Eight Era, cycle 1721 – cycle of the squatting dog, season of Unkh, day 248
Amendment: Due to crossing a portal, the date is chronologically 265
Once they were rested and healed, they spent one last night in safety. Ember started each day performing a few yoga moves on a balcony overlooking the mountains. She had grown up around mountains, yet the view still took her breath away.
A short while later, the whole group met over breakfast.
Lyre was reading a letter to them: ‘It’s from my cousin, Killian Musgrove. Apparently, the lads of Alcamarie are at war once more.’ Lyre smiled as he said it.
‘When aren’t they?’ Zyol declared, sharing the joke.
‘Well, this time, the people of Kadambas, right,’ Lyre translated, ‘are using puppets; that is, husks of flesh controlled by magicka, you know.’
‘Why’s that matter?’ Ember asked, confused.
‘Soulless creatures are an abomination unto all cultures, girlie,’ Alban answered.
‘I’m still not sure I get it,’ Ember persisted.
‘Well, Aduen’s lands are about two weeks or so north of Alcamarie, which means there might be some trouble from refugees or disturbed monsters. Whenever people are at war, it’s beholden to all close by to prepare for the worst, or something to consider anyway, not least because there aren’t many settlements around Alcamarie for refuges to escape to, which will encourage scavengers, you know,’ Lyre explained.
‘Isn’t the Dunaj between us and them?’ Alban asked, scratching his head. ‘That river’s quite the busy trade route if I remember, so we should be fine once that lies between us and Alcamarie. And there’s a village there if memory serves.’
‘No, you’re thinking of the furries. They haven’t been seen for decades,’ Lyre contradicted him.
Alban shrugged. ‘Pfft, surface dwellers. Who can keep up?’
‘How does your cousin know about this?’ Ember asked out of curiosity.
‘Alcamarie is the northern region of a large wasteland that’s left over from a magic war. Musgrove is located a few miles below this wasteland, and they keep an eye on the surface dwellers in case of a new magic war,’ Lyre answered.
‘How long’s it going to take to get to Aduen’s land?’ Ember questioned.
‘Well, it’ll take a few days to get back to where Clang is, then assuming all’s well, we’ll take a week or so to travel the rest of the way.’ Lyre pulled out a map with a flourish. ‘Now you’re allowed to know some of our secrets, you can see this. It’s a little crude, but it covers a large area, so it’s bound to be.’
Lyre showed Ember a map and pointed at it. ‘This is us, at the Wyneb; I’ve no idea what you lot call it. From here, we’ll be teleported back to Landfall, which is here [he pointed again]. Then we walk to the Sage of Waning to get to Clang, which is here [he pointed once more], before heading to Shoreditch.’
Quest update: land dispute
Head to Shoreditch, but be careful of the potential for war: it wouldn’t be a good idea to run into either side at this time.
(The layout of the Sphere is somewhat similar to Earth, but the gods have taken a few liberties throughout the millennia to alter the landmass to better suit their faithful followers. However, if we were to use Earth geography, then the Wyneb would be in the Khibiny Mountains in Russia, Landfall would be around Tuscany in Italy, and Shoreditch would be around Novi Sad in Serbia.)
*
After they’d all finished breakfast, they trudged to a corridor decorated with weapons; Ember ignored the stories of their origin, which Lyre was proudly elaborating on. The portal was a field shimmering in the air, looking like the sheen on oil. As Ember stepped through it, she felt an existential dread, but before she could make any real association regarding the cause of the dread, it passed, and they arrived at Landfall.
‘Civilisation!’ Ember declared at the sight of the life happening around her.
‘The Wyneb is the centre of cultivation of all dwarven civilisations now,’ Lyre countered.
‘I’ve seen more life at a necromancy party,’ stated Ember, rebuffing his claim, and she stepped into the crowds.
‘We need to be practical now, so we must increase our party size; Lyre and I aren’t exactly fighters,’ Alban said.
Zyol nodded. ‘We’ve lost a lot of good people. There’s a bar nearby that mercenaries frequent. Let’s see if I can’t pick up a brother or two,’ he grunted. However, before he did that, he walked to a stall and bought a handful of statues. On each one, he carved the name of a fallen party member and then went and placed the pieces around the statue of a great dwarf commander, so that they might join him in the afterlife.
Ember walked off on her own, scanning the arrangement of stalls and the carvings on the walls. She felt her fingers itching and the need to be getting up to something nefarious. She’d spent too long being a good girl, and it wasn’t right. After her fifth circuit, she engaged a large group of “squirrels” (a thieves’ guild term for a collection of potential targets, such as a crowd with their attention split) and barged her way through the crowd, her fingers darting in and out of people’s pockets; she happily plucked a dozen purses as she made her way through the jostling group. She had a strange relationship with money, as money generally meant little to her. Yet money she’d stolen, well, that was a different story! She wouldn’t trade one stolen brass farthing for a gold coin; although she’d trade it for two gold coins – she wasn’t that foolhardy. (A farthing is worth about forty bronze coins, and with 1,000 bronze coins to one gold coin, it is a preposterous metaphor.)
