The dark lord Midnight yawned, surveying his vast kingdom. It was far more plush and colorful that he would have liked, not exactly the sort of lair befitting a fearsome beast, it was certainly comfortable, if nothing else. Any intruders who had somehow found their way into his inner sanctum wouldn't survive long enough to speak of it, anyways. The rumors of a cold, stone fortress littered with the bones of mice would persist, while the slender black cat continued to enjoy his life surrounded by soft, pastel pillows covered in his own shed fur. The best of both worlds.
He looked across to the floor to the other food dish, still filled to the brim with dried kibble, as it had been for two days now. Not that the black cat was complaining, of course. He had never liked the idea of having a room-mate, the large grey feline seemingly being there just to steal much needed attention away from himself. The other cat had clearly gone off to wander somewhere, perhaps finding that he wasn't so suited to domesticated life after all. If so, all the better. Other cats were best enjoyed in small doses, after all.
The dark lord perked up a pointed ear. Intruders. From behind. He chuckled softly to himself, rising to his feet, arching his back with a audible, satisfying crick. He could use some post-nap entertainment.
"Well, well. I wasn't expecting guests. You're clearly somewhat skilled to have come this far undetected, but you've made a fatal mistake." He purred. "None who dare enter my sanctum can be allowed to leave this place, alive."
Technically, this wasn't quite true as Jerin had come here on two separate occasions and was very much alive, but Midnight wasn't one to quibble over technicalities. Fortunately the former hero wasn't one for details either, offering no useful descriptions of the many exotic places she had visited, much to the annoyance of historians such as myself. Thus, the myth of the terrifying lair of the mighty dark lord was able to live on.
He turned to face his opponents, his bright green eyes gleaming, only to freeze at the sight of the invaders. There were a lot more than he had anticipated.
Some thirty mice stood in a semi-circle around him, and rather than wearing the usual tattered clothing and crude armor, they bore metal masks with cold eyes of colored glass, metallic plates outfitted over arms and legs, and torsos covered by deep green cloaks. Some held long pipe like devices in their paws, clearly augmented with strange mechanisms, where others utilized far heavier weaponry in the form of a series of metal tubes fastened together over their shoulders.
"Um..." Midnight said, backing up half a step, with no particularly witty banter coming to mind. He found himself paralyzed by the rare and immediate sense of danger which filled his very soul. He didn't know what sort of weapons those were, but he had a strong suspicion that they would hurt. At the front of the large group stood two mice, neither wearing proper clothing, or even carrying weaponry, but even in the shadows they had a distinctly unnatural air about them.
Even in a bad situation, it's important to be positive and look on the bright side of things. In this case, there's a certain satisfaction to be found in being correct, even when you're correct about something horrible. It's not much, but it's certainly better than being wrong about something horrible. Still, that satisfaction does exist, and it offers a silver lining to the dark cloud of the first salvo of tiny missiles and other projectiles which struck and repeatedly exploded against surprised, dark-furred feline. They did indeed hurt. This fact was only verified by the many, many, many more which continued to pummel him from all directions.
<3~
"Alright, now it's my turn to attack." Dimitri, the head scholar stated, carefully studying his translation notes to make sure that he had everything correct. With both paws he rolled a rather large twenty sided object across the floor (it's rather difficult to make such an item small without delicate craftsmanship), and while it wasn't quite properly balanced, for the sake of their research, it would have to suffice. "Aha! I rolled a... nine, I believe it is called? It sounds so strange." the old mouse said before looking up to meet the gaze of his apprentice. "What was your armor class, again?"
"Three." the other mouse, a young woman sitting cross-legged in front of him replied, looking to her own notes with a furrowed expression of confusion and annoyance.
"Alright... so, with my THAC0 of seventeen, that means that I needed to roll a fourteen or higher to hit. No, wait, I had nearly forgotten the plus two bonus offered by my flametongue longsword so... I suppose that I still missed." he nodded his head, unconcerned with this fact. This was research after all, not a proper competition.
