe or something, they were a bit out of the way, and I got them for free.” Anastacia shrugged and stuffed the entire pastry into her mouth at once, without even bothering to wait for her drink. Though a bit dry, the pastry tasted just fine, exactly what one would expect a cinnamon roll to taste like. The baker had obviously embellished his creation quite a bit, but since they were free, Anastacia didn’t feel like complaining about it.
Gilbert tore off a piece from his and tossed it into his mouth. His initial impressions were exactly the same as Anastacia’s: the pastry was fine but a bit bland. While chewing, he glanced at the rest of the bun in his hand to see if it had raisins or something in it, in case he just happened to miss them. Suddenly he noticed a corner of a piece of paper sticking out from inside the pastry.
“Uh oh.” The old adventurer grunted and pulled out the paper. “That’s probably not good.”
Roughly the size of a finger, the slip of paper was filled with messy scribbles that didn’t appear to be in any of the languages Gilbert recognized. They didn’t even resemble the necromancy patterns he had made a point of remembering on their trip.
“Anna, did yours have-“ He was about to ask when Anastacia swallowed her pastry and the paper with it. “Damn it.”
“What?” The necromancer asked, looking slightly worried.
Gilbert placed the paper on the table for everyone to see. “That was inside mine. I have no idea what it is.”
Emilia took a better look at the scribbles and rotated the note a few times to see if they seemed more familiar from some other angle. “Pretty sure this is a curse.” She said and tried to rub the markings to see if they came off.
“Great. Just great.” Gilbert groaned and ate the rest of the bun, figuring that it didn’t matter anymore. “So are we going to die or what?”
“I’m not an expert, but I’d say no. Killing someone with a curse is supposed to be hard work, so a quick scribble like this is likely just something along the lines of a full day of hiccups or some other prank.” The priestess guessed and chuckled a bit.
“Sounds about right for my luck.” Anastacia sighed and pressed her face against the table but got back up when her nose picked up a familiar scent of coffee.
Rosie served the necromancer her coffee and sat down, knowing that she’d have to refill the cup soon enough anyway. She happened to notice the slip of paper and grinned. “Which one of you got their dumb ass cursed?”
Gilbert and Anastacia lifted their hands as the innkeeper laughed.
“How do you know it’s a curse?” Emilia asked and smiled at the tigress while coyly waving with her fingers.
Rosie looked around the tavern, swiftly got up and walked up to one of the patrons before dragging him away from his meal.
The unfortunate guest was a mousefolk by the name of Thimble. A druid by profession and possibly the only guest in the tavern that even Anastacia towered over. The necromancer had talked with him on a couple of occasions when no one else was in the tavern and the two got along well enough, but generally stayed with their closer friends instead of going out of their way to hang out. Thimble was also the only person in the inn that was allowed to keep pets, though he himself considered the small army of mice he lived with to be his friends rather than pets. Oftentimes he carried a few of them in the countless pockets of his worn-out brown robes and Amused the other guests by having them do tricks. Naturally, being a mouse, he was absolutely terrified of Rosie but had stayed in the inn for long enough to just power through it regardless.
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“I’ve seen Thimble here scribble some. This one doesn’t happen to be yours, does it? Those little friends of yours might just start to look like snacks to me if it is.” Rosie threatened the druid and lifted him up by the back of his robes.
Shaking slightly, the mouse checked the paper on the table and scoffed. “You insult me, cat. Let me guess, a shifty looking elven wanker gave you this? I can recognize the crappy handwriting anywhere.”
Anastacia nodded.
“Yeah, he has a shop selling these second-rate nuisances and sometimes he and his friends trick new adventurers with them for fun. They’re never too harmful, if that’s what you’re worried about. Hardly ever worth lifting before they wear off.” Thimble snarled. He obviously held a grudge against the elf.
“Any chance you could tell what this one does?” Gilbert asked and handed over the paper so Thimble could have a better look.
