4
The Search for Answers
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Elaine peeked from her hiding spot, her eyes focused on the man who had caught her interests all those months ago. This man was currently conversing with another of his companions, the veteran, it seemed. The young woman couldn’t hear a thing at this distance, but she didn’t dare get closer. The last time she did, she nearly blew her cover. That resulted in her being much more careful, resigning herself to watching from a safer distance. Thankfully, she had someone who could hear in their conversations.
“What are they saying, Barton?” She whispered to the elf behind her, who was doing his best to focus.
“Asking me that question every five seconds is not going to help,” Barton huffed. Elaine frowned, but didn’t argue.
“They’re talking about Malik again,” Barton muttered. He creased his brow. “Who’s Malik?”
“Someone they recruited a couple of weeks ago,” Elaine answered. “I’ve only seen him twice, but he gives me the creeps.” The young woman moved to set her sights on the group once more. “What else?”
“They’re debating on whether Malik should come back to Yorktown. The older one, Harald, wants nothing more than to kill the ‘damned helspawn’ while James wants Malik’s help to find…” Barton frowned, “to find an ‘Iendis’.”
That caused Elaine’s expression to change into confusion. “Iendis? The demi-goddess?”
“You know who she is?” Barton asked.
“Know her? I’ve sung and written iliads and songs about her cultists before.” Elaine explained. She tapped at her lute, which hung on her back. She had studied and read about the ones who worshiped the daughter of Myr years back when she was first starting out as a bard. Back then, she had thought they were interesting enough to write and sing about.
She had soon found out the hard way that such topics were unfavorable among the general populace. Anytime Elaine sang about them, crowds would disperse and people would avoid her like the plague. She had stopped singing about them after realizing that bards did not make a living singing solely about crazy cultists and mad gods.
“Well, whoever Iendis is, James wants to find her,” Barton explained. “Harald doesn’t think it’s wise to go searching on a whim. He says that they should rethink.”
Elaine turned to look at the arguing men, her focus on James. The blond man had been her sole focus these past weeks. Ever since he landed in Vindis, Elaine immediately recognized him. She recalled seeing him during his first stay, back when he was with that shaman woman. The minute Elaine set eyes on him, she knew something was up.
The young woman recalled her lessons back in the academy, back when she was learning the arts and exploring the career path of a bard. To make a good living, bards had to set their eyes on the amazing and interesting. While many bards could make decent coin singing about the boring virtues of the world and children's fables, there was more gold and fame in warrior stories. Especially powerful warriors.
Elaine knew from the moment she saw James that he had the makings of a legendary warrior. Mysterious? Check. Handsome? Once she trims off that excess hair, he would be golden. Check. Strong? The man had confronted the mysterious Thieves Guild and lived. He had also given off a dangerous aura whenever Elaine got too close. Double check! All the bard had to do was know his story. Once she knew what crappy little town he was from and the tragic origins of his past, Elaine was sure she could spin this man’s story into a living legend. That is, if he survived long enough for her to get some content.
“You can’t approach him normally?” Barton asked.
“He’ll reject my offer, no matter what I say,” Elaine sighed. Other than his name, the bard had little to no information on the strange man. James was careful with his words and speech, his mannerisms showing that he was always on edge. Elaine had to recruit the likes of Barton, who had the skill ‘Wind Perception’, which allowed him to pick up on the slightest sounds from far away. It was also perfect for listening in on distant conversations. With the elf’s help, Elaine could piece together what little she knew of James.
“He’s too self contained. Too secretive. I doubt he’ll even listen to my proposal,” Elaine whispered.
“So, how do you plan to get him to agree?”
“Easy. I saw him visit Tahir’s tent a couple of times these last two weeks.” Elaine gestured towards the direction of the docks. “He’s planning to revitalize the economy of his town by changing trade routes of Tahir’s merchant ships so they can pass by the island.”
The elf raised an eyebrow at that. “How would that revitalize their economy?” Barton questioned.
“That’s the problem James is facing,” Elaine revealed. Before she recruited Barton, the bard had listened in on James’ problem with what he could use to get money. The options were, to say the least, not the best business ideas.
“He’s planning to brew moonshine with that dwarf, to sell off to the traders.”