"None of this makes any sense!" the girl exclaimed, slamming her paws onto the floor, making the large die to roll to the side it before stopping, the crudely painted '20' now displayed at its peak. "Okay, so I have chain-mail with an armor class of six. Then a shield which brings it down another one, and then my dexterity bonus which brings it down another two." she continued, examining her character sheet closely to make sure that she hasn't missed any crucial details. A far more challenging task than it might sound. "So what does it mean when it says that you missed? Does it mean that I deflected the attack off of my shield, that it hit me but the armor absorbed all of the damage, or that I dodged out of the way entirely? Either way, those are three distinct defensive actions! They shouldn't logically stack together!"
"Hmm, clearly human warfare is far, far more complicated than we had anticipated. This isn't too surprising. All we can do is continue to study and one day, through our diligent work, we will surely master their secrets!" Dimitri grinned. While it was clear that he suffered from no less confusion over the matter than his apprentice, he had always been one to take even the most overwhelming of challenges as a source of inspiration rather than aggravation. "Now, I believe that it is your turn to strike."
"Ugh, fine, I'll use my..." she quickly scanned the many, many notes, "Wand of magic missiles."
"Ah, that automatically hits, despite my full plate armor. I believe that you roll..." the older mouse checked his own pages once again. "One four sided die of damage, and then add one."
"See, this is exactly the sort of thing that I'm talking about! How does it automatically hit? What, does it pass through armor? Does it seek out patches of bare skin? Does it swerve around shields and chase after dodging opponents? Is it some sort of spirit based attack which damages the very soul? If so, why would the 'cure light wounds' spell heal damage from it?" she said, her mounting frustration finally coming to a head as she tossed the many pages of her character sheet aside. "This is all complete nonsense! Maybe the Makers can somehow make all of this ridiculousness work, but it's clearly far beyond our abilities!"
"All tasks look difficult, many impossible at first glance. Still, as you learn to take them step by step, and break them down into manageable components, even the most baffling and seemingly unnatural concepts will become clear. It's true, we are not the Makers, and obviously, our efforts to imitate them will not advance swiftly. That said, like us, they are beings of logic and innovation. We may never rise to their heights, nay, in fact we almost certainly will not, but that doesn't mean we cannot rise, nonetheless."
"Um, excuse me. I hope I'm not interrupting?" I said as I stepped into the round room, watching quietly from the distance up to this point. While seriously damaged not so long ago, the ceiling had since been repaired, even if rather crudely. The overlapping panels of wood made for a rather ugly sight compared to the curved dome ceiling of grey stone, but it served its purpose well enough. All along the walls and floors were carved runes, meaningless to most mice but copied directly from the the sacred tome, organized by apparent priority based on which symbols appeared most often and subdivided by which combinations regularly appeared together. As always, the sacred tome itself sat upright at the center of the library, half opened. It's contents, aside from the many artistic renderings, of course, were a complete mystery for the longest time but now, through the efforts of Dimitri and the other researchers, headway has finally been made on the translation. Its secrets were, at last, being revealed.
"Ah, it would seem that the apprentice scribe has returned. Much quicker than I had expected. How goes your work so far?"
"It... could be better." I said, looking to my feet. "I have little faith in the hero or the rest of his group accomplishing their goal."
"It doesn't matter whether they succeed or not. Your job is to simply document what happens, with the specific outcome being irrelevant. As to what the results may mean and what is to be learned from them, well, that is for future historians to determine." Dimitri nodded.
"I get that. I really do." I responded with no small amount of hesitation, "I'm just a little worried that I might... you know... die?"
The old master nodded solemnly once again, his eyes half closed. "If so, that too will be a part of history. You should feel honored to be able to so partake."
"Yeah, sounds great. Look, it turns out that the group is a little short of manpower, and well... I was wondering if any of the other researchers could maybe join us?"
