“The Old Light?” Brodert Quink shook his head slowly. “I’ve been trying to get inside it for years. No luck. If there are any old spellbooks in there, I’m afraid they’re lost to time.”

“And that’s the only Thassilonian ruin nearby?” Arlo groaned. So much for that plan. How was he supposed to find whatever spellbook he was looking for now?

“I’m afraid so,” Quink replied forlornly. “It’s nice to see someone who’s as excited about Thassilonian ruins as I. Maybe you can take a look around the Old Light and see if you can find an entrance.”

Biting back a sigh, Arlo turned from the old man. His eyes scanned the shelves of curios lining the walls of Quink’s small hovel. Arlo was careful not to touch anything — someone with this large of a collection was clearly obsessed. Ioun stones floated above an ancient diadem, torn books were guarded by defunct homunculi. Everything Arlo saw was carefully chaotic, placed in a proper spot, though only Quink could know what that proper spot was.

“And you haven’t found any spellbooks in your own searches?” Arlo confirmed, eying a rather large tome.

“Nothing groundbreaking,” Quink said. “A few interesting evocations — I found a spell to drench things in water — but other than that, everything I’ve found I’ve already discovered on my own. There’s nothing that would be worthwhile to an adventurer such as yourself.”

Arlo couldn’t bite back the sigh anymore.

“But you might ask Chask Haladan, down at the Curious Goblin,” Quink added. “He does collect quite a few books. While I haven’t heard anything about Thassilonian relics, it’s possible he’s found a spellbook or two he might let you look through.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks.”

Heading out of the old sage’s house, Arlo marched down Tower Street, turning onto Main. A reasonable distance from Quink’s house, the mage paused in front of a sign with a goblin trying to read a massive book. He pushed the door open, and a tiny bell tinkled.

An old man sat in a chair behind a counter, running a glass over a large tome. He held up a hand as Arlo approached.

Arlo waited.

And waited.

And waited more.

Finally, he coughed quietly. The man jumped, nearly falling out of his chair.

“Oh! Sorry, can I help you?” Chask Haladan asked, finally looking up at the catfolk.

“I’m searching for spellbooks, especially books that might have Thassilonian influences,” Arlo said, adjusting the spellbook on his hip. “Brodert Quink told me you might let me borrow one, if there is one here.”

“Spellbooks… spellbooks… Aye, I have a couple, and a few scrolls,” Haladan said. “Try over in that section. Evocation to the right, Divination to the left, in that order.”

It wasn’t much of an order as far as Arlo was concerned. But it was a start, and he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Soft as he tried to make them, his footsteps still echoed through the silent store — or library, as it seemed. Arlo passed through tall shelves, following the human’s vague gesture toward the back of the building.

He had to make this quick. Arlo needed to do his eight hours at the Feedbag so he didn’t lose his house. Sure, he could probably bunk at the Rusty Dragon, but that would only last about a week before Ameiko started charging again. And Arlo did not have a steady income to be paying for a hotel room.

Running a hand down the line of books, Arlo closed his eyes and pulled at random. A tome almost dropped from his hand, but he grabbed it right before it fell. A quick peek at the cover found no title embossed in the battered red leather — had he gotten lucky on his very first try?

Arlo skimmed through the book and his heart sank. No, not a spellbook, just a journal- wait a second…. A map sat in the middle of the book, showing the Tickwood and a smudge somewhere about three miles in. A treasure map! Screw spells, maybe he could get some more money!

Glancing back at the man engrossed in his book, Arlo pulled out his scribing kit and a fresh piece of paper. Holding his hand over his gear, the catfolk intoned, “[Scrivener’s Chant].”

The quill began copying the map, much to Arlo’s delight. He’d have to thank Coradiel for reminding him to study his spellbook — he hadn’t even remembered a writing cantrip from his [Arcanist] level up.

He focused on the map, the quill automatically wetting itself every few seconds before gliding over the paper he’d laid out. It took a couple of minutes to finish, but soon, a near copy of the map had been made. Arlo blotted it quickly, then rolled it up into a scroll tube.

A glance through the other books found nothing useful, and Arlo headed for the door, his illicit goods in tow.

“Thanks for your help,” he said.

Haladan grunted, nose buried in the same tome as before. Shrugging, Arlo stepped from the shop, and headed to the Rusty Dragon.

