The first week of Iris’ residency in Valor had elapsed before anyone involved had even noticed. Things had quickly settled into a routine in which either Anastacia or Emilia took the visitor into their custody for the day. With Anastacia, their time was largely split between working on the wings and just killing time doing nothing, while Emilia took her job as the high priestess seriously, spending the days teaching Iris about what exactly it meant to serve Lady Sylvia. Whether any of it actually caught on was questionable, but the necromancer was intent on learning.
Of the supposed threat to the city, she had been warned about, Iris hadn’t seen any hint of. She had tried her best to listen to rumors going around the tavern as well as inquire the news of the region in general from any merchants that happened by the city. Since she had no idea what the threat was or its severity, trying to gather clues was very close to a pointless task, but the idea of someone relying on her kept her going.
On her eighth morning in the city, Iris, accompanied by Anastacia and her simulacra as well as Gilbert, were slowly gathering strength for the day. As she had been asked to, Anastacia had made it Iris’ duty to care for the burns on her arm, caused by activating the core stuck in her shoulder.
Iris frowned as she inspected the weird pattern of burns that seemed to be expanding day by day and showed no signs of healing – nor infection, interestingly enough. “You need to stop whatever you’re doing to cause this. It’s a miracle your arm isn’t literally rotting off at this point.” She grumbled and pulled out yet another piece of what seemed like glass from the burn. Anastacia hadn’t been exactly helpful when explaining what the burn was about or why there were always shards of something stuck in it, but it was obvious to Iris that she was intentionally causing it.
“I can’t do that. I’m sure it’ll settle sooner or later and heal up properly. Besides, it doesn’t even hurt anymore, so it must be better.” Anastacia argued.
“That just means that you’ve actually managed to burn off the part of your skin that feels pain, it’s not a good thing, far from it.” Iris countered with reason and started applying the ointment Emilia had made. She had already seen the core in Anastacia’s shoulder and connecting the burned pattern to it didn’t require much in the way of detective work, as the burn led directly from the palm of Anastacia’s hand to it. While Iris definitely didn’t agree that the burns should just be left to settle on their own, she had to agree that the older parts of the pattern weren’t getting any worse despite it slowly spreading on her arm. There seemed to be a point where the burn ceased intensifying and instead the strange glass-like material stuck to the skin more firmly, already being impossible to remove at the top end of the pattern. “I hope whatever it is you’re getting out of this is worth it.”
Anastacia smirked determinately. “You have no idea.” She whispered and glanced at the simulacra beside her.
Iris sighed in defeat, knowing that whatever words of caution she might have had would have fallen on deaf ears. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a massive weirdo?”
“Oh shush! You like it.” The adventurer laughed.
“It does keep things interesting – and busy.” Iris freely admitted and smiled slightly without even noticing it. Whether her time with the sole necromancer of Valor was teaching her anything could be argued for and against, but what the constant barrage of nonsense in Anastacia’s life had done very effectively, was give her respite from her usual worries. At one point she had been forced to spend most of the day at the goblin castle, trying her best to direct the little green critters as they arranged a pile of rocks, logs and discarded items in and around the castle as ‘furniture’. Though it had left her beyond exhausted, it took her until the quiet hours of the night to realize that she hadn’t even thought about the inquisition’s situation during the day.
“Hear that, Gil? She likes me.” Anastacia snickered and turned to the other adventurer.
Gilbert had had very little to say so far, instead he had been busy frowning, chewing on the bit of his pipe without lighting it, scratching his beard in deep thought and staring at something he had written into a small pocket notebook. “That’s nice, but you’re both weird if you ask me.” He said, proving that he had still been listening.
Anastacia tried to lean over to see what he had written, but was abruptly stopped by Iris gripping her wrist to keep her still while trying to wrap a fresh bandage around the burnt arm. “Ow, ow, ow!” She yelped, feeling the inquisitor’s nails dig into some of the newer burns that still stung a bit. “What are you pondering?” She asked after getting a glare from Iris that made it very clear that the pain was intentional.
“It’s probably nothing, but I started hearing about a few adventurers taking a weirdly long time on quests in the past couple of weeks. I’m looking into it.” Gilbert explained and closed his notebook to answer what he was sure to be some follow-up questions.