“Not a bad idea, but that could be problematic,” Barton muttered. “The alcohol trade is not a friendly route. It’s a crowded business in Vindis. Redyr and Olafson hold a majority of the sales and bars around here.”
Elaine nodded in agreement. “Which is why I’ll offer to help him,” the bard boasted. “When he hears my offer, he’ll have no choice but to accept.” Her plan for coin was flawless, and it involved the greatest talent she knew. Herself.
Barton narrowed his eyes. “What kind of plan is this, Elaine?”
“Why would I tell you? You’ll probably run to James with it and steal my chance.”
“I doubt I will.”
Elaine sighed. “If you really want to know…” She brought out her lute, stringing a couple of notes to prepare her reveal. “I shall sing and act out his story in a play!”
“A play?” Barton made a face. He looked as if he was stabbed in the foot.
“Yes, a play.” Elaine frowned at the elf’s reaction. “Back at the academy, we did plays of old heroes, such as Gerald the Burnt, Matthew the Great, and Jenis the Conqueror. They were wildly popular, and we gained hundreds of watchers for every one!”
“So?”
“So, they made coin!” Elaine explained. “We got a haul of valdoras and golden coins for every play we did!” The bard made a gesture, making it look like she was holding a crate of golden coins.
“If you made so much, why are you here in Vindis?” Barton asked. “This city isn’t exactly Haven or Norum.”
“Well… Most of the proceeds went to the academy,” Elaine admitted. “I only came here because I thought perhaps I could find someone interesting.”
“Makes sense,” Barton sighed. “You really think people in Valenfrost would be as interested in these ‘plays’ as much as those rich assholes in Lumen City?” As the elf asked his question, the bard noted how James was moving once more. It looked like he was heading to that Wizard’s place again.
“Entertainment is a widely sought thing, Barton,” Elaine responded as she moved. She slung her lute behind her back. “The people here just don’t know it yet.”
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James rubbed at the bandaged wound on his left shoulder, which still stung every once in a while. Despite it being two weeks, his so-called ‘healing factor’ was taking its sweet time healing the wounds on his body. His body ached and the cuts from his fight with Seamus and Harald were still present.
“How are your wounds holding up?” Harald asked.
“Fine I guess,” James muttered. “They still hurt and my ribs still keep me up at night.” He kicked a piece of trash into the nearby canal. “This is confusing. When I fought that abomination during the Frost solstice, my injuries were worse. Yet they still healed faster than the ones I have now.” James tapped at his bandaged head, a result of that fight with the veteran.
“Dahlia isn’t here to heal your wounds anymore,” Harald pointed out. “Perhaps that’s why your wounds aren’t healing as fast.”
“That might actually be it,” James muttered, his brow furrowing.
‘That and the fact that the only nourishment we’ve had these past weeks was beer and shitty soup from that tavern,’ Faust complained.
‘Quit complaining. You knew we had to eat like this since we got here. We’re down to two valdora pieces and a handful of silver. Being cheap is our only option.’ James reminded the spirit. Money was tight and James did not want to blow his last two valdoras when he had an entire alcohol business to start up.
“Do you think my business idea will work?” James asked Bjorn, who was nearby.
“There’s a good chance it’ll earn us some coin. The stuff I brew knocks even dwarves off their asses.” The dwarf chuckled.
That prompted a response from the veteran. “It doesn’t matter how good it is. If you plan to sell in Vindis, forget about it.”
James looked at the grizzled old man. “Why do you say that?”
“The alcohol business here is cutthroat. Olafson and Redyr already have stock in it and the Thieves Guild move their own stuff,” Harald explained.
“We can still hold our own,” Bjorn spoke up.
The veteran raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“Believe me, the ‘beer’ those thieves move.” Bjorn made a disgusted face. “It’s more like piss water. Might as well be drinking from a latrine.”
“How would you know?” James prodded.
“Drank it when I was held prisoner by Markov. To where I compared it with skavdka.” The dwarf shuddered. “Sure as hell not as bad as that cursed drink, but it’s still too watered down to be worth drinking.”
“So you plan to compete with those thieves’ alcohol business? We’ve already pissed them off once. Doing it again is not a wise choice,” Harald muttered.
