Whether S’Trace meant to let Tim see the exhaustion in his slow steps, Tim didn’t know. If it was a show to create sympathy for the man’s efforts today, he had to admit it worked. The more Tim thought about it, the less he suspected the warrior. His hard edge went with the shiftiness in his words, as though everything had to be a dance between living and caring for each step. Had he been forced to survive this long by himself, waiting and training for the day when a know nothing aura mage would save the day… well, he might be salty and a bit tight with information, too.
Maybe his Danger Sense misfiring like the twitching in his fingers. Adrenaline overload showed its other side. Tim just wanted rest.
Either way, he should be thankful for the bed seemingly reserved for him. Aura manifested a cushion of cloud inches above its padding and was long enough to let him stretch out.
S’Trace rolled onto his bed. It absorbed him with the delicacy of sprinkles falling on a donut. “Go ahead,” he told Tim, and groaned in relief. “Oh… it’s ember.”
Tim took S’Trace’s smile to make that a good thing and laid onto the bed. It received him like a dream, cushioning all the pain points across his back and down his legs. The aura enchantment drew out the stiffness in his calves, his hamstrings, his neck… even a particularly sore spot across the top of his skull. 8 and a half level fiery agony dialed down to 5 within seconds. Then slowly dissipated in waves.
“There you go,” S’Trace said, his soothing tone easing the tension further. “I thought about what I said and how it may have been perceived. What you’re afraid of, being the target for the Hunt. You can change the course. You can take advantage of this opportunity and go back to the Murphy a new man.
“Our goal is shared in that respect. I need you to grow in power so we can save my brother. After that, we’ll go our own way and perhaps meet again. Khempal is a strong ally, especially for a traveler like yourself. Do you have any other friends here?”
Tim considered if that was too revealing. They were party members, so much had already been shared. He curated the info about meeting the fivel, his hunting of Lias, and the Farar camp where he last saw those friends. He ended with how they were waiting for the Farar and Melody to bring back Krow allies, hopefully before tonight—origin time, not enclave time.
Exhaustion drained him into the bed. Whether from the medicine or the passing of adrenaline, he and S’Trace had a good hoot recalling Tim’s attempt to scale the wall. It felt good to let some of the stress out with laughter. Maybe S’Trace respected him a little more after that tale. It was hard to read, but he seemed a little more willing to trust Tim. Maybe he’d had it backwards before. Maybe it wasn’t a lie that he’d read, but discernment on how much truth he intended to share with Tim.
“You’re from Brec but you’re also a Krow,” Tim started, about to test that freedom of information.
“That’s right. M’bochen and Krow. Best of both and you can tell my brother the same,” he said and added a wink. “Many nations and classes are represented in the Krows, though none from the Dutchy or Zevehe.” S’Trace refilled Tim’s mushroom tea. Brown steam puffed and curled over the rim of Tim’s wooden cup. Kind of a soup cup-sized utensil S’Trace had said was enchanted with aura restoration. At his lips, the cup interacted with his aura to send concentrated doses into his most damaged channels. This also trained his aura to send reinforcement waves after it. Heightened awareness of those channels filled in like color to a map.
Tim let the cup sit with a little left, feeling the warm buzz and thinking he should pace himself. “Who are the Krow? I don’t know much about them aside from our shared hatred for the Cartel and they live near the hot springs. What do they stand for?”
“Protection of what is best for our world. Stealth is our way. You never would have found us if we didn’t want you here.”
“Does that make Aeu a Krow?”
“No, but he’s close enough. We gave him a challenger’s coin. He was too dedicated to his castle and everyone in it. We considered him an unofficial Krow.”
“So what do you do?” Tim asked.
“We use our blade, our coin, and our time cleaning the scraps off from under the table. The Cartel is one of those scraps. Sometimes we clean them out from under the table, and other times, when we find a heaping pile, we clean the whole room. The table is our pillar for the society we hope for. It holds what matters to our world. Cartel and beasts like the vahkel are like worthless scraps toward the ultimate goal of the clean ecosystem. But they’re good enough for us to live on.”
Tim could align with that. This was as far different from his past life as elementary school flag duty was to joining the DEA. “Before I came here, I was a security guard. I picked it up after getting fired for hanging up on a customer at my call center job. At times I hated the boredom. Sometimes I fought the sense that it was the best I could do. My wife’s death left me even more trapped in the feeling I was meant to do little more than… well most days just being on time and smiling for our guests and clients. I could do that. Being here, being given this new life as an aura ranger.” He equipped his short sword and showed S’Trace what Jil made for him.
“Farji.” S’Trace saluted with his glass, buoyant in the sway and his weariness. “May your legend live long and many scraps cleaned by your hand.”
“Amen.” Tim let his hand thud on his bare chest. The skin was warm with the power circulating in his blood and aura. His heart pounded heavy strokes he could do little more than absorb and cycle it into c-mana and his AF. “After Rachel’s death, that purpose, that life, vanished.”
