“Stella,” the weary hero rubbed the bridge of their nose in frustration, having difficulty relaying the same information for the third time in a row. “I took what I want. You should take what you need and use the rest on the Guild.”
“I will not take that much money.”
They were debating about what to do with the wages Hallvar “earned” by merely existing as a hero. It was an uncomfortable amount of coinage for everyone involved, it seemed, which made the discussion even more difficult to resolve.
“I don’t want it either! As I said, you should take how many heads is comfortable for you, to use on your house that you’re letting me stay in for free.”
“Hallvar, you don’t understand,” the elf began with equal amounts of discomfort in her voice. “You could buy several houses with this money. Fully furnished, even!”
Groaning, the hero sat back down at the kitchen table. They tapped their talons on the wood, it made a nice clicking sound to help them think.
“Okay, I’ll make you a deal.”
They hoped their paltry charisma – or, better yet, whatever charm Stella found in them – worked its magic so everyone could move on.
“I kept 4 heads as emergency money. That’s like 6000 loafs, right?” It was; Hallvar did the math earlier when deciding what felt like an acceptable number to retain.
Hallvar set out four coins on the table, shoving them in the woman’s direction.
“You keep 4 too, so we’re even, and I’ll figure out what to do with the rest.”
They gestured up to Pipkin, gnawing on a coin high up in her pitcher-nest.
“She can even keep her treasure, that’s how little I care about this! It can be the emergency emergency money.”
Stella was less defensive as she replied, her voice tired. “Hallvar, I don’t want—”
The hero was ready. “If you don’t take those four coins, so help me, I’ll drop them in your shoes and sew them into your coat and just leave them everywhere until you accept it.”
The couple exchanged glares, squinting more and more aggressively until it was a mockery of the original expression.
Stella laughed first. “Fine, but if I start finding more coins in my things, you’re in trouble.”
“I promise you, the ghost of Financial Dependence is not on the horizon. If anything, you’re basically funding my lifestyle.”
Only two days passed since they returned from the castle. They left first thing in the morning; Stella went back to work the same day, citing she had responsibilities or whatnot.
That was more than reasonable. Hallvar didn’t really enjoy laying around doing nothing as much as they were having trouble conceptualizing where their life was headed next.
They spent a few hours attempting to write and draw, a task made infinitely harder with the new talons. It was infuriating to the point of tears – this was Hallvar’s one coping mechanism during the first few months in Aestrux and it wasn’t fair that it was taken away so quickly.
They got over it after a little internal tantrum and a snack, pleased to learn that while it was difficult, they just needed to shift their grip and practice before the lines started coming out smoother and smoother.
The promise that their one hobby would eventually return to normal was uplifting, even if Hallvar had to take a break because their joints and callouses were feeling sore.
The success gave the hero some unearned confidence, so they revisited the system and opened the list of beastshaper forms. Hallvar made as many system queries as they could think of about the offense form requirements, gaining exactly one piece of new information after dozens of questions were denied.
While the travel form depleted a minimal amount of stamina and magic – an amount that returned after a few hours of merely existing – the offense form required substantially more. Stamina was something Hallvar had in spades, as it was based on endurance.
Magic, however… The hero had to gather magic, overflowing their own metaphorical cup before the vessel could increase in size. [ skill: meditate ] was certainly there, but Hallvar was… a little nervous about making the attempt again.
Being caught while meditating in the dungeon put a spike of fear in their muscle memory, any attempt to concentrate broken by fear of being observed.
On the third morning, after their entertaining spat about finances, Hallvar decided that no meditation was happening in this house.
They geared up for an adventure, waterskin dutifully filled this time, and grabbed the coffer of coins before heading directly to the guild.
Even though they spent such a short time together, Pipkin knew that she was supposed to sit on the single pauldron made for her, therefore when Hallvar put it on, that meant they were doing something interesting.
She cheeped at the guild staff as the hero entered, greeted by everyone cheerfully.
It felt strange, stranger than everything else.
The guild staff were used to adventurers wandering in and out at odd intervals. Every few days for short quests, weeks or months for longer quests.
To the staff, Hallvar merely left on a quest that proved to be a little too difficult. Maybe Hallvar disappeared for a while to recover or had to spend a night in a cell for disorderly conduct.