“Who said anything about competing?” James spoke up. An idea formed in his head. “We can have them move our product. If their stuff is as bad as Bjorn puts it, then his product would be an improvement, right?”
Harald stopped for a moment. He looked genuinely surprised at the suggestion. “That can work. But…” He frowned. “You would have to produce a ship’s worth of it. Transport it to the city and make sure no bandits try anything,” Harald pointed out. “Bjorn has already explained that a barrel costs around six gold to produce. We barely have enough for half of one.” That had put a downer on things. James was actually feeling pretty excited about those few seconds of enlightenment.
“So we need another source of money?” James asked.
“Obviously. I doubt fighting bandits will be enough to pay for this business idea of yours.”
The blond man rubbed at his tired eyes. “Maybe when we get back to Yorktown, we’ll figure something out. Until then, we should wrap things up here.” James and his friends were preparing to leave the floating city, as they had gotten what they needed.
Well, mostly. James still needed to figure out a way to make money off the traders coming to Yorktown. Harald had already explained to him that traders simply coming to the marketplace would not be enough. James needed to have a business or surefire way of making coin. It was why the young man had come up to form an alcohol business venture with Bjorn.
Still, that idea needed more time to set up. As of the moment, James had to finish his business in Vindis. He already visited Tahir earlier that day and talked at length with the Arenian about the possibilities of using James’ own forces as protection for the merchant ships. Obviously, James did not let the man know about how his forces consisted of a drunken dwarf and a handful of orcs and humans.
Nathan’s shop was next on the list. Seamus was already over there, checking in with the Wizard. James made him go, as he wanted Seamus examined by Nathan. While not a doctor, Nathan still had knowledge about the human body and mind, making him cheaper than one and much more accessible. Lilith was also with him, since the berserker refused to leave his side. James guessed Lilith saw something during her time under the witch’s dream spell, as the redhead acted much more docile and reserved than usual. She even stopped speaking with her hand signs.
James hoped that the both of them were doing alright. It was important for him that his friends were ok and not trickling over the edge of sanity. As he pondered about them, a sound from afar caught his attention. The pathway the men were on was empty, at least that what they initially thought. James turned around, his gaze on the nearby alley. While no sound or movement came. James felt the eerie sensation that he was being watched. He grabbed at his sword’s hilt. His thoughts debated on whether to investigate. Before he could make a choice, a cat jumped out of the shadows, knocking over pots and buckets. That made the young jump, earning a laugh from the dwarf.
“Shit your pants didn’t you!” Bjorn guffawed.
“Shut up,” James muttered. He turned back around, sighing as the cat ran past his legs. It leaped down to one of the lower platforms, turning into an alleyway and disappearing. “Let’s get out of here. Daylight’s burning,” James called to Harald and Bjorn. He didn’t want to admit it, but that cat nearly made James unleash the power of one of his newest spells. It was a casting he learned without the help of a shaman or Wizard, one that he learned just a couple days ago when he was practicing his cryomancy.
Yet he kept it to himself, knowing that it needed much more practice before he could fully use it. As of now, the casting had fifty-fifty chances of failing. When it did work, it was pathetically weak. James had to practice some more, which was why he was heading to Nathan’s place. He already grabbed the Power Strike casting from the Wizard, so it would be awkward to explain why he needed to study another casting that didn’t require rune imprinting. Still, James needed to learn more, specifically his cryomancy.
His left arm had always been iffy when it came to casting ice magic. There was an obvious limit whenever he had used it to freeze and form ice, the result being that of James’ own stamina being consumed to the point of exhaustion.
James recalled the spells Gryff had used back when they had fought. If he could just master one of them, it would tip the scales of battles to his favor. However, he had no idea how to get better with his cryomancy, nor did he ever seem to improve on it, regardless of how many times he practiced forming ice.
Perhaps Nathan had a spell tome specifically for this type of magic. The Wizard’s shop didn’t seem understocked in the least. James had some hope that the eccentric man would have something useful.
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“Unbelievable!” Nathan’s voice echoed out in the room, his excitement overflowing. Seamus could only watch as the Wizard inspected his arm. “You have magic flowing in you, Seamus! When did you activate these ley lines?” He lowered the arm, his spectacles on the edge of falling off.
Seamus scratched at his head. “Magic? What are you…?”