Ember grew restless with the game; it was too easy when she noticed it: an Estiliba.
(The etymology of this word has been rather challenging to track down. From what I’ve been able to discern, it’s an argot phrase from the thieves’ guild referring to an item that simply has to be stolen there and then, even if you’ll be noticed committing the act. The word originates from one Isabella Estiliba, who apparently, would often simply snatch an item in plain view and declare, ‘Mine,’ whilst doing so.)
Ember’s object of lust was a brooch on a thick collar worn around the throat; it was currently being sported by a strange person whose species Ember didn’t recognise.
Name: Perdiox “Soft Claw” Ream
Race: ogre
Ogres are one of the old races and are rarely seen outside their “steadings”. An ogre steading is a place where passive mana regeneration is deactivated and it must be actively gathered. As such, more ogres have all of their chakra points opened. Ogres are mostly a passive race, but they don’t allow active entry into their territory, and anyone wishing to enter an ogre steading must ask for permission first. Like the dwarfs, they’re a communal race and an insult to one ogre is an insult to the village.
Genus: Common
Affiliation: unknown
Specialisation: earth-bender
Class: C
State: intrigued
Level: 76
Health 3,800/3,800, stamina 3,800/3,800, magicka 30,400/30,400
All 7 chakra points open
Endowment: unknown
Curses: unknown
Ember wasn’t prophetic, but if someone had asked her to prognosticate the immediate future, then her response would be simple: that brooch would be in her possession in the next 30 seconds.
The ogre was selling items at a stall, the brooch was available for purchase, and Ember probably had the funds on her. However, when she wanted something – when she really wanted something – well, she just had to steal it. Stolen items had more meaning to her.
Ember fingered an item in her pocket as she barged her way to the front of the crowd; when she was pressed against the merchant’s stall, she nearly drooled over the brooch.
Ember took stock of her surroundings: the ceiling was vaulted in this section of the tunnel, many of the arches in the ceiling had mullions, and many of the vaultings had accolades where two arches met. Further on in the cave, the vaulting stopped and instead there were many telamones and caryatids supporting the ceiling; the many alcoves had dwarven statues inset in them. Ember bit her lip and turned her attention back to the stall, thinking about all the nooks and crannies in the ceiling, which were perfect for hiding.
‘See anything you like?’ Soft Claw enquired casually.
Ember looked up with lust in her eyes, but she managed to control herself. She pulled out a waxed packet and held it out before her.
‘Does this smell of doxy?’ she asked; and she threw it at the ogre; snatched the brooch; yelled,
‘Taxed!’; whooped as loud as she could; jumped onto Soft Claw’s stall and then legged it over the other market stalls, giggling in glee.
The doxy powder burst out of the packet, and Soft Claw staggered back coughing woozily. If Soft Claw’s poison resistance weren’t high enough, the doxy powder would paralyse her, but only temporarily. There were screams and gasps as the cloud of doxy powder enveloped Soft Claw and her customers.
Ember grabbed a decorative wall sconce and used it to vault through a mullion, kicked off a wall, and used the momentum to hit the ground and roll, passing under the swipes of a dwarf poleaxe aimed at her midriff. Kicking off the floor like a sprinter, Ember quickly achieved full speed – none of the dwarfs stood a chance of keeping up with her and so they started to blow their horns in alarm. An evil grin spread over Ember’s face. She wasn’t planning anything… It was just her most natural smile; after all, she was in her element. If she wasn’t plotting murder, she was running from guards – her two favourite hobbies.
A metal golem lumbered into view; its shoddy build meant that it didn’t have knees, so it ran with a strange, encumbered gait. Ember laughed derisively and thrust a hand forwards, casting a 3-foot-long sheet of ice, which she used like a soccer player on a muddy field, sliding its entire length.
Back on her feet at full speed, Ember was out of view before the golem had finished its turn.
She spotted a cluster of dwarfs holding something to their shoulders, and she immediately turned and ran to the closest stalls, diving over them as the dwarfs unleased a volley of arrows.
‘What the fuck? There’re innocents here!’ Ember screamed at the dwarfs, as people around Ember were struck by the arrows and dropped down, paralysed.
‘Then surrender!’ A dwarf shot back.
‘I didn’t mean me,’ Ember murmured to herself. ‘Okay, don’t shoot!’
‘Sir, we need the target practice,’ Ember heard a dwarf say.
‘I heard that!’ Ember bellowed angrily.
‘You wouldn’t mind resisting a little more would you? Elmsly has a point,’ a dwarf retorted.