There were quite a few scholars about, most of which were independently studying smaller portions of the copied text, the complexity of which varied depending on their individual experience levels (which is to say how experienced they were in their respective fields, not the sort of numerical experience levels which were tallied by the adventurers guild). At least there were plenty around a few moments ago. Technically, they were all still nearby, but one wouldn't know it due to the excellent job they had all done in hiding away when they overheard the idea that they might be called upon for a task which risked far more than a paper cut, something which in itself could be potentially lethal.
"As you know full well, it is not our job to intervene in those or any other matters. We obtain knowledge, and it is up to others to decide what to do with it. Worry not, however, little one: Should you fall in the upcoming battle, I'll personally ensure that your successor will write a very flattering footnote about you in the historical text documenting the event. Now, if you will excuse me, we have essential work to be done." he turned back to the younger woman. "Now, did you roll your damage?"
"Yeah, yeah. Is was..." she replied, looking down at the painted, pyramid shaped stone, "...only two points."
"Still, that was enough. I was already gravely wounded, and that strike was enough to kill me outright."
"Really? Your character was gravely wounded and on the brink of death, but showed no signs of fatigue or injury and could still fight with 100% of their strength?" she asked, eyes narrowed. He responded with a silent, raised eyebrow. She sighed, collecting the many pages of her character sheet once more. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Makers and mysterious ways, and all that. So, how many experience points do I get?"
I didn't stay to listen to the continued discussion. I couldn't say that I was honestly surprised by the outcome, either, but still disappointed. I fully understood that my job was to be a completely impartial observer to the events which would follow, but that's far easier when you are actually on the outside looking in. It's far more difficult to view potential death and destruction with a neutral eye when you were potentially, likely in fact, to be among those killed and destroyed. Still, if anything this simply verified what I had already known: that the outcome of this greater conflict was out of my hands, and that all that I could do was flow along the currents of time and hope that it lead me to safer shores.
Still, it would have been a lot easier had I some reliable soldiers to fall back on, but I was well aware, even at the time, that the others had had fared no better than I.
<3~
"No." the barkeep said.
"What do you mean 'no'?" Meryll asked.
"What do you mean, what do I mean 'no'?" the barkeep, a considerably smaller, (but then very few weren't when compared to Meryll) but also considerably meaner looking (something even fewer were when compared to the armored mouse) woman replied. "I means exactly what I says. You aren't going to find anyone willin' to throw their lives away on some stupid political skirmish here, so ya might as well just leave."
Meryll looked about, surprised, but it appeared that the statement wasn't inaccurate. Sure, there were plenty of people about, some of which were fairly strong looking, but of those conscious, even the largest and most intimidating mice were making every effort to appear as small as possible in order to escape her notice.
The bar itself wasn't even a proper building, which said a lot, considering that the standards of what qualified as a building to mice were remarkably low. Basically just four walls and ceiling, and it didn't even live up to those. It was, instead, made up of only two walls, standing perpendicular to one another, largely for the sake of offering enough open space that even the most concussed or inebriated of customers could leave without bumping into anything. As for a ceiling, well, that would completely defeat the purpose of the business. Without strange fluids filled with bits of rust, mold and unnameable chemicals created by the Makers, the customers would have nothing to drink, after all. These were all gathered in assorted funnels which collected the constant drippings from above, beneath which long pipes twisted and bent above the wooden bar, filling assorted containers upon it drop by drop. Some of the tubes had varying degrees of filtering, while other pipes were treated with other ingredients just to add a little bit of extra taste or texture. Still others were deliberately set aside and aged for several days just to let the unholy concoction 'breathe' before being served. In spite of these efforts at variety, the flavor and effects of all of these drinks were ultimately quite similar. Only the prices tended to vary dramatically.
"How can that be? This is a gathering place for warriors, adventurers, and brawlers of all kinds! This is a second home for mice who love to fight! How is it possible that not one, not even one of them is willing to stand up and battle for a greater cause?" Meryll exclaimed, pounding a fist against the bar in hopes of gathering the attention of the customers. How many rugged tavern dwellers could resist such a challenge to their very nature? Well, quite a few, as it turned out.
