They felt the essence engine before they could see it, a seeping stain on the flow of mana through their bodies. Layla’s breath hitched as they moved into the plaza containing the engine and it’s accumulating vanes. The engine was a smooth, cylindrical silver structure, built in vertical layers of metallic slabs centered around a spherical reactor body. Blue light pulsed from within the sphere, colorless discharges like transparent lightning warping the air between the accumulators and the surface of the engine. The dozen bladed accumulator vanes faced outward in a circle, thirty feet across, the edges glowing like white-hot metal. They could see the area around the engine had been dug out, about ten feet into the ground, and reinforced where a foot-wide column of the same silver metal was driven into the soil at the bottom of the cavity. The entire structure gave off power in a rhythm that seemed to warp space, the air flexing outward in time with a behemoth heartbeat. Whatever the engine was drawing out of the earth wasn’t mana, and the sickly transparent power flowing up the central spike made their eyes hurt and their bones ache.

“What’s wrong with it?” Erin whispered.

“It’s… like a syringe, driven into the ground, drawing up energy, and those big blades are pulling it out of the air,” Layla murmured, “But yeah, something’s really not right.”

“None of these people can feel it, can they?” Jack moved closer, stealing glances around the square.

“No, it’s like they’re desensitized,” Rory joined the other three.

“I don’t wanna get any closer to it,” Erin said. “Where’s that inn they were talking about?”

“Further along,” Jack replied. “That way.”

“If this is the engine powering a town, imagine what the capitol has to be like,” Rory shuddered.

“We’re, uh, not going there, right? Like, we’re gonna get the fuck out of Dodge?” Layla interjected.

“No, I don’t think any of us are still up for that,” Erin replied. “Hey, how are you? You still have those penalties?”

“Yeah, but they haven’t gotten any worse. When we killed the nightstalker, I leveled up. I was able to pick an option that gives me more time between feeding. There were other really neat picks, but I figured not being as much a slave to my libido would be helpful. Have you guys noticed we’re gaining levels really fast? I’m like mage three and succubus two, just from faffing about on the mountain.”

“Maybe. We don’t know what the cap is, or if there even is one. For all we know, that Weisse bloke might have a hundred levels,” Rory made a sour face as he thought of the inquisitor. “The inn is just up the road here, straight ahead.”

The Golden Lark was, as Inquisitor Seiger Weiss had promised, clean enough. And there were, in fact, elves. The Lark was located on the main thoroughfare, about a quarter-mile from the south road gate. It had a thick plank sign, with the likeness of a songbird burned into the wood and gilt with golden paint. Layla poked the sign repeatedly, watching it jiggle and swing back and forth, ignoring the stares of passersby. The outside of the inn was weathered and could likely use a good cleaning, but the inside was all warm golden wood and brass finishings. Inside, they were warmly greeted by a young half-elf girl who ushered them to a table and hawked the day’s special, a vegetable soup and a thick bread covered in cheese. All four elected for the special and a round of tall cider, which were served mulled with something that decently resembled cinnamon and orange peels.

“That will be two coppers each, please. One for the food, one for the cider,” the half-elven girl chirped.

“We haven’t any change, love, but we’re new in town, so how bout a silver for the lot, and you answer some questions for us?” Rory gave her a dazzling smile, and she blushed in turn.

“Surely, sir, what is it you wish to know?”

Persuade Skill Level Up

Your Persuade Skill is currently capped at your Guile rating. Additional experience gained through Persuade tasks will still be applied to your Classes. Raise your Guile to increase your Persuade Skill.

Rory gestured idly with his hand, flipping the green panel so the others could see the message. The girl simply waited for him to answer.

Rory: That’s confirmation they can’t see our status panels. Any suggestions?

Jack: I’d say ask her about the engine, but I’m worried about getting too curious.

Layla: Nah, fuck that. That thing is w r o n g.

Erin: This soup is really good, guys. … Did I just chat that instead of saying it out loud?

The four laughed aloud, the day’s tension momentarily melted away by warm food, hot drink, and the likelihood that this pale waif of a half-elf wasn’t likely to burn them at the stake or stab them in their sleep. The girl smiled nervously, but a big tip goes a long way toward excusing odd behavior.

“Sorry, love. First off, what’s your name?” he asked.

“Savka, sir,” she beamed, “Savka Larken.”

"So, Savka, what else is round here? I know the capitol is off to the West, saw the lights coming down the mountain. Any other interesting bits?” Rory smiled again.

“Oh to be sure, sir. The Hunter’s Guild is further south along the main road, near the edge of town. You’ll need to be registered there if you want to hunt more monsters on the mountain. The scouts say the Dunkelwood to the North is good hunting as well, though they say trolls roam the border near the Northern Front,” the girl smiled absently as she talked, pouring out more cider into their cups.

“The Northern Front. Tell us more about it, please,” Rory grinned again, and the girl’s blush deepened.

“Surely, you must be from far away. The Front is the border between the Empire’s territory and the savage lands. The red city, they call it Ostlin, is beyond the Front. Ruled by monsters, it is. My da says the Front is about twenty miles deep, and almost two hundred miles across. Spans all the way from the great eastern sea to the Vylornes Sea in the West. Terrible monsters live there, sir, and many weapons from the wars are buried there. It’s not a place good folk should go,” she made a gesture across her chest, almost like crossing herself.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“You know a lot about the land,” Layla said between draining her cider and jiggling the empty copper cup with a grin.

“Yes, mym, my da is in the scouts. He and my ma thought I should know more about the world outside Nafsbirg. Said thinking one town was all of the world made your mind small,” she replied shyly.