“Wait, did you not know this? Seamus, your ley lines are active!”
“Active? As in, he could learn castings?” James spoke up from behind. He had arrived in the shop not too long ago and had asked the Wizard about the situation with Seamus.
Seamus was as confused and surprised as James, his mind trying to go back to when he had his ley lines inspected. Yet no memory came of it.
“Could? James, Seamus has castings!” Nathan’s words confused Seamus even more. He had castings? That was impossible. The young man had only trained in sword fighting. Castings were out of his league. Yet the Wizard spoke about them like they’ve always been there.
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“One physical casting, two spells.” Nathan held up three fingers.
“That can’t be…” Seamus protested. “I’ve trained in fighting, not magic! I have no memory of getting any of these spells!”
“It’s there Seamus. I’m not sure what they are specifically, but they’re there.” Nathan said. “Here, hold this.”
The Wizard pulled out a small glass vial, the liquid inside it a light blue color. Seamus cautiously took the vial, holding it between his fingers. It felt oily and unnaturally cold. The young man held it for a moment, expecting it to explode or something. Nothing happened.
Nathan frowned. “Try focusing on it. Your ley lines will converge and use it like a conduit.”
“Alright…” Seamus took a breath and focused. For a second, nothing happened.
The vial suddenly glowed, its liquid changing color. Seamus stared at it, watching as the liquid sloshed and turned into a glowing blue. Before he knew, sparks of lightning formed in the vial, crackling and moving along the glass.
“I knew it!” Nathan exclaimed. “Not only do you have the castings, but you also have an affinity for lightning! How exciting is that?”
Seamus could only stare in disbelief. Were his memories that badly fractured? Did that night truly damage his mind to where he forgot he had castings?
James seemed to notice the young man’s distressed face. “Nathan, not really the time,” he muttered to the Wizard.
Nathan also realized the situation and his excitement died down a bit. “Yes, sorry.”
“How bad is it?” James asked the young man.
“Bad enough that entire sections of my life are gone from my memory,” Seamus responded. He tossed the vial to James, who caught it.
“Not exactly.” Nathan pointed out. “While you can’t remember getting those castings, you also forgot your training sessions with your father. Remember what you told me?”
Seamus recalled what he said earlier that day. When he was first explained to Nathan how his blackouts worked, he mentioned the time he fought against Hugo. Seamus had recalled his father’s words, a memory that was blocked until that very moment.
“Your memories are not gone, Seamus. They are simply repressed. You just need to remember them,” the Wizard advised.
“How can I do that when I don’t even know what I forgot?” Seamus asked.
Nathan took a seat across from Seamus. “That’s the hard part. From what you told me, your memory only comes back during certain situations.” The Wizard took a deep breath. “You will need to relive some of those moments. Either that or you have to have James rip those memories out like he did two weeks ago. Still, I’m not even sure if that’s a good idea.”
Seamus shivered at the thought of reliving his past. He had a taste of it with the witch and he did not want to go through it again.
“What are my castings?” He asked, trying to move past the previous topic.
Nathan frowned but didn’t point it out. “I don’t know what castings you have, but the vial shows that they’re mainly lightning based. Probably because you learned from a Wizard who specializes in it.”
“Wizard?” Seamus’ mind clicked. He remembered what Lowe told him a couple of months back.
“A Wizard. Not just any twiddle fingers, too. I believe Wizard Falrick is still alive and hiding himself among the populace of Yorktown’s people.”
Wizard Falrick must have been the one who taught Seamus his castings. All he needed to do was talk to him.
“I think I know what I have to do.” Seamus stood from his seat.
“Are you sure?” James asked.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so sure of something,” the young man responded.
James looked like he was going to argue or protest, but he simply gave a weak smile. “Good. Then let’s get going.”
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Gwenyth could see the remnants of a fire in the distance, the dark and pillowing pillar of smoke standing out in the clouded skies of Valenfrost. Buravon was burning, all of its former beauty now gone in a cloud of ash. Its people and whatever remains of those abominations were aflame as well, their deformities and disgusting crystals hopefully nothing but glass. As the elf stared into the distance, footsteps sounded out behind her.
“It’s still burning,” William’s voice muttered. He sounded empty, as if all the joy he had in him was sapped out.
“Bodies tend to do that,” the elf answered.