It took a moment for Ember to respond. ‘You’ve some cheek!’ was all she could manage.
‘Well, we don’t get many perks guarding this market, so how about one more round each?’ someone pleaded.
‘No!’ Ember shouted.
‘Fine, come out slowly; Helms, go check her!’ the dwarf captain commanded.
Ember clambered over the stall, and a dwarf patted her down.
‘There’s nothing here, sir,’ the dwarf reported.
‘Did you use the spell?’ the captain checked.
‘Yes, sir,’ the dwarf who’d done the patting down responded.
‘Well, why did you run?’ the captain asked, confused.
Ember shrugged. ‘Someone threw doxy powder.’
‘She has a point, sir,’ Elmsly said.
‘Did I ask for your opinion? Find me that thief!’ the captain shouted at full voice, and the dwarfs ran off. ‘Sorry for the mistake.’
Ember nodded and watched them go; then, she wandered around for a bit before skulking down a dark alley and holding out her hand. Flynn scurried out of the shadows with the necklace clutched in his mouth.
‘There’s a good boy,’ Ember praised him lovingly.
*
Ember returned to the dwarfs to find they’d added to their motley crew.
‘What the fuck is that?’ Ember asked, pointing to one of the new guy’s arms.
‘I lost my arm a few years back and got this to replace it. I call her Rusty,’ the dwarf said, not bothering to introduce himself, just his gun.
‘Right, but what is it?’ Ember insisted.
‘What’s Rusty?’ the dwarf replied, surprised. ‘It’s a volley gun. Seven chambers of pure fun.’
‘That’s Animesh; Ash for short. Have you never seen a volley gun before? They’re rare, but you see them around. Dwarfs are known for their gadgets, and many tinker with guns,’ Alban explained.
‘What’s a gun?’ Ember asked.
‘Really? You don’t have guns on the surface?’ Alban replied, surprised.
‘I don’t know; I guess some do. Are they powerful?’ Ember asked.
‘It varies, like everything.’ Alban shrugged.
‘So who are the newbies? Not that I’ll remember all their names,’ Ember enquired.
‘So there’s Ash, then Norton and Five Nine; no one remembers his real name,’ Alban introduced the three newcomers.
‘Surely you remember you own name, Five Nine?’ Ember questioned.
Five Nine shrugged. ‘I like Five Nine.’
‘So where’d you find them?’ Ember asked next.
‘We’ve just got in from a stint above ground,’ Norton said.
‘Really? If the surface is such a taboo, why are so many of you above ground suddenly?’ Ember meant it sarcastically, but there were some awkward shuffles.
‘We’ve given her the mark of silence,’ Zyol offered.
‘That doesn’t mean she can know anything about us,’ Lyre grunted.
‘The surface dwellers are going to notice we’re above ground more regularly,’ Five Nine added.
‘True, but we can just say we need the gold. However, this one’s travelling with us for a bit, so perhaps we need to say something to stall further questions,’ Lyre mused. ‘Suffice it to say that our highways are dangerous.’
‘Sure, I’ve seen your fuck-off-massive doors,’ Ember stated.
‘Yes, well, the path from Wheatworm to here is seeing heavier activity than usual, so we’re taking the surface route, otherwise we’d never have crossed paths with you,’ Lyre explained. (Wheatworm would be near – or below – Eschen in Liechtenstein.)
‘Oh, well, that makes sense,’ Ember said with a shrug. ‘You know there’s one thing dwarfs like more than alcohol, and that’s secrets.’
‘Gold,’ Alban added.
‘Everybody has racial secrets,’ Lyre declared hotly.
‘Yeah, not so much. Humans aren’t united enough to have racial secrets,’ Ember countered non-committally.
‘I guess to outsiders it might seem… unusual,’ Lyre granted.
‘So you three are happy to join our little adventure?’ Ember turned the subject to something that she hoped would be less contentious.
‘We’re on the same side of the law of succession,’ Norton confirmed.
‘Is that it?’ Ember asked, surprised.
‘Not at all, but we won’t work with someone on the opposing side, considering the nature of the quest,’ Alban explained.
‘Good point,’ Ember admitted.
‘We should be heading out,’ Ash said after checking his pocket watch.
‘I have to admit that I’m in no rush to head back to the Sage. It’s a tough trek,’ Zyol moaned.
‘Considering that we started off debating if we should take the Fifth Route, then the walk to the Sage shouldn’t be of much concern,’ Alban retorted.
‘The Fifth is the name of the highway from Wheatworm to here,’ Lyre clarified before Ember could ask.
‘Danger is one thing, but that path to the Sage is tough on the legs,’ Zyol declared, but he accepted defeat on the matter.
*
They rested for a few days as they restocked their supplies, and heedless of Zyol’s complaints about heavy legs, they then took a steady march back to the Sage of Waning, who was helping the injured Clang recover from a potentially fatal poisoning.