There were rumors that Hallvar was at the castle, sure, but with all the drama surrounding Cyciphos, a single adventurer who got caught up in the action? Not that intriguing.
No one needed to know that Hallvar was the 5th hero. It seemed the guildmaster and Stella both kept the information to themselves.
So, it felt strange to be greeted like nothing happened, like the past few weeks – months, really – hadn’t been hectic and harrowing.
Strange and normal, somehow.
Hallvar nodded at the greetings, gesturing to the back with the heavy coffer, as if to say they were going upstairs. No one tried to stop them. The day of shouting and angry noises from the upper floor cemented that the red-haired adventurer and the guildmaster had some private relationship unknown to the guild.
Stella refused to answer questions, but Zarin currently had the most well-supported guess – that Hallvar fulfilled a few questionably legal requests from the guildmaster and the time in Saltkrow, plus the guildmaster’s absence, was a result of being caught.
Using the toe of their boot, Hallvar “knocked” just in case someone else was present, but they entered the guildmaster’s office anyways.
While maintaining eye contact with an unfazed Viktor, they set the coffer on his desk.
“This is your problem now.”
The guildmaster watched the hero leave without another word. He opened the coffer, raising his eyebrows at the sight of the coins.
Viktor refilled the ink in his pen before beginning a new line in his ledgers.
➳ ➳ ➳
Hallvar was grateful to get out of the house and get moving. They enjoyed relaxing with no purpose for a few hours at a time, but after that, it started to feel grating.
What they really, really needed to do was to meditate and acquire more magic. That could only be accomplished somewhere Hallvar felt safe and unbothered.
For Hallvar, that didn’t mean no danger as much as it meant no humans. No entity to watch them who had enough sentience to bother them.
They took flight, the sensation of being whittling and reduced disconcerting no matter how many times Hallvar transformed.
The akergryph and the fish hawk wandered down the coast, away from the capital. They stopped at rocky tidepools and marshes to catch lunch and to let Pipkin play as the now-human Hallvar tried to gather magic within them.
Some places felt more magical than others.
When Hallvar meditated, they could sense radiating tendrils of magic, soft and barely noticeable, from nearby objects.
A cluster of dotted lilies with their red-hairy root systems felt like a dim aura as they wavered in the breeze near the meditating adventurer.
In another location, a portion of the pebbly shore felt insistently magical as Hallvar sat by it. Through a process of trial and error, they determined that the source was a gastropod shell, delicately striped and glittery. Nothing seemed to be living inside – Hallvar let Pipkin eagerly check with her little claws – so they pocketed it to show Stella later.
After more fish for the pair, Hallvar led them further down the coastline. Something in the far distance intrigued the hero, a glimmer of the ever-present island off the coast whose shade on the horizon was visible even from the capital.
They landed to let Pipkin rest – she could keep up with the fish hawk but it was much more tiring for the akergryph as she had tiny wings in comparison. They sat on a branch, patiently watching the ocean as Pipkin pushed herself under their wing to rest.
It was as emotional as the hawk-brain could allow. Hallvar’s emotions still existed as a beast, but they felt like afterthoughts. Their fish hawk sensibilities recognized Pipkin as offspring to be cared for; their human mind found her endearing and cute.
After a nap, they set off for the mysterious island in the distance. It was a longer flight than Hallvar predicted. Pipkin flagged halfway and fell into the ocean, sending both the akergryph and the hero into a panic.
Luckily, Hallvar was the bird equivalent of a land-to-sea aircraft. They landed in the waves near the shrieking akergryph and let her climb onto their back between their wings.
Hallvar used their wings to float, spreading them out wide as Pipkin scrambled for a grip. As soon as the hero was certain she wouldn’t fall off, they began pumping their broad wings to take flight.
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Pipkin held on tightly, her front claws digging into Hallvar’s birdy shoulders. It was uncomfortable for everybeast involved, but the hero powered through, heading for the lighthouse on the rocky island ahead.
The island hosted the ruins of a great stone building on it, half broken and littered with reedgrass. There were a few scraggly trees, beaten down by the sea winds, but the island seemed to be almost entirely rock with clusters of grass and lichen.
Hallvar landed near the base of the short lighthouse, allowing the akergryph to climb down before they returned to human. They picked the little beast up and cradled her close so she could warm up. She was freezing from the sea water and cold winds, her slick feathers fluffed up to try and retain some warmth.