“Your quests have deadlines?” Iris was first to ask.
“Sometimes, but usually not, but generally we try to estimate how long something will take.” The old adventurer shook his head. “It’s not uncommon for something to go awry and things take a fair bit longer than they should, and it really isn’t all that uncommon that adventurers just don’t return at all – it’s a dangerous job, after all.”
Still confined by the eagle-like grip on her wrist, Anastacia winced. “Why are you looking into it then?” Over the months, Anastacia had seen a few people not return with their parties. It was by no means a daily or even a weekly thing, but it did happen. Typically, such accidents fell on the young and brash adventurers who had no experience nor the sense to rely on those that did, but not always.
“I’ve a gut feeling, and it ain’t good.” Gilbert explained. “A lot of these are folks as experienced as me, taking on some simple jobs that shouldn’t take more than a couple of days and have very little risk – and it’s always entire parties. Normally, if things go south at least someone gets the chance to bail out.”
“How many? Anyone I know?” Anastacia suddenly worried.
“You might have seen a few in passing, none are from this inn. Seventy-eight in total that I’ve found, but that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with all of them, those are just the ones that are running late more than they should.” Gilbert said, trying to not sound particularly concerned. “I’m sure it’s just the weather making things inconvenient or something.”
“What happens if they… don’t return?” Iris asked, as she was unfamiliar with how things worked with the guild.
Gilbert took a moment to finally light his pipe while Iris finished up binding Anastacia’s arm. “Like I said, usually at least someone makes it out alive since we’re not really encouraged to do any sort of heroic last stands. Assuming that someone doesn’t manage to bring back at least their party’s pearls, the guild requires them to report on what went wrong.” He explained and took out the small glass ball all adventurers carried for the purposes of the guild being able to track their quest history. He then handed it to Iris to provide some context for what he was talking about. “The guild then makes an assessment on how recoverable either the bodies or the pearls are and usually announces reward for the recovery of either or both – usually it’s just the pearl since adventuring is a great way to get eaten. From there, there are adventurers who specialize in recovery, the type to get in and out of places without anything noticing, who take on the rewards and bring back what was asked.”
“That’s… honestly more than I expected from the guild. From what I’ve understood, they’re pretty aloof as employers.” Iris commented and handed the pearl back over after gazing into it for a moment.
“Mutual respect is what they’ve settled with. We behave as well as we can and don’t ruin their name out there and they’re actually willing to go fairly far when it comes to keeping us around.” Gilbert nodded. “It’s why Anna ruffles theirs feathers so badly – she’s a horrid brat with far too much oomph for her own good, and for their liking.”
“I’m right here, you know? I can hear you.” Anastacia pointed out after the rude depiction of her.
The old adventurer knew what he had said and knew it to be true, and more importantly, knew that Anastacia knew it to be true as well. He shrugged tiredly, hid both the pearl and the notebook into a pouch attached to his belt and continued to slowly puff smoke in silence.
“She really is, isn’t she…” Iris sighed. “I don’t envy them for having to work with her.”
“What the- You work for me, you traitor! Why is this turning on me when they’re clearly the assholes here?!” Exclaimed Anastacia.
Iris smirked and refused to elaborate further.
“I swear if it wasn’t winter, it’d be a week of frog pit for both of you…” The betrayed goblin monarch muttered while digging out crumbled sheets of paper from a bag she made Leggy carry. She then spread them on the table, revealing the completed designs for the control patters she had made for Iris’ wings and pulled out a piece of charcoal. “I’m going to have the blacksmith carve dicks on your wings.”