As they made their way, they soon heard the sounds of a fight and increased their pace. They found a group of bandits attacking a band of adventurers; the bandits and three of the five adventurers were down – two of whom were clearly dead. Zyol gave a shout and charged at the bandits. Ash levelled his gun arm and unleashed all seven chambers at once. Four of the projectiles hit a single bandit, ripping open his chest, and the remaining shot hit the far wall, creating an explosion of shrapnel. Some of the shrapnel ricocheted and tore into the face of a second bandit, opening up numerous cuts, which quickly covered his face in blood.
New quest: at the behest of Saint António de Lisboa
A group of travellers is in danger, and one or more of them is wearing the symbol of the saint known in common as Anthony of Padua. Help the strangers and gain reputation with the saint – plus a few experience points. (Quest generation – that’s why you should wear the symbols of your affiliations.)
A fourth adventurer went down, with her neck opened and spraying the ground with arterial blood just as the dwarfs entered the battle. Ember closed the distance on a creature, which was possibly an orc; the creature grinned toothily as it brought its scimitar around. Ember jumped, brought her hindmost leg around and kicked with her heel at the hand holding the scimitar. She then brought that foot down and struck the inside of the orc’s knee; it staggered. Ember pivoted, simultaneously taking a quick step to adjust her body, before kicking the orc in the chest, with a follow-up strike to his chin and, finally, his balls.
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The orc crumpled and used an ability; he stamped the ground to create a mini earthquake, which upset Ember’s balance. She staggered, and as she recovered she could see that the orc was now holding a mace in his off hand and his scimitar in his near hand. Ember watched the orc charge her, anticipating his progress via his gate; with a swift, spinning kick, she judged his speed correctly to land a blow to his nearside hand, and the follow-through allowed her to balance on her toes and bring her back foot up to kick his offside hand.
Battle log:
Strength test failed
Strike to orc’s near hand, failed to disarm orc
Strike to orc’s off hand, failed to disarm orc
Ember struck out with the palm of her hand towards the orc’s throat, and then her knee came up into his gut before the orc was able to lash out with his weapons. The orc was overwhelmed by the quick attacks, and she was too close for him to generate much momentum in his attacks. As the orc wheezed, Ember used his thigh as a springboard and jumped up, cracking his skull with her kneecap.
Battle log:
Critical strike, impact damage to diaphragm, −154 health points x1.5 for a critical hit 231 life points lost, 1,619 life points remaining
Critical strike, impact damage to skull, −172 health points x1.5 for critical hit258 life points lost, 1,361 remaining
Ember rolled, and the mace cracked against the floor, spitting out splinters of rock. The orc took a pace forwards, whipped out his mace and swung it; it passed within an inch of Ember’s face. The orc then thrust with its scimitar, and Ember pivoted on her toes as the point of the scimitar passed so close to her that it punctured her cloak. A small part of her mind registered that the waxed cloak would no longer be totally waterproof because of the damage.
Ember clamped a hand on the orc’s nearside wrist and brought her knee up past his elbow in a scissoring action to snap his arm, but the orc was stronger and pulled free from her grasp. Ember moved quickly, ducked under the orc’s arm, kicked at his ribs, then brought her foot down on the back of his knee; the orc’s leg buckled. She kicked at the side of his neck, then his temple and next brought her heel down on the top of his cranium, all in three quick, fluid strikes with her left foot.
Battle log:
Strength test failed, orc pulls free from a scissor hold
Agility test passed, dodged an orc attack
Strike to orc, impact damage to ribs, −134 health points, 1,227 health points remaining
Strike to orc, impact damage to back of the knee, −74 health points, 1,153 health points remaining
Strike to orc, impact damage to neck, −135 health points, 1,018 health points remaining
Critical strike, impact damage to temple, −213 health points * 1.5 for critical hit
320 life points lost, 698 remaining
Orc stunned for 134 seconds
Strike to orc, impact damage to skull, −112 health points, 586 health points remaining
Strength test passed, orc knocked unconscious
Until the other bandits used a spell called “penalty”, they didn’t fare any better against the dwarfs; they then took the opportunity to flee.
Battle log:
Willpower check failed
You’ve been cursed by the penalty spell, which freezes you in place for 30 seconds; whilst frozen, you can’t be harmed by combat
The bandits had disappeared by the time the spell wore off, leaving the dwarfs to curse and exchange confused questions about what had just happened and why bandits were feeling confident enough to stalk the dwarfs’ tunnels.
‘It’s a coward’s spell; it should be called “cowards retreat”,’ Ember spat. ‘It’s a spell used by people when they’re out training on wild creatures, so they have a chance to run away if they get into dire straits.’