Coradiel stared at the map. Arlo hunched over the table in the corner of the tavern, trying not to glance around too much — that would be too obvious.

“May I see the book you got this from?” the paladin requested.

“Um… I didn’t exactly buy the book. I have zero gold sails to my name right now,” Arlo said. “Haladan seemed okay with it; he really runs that place more like a library.”

“And you’re going to dig up a treasure chest his information gave you, and not tell him about it?” Coradiel’s disapproval washed over Arlo in heavy waves.

The catfolk wilted.

“We’ll cut him in. A third, since there’s three of us?” he suggested. “Assuming there’s actually any treasure there. And we can bag a couple more boars. Help feed the town again. I’ve been doing some walking around, and there’s a meat market we can sell the boars to.”

Coradiel rubbed the bridge of his nose. His head shook slowly.

“Fine. I’ll get my gear-”

“Oh, I can’t do it today. I’ve got a… previous engagement at the Feedbag,” Arlo said carefully. “Tomorrow morning though. I’ll be here right when the tavern opens.” Thank you [Alarm].

“You better make it fast. Olmur at the Grocer’s Hall hired me for a trip to Magnimar in three days’ time,” Coradiel said. “I’ll return with him, of course; I’m not leaving him stranded in the city. But I don’t know how long we will be.”

“Don’t worry; we’ll have this done by tomorrow. Is anyone allowed to join-” A ping went off in his head, and Arlo blanched. “Nevermind, I have to go.

Another gruelling day stuck at a desk, trying not to flinch at yells and screams. By the time Arlo dragged himself into the house on Main Street, he was exhausted, mentally and physically taxed.

“[Unseen Servant].” An amorphous blob of force pushed into his back. Arlo flopped onto his bed, and his clothes slid off, removed by the mindless thing that he’d summoned. It proceeded to massage his back, prompting a near orgasmic groan from the catfolk.

Who knew magic could be so useful on a daily basis? Sure, the spell only allowed for 20 pounds of force, but that was enough to give something of a massage. Just enough for Arlo’s back to unknot, and his worries to slowly slip away.

He wasn’t even afraid to have the spell work his ass over — Arlo had been sitting on it all day, and it could really use some attention. Of the non-sentient kind, naturally.

Though… in his house, alone, Arlo could allow himself to wonder. What would it be like to have Coradiel’s hands on him? To feel the paladin massage him, stroke him, whisper sweet nothings to him? It was idle curiosity, of course — he’d already burned that bridge. Yet he could feel himself getting hard, pressing into his straw mattress. His entire body tingled with the [Unseen Servant]’s ministrations. And Arlo moaned, pressing deeper into his bed.

A click startled him. Hands caressed his shoulders, his back, his ass. A rich, silken voice purred into his ear, “If you want me, all you had to do was ask.”

“Coradiel…?”

The paladin’s attentions felt too good. He never wanted them to stop. Gentle rubs pressed deep into abused muscle. Small circles swung slowly downward, until firm palms cupped his cheeks.

A click startled him.

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Arlo blinked blearily, groaning as daylight peeked through a curtain. Of course it was just a dream — they always ended before the good parts.

“I don’t want to fuck Coradiel.” The words startled him. Arlo bit his lip, glancing around to make sure no one heard him.

That was the problem though. He did want to fuck the paladin. But it was more than that. Coradiel had been nicer to him in the last two days than anyone Arlo had ever known before.

Was this all just some trick to get into his pants?

Or did the half-elf actually like him?

Sighing at yet another unanswerable question, Arlo rose. A quick [Prestidigitation] left his clothes clean, if not fresh. A second casting offered the scent of citrus, a scent that brought a small smile to his lips as he pulled the fabric over his head. Thank fuck for the new cantrips from [Arcanist]; he didn’t know how he’d survive without them.

Collecting the candle that the [Unseen Servant] had procured for him, the catfolk shoved a nail through the wax at the eight hour mark. That would give him enough sleep to reset his reservoirs, even if it didn’t feel like it.

“Okay Arlo… time to go hunting. Again.”

CRACK!

[Level up! Choose one class to gain your next level in]

Arlo grinned as the level up screen appeared at his chest. He was getting better at killing these boars. And they had more than enough meat now.

