Lunch was just as delightful as dinner was last night. It was a small, perfectly seasoned steak cooked to medium rare laying over a bed of asparagus and mushrooms, which was in turn laid over what looked to be mashed potatoes at first glance, but turned out to be a cauliflower puree. Thyme was sprinkled over everything, along with a yellow sauce that Priscilla thought was a hollandaise that was absolutely delectable. If this would be the quality of every meal the cook whipped up, Priscilla might have to ask Hans to get some meals for the road tomorrow.

“I wish I could eat,” the artifact said wistfully from its spot next to the plate as Priscilla scraped off the last of the sauce with her spoon. Priscilla hadn’t wanted to risk staining it so she politely asked it to wait until she was done.

“If I can ever figure out how to feed you real food,” Priscilla said, waving the spoon for emphasis, “I’ll treat you to a high class restaurant and order one of everything.”

The artifact let out a giggle. “I couldn’t eat that much by myself!”

“Ah, but you’re forgetting that I wouldn’t let you face it alone,” Priscilla said more dramatically than this situation called for, but just enough to indulge her silliness. “I’ll be right by your side and we’ll gorge on the food like kings.”

The artifact giggled again and Priscilla smiled widely as she pulled it back onto her hand. Hans told her to not worry about the dishes again earlier, saying that he’d collect it when he came back with the supplies she asked for.

So Priscilla had some time to kill, and she knew exactly how she wanted to spend it. She shimmied out of the fancy dress into a more plain cream colored shirt and a pair of brown trousers that had been laying upon the discarded clothes pile.

The leather armor Priscilla had found stashed in the back of the closet had been dyed a deep red, just a shade or two lighter than her hair. At first glance, it looked more fashionable than functional, but when Priscilla picked it up, there was a faint hum that emanated from it into her bones.

“This is magical,” the artifact said as soon as she grasped it.

“Really?” Priscilla said as she laid it on the bed to get a better look at it, though she kept her right hand touching it so the artifact could examine it more. She wasn’t sure why the original had this armor, as she had never worn it in the narrative, but having magical armor would never be a bad idea.

“It’s some sort of protective enchantment,” the artifact said, their voice implying a deep concentration, “but it’s… it’s weird. There’s not enough magical energy in it to make the enchantments last if its limits are tested. It’s much weaker than most magical armors.”

“Hmm.” Priscilla considered the armor more carefully. “So, there’s only enough energy in it to protect from one blow?”

“At least one, and maybe two,” the artifact said, though it sounded unsure. “Much more than that however…”

“Got it,” Priscilla said as she began to undo the straps. “I won’t rely on it stopping anything more than a normal piece of armor would. Hopefully we won’t end up needing much magical protection.”

“I’ll protect you, so you won’t have to rely on the faulty magic!” the artifact said quickly and Priscilla smiled at the sincerity in its tone.

But as she looked at the artifact that had sworn to protect her, she felt a small pang at just referring to it as an artifact. It felt so impersonal when she could literally feel its emotions like she did her own.

“Hey, we’ve haven’t really talked about this yet,” Priscilla said, momentarily pausing in her quest to try the armor on, “but is there any particular name you want to be called or nickname I can refer to you with? I know you said you’ve forgotten who you are, but….”

“I am a mighty legend killer,” the artifact said after a small pause and the words sounded less energetic than usual, “but should my master deem me worthy of a name, I will gladly accept it.”

Priscilla still felt weird about being referred to as master, but when she tried to convince the artifact earlier to just call her Priscilla, it staunchly refused, saying that she deserved the utmost respect it could offer.

But there was something that made the word master feel heavier when the artifact spoke it just now, something almost ritualistic. The artifact’s emotional connection to her was dull right now, as if the spark had been plucked from its soul.

If it truly was up to Priscilla what happened, well, she’ll just do what she thought was right.

“Well then, let’s figure out a name for you,” Priscilla said, “because you’re definitely worthy of having one – and if any bullshit artifacts or dumbasses try to tell you otherwise, tell them to go kiss your master’s fine ass and I’ll punt them into next week.”

