Interlude - Confluence

Conrad strode purposefully through the crowded streets of Confluence. Ahead of him the buildings of the enormous city made even the grandest of buildings in the podunk town of Irondale look like shacks. Just up ahead was the neighborhood known as the Street of Heroes, and though he wanted to feel some small amount of pride for the modest wealth and comfortable space he afforded himself and his Seekers in Irondale, none of it meant anything unless you were one of the proud few that could lay claim to a guildhall along that storied avenue.

Beside him, and nearly impossible to get rid of throughout this entire visit, was Graham, Idris’ father and an obstacle he should be well past done dealing with. The man was saying something about his son and XP and what small plans he had for his boy. Likely the same thing he had been saying for the past day and a half of their brief visit here in the capital of everything, but it was just so much noise to Conrad now.

Here, in the excitement of the city where on every side the wealth and status of true conquest and power could be seen he had little extra space for Graham’s concerns.

He had to admit his head had been growing too big, surrounded by the mediocrities that bothered with Hive type dungeons and the rest of the yokels in irondale. It was humbling just being here.

Confluence and the Street of Heroes was a wake up call.

That was the real reason he liked to be the one leading these caravans from Irondale to Confluence. It wasn’t the money, or the desire to ensure his share of the loot that was sold got a fair price - and that the seller wasn’t cheating them - no. It was the reminder of where he stood in the world. And how far he had to climb.

In Irondale all doors were open to him, precious few though they may be. But here, his status was nothing more than what could be gleaned from a cast of Assess. He was only a tier three class, middling at best in crowds where tier fours were common, and tier fives’s had to fight to be known beyond the small circles of their favorite inns and taverns. Doors were literally locked to him until he achieved true renown - and the only way to do that was to get strong enough, accrue enough wealth and grow the Seekers to the point that they could no longer be ignored.

Then, he would stake his claim along this road, not in a humble inn as a common patron, but as the master of his own guild, with a name that would echo through generations.

He shouldered through crowds with a single destination in mind - The Peak. It was far from the grandest of taverns along the street - he wouldn’t be allowed into those - but of the less exclusive establishments it was the most renowned. And though it was less exclusive, that didn’t mean they had no door policy whatsoever.

They would deny Graham admittance, and Conrad could, at last, enjoy a single evening without the man pestering him incessantly.

The two men moved through the crowd. Weapon, potion, magical item and armor vendors of all types shouted the superiority of their goods from all directions at the road packed with adventurers. It nearly took a high level of strength and dexterity to move through the crowd of overpowered individuals and so, despite himself, he had to tip his cap inwardly to Graham for keeping up. It was the man’s dogged determination not to leave him be that necessitated Conrad’s somewhat early desire to make his pilgrimage to The Peak.

As they approached the large, two story building, its heavy stonework making it a permanent fixture on the Street of Heroes, Conrad nodded to Glen, the doorman. The hulking Bouncer stepped forward and put a hand out in a stopping gesture to Graham, halting him in his tracks.

Conrad gave what he hoped was a sincerely apologetic shrug, “I tried to warn you, friend. This establishment is for adventurers only. We can continue this discussion once we’re back on the road.”

“Just, one more thing,” Graham said reaching out for Conrad’s shoulder but missing as Glen shoved him back into a tall man behind him, “A Healer! Eana! You can use her and she would benefit from getting away from town!”

The man Graham had stumbled into recovered himself without incident. Conrad didn’t recognize him, which was hardly a surprise, but there was something about the armor he wore, it was light leather like a Ranger might wear, but ornate and not given over to the strict lack of decoration he would have expected. He carried himself like a warrior but his hair was long and unbound, not short like most of that type preferred.

But most of all it was his eyes. Mismatched. One of blue and one of a green so pure it bordered on emerald.

Conrad took all this in in a moment - situational awareness of threats around him was second nature - as Glen nodded the man through and Graham continued, “I didn’t want to suggest it before but… maybe you’d consider Eana in his place? She’s young, but a Healer has got to be worth more than another Warrior.”

“Graham, I’m not buying your children. You’ve heard my thoughts on it all already. Enough. I’ll see you at the caravan tomorrow,” he turned and held up a hand in goodbye while calling over his shoulder, “Don’t be late.”

He entered the comfortable firelit glow of The Peak and breathed out a sigh of relief. Finally some time to himself. He had work yet to do but for now a drink, maybe a couple of them, were all he need concern himself with.