“I’m sorry, Pipkin, I didn’t mean to. We’ll get you dried off.”
The hero eyed the lighthouse, wondering if anyone was home. Were lighthouses in their old world automated now? Historically, lighthouses had to be staffed. That’s why there were so many movies and games about lighthouse keepers that went mad from the isolation.
Hallvar approached the door, using their boot to kick out a few knocks so they could help the akergryph keep warm. They heard the door open as they were repositioning Pipkin better, speaking quickly.
“Sorry, I know you probably live on this island for a reason, but my beast companion is freezing and I’m afraid if we stay in this wind for much longer, she’ll go hypothermic. Coul—”
The hero looked up mid-rambling to see… a skeleton.
It had indigo tattoo-like markings along its bones, painted or stained on as if someone was refurbishing a dresser, not a once-was-human.
Hallvar looked at the skeleton; the skeleton… looked at Hallvar.
Well, this was odd, but the entity wasn’t aggressive. Was it racist to assume this wasn’t a living being in the same way that humans were? Should Hallvar reach for their axe?
The hero rolled the metaphorical dice: “Could… we come in to shelter from the wind? For a few minutes?”
With remarkable fluidity, the skeleton moved out of the way.
The interior of the lighthouse was dark and chilly. That made sense. Skeletons didn’t have eyes so they probably didn’t need any light sources.
“Thank you,” Hallvar said out of politeness, hoping sheer hospitality and manners would save them from this scenario.
“Do you mind… if we light a fire?”
The skeleton looked at the hero. In the darkness, Hallvar could see that there were two pinpoints of red-tinted light in their eye sockets. Eyes, perhaps.
Then the skeleton left, opening up the door to the windy island and walking away.
Okay. Well. Hallvar stayed in the lighthouse, looking around for a blanket or maybe the scraps of an old potato sack or really anything that they could easily wrap around the akergryph to help.
They scoured the small lighthouse, even walking up to the upper deck thing to see if there was a blanket or dunno, a chair with a skeleton jacket for the skeleton keeper.
Hallvar was a little surprised at how small this lighthouse was, but they supposed that since the rocky island was already tall, the lighthouse didn’t need to be built exceptionally high to be functional.
As they climbed down the rickety stairs from the upper level, Hallvar silently wished they had an eyepatch or something to use in the traditional way. The outside of the lighthouse was bright from the sun reflecting off of the water; the stairwell down to the pitch black first floor became harrowing as Hallvar’s eyes failed to adjust.
It was on the last few steps that the hero became aware of a figure in the doorway. The skeleton returned! That was neat, Hallvar supposed. Why did it leave in the first place?
Their eyes adjusted further to spot a second figure, standing outside of the doorway’s glow.
They stopped on the last stair, instantly unnerved.
It wasn’t that this figure seemed angry or aggressive, nor did their stance show any ill-intent – no raised weapons, only a magical staff with an indigo tint at the end. They simply radiated an intense feeling.
It was similar to how the guildmaster projected himself, a subtle tension, except this person didn’t radiate the looming of a predator.
No… as Hallvar’s eyes adjusted, they could see more of the person, the man waiting there. He was wearing a fur-lined cloak that covered most of his large body. He was balding but had… horns that swooped over his skull and dark spots that Hallvar took to be moles or… scales? Was that possible?
This person had the complex intensity of an academic or a librarian, curious why you were reshelving that book as it had yet to be documented as of interest to the general public yet, or why you intentionally broke the spine of that book.
Hallvar realized they were rudely staring at the man, and they snapped into motion, taking the final step down and speaking apologetically.
“Sorry, I was expecting the skeleton again. I—We, my beast companion and I, stopped here to rest and let her dry off. She fell into the ocean. We’ll be on our way as soon as she’s safe.”
Pipkin shivered as the hero held her up. Hallvar would have teased her for being a paid actor if they weren’t so concerned about her well-being.
The horned man cleared his throat gently. “Where are my manners, am I without home teaching? Verily, we shall take tea. Let’s go.”
He spoke to the skeleton – “Thank you, Tediford, that will be all.” – before leading the hero elsewhere.
Hallvar nodded at the skeleton in thanks on the way out, convinced they were heading to drink tea in the ancient ruin or maybe go be ritually sacrificed.