Quest completed: at the behest of Saint António de Lisboa
Rewards: 3 gold coins, 25 relationship points with Anthony of Padua, 1,000 experience points (90,079 experience points to the next level)
There was only one survivor, and she was in a bad state. The dwarfs decided to risk moving her in order to reach a safer spot to camp, and because it would also be better for the mental well-being of the injured woman if she didn’t revive in the midst of the corpses of her comrades.
*
Now Ember was back underground, she was finding it difficult to know when to wake. There were no light cues and her spot in the night-watch rotation was eerily quiet enough for her to reach a deep sleep. Not to mention the fact that the dwarfs thought that night-time was meant to last as long as daytime, and that led to a 30-hour night!
There was some rather tasteless porridge available for breakfast. (Or was it a midnight snack? My notes are unclear as to whether this was AM or PM…)
‘Here, you’ll be wanting something to eat.’ Alban offered some to the groggy girl they’d rescued as she started to show signs of being awake.
She blinked and looked confused, but took the food before speaking. ‘What…? Where…? How…? I was attacked?’
‘I’m Alban; the lads are Lyre, Five Nine, Zyol, Ash, Norton and Ember. Yes, we came across you being attacked. What do you remember of the fight?’ Alban asked her cautiously.
‘Fight? I-I think I… not much. I think I was taken out early, sorry. I’m a cook. Sorry, my name is Holly,’ the girl explained.
‘A cook?’ Lyre said incredulously.
‘Don’t underestimate a good cook,’ Holly responded with a grin, which vanished quickly after taking her first bite. ‘You see, a good cook can give you boosts from food, right? This is filling, but I could make you something that’s twice as hunger supressing and that also can increase stamina regain and all sorts.’
‘Sounds good; you should find work in no time. We can get you back in 3 hours,’ Five Nine stated briskly.
‘Wait, I can’t come with you? Don’t you need a cook?’ Holly suggested hopefully.
‘No offence, lass, but we’ve already got one outsider; we don’t need a second person failing to pull their weight,’ Five Nine insisted.
‘Actually, I can pull my weight now; I’m allowed to take one of the night watches,’ Ember boasted.
‘Great, but we still don’t need a second outsider,’ Five Nine pressed.
‘I, for one, could use the food,’ Lyre concluded after some thought.
‘I’m good with the cigars; they really numb your taste buds,’ Ember added.
‘Whose side are you on?’ Holly asked.
‘Grow up,’ Ember replied, rolling her eyes. ‘Sorry, sister, but I agree with Five Nine – this feels dodgy. A damsel in distress? I’ve used that myself.’
‘Fine, take me back,’ Holly stated angrily.
‘Good, everybody wins,’ Norton agreed.
‘Wait, I’m in for the food. How much harm can one lass be?’ Ash enquired.
‘I’ve got to agree, one more human is a downside, but she’s the only outsider now Ember’s taken the accord. We managed an outsider before, so can’t we do it again?’ Zyol demanded, and he looked at each dwarf. ‘Then we take the food. I mean, chef.’
‘The stomach settles it,’ Lyre added.
‘Fucking men,’ Ember growled as she lit a cigar.
‘Good! Who wants chocolate cake?’ Holly suggested, and she took a large cake out of a satchel. ‘I spent all my savings on this bag of holding; it means I can carry food without it being smushed.’
‘No one wants food that badly to empty their savings,’ Ember interjected between puffs.
‘I do,’ Lyre said, ‘That settles it; she’s a keeper.’
*
They made good time, thanks to Holly’s rice balls, which gave a 1.5 times increase to movement speed; that wasn’t much, but considering they were walking for 12 hours, it was a goodly improvement. They made camp and benefitted from Holly’s baklava, which gave an 8-hour increase to natural health regeneration at 1.8 times the norm. (When you lose health, you’ll naturally regain the lost health. It’s a slow rate; the average person regains 1% of health every 3 minutes. However, it is possible to use your attributes to increase or decrease this number; also, some injuries won’t heal without treatment.) They nicknamed them “night-nights” because they were the perfect pre-sleep treat, as they’d then wake without any of the aches and strains a day’s walking would otherwise cause.
That first night, Ember’s left-index-finger ring woke her; it had an enchantment placed on it that would activate and vibrate should someone approach the wearer. She’d got it cheap, as no one else could think of a use for it. Ember peeked open an eye and noticed Holly creeping off; Holly quickly noticed Ember had awoken, and she claimed to be heading for a toilet break, but Ember decided to keep a close eye on the woman in future.
It wasn’t the only strange thing to happen around the girl – if you consider it strange for someone to walk past Ember in the night to go for a pee. Ember was handed a meal one evening that had drakeworm in it. Drakeworm is a species of earthworm; it secretes a substance that gives people diarrhoea if ingested. Holly apologised profusely when Ember told her. Apparently, Holly had been harvesting rocklice (another form of worm that burrows through rocks instead of earth), which look somewhat similar. Holly seemed to be earnest in her mortification, yet Ember was a trained assassin and therefore was suspicious by nature.