"There used to be a bunch of regulars that would've. Then, a recruiter came by and gave a big speech about heroism and duty and all that stuff, and they all joined him. Then, they all went off and got killed by the shadow king, leaving grieving families and large bar-tabs behind in the process." the small bartender grumbled. As her twin sister who had worked as a waitress demonstrated, she could indeed look quite pretty if she had so desired, but this was a tough business and while a pretty face might take one quite far in life, sometimes a little intimidation was needed to carry you those extra few lengths. Through sheer force of will, those same pretty components of a lovely mouse girl could turn into something terrifying, a demonic force which even the most aggressive and impoverished of mice wouldn't dare to refuse once they came to offer a bill. "Look," she sighed, "I've got enough trouble keeping this place busy with the constant injuries, property damage and the fact that the drinks I serve here rot away your guts and eventually kill you."
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
"Wait, what was that about the drinks?" a patron sitting at the bar asked, looking up, head no longer rested in his arms.
"Don't eavesdrop on others conversations!" the barkeep shouted, to which the patron nervously complied, going back to sleep. "Anyways, last thing I need is you taking away more of my regulars for some suicide mission. If a mouse's gonna die, they should die near home, around friends, convulsin' on the floor, vomiting up their blood just as the Makers intended!"
A series of not-so-enthusiastic cheers rang out in response. The nearby customers were not exactly enthusiastic about the whole vomiting blood detail, but it certainly beat going off to war. Significantly easier on the feet, if nothing else.
"Cowards, all of you!" Meryll called out. "You have the chance to stand alongside a great hero, and vanquish a terrible evil! To be the subject of songs and tales and idolization! What will you choose? Mediocrity over glory? To slowly rot away in this filthy hovel with nothing but your shame and this disgusting, mind-rotting swill, or the chance to really make something of your lives? To be strong and proud, and to know that you genuinely fought to make this world a better place?"
There was a brief pause as the patrons considered their options. One finally spoke up, expressing the general sentiment of the room "I think we'll go with the swill and shame, thanks."
"And there you have it. Now, this ain't a social club or a recruitment office. You want a drink or not?" the barkeep asked, wiping down a mug with a cloth, one which was significantly less sanitary than the container.
"Ugh, fine. I'll take one to go." Meryll grumbled.
<3~
Samuel, also known as Samson also known as Smirk looked to the heavy iron door with a sigh. This was not a place that he had ever planned to revisit, but couldn't deny that they were in serious need of aid. Backing out of this whole 'adventuring hero' plan would probably have been the wiser idea, but he had to face facts: he had nowhere else to go.
The students of each of the floors of the university were useless in their own unique ways, either being too young, irresponsible and apathetic to serve any sort of practical cause, or too diligent in their studies to be distracted by anything actually useful. This left only one option: the sorcerers of the lower levels, the esteemed scholars of the mystic arts who had uselessness down to a science, in more than a few cases quite literally.
The inside was quiet as usual. It was dank, dusty, large and far from crowded as virtually everyone there had a very strict definition of personal space which extended significantly further than most would consider practical. Usually they had their heads buried in their notes, occasionally eyeing anyone close enough to actually see with their weakened vision with intense suspicion. Today, however, they had ignored the whole note portion in order to skip to the main event. Now that Rowan had gone off to the Maker's tunnels, the highly desirable lower laboratory was now available, and of course every single one of the remaining mages knew, without a shadow of doubt, that they and they alone deserved it. They similarly knew that those who didn't deserve it, ie: everyone aside from themselves, would make every effort to steal it, and that they had to be ready to fight, most likely in the form of harsh language and disappointing glares, when it happened. As a result every one of them were in a sort of standoff, waiting for the inevitable moment when one of their overrated compatriots would attempt to seize it for themselves.
"Excuse me..." Samuel asked an elderly mage. That description hardly narrowed things down. Even for those who weren't old in the literal sense, this place has a way of making you look it soon enough.
"Eh? Don't bother me... they're going to make their move any moment now, I can sense it..." he said, suspicious eyes darting back and forth between all of the other mages standing about, their own eyes no less suspicious on his.
