“Come on, it’ll be good for you,” Ethan said, scratching Bandit through its royal plumage of gold and black. The owl had its beak cast high, its eyes shut tight as it refused to meet the newly-made Druid’s gaze.
It had been a week since the war with Ratterinks, the fateful day when Riverside and New Derby had crossed out the last of their significant opponents. Since then, a semblance of normality had gradually crept in, especially since the only remaining foes in the area were ragtag bands of monsters, hollow threats to even ordinary citizens now that guns hung off from everyman’s holsters. The hordes still visited every week, but at this point they merely levelled up the population without culling the weak, their fangs and claws doing little against the well-trained kill squads. As such, peace had graced Riverside, allowing the good men and women of the township finally enough room to think past simple survival.
Silas lazed in a rocking chair on the porch, his mind wandering while he watched straggly clouds drifting in the distance. All three suns were beaming, the air breathing a scorching heat which sizzled his sweat and automated his hand into constantly fanning his face with an old magazine. Only the shaerds could call such a temperature comfortable, although he was equally aware that his perception made it so the weather gave him more of a shaft than it did to others.
Some parts ahead of him, beneath the suns’ glare, Ethan attempted to tug Bandit forward but failed spectacularly due to the five-foot owl’s strength. Bandit had practically dug itself into the ground with its talons, and it replied to Ethan’s attempts with a cheeky smile. Ethan gave an exasperated sigh, shaking his head as if dazed. “Silas, tell him to come with me. Can you imagine how strong he’ll be if he finally picks a class?”
Ethan’s droning brought Silas back to the present. He briefly pondered on Bandit with a class and not long after a frown swept the weariness off his face. “He’s doing well enough without a class. If he doesn’t want to, don’t pester him.” Not to mention how powerful and bothersome Bandit would become if he obtained a rare class - Silas didn’t know if he would be able to handle it considering the owl’s antics even now.
Just the other day it had been filing its talons with his spear, simultaneously tearing strips out of the spearhead. When he had requested (with considerable amounts of exasperation) his spear back, Bandit had soared away, only returning hours later with an abused wooden staff. Alas, Silas had needed to request another spear from Damon, in addition to some sort of contraption specifically made for Bandit to do its nails.
“But why doesn’t he want to get a class? There’s literally no reason not to!” Ethan fired back.
While it was a sensible point, Silas simply rolled his eyes. When he had first returned to Riverside after having found Ethan, Mia, and Olivia, he had naively thought the same, only to then discover that Bandit had a strange distaste for picking a class. Perhaps it didn’t want to join the village and have everyone else see its level, perhaps it saw it as below itself to get a class like everyone else, or maybe it was just some other stupid reason. Either way, Bandit had kept its classless status until now, and Silas saw no reason why it would change its mind for the foreseeable future. Ethan had gotten far closer to it in recent days, but he had yet to learn that not only did Bandit think in mysterious ways, it could also be frustratingly stubborn when it wanted to be.
“Tell me why you don’t want to?” Ethan asked directly to Bandit, wisely changing strategies but unfortunately to one which only further flogged the dead horse.
A series of clucks, hoots, and swaying head motions answered, which Silas roughly translated as something to do with distrust in an old keeper in its zoo, who had always lured it with strips of meat before holding it down and inspecting it. Silas was too hot and bothered to even try to make the connection between the analogy and classes, so instead he elected to lay his head back and pray that Mia and Olivia returned soon.
Ethan was not so easily vanquished, however. “Well, she was only checking your health, nothing to hold a grudge against for so long. Besides, the System wouldn’t even do that. You use your attribute points, right?”
Hoot, click, cluck, aggressive hoot.
“No, that’s not true. They’re not at all different,” Ethan replied, holding strong. “It’s the same System. Don’t you want cool abilities and more attribute points? Well, that’s what picking a class would give.”
Fortunately, Silas was saved from listening to anymore of their argument as finally he spotted Mia and Olivia returning in the pillbug hovercar - one of the ones taken from Lyfort, later given to him by the council. He swung his head across the top of the rocking chair and roused, looking expectantly at the vehicle. He made out Mia waving and grinning suspiciously widely from within, and Olivia trying but failing to hold back giggles from beside her.