“And right they were. Thank you, love. We’ll have another round of cider, and then up to our rooms, if you please,” Rory flashed her one last shining smile before she was off to fetch another pitcher.

Rory: Well, I vote ‘not north’ as our direction of choice.

Layla: No shit, Rory. I, too, choose life.

Erin: Layla, that guy you’ve been making ‘fuck me’ eyes at since we sat down is walking over here.

The ‘guy’ in question was six-and-a-half feet of oiled leather and muscle, with long, black rolled hair woven with gold and silver collars, threads, feathers, and a half-dozen other kinds of decoration, all of which was tied back with an elaborate silver clasp. His leathers were obviously part of a heavier set of armor, lacking protection in a few vital places, but they’d do well enough to stop a bar room knife and cushion punches from hooligans. He was the portrait of a bodice-ripper cover about a big strong man come to take the heroine away from all of this.

Layla: Welp, that’s muh cue boys and girls. I’ma go get my swerve on.

Rory: You cannot be a real person. Also, mother mary, he is hot.

Erin: What would Darius say, Rory?

Rory: Gay Rulebook Clause 73a, Erin. I can look.

“I am Roan Abendsohn, leader of the Red Wolves. You are lovely, pale one-” the giant started.

“Skip it, tall, dark, and muscle-y. I’m down. My room, though,” Layla’s grin was predatory.

He laughed, a boom of noise over the hum of the inn’s patrons, “‘As you like. Do not worry. I will be gentle with you, pale one.”

“I won’t,” Layla grinned again, and rose from the table.

“Very well. I have coin if we should break the inn’s bed,” he laughed again and took her offered hand.

With a flourish, she killed the rest of her cider and bowed to the other three. “Don’t wait up for me boys and girls, I’ma be busy.”

The warrior leaned down and inhaled a breath of her skin, before she yanked him closer and practically dragged him up the stairs. He turned to look at his companions, the first hint of worry showing on his face, but they simply cheered and toasted him as the two disappeared up the stairs.

A moment later, three green panels suddenly popped up.

Layla: Oh, Rory, you poor baby. You have nooooooo idea what you’re missing.

Rory: I wonder if I can mute her.

Layla: Nope, I think it, you have to read it. It’s too bad this thing doesn’t have voi

Erin: El? You ok?

Another few seconds passed, the three of them sharing concerned glances.

Layla: Layla isn’t here right now. Leave a message at, mmm, the beep.

Jack: Night, Layla. No more porny messages, thanks.

Erin: I dunno. It’s been a hot minute. I could use some porny messages.

“Nope. Not a chance, I’m not-” Rory’s sentence ended abruptly as a crack resounded from upstairs and the faintest sound of obscenities muffled by rugs and wooden floors drifted down to the rest of the group. The bar went quiet for what seemed like an eternity, until the rest of the Red Wolves unleashed a bellowing cheer and devolved into laughter and jokes at their leader’s expense.

“That’s gonna cost Roan a silver for the bed, Torben. That’s the fourth bed you idiots have broken this month. Why don’t you find a job posting and do some work instead of drinking up all my mead?” the voice came from the bar, and as the three turned to look, the speaker stepped out to walk two more dark bottles to the adventurers’ table. The woman was clearly Savka’s mother, a petite, dark-haired mirror of the half-elf girl, but she was also clearly human.

“Come now, Gita. How do you know it wasn’t the pale one that broke the bed?” one of the Wolves retorted.

“Oh, yes, blame it on the tiny girl in the evening dress. That wisp is smaller than me, Hafden. Now, unless you want me to start breaking one of your fingers for every bed you’ve broken this year, one silver for the bed,” she clunked the dark bottles onto the table and held her hand out.

“But Gita, I don’t have that many fingers,” Hafden laughed, but went fishing in his pockets all the same. He flicked the coin up into the air, spinning end over end, where Gita caught it gracefully and slipped it into her apron.

“And you, first night and making trouble already. If you want to stay here, no tarka-business, understand?” she narrowed her eyes at Rory, then pointed a finger at them and wiggled it back and forth between Jack and Erin. “That little strumpet upstairs isn’t a harlot, is she? No business in this inn save my own, understand?”

“No, ma’am. She’s just having a bit of fun,” Rory smiled harmlessly, and Gita’s scowl softened considerably. She turned on her heel and purposely ran into one of the Wolves, then lightly smacked him on top of the head with her bar towel.

“You know, when my husband is in town, I don’t have to put up with all this shit from you heathens,” she laughed and stalked back to the bar.

“Ignore Gita. She’s a good woman, and a better cook. But crabby. You are new here, yes?” the one called Torben leaned across the aisle and poured a splash of mead into Jack’s copper cup.

“We are. Came down the mountain earlier, hunted some slimes and a nightstalker or two,” Rory replied, deftly leaving out that their nightstalker was a kitten.

“Ah, good prey. The stalkers hide is good for quiet walking. Dafyn wears it, yeah?” he gestured at one of the Wolves dressed in dark leathers at the end of the table, who simply waved his cup back at them.

“Well, I believe it’s time we bedded down. It’s been a long day,” Rory wasted another smile and began to clean up his place.

“Make sure to visit the guild hall tomorrow before you go into the wild again. The empire doesn’t like it when you profit without their permission,” Torben laughed bitterly.

“Thanks again, mate,” Rory replied and rose.

The beds were softer than they expected, and sleep came easier than expected as well. Morning brought shafts of sunlight through the wooden shutters, but what woke them was a persistent green panel hovering over their heads.

Layla: Level three succubus. Best. Day. Ever.

Rory: For fuck’s sake.