“You sound as if this is normal,” the herald pointed out.
“To an extent, this is normal for me.” Gwenyth turned to William, who was still staring at the distant island.
“Does it get easier, then?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” the elf asked with a raised brow.
William let out a forced chuckle. “I’ve been fighting for the Lumen Kingdom since I was a young man. Killed men, burned villages. Watched others do the same. It was difficult whenever I came across such horrors.” He looked down at the waves of the sea. “I only powered through because of Delphine’s church and my promise to Azlene. Yet, it never lets up. The fighting, the death, all of it.” William’s hands ran across his face, like he was trying to wipe the visage from his sight. “For someone like you, an immortal, does it ever get easy?”
Gwenyth thought about the question. She pondered it longer than she should’ve. Her thoughts went back to her younger years, back when she was still naïve. When she fought against the armies of Dorinfal, or when she lost her arm during the first fall of Lumen City. Horrors of war and men had always shaken her to her core. No matter what side she was on or which mad man she fought, Gwenyth always had to deal with the same thing. Innocents getting in the way of it all. When she thought she had gotten used to it all, she was always proven wrong. This abomination was no different, and it scared her.
“I don’t know,” Gwenyth finally muttered her answer. “What you have to understand, William, is that the world will always get under your skin. Sometimes you slowly get used to it and you expect it.” She took a deep breath. “But if you do that, the horrors of this world will only try harder to break you.” Gwenyth turned to face William.
“So what do I do?”
“You keep living and fighting.” The elf explained. “If the world wants to break you, then the only thing you can do is fight against it and hope to keep it at bay.”
William was silent for a while, his tired gaze still fixed on the sea. Without a word, he stood up straight and walked off. Gwenyth wasn’t sure if her words rang true for the herald. The only thing she could do for him now was hope that he would recover from Buravon. Arthur was nearby, watching as the herald walked below the deck.
The former apostle turned to Gwenyth, who quickly broke eye contact. She couldn’t stand to look at him. Not after what he told her. Gwenyth obviously had more questions, such as the summoning of those Outlanders, the reason they were here, and why Delphine chose him to kill them off.
Yet the elf felt hesitant about asking this to Arthur. There were some things that were better left off unknown. She knew that from personal experience and had paid dearly for it. Her left arm was an example of it. Gwenyth clutched her prosthetic, feeling how it vibrated and shifted underneath the bandages. Something was wrong. She unwrapped the dirty cloth, watching her arm shimmered with bluish light. The runes were flickering, something she had never seen before.
“The ley lines,” she realized. That was impossible. Ley lines shouldn’t be affecting magic tools like this. Even if cracked, they documented their influence to be liminal. Yet here was her arm, shaking and convulsing. Before her worry could turn to panic, the shaking stopped. The runes went back to their soft glow. Her arm was back to normal, fully under control.
‘The ley lines below us must have changed. That’s probably why my arm reacted.’
It wasn’t a solid theory, but it was clearly better than nothing.
“Nice arm,” a voice called out from nearby. Gwenyth turned to the source, who was none other than the bounty hunter Eilif. The immortal man rested against the mast, his goggles facing the sky. There was no emotion on his face, but Gwenyth could still hear the grin behind that cursed mask.
“What is it?” She asked.
“Nothing. I’m just admiring the craftsmanship of that prosthetic. Where’d you get it?” Eilif asked.
“None of your business,” the elf muttered as she wrapped the arm in bandages once more.
The bounty hunter tilted his head. “I have seen nothing like it in centuries. Must be artifact level, huh?”
“Why do you continue to pester?” Gwenyth scowled.
“I’m just curious. That is all.” Eilif raised his hands in defense.
“Chaos followers say that. Of course, after they burnt down entire cities,” Gwenyth laced every word with venom, letting Eilif know her distaste for the followers.
“You’re describing the works of man. Inquisitors, chaos followers, Jarls, they’re all the same. The only difference is motive,” Eilif explained. “Humanity has always been at war with itself. The gods just make sure it is ‘civil’.”
Gwenyth made a disgusted face. “Every city burnt down, every innocent family put to the sword, all of it was done by men manipulated by gods. I’ve seen it happen myself.”