He made his way over to the bar where he found the first benefit to having arrived before the evening rush. There were plenty of open stools.

Picking one on its own, he ordered a frothy mug of dark ale and relaxed himself into a state of comfort as he sipped the cool drink and allowed his mind to go blank.

“The everyday battle gives the least experience. But that one,” a man said, just beside him, “was hard fought.”

Conrad looked over to see those same mismatched eyes he had noticed outside. The man signaled to the bartender and held up two fingers.

“Can’t say I recognize you, friend,” Conrad said, sizing the man up a second time. Something about the man was remarkable and demanded attention. It wasn’t just the eyes it was something… less tangible. He had to be new here, Conrad was sure he would have remembered him otherwise.

“I expect not,” the man said, as the bartender passed him two mugs of ale. He passed one to Conrad and gestured around, “I’m as good as anonymous among the titans that call this street home. Could say the same for you, I expect.”

“I suppose so,” Conrad said. He eyed the drink the stranger passed him and shrugged. It wasn't what he usually ordered but he was never one to complain about a treasure chest of simple wood. He took a sip and stopped, holding it out to study. That was good. Damned good. He held it up in salute and thanks to the stranger who nodded and smiled.

“So what’s the drink for?” Conrad asked. He took a long sip, savoring the rich flavor while the man did the same.

“What? Not allowed to make friends when I go out?” the man asked, tone full of mock sincerity.

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“Just be plain. I’ve been small talked near to death today,” Conrad said.

“Fair enough. I couldn’t help but overhear you turn down the prospect of a Healer. Precious few of those around. Wondered if maybe you’d somehow misunderstood the man - he seemed so eager to foist her on you,” the man said, “And his insistence was..”

“Overwhelming, yeah? I heard right and so did you. That is an odd thing to turn down, but friend, if you knew the girl, you’d have done the same. Can’t very well say it that way to her father though, can I?”

“No, I expect not. She disabled then? Got some deformity or…”

“That’d be an improvement,” Conrad said dryly.

The stranger winked and patted Conrad on the shoulder, “Ah, it’s cause she’s a woman then. Worried she’ll change things in the boys club. I gotcha.”

Conrad chuckled and responded, “Not a woman, a girl. But no, it’s much worse than that.”

“Worse than being female? I’m on the edge of my seat,” the man joked.

“Hey, what is this anyway?” Conrad asked, indicating his beer.

“The Peak Red. Dark’s what they’re famous for,” he said, gesturing at Conrad’s forgotten and half finished dark ale, “But I find the Red is so much more… refreshing. Two more, barkeep!”

Conrad nodded appreciatively before returning to clink mugs with the stranger and continue sipping the much better red.

“A true connoisseur, I see,” the stranger said.

Two more mugs arrived.

“Your second drink, sir,” the stranger said, “Now, will you leave me wondering all night what could be worse than a brain dead lady Healer mucking up every fight?”

“Oh she’ll muck up the fight,” Conrad said, “Just not brain dead. Quite smart actually. Capable. The thing is, there’s nothing you can tell is wrong with her. The best I can say is she’s unlucky. It’s like she is the bad luck.”

The man stared at him over the top of his drink. Attention rapt to a story and details that ought only to have piqued curiosity, not truely grabbed anybody so vigorously.

“Might as well say she’s Chaos taken,” he said.

“That would be the right way to think of her, but didn’t want to give the impression I wish the girl harm,” Conrad said, “She’s a good kid, just not worth the risk.”

The man downed the remainder of his first pint and reached for the second. signaling for a third for himself he glanced at Conrad and made an expectant hand motion at the pint Conrad was still nursing. Shrugging, he downed it and grabbed the second mug while the stranger ordered a third for him as well.

“This,” he said, “sounds like a tale I will enjoy hearing.”

Conrad checked the light coming through the windows facing the streets. It was early to be getting drunk but the hardest part of his night was still ahead. He could better handle it if he had had a few drinks.

Besides, what harm was there in telling somebody about Eana? Worst case the stranger would take Graham up on the offer to get her out of Irondale.

He leaned back and began to tell the man the stories and strange occurrences that always seemed to happen when Eana was around.

It was when he told about the night when the monsters from the surrounding Chaos Lands breached the node that the stranger did something he hadn’t anticipated.

He listened.

