Inside the crumbling wooden dresser, he found a thin silver ring etched with runes. Beside it was another note.
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Abad,
This is a ring I stole from you years ago, shortly after we first met. I remember laughing to myself when you tore the vault apart after "losing" it. While it held little power for you back then, you may have need of it again. I wish you the best on your journey, and if you come to my doorstep once again, I will welcome you with open arms if you call yourself friend.
-Selene
P.S. I hope you enjoyed the snack.
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He shook his head in disbelief, rolling the ring around in his hand. It felt exactly like it always had. It was the ring he had crafted during his apprenticeship with Aughra. He had killed people trying to find it.
That woman was a menace.
Absentmindedly, he pulled the ring onto his finger. It was a little loose now, but he could feel the swell of power flow into him.
His scroll, still unfurled from his level up, burned with a new entry:
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[Ring of Wizardry II] (Fine): Grants the user [Essence II]
[Essence II] (Enchantment): Your mana flows strongly, providing enough reserves to cast moderate spells several times before fatigue sets in.
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"How does it feel, knowing the one who stole from you lives in luxury while you crawl in the dark, powerless?" The book rumbled.
Abad grabbed the discarded book off the bed as his familiar fluttered back onto his shoulder. He turned the book so he could see the face. "I can't say I blame her. I would have done the same thing in her shoes. The only difference is I wouldn't have written a letter, nor would I have left her a dime." A laugh escaped his lips as he walked toward the door. "I suppose, in that small way, she was always better than me."
Angra's eyes almost rolled out of her head, and the book was silent.
His hand touched the door's handle. He gave a last glance back at his ruined bedroom, then turned the nob. He had taken everything he needed. It was time to go now.
The second the door opened, the book spoke. "I find your lack of anger to be most strange, student of my maker," the tome rumbled as they exited the room. "Your past self would have been livid with rage; however, you seem almost indifferent to the actions of one who wronged you. Is your lack of negative emotions due to your past relations?"
Abad thought a moment, then shook his head. "No. We were only ever a means to an end for one another. There were no feelings between us." His heart felt hollow. "I don't know why I don't care." Abad admitted both to himself and the book, looking down at his bare feet as he spoke. "I'll have to think on it more. I feel as though death has made me reconsider some things."
"Mm. Interesting." The grimoire hummed in the crook of his arm. "I will not pry further. Now, student. Lead us toward the entrance. There are corpses to inspect. I can feel them."
Abad took several steps down the hall, but every step felt heavier than the last. Finally, after a dozen steps, he hesitated. He turned back to the twin doors lining his bedroom, and he knew what he had to do.
"Sorry, book. I just realized I have one more stop." He turned, marched down the hallway, and entered one of the rooms that flanked his bed chambers, revealing a massive closet. Rows and rows of clothing lined the walls, all in pristine condition.
He smiled as he took it all in. It looked just as he left it. He thanked the Dark One, the Goddess, his past self, and even Selene for this one small blessing. Despite all the devastation, all the loss, all the miserable emptiness he felt, his closet was still intact.
He remembered his former priorities. He had woven enchantments in this room so that they were much more powerful, preventing both the energies of the Depths and anyone but himself and guests he welcomed in from entering. Unfortunately, his past self only kept his favorite clothing in this space, opting to put all the good stuff on display elsewhere in the vault. But it was no matter. He wouldn't be forced to wander the realms looking like a vagabond.
He'd feel more like himself if he were dressed well.
Turning around, he walked to the other side of the hallway and opened the opposite door. Steam billowed out as the door, this one metal, groaned open, revealing a massive bathroom, styled after the bath houses of Xaos. Clear, rippling water beckoned to him from the doorway, his countless bottles of soaps and ointments lining the small ledge on the far wall. Hundreds of small glowstones were set into the walls, illuminating the room in a rainbow of colors, causing the walls, ceiling, and surface of the water to look like a sea of stars.
The sight filled him with more joy than he'd felt in... since he died. The steam proved that his old enchantments were still active in this room as well. He hadn't lost everything. He could bathe. He could dress himself like a civilized man. He almost cried out in joy, but he caught himself before he lost control. He coughed, concealing his joy the best he could. However, his familiar's gleaming eyes showed that she, too, was as ecstatic about these findings as he was.
"Angra..." He whispered.
"Master..." She breathed back.
"Our baths..."
"Our baths?"
"Should we?"
"Yes."
Before the words left her lips, he was fumbling to peel away his ruined clothes. "Great grimoire, please be patient. Angra and I have something we need to take care of first."
He stepped into the bathroom, his clothes tearing more than stretching as he removed them. The imp leapt from his shoulder and did the same. Looking down as she did, he marveled at how she seemed to so often reflect his thoughts.
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Then, his blood froze.
The little red creature was stripping off the rat clothes, its empty little rat eyes staring into Abad's soul.
"Don't you dare take that disgusting thing off in this sacred place," he snarled.
She froze. "But master..."
"Outside." His tone promised violence.
"But—"
"Now."
She pouted, head down, as she shuffled out of the room. A cold rush of air followed as she opened the door again, but he didn't care. He was already descending into the warm water, ready to wash away a century of dirt, grime, blood, and worries.
***
A small splash followed him into the water a few moments later. They took turns shampooing each other's hair, washing one another's backs, and pulling the tangles out with his collection of brushes and combs. Looking down into the water, he couldn't begin to process the amount of filth that flowed off of them. After multiple rounds of shampoo and hair oils, they soaped and lathered themselves, scrubbing the dirt and grime away.
The book began to grumble. Not willing to listen to the thing in this most sacred temple, Abad marched out of the warm water, picked the old book up, and threw the old thing out into the hallway, slamming the door behind it, the imp giggling as he did.