“Perhaps.” Eilif rubbed his mask in thought, his raspy breathing audible from the elf’s position. “I enjoy talking to you. You understand what mortals don’t.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look at us. We’ve dealt with enough of the strife between deities, so we wander around. We try to find a purpose outside of it all, only to realize…” Eilif sighed. “No matter what, we always get involved in it, despite our best judgment.”
Gwenyth didn’t know how to respond to the man. Whether she liked it or not, everything he said hit the elf where she lived. Centuries of watching her world burn and fall, the elf had seen it all. She’d seen dear friends die and watched kingdoms fall. She fought against the abominable and the wicked. It was all so much that the elf had gone full nomad, walking throughout Azurvale, Kasan, and Valenfrost without purpose or guidance. Yet it did nothing but lead her back into the conflicts of gods and men.
“Who are you, Eilif?” She asked softly. “I’ve seen many things, but you are an anomaly I can’t place.”
“Me? I’m nothing more than a man cursed to walk this world for eternity. You can say I’m like you, a wanderer with no purpose,” he chuckled.
“Funny.” Gwenyth sighed. She looked to the sea, watching as the smoke pillar grew smaller. “Every decade, I’m feeling the same way.”
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James watched the harbor, his mind running free as he watched people work and walk around. Workers pulled in long ships and galleons to port, their hands working to make sure everything was done in a timely manner. Newcomers and merchants walked among the crowds, their gazes either fixed on the market ahead or the marvel that was Vindis City.
James spotted a group of young men and women, their clothing and gear indicating that they were adventurers. They wore gambeson and mail, their weapons absent from their belts. That was typical. Vindis guards didn’t allow weapons to pass through the checkpoints, unless they were paid under the table to look the other way, of course.
James felt a little nostalgic at the sight of these young adventurers. Who knows what would’ve happened had he been summoned somewhere else, like Lumen City or Haven? Perhaps he would’ve ended up like these people, traveling and adventuring through Valenfrost and Azurvale. James sighed as the group of friends excitedly headed off to the city’s marketplace, their naivety shown through their movements and loud conversations.
‘Wish you swapped places?’ Faust asked.
‘Gods no.’ James chuckled. ‘Those poor fools aren’t gonna last that long in this city. As much as I admire their ignorance, I’m alright with my position.’
James turned to his ship, Draugr’s Haunt. His crew were currently hauling in the cargo Bjorn had bought for his brewing business in Yorktown. The dwarf thankfully had money on him, part of his savings. It was only enough for two or three barrels, but it would be enough for the foreign traders that would soon arrive at Yorktown in the coming weeks.
“Two weeks here and we’re barely accomplishing anything,” James muttered. While getting traders to Yorktown was what he set out to do, the young clan leader couldn’t help but feel as if he had done little to further the progress of his clan.
“Really? Did you forget about me?” A voice called out to James. He turned around to meet Malik, the necromancer he made a pact with not too long ago.
James could feel his palm sting at the sight of him. “Getting a crazy necromancer on my side doesn’t mean that my people are going to prosper without me.”
Malik chuckled at that. “You jest and you jest. One day you will realize how important I am, Holter.” With that, the hooded man headed off to the longship, catching the ire of everyone nearby.
Malik was coming to Yorktown, whether or not Harald or James liked it. There was no fighting the pact James made with the necromancer. He made a promise that he knew he couldn’t take back.
‘Did I make the right choice? Was it really worth it?’
James couldn’t help but feel like he had made a deal with the devil, his emotions exploited.
‘You did what you could do, James. Only time will tell if you really did make the right decision.’ Faust sounded out. The blond man took a breath of the cold salty air. He felt like throwing up.
‘At least that witch isn’t coming.’
Lydia, the witch who had been with Malik, left unceremoniously after the pact was made. Last James heard of it, she had gone off to do her own thing, something that involved a personal matter. Malik had explained that Lydia was initially training underneath him to become a better sorceress, to get the strength needed to kill someone powerful. When James had asked him who the man was, Malik had shrugged and said that it was ‘someone who killed someone close to her’.
While sympathetic, James could never truly forgive the witch for what she did, despite her following orders from Malik to do so. The thought of being manipulated, his old friends and past life exploited against him, it made James shiver. Never again.