"Yeah, that's great. I was wondering if you knew any combat based magics?" the one-eyed mouse asked. It seemed a good starting question as any. The sorcerers of this place weren't exactly physically spry, and would just be a burden unless they could actually fight a little bit. Sure, even if they couldn't, they could act as cannon fodder but proper cannon fodder should at least be able to walk at a brisk pace towards the enemy. Mouse cannons are very limited in range, after all.
"Combat? Like fighting? Of course not! I specialize in energy manipulation." the scowling wizard said.
"Oh, like harnessing energy into projectiles?"
"And why would I devote myself to such an impractical matter? Go ask Jorgen. He's wasting his life away on the study of energy conjuration." the wizard stated while pointing a bony furless finger to a... remarkably similar looking mouse at the other side of the large chamber. The lack of sunlight within this place dulls the fur color, and there's little sense of fashion here, either. That, combined with the fact that magical energies along with constant bitterness and paranoia are known to age a mouse before their time, made the long term researchers of this place look virtually interchangeable at first glance. It turned out that the arcanist Samuel had just spoken to was actually a woman, not that he could tell from the withered expression and hoarse voice which comes from rarely speaking anything aside from accursed and forgotten tongues.
Samuel very briefly considered thanking her but decided against it for multiple reasons. He sighed to himself, bracing for the pain which was sure to come, forced a smile (an easy task, as it was naturally half finished) and approached what could very well have been the exact same wizard he had just left.
"Pardon me... are you Jorgen?" he asked.
"Aye, aye..." they respond, dull eyes narrowed. "Why do you ask? Who sent you? It was Kerin, wasn't it?" he glared at the other robed figure across the way. "Trying to distract me, I'll bet, so she can take it for herself!"
"No, I..." the one-eyed mouse paused. "Wait, did you say 'she'?" he asks, turning back, squinting at her. No matter hard how he tried, he just couldn't see it. "Um, nevermind. No, there is a battle coming, and I am in search of..." he paused, forcing himself to swallow the words. "...great and wise magic users who can conjure energy to help defeat our foes."
"Pfft, if you're looking to defeat foes, try throwing a rock or swinging a sword. My work is far more significant than petty warfare. I'm sure you're eager to hear about it..."
"No, not even the slightest bit." Samson replied. Allowing a mage to talk about their work was an endeavor which could trap you for days. Of course even if none were to ask, that rarely stopped a proud magic user from talking about it.
"It's true, I do study the conjuration of energy, but not for something as base as throwing it at people. No, I harness it to aid in the detection of ley-lines." they paused, hand rested on their somehow simultaneously withered and bloated chin. "I suppose if you were looking for a small-minded sort which might use ley-lines for a destructive purpose, you could ask Doreas. He's over there, waiting for just the right moment to strike..." he pointed a gnarled figure to another robed mouse. "I suppose you're eager to hear why we are all so on edge? The great prize we all seek?"
The green garbed mouse, previously disappointed with his outfit but now feeling like near royalty compared to those around him hurriedly walked away before Jorgen could explain.
"Um... hello... are you..."
"Quiet, don't distract me!" the figure said in a hushed tone. The mage was adorned in an ornate red and silver gown, plated with metallic runes along each arm, with shimmering jeweled rings upon his fingers. His large green eyes looked to Samuel with a sense of quiet suffering, a pain he'd carried for so long that it had become a part of his very essence, and had worn down his expression over the many months of his life. Now, the very feeling that he had long since forgotten was ironically immediately apparent to everyone but himself from one look at his heavily lined and near furless face. My apologies, I'd just grown weary of depicting the same sorts of mice over and other again. In reality he looked almost impossibly similar to the other two. While all of the sorcerers here did have unique traits to their appearance, those were subtle, whereas they are all so dramatically ugly in the same sorts of ways that it was difficult to notice anything else. "Any moment now, they're going to try to claim Rowan's underground laboratory. Those worthless fools wouldn't even know what to do with it. Clearly, only I am fit to make use of it."