Still a bit fidgety from being caught by Rosie, the druid held the slip against a light and tried to parse together the meaning of the symbols. “I swear to Arbroria, it’s like he’s using a spear to write… on horseback.” He muttered and squinted. “Basically, whoever consumes the food this was hidden in will find themselves to be temporarily aged or de-aged to eighty-six natural beats in age – that’s twenty-five years seven weeks two days ten hours fifty-two minutes and nine seconds… ish, for anyone not versed in these kinds of things. As for its duration, I’d be amazed if this insult to the craft lasts more than a day or two.”
Gilbert stroked his beard and seemed completely unfazed by the news. “Twenty-five huh? Are you sure this is a curse? I sure wouldn’t mind being younger again.” He joked.
Thimble managed to struggle himself free and straightened his clothes. “A curse is a curse, there’s no blessing in disguise. You may feel like it’s a favor at first but remember that you’ll never be able to really have your youth back. All this curse does, is remind you how much you can actually miss it once it’s gone.” He pointed out and ripped the cursed note to avoid further calamity.
“What about me?” Anastacia asked. “I may or may not have eaten the paper, and I haven’t been that old yet. Will I just grow up and that’s it?”
“That shouldn’t matter.” The mousefolk druid shrugged. “The curse will approximate what’ll naturally happen to your body and mind in the future as things are now. For you, it’s important to remember that the person you’ll turn into isn’t actually you per se, but… an educated guess. It doesn’t actually have a way of predicting what happens to you, so you’re not destined to be that person or anything.” Thimble explained and started to pace back and forth, as if giving a lecture. “Both of you will have your mind altered by it as well. Gilbert will regain the personality and traits he had back then, whatever they may be, and almost assuredly will embarrass himself in some way – I know I would. Anastacia will become an intensified version of her current self, as if whatever is dwelling in her head was allowed to fester and grow for years. It may result in you discovering something new about yourself, or it might be pure chaos – or anything in between for all we know.”
Rosie immediately lost it after hearing that Gilbert was going to return to his past personality while the adventurer himself slowly buried his head into his hands. Both of them knew exactly what was going to happen to him. While the innkeeper hadn’t been there when Gilbert was twenty-five, she certainly remembered what he was like when they met and could extrapolate from what she knew.
Anastacia almost couldn’t wait for the curse to take effect. “Finally! you’ll all see how pretty I’ll be! and tall! There’ll be no plans for throwing me over walls or keeping me in leash!” She declared and cheered for herself.
Emilia clapped to the necromancer’s boast despite having her doubts.
“Umm… Best of luck to you, friends. I have a meal I need to finish and some business that needs my attention, so if you folks have this under control…” Thimble muttered and slowly backed away, obviously hoping to not get dragged in on whatever was about to ensue. To his luck, no one was paying attention to him anymore and he was able to escape safely.
Rosie refilled Anastacia’s cup to distract her and headed back to the kitchen but stopped at the door to gesture for Emilia to follow her. Once there, the innkeeper started to gather some leftover snacks on a plate. “Yulia, take everything off the stove. We’re going to be busy laughing our asses off for a while.” She commanded her chef. “King, you keep at it.”
“Is it really going to be that bad?” Emilia asked and leaned against the doorframe.
Yulia almost panicked when she had to suddenly stop cooking and didn’t know what to do. “Wh… what’s happening? Is something wrong?” She stuttered.
“Something amazing. No time to explain. Grab a chair and get behind the counter.” Rosie grinned and rushed out of the kitchen to arrange the snacks to their observation post behind the tavern’s counter.
The other two joined her and she explained to Yulia what had happened. Though initially worried about the curse, the lamb couldn’t help but to be curious about what Gilbert was like around her age.