The inquisitor turned cleric turned interior decorator immediately lunged to save the papers from being defaced and successfully wrestled them from Anastacia’s grasp. Crumbled and smudged as they were, the intricate and complex design of the patterns was far beyond what Iris had ever seen in Mournvalley. Sure, the inquisition employed several researchers who had at least some level of knowledge regarding control patterns, and simple ones were often used by the commoner necromancers to mend their lacking powers. Several collections of skeletal beasts and other weaponry boasted impressive designs from past masters of the art as well, and all students were taught the basics, just as Anastacia had once been forced to learn them. However, as a whole, not much attention was paid to researching or perfecting them. What was even stranger was that the ones made by Anastacia were visibly distinct from what Mournvalley had access to, if anything, the works of Mournvalleyan craftsmen seemed like crude imitations cobbled together from memory, a sad and simplified remnant of whatever ancient skill the stray necromancer possessed. Iris couldn’t even fathom a guess for where she had learned such things. At the same time, Anastacia, who had learned the craft from studying a book written by the ancient necromancer, Ivory, and incorporated pieces of design from the simulacra into her own work, considered what she did fairly mundane.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re amazing at this?” Iris asked and marveled at the drafts laid out on the table.
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Still surly about being called a brat, Anastacia didn’t answer.
“Seriously, most of this doesn’t make any sense to me.” Iris continued the flattery while scratching her head trying to comprehend the work before her. “Are you sure the blacksmith can do all this?”
Anastacia answered begrudgingly. “He’s done plenty of this kind of work for me. This is more complicated than what I’ve had him do before, but since you don’t need any kind of a rigging for them, it makes this a lot cheaper and straight forward.”
“Why wings?” Gilbert suddenly interjected with something that had bothered him for a while now. “Why does a necromancer need wings? You don’t use them to fly and there’s no way that’s the most efficient arrangement to have them in if you need the bones for something else.”
Iris was visibly baffled by the question and reeled back before answering. “They’re… they’re cute?” She said as if that much was obvious.
“What? If some hooded figure with a pair of massive skeletal wings crawls through their window, most people consider it a nightmare.” Gilbert explained what the accessories looked like from a non-necromancer perspective.
Unable to believe what was being said, Iris sought a second opinion from her fellow necromancer. “They’re… let’s say inoffensive, as far as your options go. I only have a rough idea of what you use them for, but you’re not scavenging them from the dead directly, or choosing to drape skin on them – which many would no doubt try, so it could be worse.” Anastacia gave her honest opinion. “The halo is overkill though.”
“The halo is an important part of the flow of things! And cool!” Iris protested and hit the table in half-pretended fury.
Gilbert let out a groan and rubbed his brow in disappointment. “There’s a halo now? I knew your taste was awful when we first met, but this is something else.”
“Presentation is important in my job!” Iris almost screamed, very unhappy that her fashion sense was being mocked.
“I talked her out of having four wings too.” Anastacia revealed between sips of coffee.
Just a snort from the old adventurer was answer enough for Iris and she began gathering the plans into a neat stack. “That’s it! The mood here is turning hostile, I’m taking these to the blacksmith so you two assholes can stop mocking me.” She snarled and stormed out of the table all the way to the door, where she stopped and turned around to wait for Anastacia to follow her. Not only did she not want to face the muse alone, she was still liable to get arrested if she was caught outside on her own.
Anastacia on the other hand was in no great hurry, she still had a third of a cup left in her drink and had absolutely no intention to budge before it was done. Staring at the necromancer waiting by the door, she slowly sipped away, intentionally slowing down over time. Unfortunately for her, Iris had learned that testing the patience of her friends was basically a hobby for Anastacia and wasn’t going to have it. The inquisitor stomped back to the table, wrapped her arm around Anastacia’s neck and dragged her out of the chair. The simulacra would have intervened, but Anastacia gestured for them to stand down as Iris was being about as gentle as one could be with a chokehold, and they were obviously just playing. She also didn’t want to take her friends, who just happened to be created through ancient marvels of technology, to a muse of all things, so they were better left at the inn for now. As she was dragged outside, Anastacia trashed and flailed theatrically, but such a thing didn’t really cause a commotion outside of couple of chuckles in Valor.
Once outside, Iris released her grasp and let the giggling adventurer fall on the thick layer of freshly fallen snow on the street. “You’re such a pain in the ass sometimes.” She sighed and kicked more snow at Anastacia.
“An interesting pain in the ass.” Anastacia corrected her but got even more snow kicked at her. In response, she grabbed some as well and threw it at Iris.