‘So, fellow human, how’d you wind up with this lot?’ Holly chatted incessantly, and until the third morning, Ember had been able to avoid her.
‘Much like you: by happenstance,’ Ember replied shortly.
‘You were also saved by a band of outlaws?’ Holly’s eyes widened into two perfect saucers.
‘No, I was just looking for something to do and bumped into them. It sounded more interesting than carrying on the path to bumpkin town, east of nowhere,’ Ember responded without any inflection in her voice.
‘Oh, so how come they let you join them? They gave me the Sergeant Alveron’s; how’d you pass it?’ Holly asked. (The “Sergeant Alveron’s” is similar to being given the third degree. It refers to one Command Sergeant Rupert Alveron, who developed a method of interrogation that – it’s said – guarantees the interrogated person will be unable to withhold any information and will make it impossible for them to lie. All of which is achieved without the need for torture and can be carried out on the battlefield to question captured enemy scouts. Many an advisor has claimed to have rediscovered Sergeant Alveron’s methods, only to be eventually proven mistaken or lying.)
‘They were recruiting fighters; I guess they thought I might be able to handle myself.’
‘It’s the first time I’ve travelled with dwarfs; I must say these dwarven roads are marvellous, aren’t they?’ Holly continued, unperturbed by Ember’s lack of interest.
‘Yes,’ Ember agreed truthfully.
‘You don’t seem to like me much,’ Holly observed, with what Ember considered to be an unexpected level of insight.
Ember could have rebuffed the suggestion or placated Holly in some way, but instead she simply replied, ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Should I? Is that, like, the default setting? Someone new comes along and you’re meant to like them instantly?’
‘Well, you’re not meant to dislike someone instantly,’ Holly said, laughing.
Ember shrugged. ‘I haven’t made up my mind yet, and I probably never will. Most people just exist, and I don’t need to like or dislike them.’
If someone had asked Ember about this philosophy, she’d be honest and explain that – due to her previous professions – she found it easier not to judge people. Just in case she’d have to fuck them, steal from them or kill them at a later date. But deep down in her heart of hearts, she worried that she was just a bitch. The truth was that she had a personality disorder from childhood abuse and – to put it into a context gamers could understand – she just assumed most people she met were NPCs (computer-controlled characters known as non-player characters).
‘But we’re travelling together; surely with being around each other for so long, you’ll need to decide?’ Holly laughed again.
‘Nope, but if you don’t stop talking, I’ll make a decision; don’t you worry about that.’
*
The rest of the journey passed peacefully; Holly grew in reputation with the dwarfs as her meals continued to offer them buffs, and Ember decided Holly wasn’t so bad when she went three days without trying to speak to her.
Eventually, they made it back to the bogs, and before they started out on what they expected to be the last day, Ember went to find a quiet spot for her morning callisthenics. As she clambered over a mossy boulder, she spotted a strange-looking dwarf, who was sitting alone atop a large, craggy boulder. He spotted Ember and waved her over; all the same, Ember approached cautiously.
‘What brings a surface dweller to these… What’s the opposite of picturesque? Blighted bogs? No, that doesn’t quite work… Misbegotten? Turgid! Let’s go with turgid bogs,’ the dwarf asked languidly.
‘I’m here to see the Sage of Waning. What about you? I’d ask if you’re a hermit, but you’re outside – as much as anyone can be outside whilst underground,’ Ember replied.
The dwarf looked unusual, she thought; normally, dwarfs were extremely wide and solidly built, but this one looked out of proportion somehow.
The dwarf tapped his pipe out onto his palm; then, he picked a flower cutting from his pocket, placed the hilt of the cutting into the tobacco and then pushed the tobacco carefully against the boulder. The crazy thing was that Ember would have sworn the cutting grew half an inch. He then cut off a hunk of already-smoked tobacco, added it to some fresh tobacco and then repacked his pipe.
‘The name’s Galvez, and I’m no hermit; I’m just passing through. I’ve got a quest to hand out to a hero; have you seen one?’ Galvez asked.
‘Uh-uh, not me. I’ve got no plans to be tied up in an epic quest; it’s not my style,’ Ember replied and then snorted.
Galvez chucked. ‘No offence, but I kind of got that vibe from you.’
‘Still, what’s the quest? Maybe I’ll meet someone who fits the description,’ Ember offered, as something about the dwarf made even her like him.
Galvez looked deep into her eyes. ‘At that, maybe you will. I imagine you get around a fair bit.’
‘In more ways than one.’ Ember snorted again. ‘What are you? You don’t look like a typical dwarf; you’re shaped differently.’
‘That’s because I’m not your typical dwarf; I’m a deep-downer,’ Galvez answered.
‘Really? I had in my mind that the deep-downers were far more… well, stoic than you. More… dwarfish, you know? Surly and serious people,’ Ember explained.