That seemed a bit fantasy racist to suggest though, the hero chided themselves internally. Just because this stranger was a necromancer and seemed to have extensive tattoos judging by the stripes on the back of his neck, and definitely had dark blue-purple scales to match his grey-black horns – that didn’t make him a bad guy, yanno?
By the time they reached the doorway, Hallvar came to terms about citing a kids movie about a fictional arcade game to solve their internal argument.
The entrance was tucked into the side of the steep cliff face, not through the dilapidated ruins like Hallvar expected. They waited in a small entryway – a mudroom from Hallvar’s modern knowledge – while the mage hung up the furred cloak.
Hallvar was encouraged to leave their pack, weapons, and “uncomfortable armor” in the entryway, as it was unnecessary for tea. They hesitated but complied. Maybe this was a terrible horror movie situation, but the strange mage didn’t seem unfriendly. Simply weird.
It helped that their [unique skill: bad luck boon] hadn’t registered when they were caught intruding by the occupant of this island. Hallvar felt somewhat confident in the system’s ability to warn them of danger, even subtly and inadvertently.
The discomforting balance of horror movie and innocuous weirdo did not change once Hallvar entered the man’s dwelling.
A long hallway was dotted with doorways to the various rooms of the horned man’s home, but it was admittedly hard to see the doors amongst all the decorations.
It was a macabre menagerie, taxidermy beasts and framed insects, pinned insects and mounted skulls. Given the mage’s skeleton friend, Hallvar was happy to note that there were no human, or humanoid, skulls mounted on the walls.
Without the slightest consideration of the strange decor, the mage led Hallvar to a kitchen. There was no taxidermy here, only herbs strung up from hooks on wooden beams and the distinct smell of dried fish.
“Here we are,” the mage stated, calling out to the hallway as he filled a kettle to put on the fire. “Riosa, bring a basket and a cloth.”
As quickly as called, a skeleton appeared. This one had different markings than the first, but was predictably similar, given it was fleshless animated bones. Hallvar did not hide their interest as they watched the skeleton move about, curious if the magical connections were perceptible or invisible.
She – Riosa – provided the basket and the cloth. It took Hallvar a moment to understand these were for Pipkin.
“Thank you,” they said, choosing politeness once again, in case these skeletal creatures were fully sentient.
Hallvar gently wrapped up the akergryph like a kitten post-bath, putting her in the basket to sit near the fireplace and warmth. She bundled down contentedly, still shivering but clearly feeling more comfortable now that she was warmed by something other than the body heat of her beastmaster.
They crouched by the akergryph to scratch her head and reassure her, but eventually manners had to take precedence over pets.
When they stood, Hallvar was intrigued to see the mage conducting what appeared to be a tea ceremony. The hero didn’t know much about tea, but thanks to social media, algorithms, and 30-second videos, they had been exposed to what a tea ceremony looked like from several nations.
Hesitant to interrupt, they observed the mage instead of the tea. He certainly did have horns and scales, the latter patterned across his face and neck like age spots. The skin where the scales connected was delicately tinted blue-purple, appearing like strange bruises against the mage’s warm toned complexion.
He had grey-dark hair circling the crown of his head, balding at the top. Hallvar vaguely wondered if, before the mage began to bald, it was difficult to brush his hair around the horns.
They didn’t think to question the horns or scales, chalking it up to a necromancer trait or perhaps a lesser-known race of humanoids. Elves existed, after all, so demons or such could totally be a thing. It seemed entirely rude to ask.
And besides, if Hallvar could have talons and remain human, this mage could have horns.
Riosa the skeleton took over cleaning the tea tray once their drinks were served. The mage took both teas to a table at the side of the room, where Hallvar followed.
“Thank you for letting us inside,” the hero began once seated, uncertain what social protocols they were supposed to be following but certain that something had to be done. “I didn’t intend for us to intrude on your day – or your island. Well, not like this, at least.”
The mage looked at the hero with a twinkle of curiosity on his aged face. “It is a satisfying intrusion, nonetheless. What are you looking for here?”
Good question.
Hallvar drank their tea, aligning the day’s rash decisions in what was probably an acceptable explanation. “We were looking for somewhere to meditate along the coastline. I saw this island at a distance and got too curious for my own good.”
“Aiyah – you sailed here to meditate?”