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Ignoring them, he moved to the car and waited till they lowered and docked to hoist up the boot. There were many things inside, but his focus was solely on the large cooler. He yanked it open and grabbed a chilled bottle, twisting its cap off before gulping down. Goblinz Blood was a beer being made in Riverside by a group of ex-brewery workers; Silas wasn’t sure of the specifics, but it had popped up in the township out of nowhere over the last week, and it was positively delicious. It practically melted down his throat, starting with a mellow bitterness which reversed to a honeyed sweetness by the end, staying crisp throughout and perfectly matching his tastes. He didn’t know what they used to make it, and in truth he wouldn’t even fault them too much if it turned out they used their namesake.
Mia was tutting as she made around the hovercar, using her telekinesis to lift everything from the boot. “You know they gave us an extra crate when they heard it was going to you. You’re already their biggest customer.”
Wiping at his mouth, he shrugged. “What can I say? It’s good shit.”
“Yeah, yeah, just make sure you don’t drink it all before the others get here. And you did clean the house while we were out, right?” There was a sudden sternness in her voice, which he rolled his eyes at.
“Of course, not that they’re going to care. Remember the tea parties I told you about, like we used to have them in my house with the living room in a clutter. It just added to the ambience.”
She was moving into the house now with him trailing behind, passing Ethan and Olivia who were now both pecking away at Bandit’s flimsy excuses for not picking a class. “Well, that was then, and this is now. It’s not going to hurt you to have some decency when hosting a party.”
Blowing air out of his mouth, he followed her in and dumped himself onto the couch, sipping away at his Goblinz Blood to savour it better. But before he could lounge for long, her voice found him from within the kitchen. “And you better help me with the food. I’m not going to prepare everything by myself.”
Groaning, he continued to lie there until she called again. “Silaaas!”
****
It was somewhat early for food at the dinner party, but Rolf’s stomach had rumbled minutes after arrival. It was likely that no one else had heard it, but it had been like a carrion call to Silas’s ears, giving him adequate reason to the serve the food early and break the protocol which Mia had told him of beforehand. They started with stuffed mushrooms, well browned and coated with cheese which ran down the edges.
The guest list had increased since the old tea party days, now including Dom, Elise, Natalie, and Damon, alongside the old troupe of Iris, Josh, and Rolf. With drinks pouring and conversation flowing, the mood was warm and friendly. It was nothing extravagant like the parties that Floyd held in New Derby, which Silas and Mia had gone to and got hopelessly drunk at the other day, but it was rather a homely function with close friends.
As the dinner table wasn’t large enough to seat all eleven of them, twelve when including Bandit who confusingly demanded a place of honour, the dinner party was split in half with Mia hosting the newer and older guests at the table, while Silas kept to the living room in a far more informal setting with the others.
“Here’s the thing,” Josh was saying, spearing a mouthful in. He stopped mid-sentence and raised his eyebrows. “Damn, there’s no way you made this, man. Not a chance.”
“Pfft. Why not?” Silas challenged. There was a brief silence before the room burst into laughter, including (very annoyingly) Ethan who showed no hesitation in stabbing him in the back and Bandit who chittered away with the rest, in fact harder than everyone else. “Yeah, well, fuck you too.”
“Na, it’s cool, man. You can’t be good at everything,” Then, pausing, Josh shouted out, “This is superb stuff, Mia.” Another bout of laughter followed as she replied thank you from around the corner. “Anyway, as I was saying, the stingtails really don’t like each other. Like we put them altogether, but you know I went around and learnt they’re all from different clans. And they take that stuff really seriously.”
There’s too few of them for us to make separate accommodation, though, Iris said to everyone there.
“Oh, sure, but I mean I wouldn’t be surprised if we saw sparks flying there in a week or two. We all know they’re accomplished mages, after all.”
“Actually, Silas, weren’t you looking for stingtails in the past?” Rolf asked, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I remember you asking the council to search for them, right?”
Silas nodded. “Yeah, it was about a rune that I found in Valrun’s Keep. Amara said it was set by stingtails after she commissioned some clan. So I went and asked if any of them knew how to create a forcefield rune, and although almost all of them had nothing to say, one of them was actually in one of the rune-building clans. Her name’s Vedeir. She’s been trying to teach me over the last few days, but it’s not so easy since they see runes differently to how Skully or I see it.” He eyed Rolf’s empty plate set to the side, his also done likewise, but he figured it was too early for mains now seeing as everyone else was still digging in.
“Oh, any more drinks, anyone?” Silas then remembered, getting up to offer them. But he stopped with his hands hovering over the drinks as a text message popped up in his vision without warning. It was differently formatted to the usual messages he got from people in Riverside, and if that wasn’t eye-catching enough, the title was: The First Human Congress. It was sent by Lucian Grimes, the Warlord.