Iris took a deep breath, calmly dusted off the snow from her clothes, neatly folded the papers and placed them into her bag for safekeeping. She then kneeled, gathered as much snow as she could hold in her arms and dropped it all directly on Anastacia’s face. Suddenly she could feel a grip on her ankle but didn’t have time to react before Anastacia pulled her feet from under her and tipped her over into the snow as well. This quickly devolved into a wrestling match where there were no real winners and the only goal was to shove as much snow under the other person’s clothes as possible. Neither of them was appropriately dressed for anything more than a quick run across the square into the blacksmith’s shop, and much less for a snow fight, but that didn’t bother either of them in the several minutes their contest lasted. Their playful spat gathered a fair bit of attention from the people around the square, but the necromancers didn’t notice until both of them were exhausted and almost unable to get back up.
A sound of something hard striking the surface of the street brought back their awareness of their surroundings. “You two quite done yet?” Asked an orcish woman wearing a modified version of the guild guard armor, that had fewer steel plates and resembled the officials’ uniform in some places. She held a deep crimson crystalline staff, which Anastacia recognized as a tool for ice mages, just like her previous staff or the few surviving knives she had, but much longer and girthier. Though she didn’t sound a slightest bit angry or frustrated, the refined authority the woman carried immediately made the necromancers feel like they were being a nuisance.
“No, not really. I just didn’t want to interrupt you two.” The mage stated and pointed at her staff. “You probably don’t want to be laying on the ground when I start.
Iris had no idea what was going on, but followed Anastacia’s example and slowly levered herself up from the snow. As soon as the necromancers had stood up, the mage struck her staff into the stone surface through the snow and grabbed it with both hands. Within seconds, the snow began to vanish and melt from almost the entire area of the market square, only taking a moment to entirely clear up and evaporate as a column of thick mist. While all the snow stuck in and on Iris’ clothes melted as well, leaving her drenched, Anastacia’s clothing remained as they were, as did a small icy patch of ground under her feet.
Noticing this, the mage smiled as she lifted the hefty staff on her shoulder. “Ah, a young fledgling of the icy path, a rare choice among the youth! It’s all flinging balls of fire or some other flashy craft these days…” She commended Anastacia.
“I know a thing or two.” Admitted Anastacia. While she could use ice magic fairly well, she had no clue of its deeper intricacies or details, which always made her a bit awkward around mages that actually knew what they were doing, and made her feel like a bumbling fool who had stumbled onto the craft.
The mage placed her hand on Anastacia’s shoulder, her cold touch piercing through clothing. “A pity, but there is much for me to do still and I must be off. I would be delighted to offer a fledgling some guidance and materials thought, it’s not every day I get the chance. Should you want some pointers on a later date, ask for Khazhara from any of my fellow guards. I mostly work in this part of the city, so I should be around the barracks somewhere.” She offered to share her knowledge, something most mages seemed keen on doing. “You two should change into something warmer if you plan on lingering outside though, it’s not going to get any warmer.”
After short farewells, the ice mage carried on with her duties of clearing snow and the necromancers were left in the middle of the square, people’s attention still very much focused on them. They quickly scurried off into the direction of the blacksmith’s shop to escape.
“Just so you know, this isn’t over. There’s plenty of snow on the field outside.” Anastacia playfully threatened Iris before opening the shop’s door.
“Just so you know, the worst is yet to come.” The other necromancer answered with a threat of her own when they entered.
Though they stepped inside, they didn’t feel a change in the temperature, but rather the type of cold changed from a natural wintery type to an unsettling and unnatural frigidness caused by the presence of the muse. No one else who visited the blacksmith in the past week had felt anything odd, but Armaata still enjoyed making her presence known to the necromancers, even when she didn’t immediately reveal herself. Other than that, the business had returned to how it had been. The shelves were once more stacked full of weaponry for sale, and the shop itself as tidy as ever. As per their agreement, the dwarf had been allowed enough rest and food, and his dwarven sturdiness let him quickly bounce back to his usual, still overworked shape. Tinkering with something on his counter as usual, he gave a small nod as a greeting.
“What’s up?” Anastacia asked and leaned against the counter to see whatever project the blacksmith was working on.