"Uh huh, that's great." Samson closed his eyes, rubbing the top of his snout. It was an effort to fight off a coming headache, but unfortunately the effort was both far too little and came far too late. "I'm looking for someone capable of using combat based magics, and I'd really, really appreciate it if you would explain why you can't help me as quickly as possible so I can get out of this god-foresaken place."
"Oh, you mean the ability to channel the natural energies of the ley-lines of this world into elemental forces, which can be used for a wide variety of martial purposes, from engulfing a blade in flames to calling down lightning to shatter your enemies?" they asked. Samuel raised an eyebrow in faint hope. "Now why on earth would I study such a thing? Sounds downright unproductive if you ask me, what with all that burning and breaking and banishing things to the lower planes. No, I conjure ley-line energy for the sake of reading the natural flows of arcane forces. I suppose if you really wanted to learn how to break things, your best bet would be to go see Kerin." they added, pointing a finger to the first mage he had spoken with.
"Of course." the one-eyed mouse groaned. Even had his preventative efforts to fight off the headache been attempted earlier, it wouldn't have been close to enough to fight off the one that he was feeling now. "Thank you all." he said, calling to all of the mages within the chamber. "I just want you to know that I hate all of you, and if, right at this moment, the earth opened up beneath my feet and swallowed this whole place up, I would consider my death a small price to pay to take each and every one of you along with me."
They all paused for a moment, quite offended, each internally debating which manner of disapproving glower would best suit the occasion. One of them for slightly less than a moment. This mouse who Samuel hadn't spoken to (and, for the record, their area of expertise was mana manipulation, a slightly more specified and less practical version of energy manipulation) saw a rare opportunity and bolted towards the lower chambers. Bolting might be a bit of an overstatement, shuffling would be more accurate, but all things are relative.
"Quick! Get her!" Jorgen called, and so, the very slow foot-chase began, all the other sorcerers in tow. As they chased, each one of them considered just how useful it would have been to have some way of striking down the mouse ahead of them with some manner of ranged assault, and made a note to study such a concept in the future. Samson, the former student of this place, meanwhile, had already left, vowing, for not the first time in his life, to never return.
<3~
"Alright, how many fingers am I holding up?" Said a tall, thin mouse who leaned over another. She wore a long, white, tattered coat, not tattered from battle or excessive use, but just because 'tattered' tends to be the most common quality to be found in cheap mouse clothing. She held a small glass lens in her paw, peering through it, looking into the eyes of their compatriot, an armored guard sitting on a wooden stump and wearing a somewhat dazed expression.
The castle itself was within view, but the farmers actual destination was the nearby barracks, a series of underground chambers sheltered under a large stone. Ordinarily, there would be a good dozen armored mice training, or, more likely, just idling about in the vicinity, but aside from those two, the field was strangely vacant.
"Three?" the guard replied, sounding, at best, moderately confident.
"Very good! Now, how many years ago was the palace constructed? Remember, of course, that a year is 14 months." she said. This was, of course, a rather obvious fact which shouldn't have needed to be stated out loud to any mouse of sound mind. Therein lie the problem.
"Um... three?"
"Excellent! Well, it's almost four now, but we'll accept the rounded down answer. Now, last question, and fortunately it's an easy one. What is your name?" she asked, a wide and enthusiastic smile upon her face.
"Uh..." he furrowed his brow, clearly digging deep for the answer before tilting his head towards her. "Four?" he said. Her enthusiasm quickly faded.
"That's... somewhat less excellent. You may return to your quarters..." she said with a sigh, "Just remember, don't fall asleep!"
The guard nodded, his expression not changing in the slightest as he walked away in a not quite straight line. The doctor rose to her feet, tilting him in the proper direction, sending him on his way.
"I hope I'm not interrupting..." Jebediah said, having made a point to keep a good distance from the pair until their business was resolved.
"No, that's the last one for today. Oh, I recognize you, you're the hero candidate, are you not?" she smiled. Her face aged ten months in an instant as she comes to a terrifying realization, the abruptly smile vanishing. "Oh dear, please tell me you don't have a head injury, and require medical attention."