Three choices sat before him: [Spellslinger], [Arcanist], and [Eldritch Archer]. He knew [Spellslinger] was out — that class had far too many restrictions. [Eldritch Archer] seemed like it would be good for shooting spells from his gun in combination with actual bullets. That could be a lot of fun, but it was also limited to Tier 6 spells. That was a rather painful handicap, cutting three tiers of spells off. [Arcanist] it was, complete with more skill bonuses and two more spells. Oh, and a nice two points to his max mana. It wasn’t as good as the five at first level or the four at second, but it was still a welcome sight.

He just needed to remember he could only use five of those points without feeling drained after. Arlo still wasn’t sure how the magic worked here, but he knew the last few days, he’d been rather tired after using up more than half of his mana. Which seemed like bullcrap to him, but what was he going to do about it?

“Are you okay?” Arlo blinked. Coradiel waved a hand in front of the catfolk, a worried look on his face. “You’ve been standing there staring at the dead boar for a solid minute now,” the paladin said.

“Oh… yeah, I’m fine,” Arlo replied. “Just give me a second to…”

Ability Gained (Feat): Rapid Reload You may reload two handed firearms within four seconds, or two seconds if using a paper cartridge. Skill Improved: Linguistics. Choose one language to learn Common (Varisian)

Common (Minkian)

Goblin

“Shit… Uh, can we take a quick break?” Arlo asked. “I need to take care of something.”

“You just used the privy not five minutes ago-”

“No no, mage stuff,” Arlo said, sitting against a tree.

Fuck, what was a good language? Varisian… that was the local language, right? Wasn’t he speaking… no, he was speaking Taldane, another version of Common. And he already knew Catfolk, Celestial, Draconic, Elven, and Halfling.

What about Minkian? That must be what Ameiko and her father were yelling in… useful, but not that useful. Couldn’t he just… negate all of this with one of his spells?

Of course, Goblin would be harder to just cast a spell for — who knew how long the spell lasted?

Okay, Goblin it was. He swiped the notification away, not feeling much smarter despite the alert that [You have learned to speak and read Goblin].

Spells! The fun part of levelling up. He waved through his spell list — he’d already decided on [Comprehend Languages] to shore up his missing linguistic abilities — if he had any. He knew six fucking languages — how the fuck did he know six languages? Fluently, even??

The second spell was a bit iffy. But they didn’t have a rogue — [Detect Secret Doors] was going to be huge in the future. He hoped. If not, hey, more fodder for his gun.

“Alright, done.” Arlo stood up and brushed himself off. “Thanks for waiting.”

“I had little choice. You have the map,” Coradiel pointed out. “Are we getting closer?”

“Let me… uh… Yeah, I think so,” Arlo said, showing him the map. “This should be that tree over there, right? Or is it the tall one over here?”

“Neither. See the tiny fire rune?” Coradiel pointed, his head inches from Arlo’s. The catfolk sucked in a breath, trying not to whimper at the heady scent of the paladin. “That tree. It got hit by lightning, or burned in a fire,” Coradiel explained, stepping back.

“Then we should find the treasure under the roots, right?”

“Right.” Coradiel smirked suddenly — how did that make him even hotter?? “I hope you brought a shovel.”

“Don’t need one.” Arlo shoved the map away and strode toward the tree. He looked around for a relatively open patch of ground before backing off. “Okay… six mana left. Get ready to catch me,” he chuckled at Coradiel. “[Expeditious Excavation].”

A massive cloud of dust and debris flooded the air, settling slowly to the ground. Coughing through it, Arlo cast a breeze cantrip, blowing most of the dust away. Before him, a neat hole, five feet wide, long, and deep, rested under the massive oak. Arlo didn’t wait before dropping into the pit.

Some extra digging with his claws found a large wooden box that looked like it had been ornately carved at one point. Now it was a mess of chewed shavings and faded paints.

“I got it,” he called. “Wanna help me out of here?”

Dropping to a knee, Coradiel reached down and grabbed Arlo’s hand. He wrenched upward and Arlo jumped. Bouncing off the side of the pit, the catfolk scrambled to the surface, dropping the box to the side before hoisting himself up.

“Okay, here’s how this is going to work,” Coradiel said in a no-nonsense tone. “We are going to drop the boars off at the meat market, then go straight to Haladan, and explain the situation. We will divide the treasure there, so he knows we aren’t cheating him.”