‘There are many different types of deep-downer, but you’re right: they’re mostly like you’d expect.’ Galvez puffed away on his pipe before pointing the bit at Ember. ‘But don’t distract me; I need to explain to you what I’m after so you can help me search.’
‘You’re very trusting.’
‘Not at all; I’m just enigmatic. Firstly, how much do you know about the current affairs of the dwarfs?’ Galvez quirked an eyebrow as he asked this. ‘I see the mark of secrecy on you, so someone trusts you.’
‘Oh, well, you have a king, but he’s dead. There’s no succession plan – I think because the capital city of the dwarfs has fallen to terrainmoles or something. There are a lot of fiends on the dwarven highways because there’s no king to direct the military. Many of the dwarfs are walking the surface… and I can’t remember if there was anything else,’ Ember offered.
‘Well, there’s a lot of misinformation there, which isn’t surprising as we do like our secrets. But with me being from the deep, and with your reputation with the dwarfs, I get to make my own rules.’
‘Is that why you look different? Your species is from the deep?’
‘Yes, have you heard of The Dark?’
‘Sure, it’s called night. Then again, it’s always dark round here.’
‘No, not just “dark”: “The Dark”. “The Dark”; “Thee”, see?’ Galvez seemed to be toying with her.
‘Then no,’ Ember replied. ‘Actually, I think someone might have said something, but I find it hard to concentrate on hypotheticals. Either something is happening or it isn’t. I don’t have time for daydreams. So I tend to tune people out when they talk about unrealistic stuff. I’m not the sort of person who lives on hope and expectations; I live in the now. If I see half a pint, I drink it. None of this half full or half empty crap.’
‘Well then, smoke this whilst I explain the plight of the dwarfs. If we don’t set loose some of our secrets, we might disappear forever.’ He tossed a pipe to her.
‘The war with the terrainmoles was over some 1,000 years past; our capital is infested with a far more nefarious creature, but that isn’t the quest I wish to offer. No, I’m tasked with finding someone to deal with the curse that has befallen our highways: the curse of the Sapient Dark,’ Galvez said.
‘The Sapient Dark? Is that the same as The Dark or the Thee Dark?’ Ember asked.
‘The Dark is the overall title for all the different forms of dark we get down here, such as the Lost Dark, the Foreign Dark and the Dissident Dark. The skorupy have no idea,’ Galvez said sadly.
‘The who?’ Ember asked; she was enjoying the pipe Galvez had thrown her.
‘The name we in the deep use for any who live closer to the surface than us, including dwarfs. They should know better; they claim to have long memories, but even they’ve forgotten the Quiet Dark.’
‘Who have?’
‘The dwarfs have; I never expected humans to remember. It’s been aeons since you’ve lived in caves,’ Galvez clarified, making the “ae” in “aeons” sound heavy. ‘The Dark is rising once more, and if it isn’t stopped, it will spread through more of our highways. The succession, the lost capital and The Dark. Any one of these we could face, but all three? I fear it may signal the end of the dwarfs.’
‘How so? You mean in this area?’
‘No, I mean the extinction of the dwarfs. Totally wiped out, never to be seen again.’
‘Yeah, but you’re not serious?’ Ember insisted.
‘The last time the Quiet Dark rose, it took the deaths of over 1 million dwarfs before it was driven back.’
‘One million! I wouldn’t have believed there are 1 million dwarfs alive!’ Ember was astounded.
‘It was over a fifth of all dwarfs,’ Galvez said wearily, as if the memory were still fresh.
‘So, do I need to explain all this to the adventurer?’
‘Of course not; the quest will explain all this and pick the adventurer. You’re just a walking prompt,’ Galvez explained. ‘I can’t go much closer to the surface than this, so you’ll be my avatar.’
‘How does the quest know?’
‘Have you heard of adaptive weapons – things that scale and level so they become more powerful?’
‘Of course, it’s like the quest for Elysium. Everyone gets a quest for a mythical weapon or a lost city. I mean, who doesn’t want a weapon they can use at level 20 and still use at level 100? Heck, I heard of a weapon… What was it? But it became more powerful than the user because it levelled faster! They could kill things that were leagues above them in terms of power.’
‘True; however, it’s said that an adaptive weapon chooses its owner and that not just anybody can find one. This quest will pick its target, and it might choose more than one if I’m lucky.’
‘Huh, I never heard of that before.’
‘Of course, most people just want a quest to be completed, but I want someone whom the dwarfs can look up to – a hero,’ Galvez announced, as if the quest were listening.
A quest popped up in Ember’s interface.
New quest: a quest for a quest – how meta!
You’ve been given a quest by the enigmatic Galvez; you’re to find someone suitable to complete a raid. Venture forth, and the quest will find the quester.