Then, the two floated in the soapy water for what had to have been hours. His fingers and toes were completely wrinkled, but he didn't care. He was clean. He thanked his past self for reinforcing the enchantments in these rooms. If there was anything he would have protected, it would have been his closet and bath.
His mind drifted as he bobbed with the lapping waves of his bath, his head nestled in a small flotation device he had found in the north. He had always been vain. Baths, clothing, hair, nails—he had once heard that one's body is one's temple, and he took it to heart. He was happy those feelings remained. They were something he liked about himself. Sure, he was fussy, but he knew what he liked. He deserved the finer things.
It's why he almost failed his apprenticeship. Most mages summoned familiars that matched their personalities. Little dragons, fairies, a variety of woodland critters—most familiars were either cute, fearsome, or at the very least bland enough to be unoffensive. Like attracted like, so the essence that most matched a mage's nature responded to their call and was then shaped by the mage's will. The resulting creatures then took on elements of their masters' personalities, making them particularly suited for their roles as servants.
But, because the Dark One had decided to poison his mother when he was still unborn, he was limited to only the essences tied to monsters and dark beasts. Which meant he had one real option: an imp.
Normally, imps were foul. They had gangly, misshapen bodies, large fangs with lips too small to cover them, and all manner of lumps and bruises and sores that never seemed to heal.
They were disgusting.
When Aughra told him summoning a familiar was a mandatory part of becoming a mage, he refused. She beat him badly for that. When he finally healed, he was determined to do it, but had decided he would do it his own way.
He summoned the dark essence rather easily, being a prodigy and all. However, when it came to shaping the creature, he used every ounce of power and will he had to prevent it from taking the shape that came most naturally to it.
Using a rather expensive mana charge and his ring, he succeeded at halting the process. But, it cost him. He struggled for days against he will of the dark essence he called forth. After three days of bitter struggle, he was fully drained, at the edge of death, and in desperate need of food and water. However, he was victorious.
A little red imp in the shape of a miniature woman, tiny and cute, was laying in his summoning circle, her yellow eyes hazily locked on his.
Then he blacked out.
Three weeks later, he woke up with the little creature resting on his chest, her head nestled in his neck. When his master berated him for his recklessness, he named his new servant Angra in honor of his master's temper. It wasn't his best pun, but he was young, and it pleased him immensely when the old orc's eyes nearly fell out of her old skull from the massive eyeroll she gave him.
His training tripled after that, but it was all worth it.
He smiled as the imp's songless humming reverberated off the bath's stone walls, pulling his mind back to the present.
"You seem happy, master." She was oiling her red skin, which glinted in the light of the glowstones.
"I was just thinking of old times."
"Which ones?" She smiled at him, her small fangs gleaming. "Was it the time we burned that town to the ground? I still remember their faces when you marched them to the fields to watch their nasty little huts burn. Served them right for not paying tribute."
She was always the more bloodthirsty than him. "No, I was just thinking of when I summoned you."
"Oh..." Her yellow eyes gazed down on him. She seemed like she wanted to say something, but a small shake of her head cast it away. "Thank you for that. Risking your life for me, that is. I would have hated to be gross. Like Pelwar. He's foul." She shuddered.
Pelwar was the imp servant that served Zaros, another one of the seven. Foul didn't describe it. The thing was disgusting. It drooled everywhere.
"He really is. Or was. And you're welcome." Taking inspiration from her, he climbed out of the water and began tending his skin, hair, and nails.
***
When they were done, they marched across the hallway to get dressed. The book tried to get their attention, but the pair ignored it entirely, slamming the door as they entered their closet.
After running his fingers up and down the rows of clothes several times, savoring the feeling of the fabric beneath his fingertips, Abad chose his favorite traveling clothes: a black quilted vest and red tunic paired with loose, comfortable pants. He threw a fine weatherproof cloak over his shoulders and packed several other outfits into his favorite pack, which he had luckily stored in the closet before his untimely death, then fished out a pair of sturdy black boots from behind a stack of shoes he never put away. He finished his outfit by putting on the bronze bracers he had gathered in the great hall.
He couldn't exactly remember what they did, so he pulled up his scroll.
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[Bracers of Resilience I] (Fine): Grants the user [Resilience I]
[Resilience I]: Your body endures like that of a seasoned traveler, capable of withstanding minor injuries and fatigue without slowing down.
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Weak, but useful.
He shoved the coin purse he had found before into his vest and made for the door, where his familiar was finishing getting dressed.
His familiar had donned her favorite clothes out of the little wardrobe he had constructed for her. She had forced Abad to have them crafted for her after she had seen Selene in one of the thief's more revealing infiltration outfits.
The little red imp wore a leather bra with a golden buckle in the front and a small pair of matching shorts with a cutout for her tail. Long leather boots rose past her knees, and matching fingerless leather gloves extended past her elbows. She accented the ensemble with a thick black choker, which did nothing but was an accessory she particularly liked. She claimed that the outfit let her move freely, but he was sure his vanity had rubbed off on her, along with her jealousy of Selene.
She was tucking little blades into her gloves as he watched her. He patiently waited for her to finish. When she finally turned and looked up at him, he asked the question burning in his heart. "How do I look?"
"Like a man ready to conquer the world," the imp replied without hesitation. "Do I look okay?" Her brow furrowed.
"Like an imp who can accomplish anything." Her cheeks grew dark again, and she shuffled like before. He didn't understand what this new behavior was, but he'd have time to figure it out as they traveled.
"Ready?" He asked.
"Ready." She replied.
The door opened, and they were back in the hallway, where the book was loudly grumbling.