“Fine, but I still think the whole thing is ridiculous,” Arlo scowled. “Chask didn’t even know the book existed. He wouldn’t miss the treasure at all. If there even is treasure in here…”

He snapped a broken lock off the chest, and opened the lid. Dozens of glittering gold coins stared back, a sheet of parchment folded in neatly beside it.

“Okay, yeah, that’s some treasure.” Arlo pulled the parchment out. “And a… deed?”

A paper fell from the parchment, and Arlo picked it up reluctantly.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

‘Dearest Varisian. I am pleased you found my journal, and were able to follow it to this cache. I am Ezanna Scarnetti, daughter of Alamon Scarnetti. I hold remorse for his actions in my heart, and wish to make matters right. To that end, I bequeath you, dearest friend, with the deed to our lumber mill, in hopes that this gesture will help restore peace between our peoples.’

“Nope, don’t like this one bit.”

“Alright you scoundrels. Where’s the rest of it?”

Madame Mvashti spat at Arlo, who scrambled back to avoid getting trodden on by the elderly woman’s cane. All around them, a mishmash of ancient looking relics piled the walls of the decrepit looking manor, more even than Brodert Quink’s house. Arlo and Coradiel had to watch every step they took to avoid crushing anything underfoot and making the cantankerous old woman even more crabby.

“That’s all of it, I swear! We were going to take it to Chask Haladan, but we decided the chest would be better off with you. You are the-”

Coradiel slapped a hand over Arlo’s mouth, hissing quietly.

“Forgive my companion, Madame Mvashti,” the paladin said. “I am a paladin of the Empyreal Lords. Our cause is just and I serve good and lawful deities. You can be assured we do not intend any duplicity.”

“You, I trust. But this wagonman has been seen visiting the Feedbag at all hours. I don’t trust him as far as I could chuck him.”

“That’s fair-” “Like hell it is!” “-but surely you trust me enough to look after him,” Coradiel soothed. “This is all that we found in the box. We aren’t interested in a finder’s cut, either.”

“This deed… I’m keeping it,” Madame Mvashti said. “If you wish to assure me that these are all the treasures here, you’ll take the Scarnetti’s letter,” she spat the words like a curse, “and get it verified by a cleric of Abadar. I refuse to announce this finding just for Titus to snatch it away from us.”

“Of course. We will make the trip together. It might take a week or two, but we’ll make sure-”

“A week?!” Arlo demanded. “Fuck, I can’t be missing for a week! I’d lose my job!”

“And that would be such a shame, wouldn’t it?” Madame Mvashti scoffed. “Afraid a Bunyip knife’ll find ya?”

Arlo gulped. Fuck, that hadn’t even crossed his mind — he’d been more worried about the house!

“I’m sure Arlo has no need to worry about such things,” Coradiel soothed. “If you’ll excuse us, we need to start packing for our trip. We will leave in the morning.”

“And good riddance to you. Don’t come back unless it’s with the verification I need.”

All but shoving Arlo back outside, Coradiel closed the heavy oaken door as gently as he could.

“No… no no no… I’m so fucked!” Arlo snapped.

“Hey-”

“You don’t understand. If I don’t work, I won’t have anywhere to live!”

“Calm down.” Heavy hands pressed down on Arlo’s shoulders. He gulped, looking up at the half-elf. “Everything will be okay. We’ve shared a bed before. We can do it again. Besides, you’ll get some pay for escorting Olmur to Magnimar with me. Surely that will cover the costs of rent for a month at least. If not, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

“You will? Why?” Arlo asked suspiciously.

“Well, you are my squire, are you not?”

“I thought that was a joke.”

“It was said to help you accept certain facts,” Coradiel said. “Fact one: You are a hero. Fact two: It is okay to accept gratitude and help. Fact three.” The paladin frowned. “Okay, I only had two facts. But they still stand.”

He pulled a purse off his belt and shoved it at Arlo. The catfolk opened the leather bag to find several gold coins.

“You should gear up as best as you can. This is your half of the profits from the boars. It’s a day’s ride to Magnimar. With a wagon like I suspect we’ll be guarding, that’ll quickly become two days.”

Arlo nodded, already thinking about how much ale two hundred gold could buy. No… first, he needed more black powder. A waterskin or two, a cloak. Basic adventuring gear, really. He was too poor for any magical options — a morning walking the market had already confirmed that for him.

But there was something else he could do with the money. Something rather important.

Jubrayl couldn’t take his house away if he paid rent, right?