‘What exactly did you see in that dream? I couldn’t catch a glimpse of it, not even in your memories.’ Faust prodded.
“Something I never want to experience again,” James muttered. He took a step towards the ship, watching as everyone readied to depart once more.
“Dimitri. Are we ready to depart?” James called out. The shipmaster raised his head from the cargo bay, his grin still as contagious as before.
“Friend James! We are ready for departure. Whenever you are ready!” It was good to see that Dimitri was doing fine, despite his brush with Markov weeks back. James couldn’t help but smile, his worries slowly going away.
“Good, then let’s get out of here. We have a town to run.”
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Wizard Falrick sifted through the box of items the shaman had brought him. He pushed past potions and vials, examining their tags and contents. “Quite a limited supply,” he muttered.
“Will it be enough?” Dahlia asked behind him.
“For the veil? Or for scrying?” The Wizard questioned.
“Either.”
“The veil needs more than this. It also requires a specific soapstone and salts. As for scrying, it depends on what you want to see. If it’s a basic scry of the island, then you have enough. Want to find a specific person, you need much more. Need to find someone far away, then you need a crystal ball and a remnant of that person.”
“How does one get a crystal ball?” Dahlia asked.
“Are you looking for someone?” Falrick asked. He picked up a vial, reading its label as ‘bladeroot’. That could be useful for some potion making.
“There’s nothing wrong with safety.” The shaman defended herself.
“Safety is one thing. Stalking is another.” The Wizard grabbed a couple of choice items from the box.
“What if it’s someone who threatens your home?” Dahlia asked.
Falrick stood up, pocketing the items. “Then you strike them before they get the chance. That was Yorn’s philosophy.” He sighed. “Unless, of course, you have nothing to strike back with. Then perhaps it’s better to run away.” He turned to the shaman. “There’s nothing wrong with cowardice. Not when it’s your loved ones on the line.”
“Is that why you ran? For your loved ones?”
“I ran because I failed. Staying and dying wouldn’t have changed a thing. Remember that.”
The shaman broke eye contact with him; her gaze now on the floor. “How long are you going to stay with us?”
“Depends on your leader. When he comes back, I shall discuss with him my future here,” Falrick explained. He knew that wasn’t what the shaman wanted to hear. He knew she wanted a reason as to why he was adamant about staying here. Needless to say, Dahlia wasn’t happy that Falrick turned around his hostility so quickly. He guessed it gave off the impression that the Wizard had an ulterior motive.
While he had one, Falrick had no intention of screwing over the raven clan. In fact, he wanted to protect them. Only he and Lowe knew of the importance of the artifact and the consequences it could bring to Valenfrost. Still, he had to keep it all under wraps. There was no telling what could happen if word got out about the item. It could very well spark the next great war.
“Fine,” Dahlia muttered as she brushed a short lock of hair behind her ear. “James should get back soon. Until then, you’re going to stay here under the supervision of Felix and his guardsmen.” She gestured to the door of the hut. “He’ll bring you food and other necessities. Just ask if you need something else.”
“Of course.” Falrick examined the hut he would be staying at. It was barebones, with only a cot and a basic table with chairs. “So, jail then?”
“It’s not a prison. We’re just making sure you won’t run.”
“That’s jail.”
Dahlia raised an eyebrow. “We can always throw you into the actual jail we have.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Falrick chuckled. “Can I get more items for potion making? I have to keep my hands busy, otherwise I’ll go insane.”
“What I’ve brought is most of what I have. Without the volatile stuff, of course.” Dahlia sighed.
“I’m not going to blow this hut to bits with potion bombs. I could already do that without the ingredients,” Falrick pointed out with his calloused fingers.
“I’ll see what I can find,” Dahlia said.
“Thank you.” Falrick gave the shaman a smile, trying his best to seem friendly. The shaman only stared at him, before she turned around and left. Once she finally closed the door, the Wizard let out a defeated breath. Aside from fixing relations with these people, he had things to do. Such as making sure no one could find the artifact Lowe showed him.
He looked at the box of items the shaman left behind. While limited, he could still whip up an enchantment ritual that could render the item hidden from advanced scrying and tracking crystals. It would only hide the item for a few months, but it would be enough for Falrick to find a better solution.
He just hoped that Holter would arrive soon, so he could explain it all to him