S’Trace gave the sentiment a moment to exhale. “We have plenty of worthwhile purposes to follow.” He sipped his drink, watching Tim with a hunter’s eye. “Like the crow, we must keep a vigilant eye on our field. We live to keep it clean. We’ll kill to protect our own.”
S’Trace leveled an eye wisened from much experience, he surmised. Flashbacks came to life of the Drakkon he killed, and the Crimoan he shot. Tim still couldn’t believe this was his life. “The things I saw in the memories of those who died for Squire’s Castle… and the fivel, and Gregor’s betrayal. The ones who’ve hunted me since I got here. I guess I’ll kill too, for a good reason.”
“Good. Where I’m going. Where the Krow are going. We can’t afford to train someone or ally with someone who’ll flush when we need them to strike.”
“I’m not perfect. But I’ll get there.”
S’Trace measured Tim’s reply. His aura emanated a father’s rule of law and tested to see if it would pass. “We’ll see about that.”
The answer hurt, but it wasn’t a lethal blow. “How’d you become a Krow?”
“You think you can be like me?”
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Tim gave a coy smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good, because you don’t want what I went through to join the Krows.” S’Trace’s glance spoke of plotting and potential danger. He set his empty cup down and adjusted his seat for the long haul, barely hiding a coy smile of his own.
He retrieved two smooth, silver balls from his pouch. They hummed as he rolled them within his palm. White hot light filled out from the nuclei, casting the rims with a beautiful pink aura.
Tim’s head relaxed and weighed backward to rest on his pillow.
“There you go. How about I show you through a Spirit Memory?”
“Didn’t…you say, I wouldn’t want…” Encroaching darkness filtered through Tim to leave him lost and fleeting.
Where am I going?
“Consider this training of the aura in your mind. There is intel to be gathered while you’re there. I’m sending you back to the early days of the artisans and their rogue leveling. Keep an eye out for the Spirit Memories of the locals here. And be sure you come back when you’re done.”
S’Trace’s voice faltered under the weight of dark distance. A vast sea stretched between them. Tim woke to the lapping and scratching of what smelled like Tonda licking his face. What was S’Trace saying about memories and artisans?
“It’s about time,” Indi said, close by and cranky as usual.
Was that a dream? Am I in the aura chamber? His eyes adjusted to the darkness of dawn. A willow tree type with long overhanging white-flowered branches draped all around him. Their orchard traced the river on a winding path toward a city with blacksmith-drawn smoke pillars and cart and oxen sitting still in the early morning calm.
“Where are we?” Tim asked.
Dryfu climbed his arm to get a look. He was equipped in a black metal body armor. “Dykiller” was stenciled in yellow mid thorax. The green shell underneath added an aesthetically pleasing background color along with the suspicion of greater protection.
“That’s Padstoligan. A better question would be when.”
Tonda nudged Tim’s hand, and he gladly pet her head. She sensed the adventure to come and emoted an aura of excitement to match the one brewing in Tim’s gut. He remembered so little of what S’Trace said before he left. Nonetheless, going to the city had to be the first step. He was being tested in some way to prove his worth to the Krows. He clicked his tongue on his teeth, calling Tonda to follow him. “Let’s find out,” he told Dryfu.
Indi peeked his head out of one of the pockets in Tonda’s backpack. “I smell a hunt!”
Frogs and the serene joy of morning bird song serenaded their trek to the cities’ front gates. Its defending wall was a fortune nicer than Squire’s Castle. At least twenty times its size with farms and the bustle of early morning industries. Farmers and wanderers welcoming their day as any other, a chance to get ahead, or to not fall any farther. He took a side path where he foraged some berries and leaves he wrapped into a dozen potions before they reached the main entrance.
A fivel scurried down a path and dipped into a hole in the castle wall. Blue paint marked the entrance with the same symbol drawn by Oke beside the coordinates to his ally’s burg. This must be their hive’s entrance to the city.
Tim put that in his back pocket as a trio came to greet them, their sauntering and peerless glares akin to that of a sheriff with his marshals scoping out the new kids in town.
“What brings you to Padstoligan, friends?” the sheriff with the sly grin. A gold star was pinned to the insignia badge on his vest, a black shield with yellow border and crosses stitched like a fence around the black center. He and his friends wore dark hats over darker brows. Blades on their belts shone with fresh polish, a master craftsman’s stroke, and enchantments too high to Analyze.
Time to show he’s more than an out of work security guard. “We’re friends of a fivel burg not far from here,” Tim said, charming them with the tone of someone frustrated and lost. He shrugged. “If we could find a quick bite, I don’t want to impose on my friends with our—”
“You having fun playing ranger?” one of the men behind the sheriff asked.
Tim rested his hand on his belt. If he had to draw his blade, he’d need every microsecond.
Tonda growled beside him.