It didn’t take long for the old adventurer’s gray hair to start turn darker and thicker, his beard followed suit and changed color as well. Initially he didn’t notice the change himself, but when his clothes started to loosen as he lost some of the extra weight he had gained over the years, Gilbert lifted his head and looked at his hands. Though still rugged and worn from hard work and fighting, they were far smoother than he remembered. Realizing that the curse had started to take effect, he moved his arms around and to his amazement, found out that nothing hurt or even felt slightly stiff. He couldn’t remember the last time something on his body wasn’t sore for absolutely no reason, nor when was the last time he felt so good in general. Colors appeared brighter, smells more intense, sounds clearer and above all else, he wasn’t tired in the slightest.
“Anna, are you seeing this?!” He asked and flexed his biceps at the necromancer.
Anastacia was too busy sulking to notice what her friend was up to, as aside from her hair growing out a bit, nothing at all had happened. She was not an inch taller than earlier, nor did she have trouble fitting into her clothes. Furious and disappointed, Anastacia scowled at her empty coffee cup and angrily tapped her nails on the table. Every now and then she peeked under her shirt and sighed.
“Wow, you’re exactly the same as before.” Gilbert pointed out rather insensitively.
The necromancer glared at him and accidentally snapped off the handle from her cup. “No I’m not, I’m a lot more pissed off.” She growled.
Gilbert laughed. “Relax, I know what’ll make you feel better. Check this out!” He said, unbuttoned his shirt and flexed some more.
Looking remarkably unimpressed by the boasting, Anastacia rolled her eyes and sank deeper into her chair. “When I close my eyes, you’re the same lump of meat you’ve always been, just with a bit less padding.” She commented.
“Really? This does nothing for you?” Gilbert asked and changed poses.
“What I’m seeing is a bunch of muscles gushing about in blood, wrapped in a skin bag. So if you ask me, you look just as gross as the next person, and everyone else.” The necromancer explained and lazily flopped off her chair. “Well, at least I can drink now that I’m an adult…” She reasoned and disappeared into the kitchen to find something to drink. Even if she couldn’t look like an adult, she sure as heck could act like one, and to her it meant drinking alcohol.
Having lost his audience, Gilbert started to seek someone else to amaze with his regained youth. He bounced from table to table, trying his luck with the lady adventurers of the inn. Most of them were simply weirded out by the boasting buffoon and the rest annoyed. So, needless to say, he had no luck with any of them. This however, had no effect on his confidence and the cursed adventurer kept pestering the women and showing off his admittedly impressive physique.
Both Emilia and Yulia were at a loss of words. What they were seeing clashed so badly with the calm and collected image of Gilbert they both had, that they couldn’t even comprehend what was happening.
“That’s young Gil to a T. I swear he didn’t cover his chest for a second until someone pointed out that the hair on it started going gray.” Rosie grinned, trying to hold back laughter as hard as she could.
“I… uh… Who even is he? What could have possibly happened to turn that… thing into the Gilbert we know?!” Emilia asked and looked away because she started to feel ashamed being involved with young Gilbert in any way.
“Valor happened. You move into the city full of energy and gumption, get to know a few people, form a party with your friends, fight side by side with them for a long time and then one day something goes wrong and you’re the only one that returns from a quest.” The innkeeper explained, changing her tone to a more serious one. “That sort of thing changes a person, and some of the smarter ones quit right then and there, but some choose to stay and typically form new parties with others like them. What that bumbling fool of a man did was the complete opposite, he kept helping out new arrivals out of some misguided feeling of responsibility. Now, not all new folk coming through here are necromancers or avatars of the gods, and Gil is just a regular man that can only do so much, so naturally many of them didn’t make it. All of it made him go gray in a blink of an eye and turn into the silvery bear of a man you know.”
“Huh, well we can thank the many that lost their lives so we don’t need to deal with… whatever that slimy idiot is.” The priestess sighed.
Rosie snickered. “True enough, but your test will be the thing that just snuck into the kitchen. I can promise you that she’s not going to be any easier.”