The odds of this person, a necromancer with scales and horns and a general strangeness about them, becoming unnerved by an admission of shapeshifting from Hallvar were very low.
They risked it.
“No, we flew over but it was too far for Pipkin.”
The mage looked at the basket near the fireplace. “She is Pipkin and you flew with her-?”
The phrasing of the pause suggested that the mage was asking for a name.
“Hallvar,” they provided, holding out a hand to shake.
The strange mage immediately grabbed onto the hero’s hand, flipping it over to examine their talons. They didn’t know what to think, other than comparing the sensation to getting a manicure as the mage poked and prodded Hallvar’s fingertips.
“You possess an extra bone in each finger,” the man said, reminding Hallvar immediately that this was a necromancer. He had pointed nails too, but they were human in shape, merely longer and seemingly thicker than average.
“The talons would rip off with any snag, otherwise,” Hallvar noted, having had this same dialogue internally while filing down the sharp points.
The mage looked up at them intensely, eyes scanning over Hallvar’s hairline and the sides of their face, searching not just looking.
“You do not possess horns,” the mage stated, sounding more and more intrigued.
“I don’t know what that means,” the hero replied, adding on an obvious sentiment. “Or who you are.”
It was the mage’s turn to seem confused, looking into Hallvar’s eyes to verify that they were sincere in their statement.
“I am called Rubert,” he added slowly.
Hallvar now knew how Kiran felt when they presented their name so uncertainly. It sounded like the mage had to find a name on the spot to use. That was fine, Hallvar guessed.
Rubert had more questions, however, and he presented them before the hero could give a nice greeting.
“You are a curiosity if what you say is truth. You flew here to this island to gather magic? And, if that is the case, then you are one who changes shape, forthy your possessions of talons. Where are you from that you possess such magic?”
Forthy? Hallvar was completely willing to look past strange verbiage and wording, as there were a lot of nations on this continent, but something about the way Rubert spoke was odd beyond linguistic differences.
“I live in Amnasín,” the hero answered, trying to be tactful.
The old mage lit up, a smile stretching across his cheerful face. “I visit Koziaruk-Hinnari often, are you near to it?”
The hero tried to pull up the system map and search for that name, but without knowing how it was spelled, Hallvar came up with nothing.
“Uh, I live in the Capital, on the outskirts.”
Rubert’s smile grew wider. “Forsooth! That is close. And you did fly here from the Capital?”
Hallvar was beginning to feel like they made a misstep somewhere along the line, but the mage’s temperament and friendliness did not change.
“I did, yes. I know that is weird, but it is part of my subclass.”
Rubert chuckled at the hero. “You have borne witness to my taste in decorations. I revel in the weird.”
The hero did not attempt an argument against his claim. He lifted his teacup to drink, peering over it in a way that made Hallvar pause.
In that instant, the fat, cheerful man with scales and tattoos and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth became reminiscent of an alligator peering over the water from its hiding place.
Hallvar blinked at the feeling was gone. This was a jovial, odd-speaking mage, nothing more.
“But if you, indeed, came here not for any greater purpose than to seek magic, I would like to offer my help.”
What.
“Why?” The hero asked incredulously. “I don’t—I mean, I appreciate the tea and letting Pipkin warm up, but I’m having trouble connecting my sudden, uninvited arrival with any desire to teach me magic? Or whatever you’re offering?”
They were beginning to feel like this wasn’t a horror movie exactly but maybe a thriller? Where there was little gore but a lot of potential for danger. This was a necromancer, right?
Rubert smiled. “Three parts fate, seven parts hard work.”
Hallvar was grateful that this wasn’t another Queen who they needed to impress, but less riddles would be nice. “I don’t—”
“It was luck that brought you here. To increase your magic, you will need a good teacher and hard work. I find you of interest for a dragon’s hoard of reasons, none of which are more impressing than your desire to improve and your earnestness.”
The hero felt like a stray cat as they blankly looked at this mage, trying to assess why beyond this deceptively simple explanation.
Stella picked them up off the street and brought them home; they stayed for the affection and care. With many a meow and yowl, Hallvar forced Viktor to take them in and he tolerated them. Now, they wandered into this… abandoned manor, only to find the local wealthy eccentric wanted to teach them tricks and spoil them.
Were… they a stray cat? Was that what being a hero meant to this world?
Regardless, Hallvar had a decision to make.