No outburst of disbelief, no accusation that Conrad was spinning a tale. In all of his experience, in every story he had ever heard told, Nodes of Order were safe places from creatures of Chaos. Conrad was certain this would be when the man thanked him for the tall tale, laughed, and left. And yet there he sat, mismatched eyes intent on every word, drink forgotten - though Conrad had finished another couple over the course of their interaction.

“I’ve just come off a questline and don’t have anything else going at the moment,” the stranger said, “I think I should enjoy discovering the truth of this story - what do you think?”

Conrad itched to cast Assess on the man and take his measure that way, but that kind of invasion of privacy could get him banned from The Peak.

“You want to come all that way just to check in on whether or not I’m lying about a story I told you in a bar?” Conrad asked, “How bored are you?”

The man waved him off and took another sip of his drink, “That’s only a curiosity, I know the Hive is real enough and I’ve never run that type of dungeon. You look well enough off, why stake your claim to that place? That’s what has me really curious.”

“As a training ground, there’s not much better to be asked for,” Conrad said, simply, “Most adventurers dismiss Hive types. All danger, little reward.”

“If your recruits survive,” the stranger said, “Death rate in Hives is too high. Everybody knows that.”

Conrad smiled without humor. What the man said was true. Too damned true. But that was part of the reason for his edge, and why someday soon he would stake his claim along the Street of Heroes.

The stranger studied him, “What’s your strategy?”

“A man can’t give away all his secrets,” Conrad replied, “What band do you run with?”

“No band,” the stranger said, “Solo. Work with mercenary companies when it's needed.”

“Ohhh!” Conrad said, waving his free hand a little and gesturing at the free drinks he had been receiving all night, “Didn’t realize I was in the presence of wealth and privilege. Should’ve guessed.”

“It can be expensive, but the companies come with simple contracts. Gold for a job. No attachments,” the stranger said, “Some of the more difficult decisions are easier to make when you don’t really know the crew you run with.”

He sipped his drink then continued, “Partnerships like that are often better suited to places like Hive type dungeons.”

Conrad wanted to be the sort of man who would be incensed at what the stranger was saying, what he was implying. Sometimes, and especially in places like the Hive Dungeon, you had to leave men and women to die. But the cold logic of it was exactly what drove him and helped give him the edge he would need to reach the top. Dungeons didn’t grow without being challenged, and they grew faster when you let them win from time to time.

It wasn’t like he murdered the new recruits who came out with him to challenge the dungeon. They had the same chance as anybody. If they made it through a few runs, learned a thing or two, they could grow in wealth and power right alongside him.

Was he not the first person to work like this? The thought had occurred to him before but in all his time adventuring, in all his visits to Confluence and inebriated conversations exactly like this one - and he had been the one buying on many occasions - he had heard nothing but derision and skepticism of putting any kind of effort into Hive types. And to even imply that he might have found a way to...ethically feed a maturing dungeon wasn't just uncouth. It was dangerous.

Had he met a kindred spirit in this man? Somebody who could understand what he was about and what it took to claw toward the heights Conrad intended to achieve?

“I have recruitment to take care of tonight,” Conrad said, standing.

“Heading to the Garden district, then?” the stranger said, still relaxed and sipping slowly.

Conrad hesitated a moment. This man knew the game. He understood. He just wanted a signal that Conrad was comfortable with it.

Adventuring guilds created the moniker for the Garden District long back, but not for its vegetation - of which there was very little - but for the way it seemed to always have a fresh crop of new adventuring fodder ready for harvest.

It was the poorest neighborhood in Confluence, and it was there that the newer bands did their recruiting and the young men and women, eager to escape their meager circumstances, would sell their services for little more than a few coins, a promise of XP and a future of adventure.

Conrad was a man of his word, he would fulfill any promise he made, and he made sure the other bands that ran the Hive at Irondale - to whom he would then sell the contracts of the recruits - would as well. Some of the poor, eager men and women would survive long enough to receive fulfillment of that promise.

Most wouldn’t.

“That’s right,” Conrad said.

The man nodded and stood. He tossed a few coins on the bar for the drinks and said, “I’ll handle one quarter recruitment fees, you escort us back to Irondale and share a little wisdom. Deal?”

Conrad snorted, disbelieving. “Don't need to go that far. Just throw in a few basic kits for the recruits and you’ve got yourself a deal,” he held out his hand to shake, “Name’s Conrad. Battle Leader of the Seekers.”

The man smiled, meeting Conrad’s eyes with his own, cold and mismatched. He shook Conrad’s hand and replied simply, “Kaladrian. Mage.”