Jeb paused, stroking his chin, swiveling the scythe over his shoulder as he thought. "No, I can't say that I do. At least not that I know of, and that feels like that's the sort of thing I'd remember."
She sighed, both in relief and disappointment. "You'd be surprised." she said before her expression quickly took on one of concern. "What about him? He doesn't look too well."
"Hmmm?" the farmed looked to her, confused. He turned to his left and nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of the silent brown mouse standing directly beside him. "Oh, sorry about that. You just startled me a little. I had no idea you were there."
Pause. Nod, nod. With how quiet Dave was, he likely could have made a good spy or stealth agent. At least he could have if he were capable of following instructions, or, you know, if we had any need of such a thing. Seeing as how we only had two actual soldiers, supportive roles weren't exactly our highest priority. The woman's reaction was an understandable one, as the mouse had the same glassy, unfocused look as so many of her patients, but so far as I could tell, he showed no signs of injury. Some mice just end up a little less... developed than others. It's not common, and it's usually only to a minor extent, but occasionally you'll encounter a mouse who needs to speak very slowly, parsing out the words in their mind before expressing them, or who has unusual difficulties handling even the simplest of tools. It was just a sort of sickness that some mice were born with, rather than something that was caused by experiences or injuries. I could only assume that Dave fell into this category as well, although admittedly I hadn't dismissed the idea that it was all an act, either, and that he was instead playing some sort of strange, practical joke. Sure, it was incredibly unlikely, but everything about the silent mouse felt, well, 'unlikely' was as kind enough a word for it as any.
"He's fine." Jebediah said, before pausing to give the matter some more thought. "I think."
The doctors expression softened once more, reverting to the young and vibrant look. "Well, no matter. How may I be of service?"
"I kinda hate to ask, but, well... we're going off to fight a war, and as it turns out, we're a few mice short." he said. Of course he knew full well that they are more than a few mice short of an army, but would have hated to overburden the nice lady. "I was hoping there were some guards to spare who could aid us in our conflict?"
She sighed again, expression once more growing old and haggard. Such rapid changes can't be healthy, Jebediah mused, but felt that it would be rude to state aloud. "We had quite a surplus of soldiers recently, the previous ruler making a point to train them for extra protection of both himself and the city." she paused. "Key word is 'had'. It seems that your predecessor went on something of a rampage and caused serious injuries to virtually all of them."
"Well, I'm sure she had good reason." the farmer said.
"Anyways, thanks to her and her... 'good reasons', we have a barracks full of concussed mice, vomiting everywhere, half of which can hardly remember their own names."
"Yes, I suppose that mouse you were treating didn't look like one of the healthier ones."
"Sadly, he is. He can at least get out of bed." she shook her head. "I apologize. I understand your need, but the few healthy troops remaining aren't nearly enough to guard the city, let alone go off to war."
Jebediah closed his eyes and nodded. "Oh, that's quite alright. It's not your fault. You're clearly working hard, and I didn't mean to burden you any further."
Once more her expression softens, the overworked doctor looking downright beautiful for the moment. How she would look the next moment was anyone's guess. "Thank you. I do wish I could help... I can't even leave myself, as I have far too many patients which require constant aid." she said, "Oh, but that doesn't matter, right? You're a great hero! Why, Jerin pretty much single-handedly took out an entire army, and you're twice her size! I can only imagine how much more powerful you must be!"
"Yeah... right." the farmer said, clearly less than convinced about that fact, and for good reason. His thoughts were cut off by a horking sound, followed by a dull, distant thud.
"Ugh... excuse me." she said, rushing to the underground barracks, for neither the first nor the last time today. As for Jebediah, he stood there for just a moment, taking in the beautiful scenery before heading back to the market street.
<3~
With not even the first battle fought, yet already bearing a sense of defeat, the five brave (some more so than others) champions returned to the market district, without so much as a single additional ally in tow.