Taking his time to finish up, the dwarf finally answered. “It’s finally finished.” He said, trying to act calm but was obviously excited to tell someone the news. He hopped off his stool, fetched a bundle of green fabric from the backroom and placed it in front of the necromancers. Carefully unfolding it, he revealed his masterpiece: a glistening white tiara. “Ivory from the desert mammoths, wound together with white gold and platinum dug up from the deepest mines known to dwarfkind. Crafted with the guidance of a muse and enchanted to never lose its luster.”
Just as he said, the artifact made by joining together bone and precious metals was almost blinding to look at in its shine. To place a gemstone on it would have been an insult and using a lesser metal would have tainted it entirely. Each detail perfected to an unbelievable degree, each bend symmetrical with its pair on the other side, each piece of bone honed with accuracy surpassing human vision and each joint of metal polished so that it looked like the entire thing was made from a single piece, almost like it had been found in a mine that way. Not a single flaw was visible anywhere on it, and its perfection actively made things around it look worse by highlighting their defects in comparison. Without a doubt, it was a thing of legendary beauty, far too good for even the mightiest of royals to wear. Despite this, something about it felt wrong to the necromancers, cursed even. Neither of them said anything to the proud creator of the headpiece, but trough no reason they themselves understood and without sharing anything with each other, both knew they wanted nothing to do with it.
Iris gave a pained smile and avoided looking directly at the tiara. “It’s… very nice.” She forced out a compliment.
The dwarf was far too proud and excited to notice the discomfort of his guests as he lovingly stared at his masterpiece. “Oh, but I’ve forgotten myself, haven’t I?” He suddenly remembered and carefully folded the fabric to put away the tiara. “Armaata and I checked out that small bit of metal you brought too.” He then opened a drawer behind the counter and lifted up the larger lump of metal that had once been a piece of The Baron of Iron and had been gifted to Anastacia by Sylvia. “It’s the exact same stuff as this.” The blacksmith revealed and placed the droplet of Emilia’s blood by the lump. “I’ve yet to find a way to even make a dent in this stuff, but Armaata says she could mold it but has no interest in it for whatever reason.”
The connection heavily suggested that Emilia’s state likely had everything to do with the deity she served, which was a relief to a degree. Why the change happened when it happened was still a mystery, but it seemed like necromancy wasn’t of much use for trying to solve it.
“Where do you keep getting these anyway?” The dwarf asked and placed the pieces back into storage again.
“Does the master necromancer have our plans for us?” Armaata suddenly interjected and appeared from thin air behind the blacksmith. “The master necromancer’s work pace remains sluggish. We have waited for days! Days!” The muse exclaimed as the rest of her body materialized. In one of her hands, she was holding a tray, on which she carried a tankard full of beer as well as what seemed to be freshly baked bread. She placed it in front of the dwarf and turned her attention back to the necromancers. “The bargain is held on my end, have you fulfilled yours?”
Anastacia tried to peek around the beast to get a better look at the tray. “Yes, yes, Iris has the plans but there’s something more important going on.” She said dismissively. “Where did you get beer and bread?”
To avoid being grabbed, Iris offered her bag to the muse, who eagerly took out the folded sheets of paper and tossed the rest of the bag away like it was trash. “Curious… Perhaps there is something to your claims after all. The drafts are the make of a blind child, but the purpose I can decipher, even if the methods elude me for now. Perhaps I will cease regretting sparing your meager lives once these plans are brought form.”
“Sure, sure, but where did you get the bread? Did you start baking or something?” Anastacia continued ignoring the subject of the visit, just as the muse kept ignoring her inane questions.
“I’m also kind of interested in the bread…” Iris agreed while steering clear of the beast that still freaked her out even after seeing her a couple of times.
“I spared you two not to bother me, but to allow for the creation of greater works. Cease your drivel and expand upon these blueprints so that my master dwarf can bring it into existence!” Armaata growled and started placing the papers on the counter in a way the blacksmith could better see them, occasionally pointing out parts she considered interesting while the dwarf ate his lunch. “Come hither, master necromancer! There is work to be done! Yet be warned, mention bread once more, misdirect the conversation and the next batch will find itself topped with meat of a nosy brat.”