This was escalating faster than Tim expected. His friends back in the origin didn’t have time for him to dally. This cocky young sheriff had already committed to showing off in front of his friends. Better Tim act now before that sliver of a shot passed by. “Almost as much fun as I had meeting you.” He walked forward and the sheriff stepped into his way.
Tonda sprang into action. The sheriff’s best barely got an arm up in front of his face. She bit deep into his forearm. Tim backed up, hands up. Distraction three. Spotting a pocket lining the inside of sheriff's single buttoned and parted open vest, he mentally commanded, Indi, now.
Dryfu planned his attack on the sheriff's cross hand at the same time Indi jumped for the hidden pocket. The dykiller’s blow stung the sheriff and perfectly hid Indi.
The deputes reached for their blades.
“Tonda heel,” Tim said.
She bounced off before the punk could draw his blade.
Then, before Tonda escaped the looting ring of three feet, an item passed from Indi directly into her back pouch.
Crap. No, Tim thought, not wanting the sheriff to notice and his plan go to waste. Tonda exited a green, now red transparent ring outside the sheriff's reach. Meaning the gift was now his to deal with it.
The sheriff drew a sawed-off from behind his belt. A side cannon extended and a clicking from the cylinders spun a bullet into place. The foot-long blade on the other side remained in place to give the barrel precedence for this attack. Lucky him.
“Easy, there Ope,” Tim said, picking a nickname intending to send the punk’s mind elsewhere than Tim’s companions. Namely, the one switching pockets. Indi, what are you doing? Stay there.
Tonda spun and started to leap back into the fray to defend her.
“No,” Tim ordered, hand down to stop her.
A glare of wicked amusement crossed Ope’s face as his attention locked on Tonda.
Tim cast Battleground and Keeper on her, then sparked his phy core belt and activated Aura Shield.
“Cat Smack!” He said and Peel-Parried his shield into the barrel.
A static discharge popped and a whoosh escaped the cannon. Magic coalesced into a line of white light shot into the air and disappeared. Without his aura sight, he might have seen nothing. The concentration of power impressed him enough to back up as another round clicked into place.
Again, hands up. This time without the Ope comment.
He’d let the Peel go in a small enough burst to save Tonda while also warning the sheriff not to escalate any further. If he did, it would cost him. All the same, it cost Tim enough AF to hope he didn’t have to do much more. He didn’t have enough to take all three down. Not when what he wanted was for them to walk away with Indi in tow, his spy in the wings. Then he’d get real intel.
“You like that gun?” Tim asked, hand over his short blade and ready to Peel. “I’d hate to watch you weep in front of your friends when I slice it in two.”
“You have been playing ranger.” The sheriff tapped beneath an eye; his gaze shifted from foe to potential associate.
A fair chunk of Negotiator XP percolated in Tim’s storage.
Tim relaxed his hand from above the sword. “We’re just here for breakfast. It’s been an active couple days. Once we get a hot meal and a place to rest, we’ll be fine.” Tim slid out a leaf wrap he’d pouched on the way and extended it palm up. “Potion for your troubles.”
Blood dripped from Sheriff Ope’s sleeve. He accepted the potion from Tim with a calculating glare. “You here to join the Krows?”
“I’ll answer that if you tell me where you got that cannon.”
Ope smiled. His prize. Everyone loves to brag on their toys, but he knew discernment in this at least. “I don’t think so, stranger. You got first blood and provoked first contact, so I’ll grant you its name. Princess Pearl.”
Tim scoffed. “Not what you call it in bed. What kind of gun is it? I haven’t seen anything that advanced.”
Tim hadn’t but playing into being a non-threat to the sheriff meant dropping clues of his lower experience. Don’t worry about the stranger who’s never even seen, insert new toy he’s dying to brag on.
“Buy you breakfast if you let me hold it,” Tim added.
“I like the sound of that.” Ope waved over the money. “Let’s see it. You even have coins for around here?”
“Not yet, but I have a friend who does. S’Trace is one of two M’bochen I’m planning to meet. If you show me where they’re staying, I’m sure they’ll be glad to treat you and your deputies.”
Ope pushed the revolver chamber and dropped the shimmering pearls into his cupped hand. He slapped it shut and turned the handle toward Tim. “Just so happens we were gonna meet S’Trace and his brother too. this evening before the raid. I’ll love to wake him up so you can tell him he’s buying us some of Sal’s steaks and eggs. I’m hungry.”
Tim was too. While admiring the jeweled embezzling on the polished wooden handle, he checked his inventory for what Indi stole.
Foraging skill expanded to Stealing, Level 1.
A thick pool in his new skill’s XP storage suggested great value to what he stole.
His inventory read:
Sheriff Lank’s Ledger.
Suddenly the weapon in his hand paled in comparison to the wealth of intel in Tonda’s pouch. Now he needed privacy to read it before his low-level Stealing got him caught.