The artifact giggled and Priscilla felt the hollowness in its emotions fade.

“First thing we have to figure out is do you tend to like masculine names or feminine names?”

Priscilla threw out a few options for each and let the artifact think it over.

“I think I like both,” it said, “but I do like the names that end with an ‘a’ best.”

“Do you want it short ‘n sweet or a bit of a mouthful?” Priscilla asked, her mind going through the various names that she had been exposed to in her life. She had to pick out the name carefully because the artifact was her partner now and she had to show it the same sort of dedication and respect it showed her. Priscilla didn’t want to saddle it with the very first thing she came up with, it deserved better than that.

“Short please.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Alright,” Priscilla said slowly as she narrowed down her mental list to fit the artifact’s desires. “I have three options for you: Asha, Laela, or Mina. I think any of them are a good choice, but if you don’t like them, then I’ll keep thinking.”

The artifact was silent, but Priscilla could feel how it carefully contemplated her words. She stayed quiet, not pushing any particular option. She may not have had the choice in her own name and who she was, but Priscilla would be damned if she forced that onto someone else.

“What does each name mean?”

Priscilla was damn lucky she did happen to know these three names’ origins and let out an inward sigh of relief she didn’t let the artifact down.

“Laela means loyalty,” Priscilla began, “Mina means love, and Asha means hope, all of which I thought would suit your personality.”

The artifact was quiet for a little while longer before something resolute solidified in its emotions.

“I like Asha, I… I like thinking that I could bring someone hope.”

“Great choice, Asha,” Priscilla said and Asha’s appreciation and happiness was clear through their bond.

“Now that we have that squared away,” Priscilla said, returning her attention to the armor, “let’s get this bad boy on me.”

Priscilla was passingly familiar with armor, as she had attended a few LARP events and renaissance fairs to get inspiration and to test the limits of her own designs, so she had a basic understanding of how to put the armor on. It was heavier across her body than she was expecting, but not to the point where it was overly burdensome.

She tightened the last of straps at the side and stepped in front of the mirror to see how it looked.

“I’ll need to wear something thicker underneath,” Priscilla said, feeling how the inner edges of the armor poked through the thin shirt to her soft belly, “but it looks alright to me.”

“Your legs are exposed,” Asha pointed out.

“Yeah, but there’s not much I can do about that,” Priscilla said ruefully.

She carefully began to test how the armor limited her mobility, throwing a few quick jabs in rapid succession before trying to bob and weave imaginary blows. It was odd to have her elbows touching firm leather when she pulled her hands up in a ready position, but it didn’t bother her too much. The armor didn’t seem to hinder her leg or hip movement at all as she went through a slower version of an ax kick.

Priscilla didn’t want to over do it with this body, so she slowed down, panting slightly, before taking the armor back off.

Now was the time to actually test the limits of this body. Priscilla was pleasantly surprised to find that she could easily bend down and touch the floor, and found that her other limbs were similarly flexible. This was a delightful realization that made up for the body’s lack of defined muscles.

She wasn’t weak by any means, she could tell just by sending out a few punches, but the level of strength wasn’t quite up to the level Priscilla was used to having behind her punches. That would have to change, she thought as she mentally put strength conditioning onto her mental agenda of things to accomplish before the plot began.

“I shall back your fist,” Asha said, responding to Priscilla’s feelings as she did its own, “and make it so the lunatics do not rise back up once you punch them.”

“I’ll be counting on you, Asha,” Priscilla said and smiled at Asha’s rush of happiness.

But now that the fun part of testing out her new limits were out of the way, Priscilla was left with the much less fun activity of packing up for the trip tomorrow. The discarded pile of clothes that were in the back of the closet ended up having the most useful day-to-day pieces, which was to say, it was where all the pants were stashed.

Hans arrived before Priscilla had done much more than spew her closet out onto every surface to take in what she had available and wonder how she was going to fit any of this into only one bag.

His eyebrows were raised high as he took in the view when she opened the door but he made no comment as he brought his bundle in.