Suddenly the hunk of testosterone and ego turned his attention to the trio monitoring him from behind the counter and pranced over. “Yulia, Oh Yulia, you juicy piece of mutton. I am here to tell you the joyous news that you’ve been blessed with divine luck! For you, and only you, are allowed to touch my sculpted abs.” He declared and leaned back to a better lighting for his stomach. “Come on now, they don’t bite – but I might!” He growled and winked to the sheep.
Yulia looked around, seeking aid from the innkeeper and priestess, but Emilia had already mentally checked out due to excess shame and Rosie was struggling to breathe from all the laughing. “I... I… I do-“ The lamb finally managed to stutter out loud but was interrupted by Gilbert.
“You know what’s tragic? It’d be such a crime for me to cover up all of this that I’m legally not allowed to wear shirts.” He boasted and posed once more. “But the winters have become cold as of late, so I was thinking that you could maybe share some of that wool of yours – along with some body heat!”
While the suggestion made Rosie completely lose it, Yulia had no idea what to say and couldn’t even get a word out, instead she just stated to nervously shake on her seat.
“Think about it. All this rock-hard muscle against your plump goodness. Makes you wonder why it hasn’t happened already, doesn’t it?” Gilbert asked and winked again.
Yulia gathered all her courage, determination and might into a single question. “C… ca… can you just ask again when the curse is gone?” She asked and turned bright red.
The sudden straightforwardness caught everyone present off guard and an awkward silence filled the air while the gears in young Gilbert’s head whirred in confusion. He had quite obviously expected nothing to come out of his advances, as that’s how it had been for a long time – for reasons obvious to everyone but him.
“That… that’s technically a yes!” Gilbert eventually realized, posed as a celebration and turned just as red as Yulia. “Time for a victory jog!” He yelled and dashed outside without so much as putting his shirt back on, partly to escape the awkward situation and partly to enjoy his young knees that didn’t hurt all the time.
They sat in silence and watched as Gilbert ran laps around the market square outside. Seemingly unbothered by the frigid air, the adventurer kept going for far longer than anyone had expected.
“Should we go and get him back before he becomes a public menace?” Emilia asked.
Rosie shook her head and leaned back. “Nah, let the man enjoy life while he can. Besides, do you seriously want him here, trying to bench press you to show off? Because that’s what’s up next, if he sticks to his usual schedule.” She said with a certain tone of reminiscence in her voice. Gilbert’s antics clearly reminded her of the days she first arrived at Valor and set up her inn. “I’ll help this wannabe grave robber keep an eye on him, so why don’t you go and check up on Anna? I’ll call you out if something amazing happens.”
“That’s probably a good idea. We did leave King there after all…” The priestess agreed and hopped off her seat to peek into the kitchen.
Anastacia was nowhere in sight and King was still washing dishes as he had been asked to do. Emilia entered the room and looked around for clues of the necromancer’s whereabouts. There were no exits from the kitchen other than the one through the tavern, and she was sure that Anastacia hadn’t left the room. The storeroom was firmly shut and locked as well, so there was no point looking there either.
“Oh.” The priestess sighed when she saw the pair of feet coming from under the table in the middle of the kitchen. She kneeled to see what the necromancer was up to. “Everything okay down there?”
“No. Did you know wine tastes like shit?” Anastacia asked and shook a bottle of wine that had barely been touched while laying on her back.
Emilia nabbed the bottle and placed it on the table. “It’s an acquired taste, though one better left unacquired, if you ask me.” She said, trying to avoid lecturing Anastacia about the dangers of alcohol she was well familiar with herself. “Why are you under the table?”
“I hate being an adult and am having an existential crisis.” Anastacia groaned and closed her eyes.
The priestess laid down on the floor next to the table and stared at the ceiling. “Anything you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know. All of a sudden, I had this realization that everyone, including me, is just a bulging and writhing lump of wet meat and fat, and now I can’t unsee that. Like, I’ve always knowns that – shit, I can draw every bone, vein and muscle on a person from memory, but somehow it really started to bother me when this whole curse thing happened. People are gross.” Anastacia explained her predicament.