Galvez waved her off and relit his pipe. Ember walked away and then stopped when Galvez was out of sight. She snuck back, peeped at where Galvez had been and nodded to herself; Galvez had vanished.
In actual fact, Galvez had heard her returning and ducked down behind the rock he’d been sitting on. He had to bite his lip to stop the laughter as Ember returned and then left. Once he’d finished smoking his pipe, he tapped it out, took the good remnants from the ash and tucked them into a waxed paper bag before sinking slowly into the earth.
*
Ember had finished her stretches and was washing in the river; she’d found a hollow in the river bank where she could bathe without being in view of the distant shore – not because she was bashful, but because an archer could hide on the distant shore and snipe at her. Holly’s upside-down head popped into view from above, and Ember cursed under her breath.
‘Mind if I join you?’ Holly asked.
Ember shrugged.
Moments later, Holly was naked and wading over to Ember. ‘Wow! That’s cold,’ Holly declared.
‘Yeah,’ Ember concurred.
‘I’ve got mud up my back from falling over yesterday. Would you wash my back?’ Holly asked in a soft, enticing voice.
Ember agreed, and as she washed Holly’s back, Holly turned, her breasts pressing against Ember; Ember’s knife pressed against Holly’s throat.
‘Don’t,’ Ember said without inflection.
‘S-sorry… I thought…’ Holly stuttered before tailing off.
‘I don’t like being touched,’ Ember stated, which was true. She was paid to be touched, but it didn’t mean she liked it. She never allowed herself to orgasm; when she came, it was always followed by a flood of memories.
‘But aren’t you… I mean you talk like you’re this confident, sexual woman,’ Holly babbled, clearly embarrassed.
‘I’ll forgive you – just this once,’ Ember declared, and then she backed away before using her ice spell to create a platform to carry her to the shore.
Ember dressed and left Holly to wash; she was soon back with the dwarfs, and she had her pack tied and adjusted before Holly returned.
‘We’re in the bogs now; no more cleaning until we’re out, I’d imagine,’ Holly said briskly.
Ember had expected Holly to brush off their encounter; Ember somewhat envied Holly’s social skills.
*
When the crew finally entered Arsène’s home, Clang was genuinely thrilled to be off on the road once more, and everyone was happy to see Clang back to full health. They told the story of what had happened since they’d left, and Arsène was delighted with his gift: Lyre presented him with a first edition Huis Clos and the grimoire of Lovecraft, which was encased in a lead box.
‘Fascinating, I’ve heard of Lovecraft (who hasn’t?), but I never thought I’d get his grimoire. This is far too generous,’ Arsène declared.
‘You saved Clang, and despite his mouth, he’s one of us,’ Lyre said.
‘Did you know Lovecraft met Lovelace? I wonder if it’s recorded?’ Arsène was almost crooning over his acquisition.
‘I did, and it is. But did you know that Lovecraft was a banshee? He makes no reference to his species in the book, but if you read between the lines, it’s clear.’
‘Is that so? I shall study this quite carefully,’ Arsène stated. ‘Where are you heading?’
‘We shall head out along the Crag, then to tunnel 257.’
‘The Crag?’ Arsène inhaled at the word.
‘What’s the Crag?’ Ember asked.
Lyre explained: ‘It’s an old battle ground, from some three generations ago.’
‘I’m not as up on my dwarven highways as I should be; tunnel 257 – isn’t that near all the trouble?’ Arsène enquired.
‘There’s trouble everywhere,’ Zyol cut in briskly.
‘Of course, as a hermit, the idea is anathema to me – but you must travel dangerous roads daily?’ Arsène suggested.
‘You have your place; we need thinkers, as we’re forgetting too much. But such overcaution isn’t dwarfish,’ Zyol grunted.
‘Wouldn’t life be awful if we were all the same?’ Arsène challenged, smiling.
‘We’ve intruded on your cogitations for too long; if the dwarfs are to remember what we are, we must allow you to get back to your thoughts – like an Auguste Rodin statue,’ Alban said with a bow.
They left Arsène, descended to the bog and were quickly up to their knees in mud.
‘This Fatemeh seems like a proper psycho,’ Clang said conversationally.
‘Oh, she is! I’ve heard bits and pieces about her. I’m impressed you’ve managed to survive two attempts by her to kill you; normally, she’s batting a perfect innings,’ Holly interjected, nodding. (This reference to “batting” and “innings” doesn’t refer to baseball but a game called “ratch ’n’ catch”, which involves a creature called a “raconteur” (the etymology of which is mainly from this game, but let’s not get bogged down with too many explanations at this point). Pine cones are fed to the raconteur, which will sporadically fling out a pine cone; the game is then very similar to baseball, with the batter trying to hit the pine cones.)
‘Well, she’s never dealt with dwarfs before,’ Zyol boasted.
‘I see,’ Holly mused.