“This is everything you requested, Priscilla, and a few things that I thought might be helpful for your upcoming journey.”

“Thanks, Mr. Ordan,” Priscilla said as directed him to place his burden on the bed and ignored the clothes crushed beneath it.

She had mainly asked for some basic traveling supplies like a pack, bed roll, and flint to start a fire, but she had also requested a sewing kit and “the most annoying whistle you can find.”

Priscilla pulled out said whistle, which was attached on a skinny leather strap that also held a compass. She went to give it an experimental blow and Hans caught her arm before she could bring it to her mouth.

Hans gave her a single, solemn shake of his head and Priscilla decided to wait to test this whistle out until she wasn’t in an enclosed space.

“Did you grab anything especially exciting?” Priscilla asked, pivoting quickly.

“Nothing in particular stands out,” Hans said, though something cheeky lurked in his tone which had Priscilla raising an eyebrow at him. He gave her a mysterious smile before opening up the front pocket of the pack he brought and reached in, his arm disappearing up to his elbow before he pulled back out.

“It’s only the one pocket,” Hans said regretfully, “but I thought you might appreciate having more luggage space regardless.”

“Mr. Ordan, you’re the fucking man,” Priscilla said, making him let out a startled bout of laughter that made her smile go wide. She loved to do and say the unexpected because it got the funniest and most honest reactions out of people. Hans may play the part of a stuffy old butler, but she suspected that was just a front for a much more laid back personality.

Hans gave her a wry smile as he shook his head, but let the swearing thankfully pass without comment.

There was nothing else Hans could do to help Priscilla besides investigate if the cooks would be willing to make some to-go meals for her and her guard, so he left her alone to complete her packing.

With the nifty addition of a dimensional storage, Priscilla didn’t have to worry quite so much about how much she brought. She did still put most of her clothes and hair care products in the main compartment, but Priscilla gleefully placed book after book into the unlimited storage pocket for entertainment for when the horses had to take a rest.

Priscilla hesitated, but decided to bring the strange locked book she had found with as well. She didn’t think she’d find the key on the trip, but when she thought about leaving it behind, something in Priscilla’s gut squirmed unhappily.

Packing took her well into the afternoon and by the time she had finished making her room look a little less like a tornado ran through it, it was nearly dinner time.

Hans brought her dinner to her room again, along with a small purple pouch with a sun embroidered on it in gold thread.

“Mistress Thornewood asked me to bring this to you,” Hans said as he placed the pouch next to her dinner. “She said that the initial funds are available to you, along with the first weekly deposit.”

Priscilla picked up the pouch and turned it over, running her fingers over the embroidery that was much more intricate than a first glance might indicate. The sun motif was the central design, but as the rays of light stretched across the fabric, small canine-like creatures emerged from the gilded thread to frolic amongst them towards the bottom of the pouch.

She reached her fingers in and pulled out a cool golden coin. There was a man’s strong profile stamped onto the side and the phrase written around the edge, “To the Victorious, the World.” She wondered just whose face was stamped into every coin as she ran her thumb over the raised metal.

“Thanks for bringing it,” Priscilla said as she tucked the coin back in the pouch, deciding she wasn’t curious enough to pursue that line of thinking right now. Maybe if she actually ever went into a bank, she’d ask.

“It was no problem at all,” Hans said. “Bella said that she could have a traveling meal available for tomorrow. What time were you planning to leave?”

“Early,” Priscilla said, “probably an hour, hour and a half after sunrise.”

“I will see to it that everything will be ready for your departure,” Hans said with a quick bow of his head and left after bidding goodbye. Priscilla tied the money pouch round the strap of her pack before a yawn had her eyes watering and ears popping loudly.

Priscilla’s body had been running on too little sleep today and she needed to make sure that she didn’t start tomorrow wiped out, as riding horses took a lot out of you. She stumbled into a nightgown and then into bed, a bestiary tucked under her arm.

She read through the various profiles aloud to Asha when the artifact confessed it couldn’t read, until the words started to swim across the page and Priscilla’s eyelids were too heavy to keep open.