“They are kind of gross when you think about it too much, aren’t they? Thimble said you’d be an amplified version of yourself because of the curse, and you’ve always been averse to that kind of stuff, so I don’t think it’s anything worth worrying about. But can’t you just sort of tone down the whole necromancy by focusing on other things?” Emilia suggested. She could remember people and creatures sneaking up to the party a few times when Anastacia had been busy with something Gilbert was trying to teach her on the road. “Everyone has things they’d rather just not think about, that crawl up in the quiet moments of their lives and are a nightmare to beat back down. Yours are intense, but I don’t think they’re impossible to overcome.”
Anastacia frowned and turned to look at her friend. “Everyone? How about you?”
Emilia smiled. “I’m fortunate in that I have a goddess singing in my head, so I don’t get quiet moments, but do you remember how badly I crashed when I was cut off from Lady Sylvia? So trust me, everyone has something.” She reminded Anastacia of the time she lost her connection to the divine and could barely function for various reasons. “So if it still bothers you when the curse wears off, just focus on things you like and come talk to me.”
“Hmh, thanks…” Anastacia muttered and stared at the simulacrum working a few meters away.
The priestess squinted and tried to read the look on her friend’s face, which did actually look slightly more mature, even if nothing else had changed. The color of her turquoise eyes had become deeper and darker, and the pasty, smooth skin on her cheeks had gotten a bit rougher. “There’s something you’re not telling me.” Emilia guessed.
“There is.” Anastacia admitted without hesitation. “I’ll come to you when I can put it into words, but it’ll probably pass when this whole curse nonsense is over.”
“Alright, just remember that my door is always open.” Emilia reminded. She didn’t feel right trying to poke her head into something she wasn’t asked about. After all, as a priestess of Sylvia, she was supposed to help and guide people, not tell them what to do or squeeze out confessions from them.
“You mean Rosie’s door, right? When was the last time you’ve been to your room? Do you even remember which one it is?” Anastacia asked and grinned. “You do realize that I know which blob of meat you are, even if I can’t see you, right? And I know where everyone in this inn is at all times.”
Along with the artificial years Anastacia had gained, Emilia suspected that she might have also gained an ounce or two of wit, which was both a good and a bad thing for many reasons. Luckily Rosie dashed into the kitchen before she had to answer and interrupted the conversation.
“Emilia! Grab a case of mead. We’re… Why are you two down there? Doesn’t matter! We’re getting Gil drunk to see what happens!” The innkeeper said excitedly and rushed to unlock the storeroom door.
The priestess glanced at Anastacia to make sure she was alright. The necromancer shrugged and told her to run along, so Emilia got up and followed Rosie out of the kitchen with a box full of bottles.
Anastacia kept stalking on the simulacrum for a while, she honestly couldn’t stand young Gilbert and didn’t feel like leaving her hiding spot anyway, so joining whatever as going on outside the kitchen didn’t appeal to her in the slightest. The initial reason she had crawled under the table was that she thought not seeing the ceiling would let her forget how depressingly far away it still was despite her age, and that the underneath of the table was a nice out of the way spot for her original plan of drinking. King had of course noticed her ages ago, but she had asked him to not pay any attention to her and simply kept staring at the simulacrum.
As time passed, the noise from the tavern increased as more people started to join in on the drinking, and eventually what started off as simply trying to get one person drunk for fun, ended up becoming a tavern full of drunkards. While not all that unusual, as adventurers would almost go out of their way to celebrate anything by drinking, the ensuing merrymaking was on the more intense side of things.
Every now and then, someone would visit the kitchen to get more drinks, and it was then when Anastacia noticed her chance: someone had left the storeroom door open. Mead was definitely a lot more palatable than wine, and she now had access to as much as she could drink, along with a sack of sugar she could adjust the taste to her liking if needed.